Page 8 of PS: I Hate You
Are the two of them fighting?
I shake my head and snort in self-disgust. Back in my hometown for a week and I’m already falling into my old habits. Namely, creepily observing Dom and Rosaline’s relationship.
The two of them started dating in high school, and because of the massive crush I had on my brother’s best friend, I became self-destructively fascinated with the girl who had Dom’s heart. As if knowing every nuance of their relationship would somehow make him want me.
I thought I got over the habit when I left for college, but here I am, yet again trying to work out the meaning behind their interactions.
Stop it, you weirdo. There are more important things.
Like the letter in my hands.
“Do you want to read—”
“Yes,” I cut Dom off. “I will readmyletter.” And do my best to pretend Josh left these words for me, and only me.
With twitchy fingers, I carefully tear along the edge of the seal, finding comfort in the pressure needed to break through the sturdier paper of this legal envelope. The thing is hardy, equipped to hold a large letter. Maybe more.
More of Josh.
I see a slip of white and tug that out first, finding a handwritten note from my brother on a nice piece of parchment with a tiny compass emblem at the top. Joshwouldgo fancy for his last words. He was always the type to buy a beautiful journal and use it, while I would purchase one, carefully arrange it on my shelf, and wait for the day when I had something special to write down in the pages. Something worthy of the exterior.
Those days never seemed to come.
Josh knew how to take advantage of beautiful things while he had the time.
“What does it say?” Dom asks, the tension in his voice shoving me out of my memory of my brother where, for a brief breath, my mind was relaxed enough to forget he’s gone.
But now the fact blares like oncoming headlights in a pitch-black night, blinding me and setting off a pounding headache.
Gritting my teeth, I breathe through my nose until my aggravation dims to a manageable level.
“Dear Maddie,” I read, “my beloved sister, and Mr.Responsible Asshole—”
“That’s not what it says.” The man leans closer, over my shoulder as if he’s going to bypass me entirely.
“I’m the one reading.” I turn away from him, pressing the letteragainst my chest and glaring into a set of brown eyes that are too soft for the hard man behind them.
“If you don’t read it right, I’m gonna take it from you.”
And because he can follow through on that threat, I stop editing the letter and decide to read it as my brother wrote it.
“Fine.” I clear my throat and begin again.
Dear Maddie, my beloved sister, and Dom, my best friend,
I’m not ready to say goodbye.
My voice catches, grief a tripping hazard for my words. But I swallow and carry on.
I think that if I had died fifty years from now, I still would have felt like there were adventures left for me in the world. But time is running out. I’m writing to you from a bed I can’t leave anymore. Still, the urge stays with me. To get up and go and see more. To see everything.
Once again, I pause and breathe and try not to drown in hatred at the unfairness of the world. That a man like my brother, who wanted to live so badly, didn’t get even half the life that most do. I continue.
I’m not ready to say goodbye, but I know I have to. I have to say it to the world, and I have to say it to you two. But I don’t have to say it yet.
My eyes snap up to the door, as if Josh will step through and smile and tell me he’s not gone. Not yet. We don’t have to say goodbye today.
The door stays closed.