Cyprus

I hate him! I hate him!

I hate. . .

Hate was a strong word. It wasn't a word that should be tossed around. People say it all the time, but I don't think anyone really stops to think about what it means.

Hate: Intense hostility and aversion usually deriving from fear, anger, or sense of injury. An extreme dislike or disgust.

Did I really hate Birch? No.

I hated how he lied to me. I hated that he had kept such a sensitive secret from me for all these years, knowing that it was all I ever wanted.

I wanted to know who I was.

He had been there through my tears, through my countless sobbing rambles as I went on and on about needing to know. He had rubbed my back and held me when I was at my worst. When I couldn't go to school because there was no history to give them, when I couldn't go to a regular doctor because my name and birthday were unknown.

He stood by me and hugged me, kissing my forehead and whispering sweet nothings into my ear just so I felt special when I thought the world had forgotten about me. When I felt abandoned and unloved, Birch gave me what I craved.

And all that time he had the key to what I needed.

How could he do this?!

Slamming the bedroom door, I threw myself into a rage and started kicking things on the floor. I punched the wall, I stomped a picture of Birch and I on the floor, crunching my heel into the shattered glass.

My hands were in my hair and my heart was racing, I could barely function. All I wanted to do was break stuff. I wanted to get this all out, destroy everything I could get my hands on just to release the anger that was settling inside my chest.

I want it all gone! Everything!

Darting to the bed, I pulled the diary out and held it by the binding, ready to destroy the one thing that had brought all this back. My fingers clutched the worn leather, twisting it back and forth.

When something fell out from inside. A square piece of paper, folded in half, floated to the ground like a falling leaf. Next to it was a picture, face down, with a handwritten date penned on the back.

What the hell is this?

July, two thousand and eleven?

Bending down, I picked up the paper and photo. Flipping the image over, I stared at it unable to blink.

It was Birch and I, smiling with our arms around each other and a crumbled sandcastle between us. I remembered the picture, I remembered the day it was taken and how happy I felt at the time.

We had spent all day building that damn sandcastle, only for it to fall apart right when Valentina snapped the picture. Nick was sitting in the background under the umbrella, laughing his ass off. Birch and I were covered in sand, our cheeks rosy and bright red from staying in the sun all day.

And that night. . . That was the first night we made love.

Just thinking about it made my heart hammer inside my chest and my sex throb with shadowed memories of his cock entering me for the first time. His parents had gone out to dinner and movie, and we had the entire house to ourselves.

We hadn't planned on that being the night, but it turned out to be the greatest night of my life.

Dropping to the floor, I tucked the picture back in the diary and unfolded the paper. It looked old, like it had been written years before. The white was now tinted a faded yellow, the ink had sweat and bled out around the edges.

I could never have prepared myself for what was written. Words that had been sealed away and forgotten with my thoughts.

Dear F,

I can not give you the answers you are looking for. I can't even begin to understand what this might be like for you. But I want to help. I want to fix it. The man is not as bad as you might think, he's actually a pretty good guy.

I know you don't see it now, and I know it might be hard for you to ever see it. But I think things are going to work out. At least I hope they will work out, I guess we won't really know until the time comes.

You know you're right. Your dreams will take you back, you will always have that, even if you don't remember it when you wake up. I promise you that somewhere inside, when your eyes close and you fall asleep, you will see your parents again.

You were wondering if I was like you, if I was here because he made me. Well, I am like you in a way, I also wasn't given a choice. Except, I'm here because I have to be, not because he took me, but because I was born into this. I wish I could answer all your questions and give you what you want. I'm sorry I can't.

But I can tell you one thing. I don't know if it will help, but I sit in the right corner because that was where he used to make me sit when I was punished. I guess it's habit and nothing more than that. It's not really my favorite spot, I just go there because I'm used to it.

I hope one day you get the answers you're looking for. And I hope one day we can really be friends, I'd like that. I want you to trust me, I tried not to lie to you, but somethings aren't for me to say.

I know you'll probably never read this letter, not if what he wants to do works. All of this will probably just get burned up, turned into ashes so no one ever sees it. He's out there looking for you now. I'm supposed to go help him after I remove your stuff from this room, but I had to do this first.

If you do get to read this, I just want you to know that I'm sorry.

I'm sorry this happened.

I'm sorry you're scared and confused.

I'm sorry you lost your parents the way you did.

I know it's not really my fault, but I also know my father will never say these things to you. You didn't deserve this and none of this was your fault. So don't ever think that you did something wrong, because you didn't.

I'm also sorry that I read your diary.

I hope you find peace, F. I hope your life goes on and you get everything you wish for.

I hope that we meet on the other side and you don't remember us this way. Because there is so much I feel for you that I can't understand.

All I can do is hope that things will get better for all of us.

—B

Dropping the note, my heart slammed inside my chest. He's always loved me, just like I've always loved him. . .