Letters to Burn

(Mason)

I stood in front of the bathroom mirror and pulled the bandage off my arm. I flexed my tricep into that amazing horseshoe shape that made panties wet. My fresh ink was looking really good. I threw the bandage out and grabbed the cream I had to apply to help the healing process. I put a little dab on my pointer and middle fingers and touched the back of my arm.

“You know, I could help with that,” a voice said.

Ah, shit.

I had forgotten about…her.

I looked at her reflection in the mirror. She was wearing one of my t-shirts. There was nothing sexier than a woman in my shirt, but thanks to Violet, that was fucking tainted. I couldn’t stand it anymore. It didn’t look the same.

I wasn’t ready for this shit just yet.

“Hey, I fucked up the other night,” I said to her.

“What do you mean?”

“I shouldn’t have brought you back here.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m going through some shit…”

“Seriously?” she asked. “Are you turning into a pussy?”

This chick had a little fight in her, and it was fun for the two hours it lasted. She liked to scratch, claw, and bite. She liked to be on top and try to command me. The fighting while fucking was actually a little hot. Hot enough to remind me that there was a pulse deep inside the cavity of my chest.

“I’m married,” I said.

Shit. I had never used that card before to get rid of a woman.

“Fuck you.”

“I’m serious. She’ll be home any minute. You want to face that? Good luck.”

“You’re actually telling me the truth? You’re married?”

“Her name’s Stacey,” I said. “By all means, hang around. Meet her. You two could throw slaps, pull hair, whatever. Fuck, maybe we can ask her to a threesome.”

The woman grabbed my shirt and took if off her beautiful body. She was goddamn tight in all the right places. A killer body. One that I should have gone after again right there and told her the truth about my so-called marriage to Stacey. Instead, I just raised an eyebrow and grinned.

“Looks good from here. I bet my wife will love you. I can see her kissing all along your sweet, tight cu-”

“Asshole,” she said.

“I can go there too,” I said. “I got no restrictions. You’d be amazed how good that could feel.”

“This is why I don’t let guys at a bar pick me up,” she said.

“But you did,” I said. “Wait, did you hear that? I think I heard a car door close. My wife is getting close.”

“I hate you, asshole,” she said.

That’s all I needed to hear.

I waited and listened to her gather her clothes and leave.

Truthfully, my wife was nowhere to be found. That was a good thing too. I had no business in her life, and she had none in mine. That one crazy fucking night in Vegas was still nipping at my ass like a bored puppy dog looking for attention.

Once the apartment was clear, I went back to the bedroom. It had the lingering smell of a woman’s body and sex. I went to my dresser and opened the top drawer. The same drawer where Violet had found the letters I had written to Kate. That ripped open a wound nobody was supposed to know about. But I let Violet in. Even if I didn’t give her the truth about who Kate really was.

I wondered if Violet thought Stacey was Kate.

Damn, talk about an even bigger mess if that were true.

“Fuck,” I whispered.

I grabbed a notebook and a pen.

I made a promise I would always write to Kate. I would keep her involved in my life because she meant that much to me. For as much as I wanted the world to hate me, when it came to Kate, I didn’t want to let her down. Yet I did just that. I let her down every single day I spent living the way I did.

I took a detour through the kitchen for a bottle of whiskey, then sat on the floor next to the main window in my apartment. It was quiet and dark, except for a little lamp plugged into the wall that I kept on the floor.

I got to work.

Dear Kate,

Sometimes I ask myself, ‘what else is there to write to her, man?’ but I always come up with something new. Or lately, maybe I’m just repeating myself and don’t quite know it. Hell, maybe even you don’t know it. It’s not like you get these letters, right? You’re not sitting on the edge of your bed, butterflies in your stomach, sliding your finger along the edge of the envelope. Opening the letter and reading it. Letting all these words sink into you in a way that I always wished I could have and would have in person.

What the fuck happened to the time, Kate? Remember when we were young and everything was implied? It was like life was one big adventure and an even bigger promise. But time sweeps the fuck in like a jagged chisel and just takes what it wants. One year can age a man, another year can kill him. It doesn’t make any fucking sense to me.

I’ve spent so much time trying to find a way to spend my time and yet here I am, sitting here, writing to you.

I know you want to know about Violet. And everything that happened. I wonder what you would have done to me if I got married in Vegas. If I came back and told you what happened. Shit, you would have beaten me up. We both know I would have let you beat me up. I can’t talk about what happened in Vegas though. It’s not important. What’s important right now is Violet. I know, I haven’t contacted her. Why would I? She walked away, Kate. She left, just like you left.

I got another tattoo. I’m not sure how many that is now. You’d probably not even know who I was if you walked by me. I don’t even recognize myself sometimes. It’s why I stayed guarded and stuck to a plan. But that plan got fucked up. Violet fucked up that plan. You did too, Kate. I loved you and I never thought love like that could exist again. But then it did. With Violet.

She’s gone. You’re gone. The woman I just fucked is gone too. I didn’t even get her name. I didn’t give a shit to get her name either. I don’t even remember what it felt like. What she tasted like.

I don’t even

I stopped writing. I ripped the piece of paper out of the notebook and folded it up.

I took a big gulp of the whiskey and let my insides catch on fire for a little bit. It tasted great. I looked around the apartment. Being alone was my thing, but it was finally wearing on me. I thought about Hunter. There was a split-second back at the garage that I regretted giving it to him. I thought maybe he really did need my help, and I could distract myself.

All because of Violet.

Fuck, all because of myself, too.

With another drink of whiskey, it was time to write again.

Dear Violet,

I just wrote a letter to Kate. Remember her? No, you don’t. You never met her and you never will. You found out about her while trying to be fucking cute and steal my boxers. Because I stole your panties. I still write Kate letters. I don’t know if that will ever change. When you were here it didn’t seem all that important to write her because I knew the one thing she wanted me to have was you. Yeah, she never met you, but you were the one I was looking for. Not actually looking, but stumbling across at the right time.

The second I saw you…any woman I fucked, I thought of you. Making them scream my name. Making the headboard smash against the wall. That was to get your attention. Yeah, sure, I was like some punk ass kid, greedy for attention, setting shit on fire to get someone to look at me. But that’s the world I know. It’s the world I want to hate me. Hate is so much easier, Violet. You hate me right now. And that’s easy. You get to think about all the bad shit I’ve done and you get to feel proud that you walked the fuck away. You don’t have to stick it out here. Give me a chance to tell you the truth. I mean, that’s all you ever wanted from me. The truth. Then the truth came knocking and you judged. You fucking ran. I didn’t chase you, Violet. Hate me for that too.

Did you want me to chase you? Spin you around? Tell you everything?

Sorry, babe, that’s not how this works for me. You know where to find me. You think for a second I was gunning to break your heart? Shit. I told you I was. I told you I was going to ruin you. I told you I was going to pop the sweet cherry between your legs and ruin any shred of innocence that was left dangling from those pretty eyes of yours. I gave it all to you upfront. And you wanted more. You craved more. You craved me. I gave all of that to you, Violet.

Then I fell in love with you. You fell in love with the addiction to me. But the needle stung too hard, didn't it? You didn’t like to be bitten that fierce. You never said stop though, babe. You just grabbed your bags and left.

At least we can say we showed each other the other side of the world, right? I showed you the darkest corners of lust. The tattered edges of crazy sex. I put you against the wall and made you feel things you never knew existed. And to me…well…you managed to reach into that black cave inside my chest and find the last few beats of a heart that stopped beating a long fucking time ago.

If I told you the truth about Kate you wouldn’t understand. Same with Stacey, my wife. Yeah, big fucking deal. I have a wife. You didn’t take a breath and let me tell you who she was and why I did what I did.

Keep running, Violet.

Eventually you’ll circle the world and be right back where you started.

Facing me.

I signed the letter aggressively and grabbed for more whiskey. This time, I drank heavy. I read the letters again, first in my head, then out loud. I folded them both up and stood. My hand shot out and slapped against the window, leaving a handprint as I caught my balance. Goddamn whiskey had a funny way of creeping up on you.

Kind of like Violet.

I regained my balance and walked—stumbled—my way to the kitchen. I put the letters on the counter and looked down into the sink. For a second, I saw two drains. Then they merged into one again. I grabbed the letters, opened them, and put them into the sink.

Next to the sink was a little white bottle of lighter fluid. I twisted the cap off and poured some onto the letters. I opened the drawer next to the sink and took out a book of matches. Funny as it was, it was from a local strip club. On the back was the phone number of a stripper who wanted a little after-hours party in my pants.

The matches turned out to be more useful.

Hate me all you want…I don’t give a shit.

I struck a match and dropped it into the sink.

Flames instantly shot up, engulfing the two letters I had just written.

This had become my nightly routine. Standing at the edge of my sink, watching my own letters burn. Watching the paper curl up, burn, turn to ash.

The fire licked the air, the heat gently caressing my face.

My words were reduced to nothing. There would be no evidence that I wrote either Kate or Violet a letter. That way, nobody could ever find out what I was hiding inside myself. Violet had broken me open worse than Kate ever did. And the two of them were gone.

I turned on the water, killed what remained of the flame, and turned to go get my bottle of whiskey and finish it off with the night. I paused, glancing back at the counter, at the matches.

Grinning, I looked at the phone number on the back. One call could change my night.

I’d be lonely, but that didn’t mean I’d be alone.