Aubrey
My mom doesn’t know where I live. She does, however, know where I work. So, when I get a call on the radio telling me I have a visitor at reception, I know it’s her.
I leave my cleaning trolley outside room 302 and take the elevator down to the ground level. Mom stands a few feet from the desk, wringing her hands. She’s nervous. She should be. Whenever we’re together, things are hostile at best. When I get to her, she asks, “Have you got a break coming up?”
“No.”
“Maybe I can come back—”
“No.”
“Aubrey.”
I drop the facade. “I’m on the clock, Mom, so I can’t really talk… what are you doing here?”
She reaches into her bag, reveals two envelopes. “You have mail.”
I take them from her, recognize the handwriting on both.
Mom says, “I thought you should have them right away. They look personal. Do you know who they’re from?”
My pulse spikes. My hands shake. “Thank you for bringing them to me,” I say. Then I turn around, shove the letters in my back pocket, and promise to keep them there until I’m home, alone, where I don’t have to hide my reaction… or my emotions.
* * *
After work, I go straight to my room, where I sit in the middle of the bed, legs crossed, drapes of white satin surrounding me. I stare down at the letters, trying to decide which one to read first or if I should read them at all.
One is addressed to Aubrey O’Sullivan.
The other: Miss Red.
I pick up the letter from Logan, hold it to my heart, then to my ear. I shake it. I’ve known that there was something more than just paper in there since the second Mom handed it to me. Curiosity filled my mind the entire day. Fear filled my heart.
“Just do it, Aubrey,” I whisper to myself, my eyes closing. I unseal the envelope and reach inside. Metal. Cold. My eyes snap open, and I empty the contents onto my palm. I hold the flattened penny under my nose, my eyes widening when I read the words etched into the metal, etched into my soul: You + Me.
Dear Aubrey,
I’m sorry for everything I’ve put you through. I don’t think I realized until too late that my actions and mistakes have consequences on anyone other than just myself. The past seventy-two hours in this hospital room have helped me see that. My family—they’ve helped me through it. I don’t know who’s helping you, but I hope someone is. And I hope that someone is there to help you realize that you’re a victim in this, too. Maybe not in the same way I was, but still… you are. And there’s nothing wrong with feeling that.
Lucy and Amanda, my therapist, have found a treatment center for me to attend. It’s in Florida. Apparently, I won’t be able to call or write or keep in touch with anyone besides Lucy. I don’t know if that’s something you expect or even something you want. For me, I’d like to know that you’re doing okay. Selfishly, I’d like to think that you’ll think of me sometimes and wonder the same. Even more selfishly, I’d like to believe that you’ll never stop loving me. Because as hard as I’ve tried, as much as I’ve fought it, I’m still crazy in love with you, Aubrey. And I don’t know what that means or if there’s anything I can do about it.
I’m going to be taking this letter with me to the treatment center. My therapist says I can use it as a journal to look back on my progress. If I send it to you, it won’t be until after I get out. If I send it to you, it means that I want you to read it.
* * *
It’s been two weeks, and I want nothing more than to see you. Or to call you. I’d give anything just to hear your voice. The detox is killing me, the rehab… I don’t even know. I think the worst part, though, is the therapy. There’s so much of it so many times a day, and right now, I feel like all it’s doing is making me face my mistakes. Every day, the people here are trying to force me to come to terms with all the events that led me to where I am now. I wish I could say that it’s been easy, that the path was written before I knew there was a path…
While talking about it all, I realized that you—you probably have no idea what happened, what set it off, what triggered all of this.
On the day I left you, there was a letter in the mailbox. It was a police report with your father’s name on it… a kid had come forward, someone I didn’t know… I didn’t read the whole thing, but just enough. His name—your dad’s—made my skin crawl. I thought that was bad enough, but then I flipped the page over and there you were… hair too red and too wild and missing teeth and too many freckles and you were in his arms and your mom was there and I knew… I knew who he was to you…
You don’t have the same last name and I don’t know why.
I thought you lied to me about it.
I thought you knew about me.
I thought you came into my life to ruin it like he had done.
I thought so many things, and all I wanted was to stop thinking.
So I went to the source of mindless thoughts, to my dealer’s house, and I suppose that’s where it started. It was a whirlwind of desperation and destruction and…
I wasn’t lying the first time you asked me if I’d slept with someone else and I told you I don’t remember. I didn’t then.
I do now.
I don’t think I’ll ever be sorrier for anything in my life than I am for doing what I did. And I know it won’t make sense to you, that you won’t ever be able to forgive me, but… and this is where I get really fucking selfish, Aubrey… I didn’t do it to hurt you. I did it to hurt myself.
And I sit here in this empty room, and I picture you in your kitchen… the way you were… the way I destroyed you… and I realize that it was never about me.
Because you + me, we were never about just me.
And now it’s too little too late, but I’m sorry anyway.
* * *
Aubrey,
I started group therapy today. We were supposed to talk about one thing we looked forward to when all of this was over. People were talking about their kids, about holding them, loving them. I talked about our very first night together. It felt pathetic in comparison, but those people—they don’t know…
All it took was one girl.
One night.
For you to ask yourself one question.
I showed you what was beneath the bravado that night.
And you fell in love with me because of it.
Now I’m in my room again, and I can’t stop thinking about you.
* * *
Strands of scarlet wrapped around my fingers, and I lifted my gaze to your green-green eyes. The warmth of your nakedness coated my skin, and your forearms pressed down on my chest, your toes tickling my legs. My fingers crawled up and down your spine as the morning light bled through your bedroom window, turning scarlet to sunshine. “I like your bed, Red,” I told you.
You looked around. “Yeah?”
“I like the drapes, the way they surround us like this. Like there’s nothing and no one else. It’s just us, in our own little bubble. In our own little world.”
You smiled at me, the freckles on your nose shifting with the movement. Your fingers toyed with the lucky penny hanging around my neck, and you said, “Maybe you got this wrong…”
“The penny?”
You nodded. “Maybe it wasn’t about you finding luck, Logan. Maybe you are the luck. Maybe… maybe it’s meant for the person who finds you. Because I found you, and I feel pretty damn lucky that I did.”
I bit down on my lip, moved the hair from your eyes, and kissed the tip of your nose. You caught my lips with yours. Kissed me once. Then you settled your head on my chest. “I feel like I was destined to find you,” you murmured.
My fingers paused on your spine. “I feel like you were destined to save me.”
* * *
Aubrey,
I’ve been here for two months now, and every day this letter sits folded in my pocket. Every day, I read it. Every day, I realize that nothing’s changed. I don’t know if that’s progress. I don’t know what it means. All I know is that I think about you all day. I dream about you all night. I wake up, and you’re the first and only thing on my mind. My pillows don’t smell like you, and I hate that they don’t.
I’m going to stay, Red. I’m going to stay for you, for my family, and maybe even a little for me. Because I don’t want to fail anyone. I don’t want to fail you, Aubrey.
* * *
Red,
I made you a penny.
It’s not a lucky penny.
It’s a penny filled with hope.
My hope.
You + Me.