Hardcore Volume 3 (8 page)

I shook my head and bolted. Erin was on my heels as we ran through Chelsea, though my joy had been stolen, my mind agonizing over the past, over the things I couldn’t change, the mistakes I’d made in a sick loop as I ran my body into the ground.

Erin didn’t ask me to talk about it, and I was grateful. I spent the rest of the day in virtual silence, participating as minimally as possible without calling any more attention to myself, but I’d retreated into the gnarled mess of my mind.
 

During dinner, I grabbed another piece of pizza from the box and leaned back in my chair as I took a bite, listening to everyone talk. Laughter rolled through everyone, and I watched Jill, smiling and happy, maybe happier than I’d ever seen her. She had a lightness about her, like the weight of our past had fallen away to let her shine. Seeing that made everything worth it.

I was still shaken from the run and swallowed the pizza like a stone. I thought I was better. Getting over it. But he drifted in and out of my thoughts as he always did. The longing for him — and my regret — kept me hanging on. Everyone said it would just take time, though part of me never wanted to get over it. It was a reminder of what I’d done, a scar to ache when it rained. But I couldn’t keep going on this way.

There was too much left unsaid, the unfinished business of my full confession. I wished I’d begged. But by sparing him, I punished myself to the point that I couldn’t move on.
 

I picked up my plate, and Jill and Erin tracked me as I laid my dish in the sink and ducked out of the room, though neither of them followed or spoke to me. When I stepped into my bedroom, I closed the door behind me and sat in bed, folding my legs under me. I reached for my notebook and pen on my nightstand, opening to the first blank page.

There was so much I wanted to say to him. The truth of our circumstance. The apology in my heart. But he said to stay away, and I did. If it were me, I would expect the same respect. But I had to tell him without telling him, had to get the words out of my heart.

When my pen touched the paper, it flew, the words coming fast and heavy along with my tears. It was a purge, the emotion slipping out of me, down my cheeks, across the page. It was for me just as much as it was for him. Maybe more.
 

I signed my name and laid down my pen, eyes squeezed shut as I dropped my head into my hands, chest shuddering. I couldn’t keep it in, couldn’t hold it together anymore after the catharsis of saying it all, even if he’d never see it.
 

I cried until the emotion had washed over me like a tsunami, flattening everything as it retreated. It was rebirth. Creation from destruction. And in the aftermath, I found peace.

SEVERAL DAYS PASSED BY with no interruptions, the deluge of my feelings leaving me calm and sated. I hadn’t told anyone I’d written the letter, intending to throw it away and do my best to forget about it. But it had ended up in the pocket of my leather jacket, going everywhere with me. I’d get rid of it eventually. I just wasn’t ready. Not yet.

That afternoon, I scrolled through one of the NYU websites as crooning folk-rock played over the speakers in the coffee shop. Jill sat across from me bent over her math homework, hair in a messy knot on top of her head with an extra pencil stuck through it, brow creased in concentration. I looked up as Morgan walked up with a fresh chai and a smile. Her hair was in a bun, tidier than Jill’s, her heavy bangs framing her eyes. She always dolled up for work. Better tips, she said, though I had a sneaking suspicion she was harboring a closet addiction to lip gloss.

She set the cup on the table. “You two doing okay?”

“Mmhmm,” Jill hummed without taking her eyes off her homework.

Morgan sat down next to me on the long bench seat that stretched the length of the wall. She jerked a chin at the screen. “NYU … School of Engineering?”

I shrugged. “Just looking up their programs for software engineers.”

She smiled. “I like it. Think you can hang?”

“Only one way to find out.”

“At least you have a skill. I have no idea what I’m going to do with myself. Too bad we can’t parkour for a living.”

“We’re on the threshold of being too old for that anyway.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Don’t say shit like that.”

The door on the bell rang, and a tall, skinny guy walked in. Morgan straightened up, then stood to stand in front of me. I glanced around to see him smiling at her.

“Morgan?”

“Chase, what’s up, man?” Her voice was strained, though I couldn’t figure out why. I watched her move behind the register. “I haven’t seen you in forever. How are you?”

“Good. I guess you didn’t recognize me when we ran into your friends last month.”

And then it hit me. He was Van’s friend, the one who told Van who we were. I’d met him once, ages ago, but hadn’t seen him since. I shrank in my seat.

“Uh, yeah. Sorry about that, weird night,” she answered.

“No worries. I didn’t realize you worked here. I was just on my way home from my buddy’s art gallery.” He perked up a little. “Actually, he was with me that night, Van Collins? He was looking for your friend. Do you know if he found her? We’ve all been wondering, but he refuses to talk about it.”

She cleared her throat, avoiding eye contact with me. “Yeah, he found her.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “I hope it was okay that I told him who you guys were. He said he caught up with her that night but didn’t find out her name. He talked about her like she really made an impression.”

“Yeah, it was fine that you told him. A little creepy, but fine.”

“If it had been anybody else, I wouldn’t have said anything. But Van has to be one of the most honest guys I know.”

I slipped a little further into my seat, feeling sick.

Morgan gave him a tight smile and changed the subject. “So, ah, what can I get for you?”

He glanced up at the menu. “How about a large almond milk latte with an extra shot.”

“Right on.” She rang him up, and they chatted amiably, talked about freerunning. I barely heard them, though, just stared through my computer screen.
 

I thought back to the night I met Van, thought about how he’d found me, feeling the letter in my pocket like it was on fire. I should have shredded it. Burned it. Dropped it off the tallest building I could climb without getting arrested. But the thought of destroying it made me feel sick. Though clearly I needed to get rid of it.

The only other option was to give it to him.

That
thought made me feel even worse. It was the last tie to him. I’d left him alone, promised him I wouldn’t come back. But if I could just give him the letter and know he at least knew the whole story, then I would have done everything. It was low impact. No confrontation. A way to say what I needed to say without requiring a response.

The train had left the station, the decision clicking into place without even considering talking myself out of it.

A number of problems arose as I ticked through options on how to get it to him without seeing him. I could mail it to him, but that seemed weird, to put a stamp on something so personal and drop it in a post box. I could go to his place, but I’d either have to knock on his door or risk leaving it at his door and it getting lost. I could give it to George, but involving someone else felt wrong, too.
 

And then I thought to take it to the gallery. It was right there, just around the corner. I could go by, drop it off on his desk when he left the front. It was the only way I could see it working.
 

It was exciting and terrifying to consider, because I knew that giving it to him would be followed by anxiety — Would he call? — and relief because it would be done. The compulsion to do it hijacked my brain, and I slipped my hand into my pocket to close my fingers around the envelope.
 

I looked up when the bell rang again to catch sight of Chase’s back as he left the shop, and Morgan slipped in next to me again with wide eyes.

“Oh my God, that was so weird.”

“Thanks for not giving me up to him. I was not prepared to have that conversation with a stranger.”

Morgan shook her head. “No way. That would have upped the awkward by like three hundred. Are you okay?”

I nodded. “I think so.”

“Van’s apparently not over you if Chase had to track him down at the gallery.”

Surprise jolted through me. “What?”

“You didn’t hear him? He said he hadn’t seen Van in weeks. He hasn’t been running with them or hanging out. Chase went by to check on him.”

Jill finally looked up from her math, looking confused. “Van?”

Morgan rolled her eyes. “Keep up, Jilly. Van’s friend just came in here, a guy I know.”

Jill blinked. “What the hell?”

“Right? He just gave me the low on Van. Or at least whatever he thinks he knows. Sounds like Van hasn’t told him much.”

I shifted in my seat. “Yeah, I’m not really sure how one tells their friend that the girl they were dating ended up being a professional thief.”

Morgan made a face at me. “I don’t know. I’m with Erin. I think you need to try to talk to him again.”

“I know what you all think, but it’s not your decision to make. I’ve got to handle this on my own, my own way. Can’t you guys just respect that, please?”

She put her hands up in surrender. “Fine. We’re just all sick of watching you torture yourself.”

I fumed. “Trust me, no one’s more tired of it than me. I’m trying, Morgan.” I snapped my laptop closed and slipped it into my pack. They watched me stand. “You good, Jill?”

Jill nodded, though her eyes were sad. “Yeah, I’ll see you at home.”

I jerked my hand in a wave and walked out.

I thumbed the letter in my pocket as I approached his gallery, nerves flitting through me as I talked myself in and out of it, around and around in a circle. I came to a stop across the street, scanned the gallery looking for him, but it was empty. It was my chance. I could leave the letter on his desk, wouldn’t even have to see him or talk to him, but I had to do it now. I took a deep breath and crossed the street, pulled open the door and stepped inside to quiet music. Willed my feet to carry me to the counter with trembling hands, the tension screwing tighter with each step. My stomach dropped when I saw that the surface was littered with photographs. I picked one up, unable to breathe.
 

It was me, the last time we’d run together. I was standing on the ledge with my back to him, the city stretching up in columns all around me. The sun flared between a gap in the buildings.
 

A door closed in the back of the building, snapping me back into the moment. I dropped the photo and pulled the letter out of my pocket, laying it on top of the picture before I turned and bolted out the door. I never saw him as he came out to find it there, find me gone. But I imagined it a thousand times.

Van -

The things I didn’t say to you that night have followed me like a ghost. I had to put them down on paper, get them out of my heart and head so I can find a way to move on.
 

I wish I’d told Jade from the start that I wouldn’t do it. That I wouldn’t lie to you, steal from you. I’ve lied my whole life, to myself more than anyone. I take what isn’t mine, but I didn’t want to do that to you. I wanted to be better than that. For you.

I should have stayed out of your life. If I could go back and choose again, I would have left you alone. I would sacrifice the moment that we had together, that second where I was yours and you were mine, if it meant I wouldn’t have hurt you. It was the only time in my life when I’d felt safe, and I betrayed that. I betrayed you.

There are no excuses for what I’ve done. I could have stopped it. I could have ended it. But no matter what I chose, I would lose something. And losing you was the only way out.

They said they would kill my sister. There was no choice to make, not really.

Everything I’ve done is for her, the stealing, the lies. Every penny I’ve made has been used to take care of her. I’m all she’s got. Jade knew exactly how to play me, and I let her.
 

Every decision I’ve made has put me where I am. It’s left me without you. It’s changed everything.

I don’t expect your forgiveness. But I want you to know that you were right about everything. What I felt for you was real, just as real as what you felt. You are superhuman. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted. You’re the person I wish I was. I wish I was good enough. I wish I hadn’t fucked up.

But more than anything, I want to thank you. You showed me what my life could be, what it was like to be understood and respected. What it was like to feel those things myself, for you, to want to give you everything I had, everything I could to make you happy. To live up to your vision of me. For the first time in my life, I felt right, connected. When I met you, I found myself. It was like coming up for air for the first time after a lifetime of drowning.

I’m sorry. The words will never be enough, though I’d say them a thousand times if it could make up for what I’ve done.