Chapter Thirty Nine
Bridgette
Brad finally went home after I insisted there was no need for him to stay the night on my couch. I’m not on suicide watch anymore; that was what my three days in the hospital was for. Brad isn’t so easily convinced, though. He left under the promise that I would call him immediately if the bad thoughts got too loud or I needed him. I promised, and finally, he left.
I’m so grateful for him, for how much he cares. He just doesn’t quite get it, though. It’s not like I have these bad thoughts in my head. I don’t have the devil whispering me sweet nothings, taunting me to draw a knife against my skin or a gun in my mouth. I just wanted…peace, quiet. I wanted to be done. I don’t have an ultra emo depressive ache inside me. I’m just...numb, or I was.
I was, until I woke up in the hospital with Maggie clinging to me like I was the only thing that mattered. I was, until I saw her beautiful green eyes filled with unshed tears for me. I was, until the nurse told me the reason my ribs hurt so much is because Maggie herself did chest compressions on me for over five minutes before they had to physically pry her off of me.
Even if all of her actions were just out of the goodness in her heart, that she didn’t want to see another human suffer, that she wanted to do everything in her capability to save someone’s life; it stirred up something inside me that I didn’t know I was still able to feel.
Hope.
My therapy session today was a bit of an awkward one. I don’t open up easily, or at all, so it was mostly us just staring at each other for fifty minutes while Brad sat in the waiting room. Before I left, Ariel, my therapist, tasked me with one thing. Write a letter.
I had opened up about writing being my creative outlet and she practically lit up. She told me to write a letter, to a person or just to myself. She said that it could be about anything or nothing at all. She just wanted me to spew all the words in my head and get them onto the page. She called it offloading or something.
A few hours ago, I had no intention of doing her dumb little homework project. The more I thought about it, though, the more clutter began to fill my head. It became overwhelming, and soon, a pen and a piece of paper were the only things to silence it.
My hand knew before my brain did that I was writing a letter to Maggie. From there, everything flowed so….effortlessly. Just like it always is with her. I apologized for the other day in my room. I knew she was taken. I knew her self-restraint was wavering, and I pushed her anyway. As sorry as I am for putting her in a hard position, I’m not sorry it happened. I’m not sorry I got to feel her body against mine one more time, that I got to taste her and have her taste me. I’m not sorry that I got to feel her lips pressed to mine, and I’m definitely not sorry I got to experience that overwhelmingly light butterfly feeling in my stomach only she can give me.
Honestly, I’m not sure how sorry I am. To Maggie, sure. To Maryia? That bitch can get fucked.
A white envelope slips under my door, grabbing my attention. Furrowing my brows, I slip out of bed and move to grab it. When I do, my heart thuds out of beat for a moment. There is no name, no postage. Just a black lipstick kiss pressed against the front.
Maggie?
I tear open the envelope faster than I’d like to admit, practically scrambling for the page as I quickly read it.
Baby B,
Are you sick of that nickname? Honestly, it started out as a joke. It’s not even that cute, but for some reason, I like it. Do you?
I’m not all eloquent and shit like you are, and I won’t pretend to be. You said something that stuck out to me, though. You spoke about Deliverance. The very definition is to be set free. What kind of Deliverance were you seeking? The kind where you could be set free from societal norms, pressures, and judgement? The kind where you could be set free from your own expectations, faults, and mistakes? Or maybe just the general kind? To be set free from the burdens of life, from the pain. To be set free from monsters like your father or Thomas Booth? Neither of us can pretend those men aren’t up there alongside Christopher Putnam on the evil scale.
Regardless of what Deliverance you were seeking, I have to ask, did you find it? Did you find what you were looking for? I know you’re in a delicate state of mind currently, and I need to be conscious of that. I probably wouldn’t be able to say half of this stuff to your face, but maybe that’s why paper is so good. I’m seeing the appeal.
Fuck you, Bridgette Brenton. Fuck you for trying to escape this world and leave me behind. Fuck you for making me walk in and find your limp, lifeless body like that. Fuck you for showing me how beautiful and wonderful life can be before snatching it away with a sloppy fucking blowjob. Fuck you for making me love you.
I thought I was over what happened this summer, that I moved on. In some ways, I did. Not in all the ways that count, though. If the other day was a testament to anything, it’s that your heart calls to mine like no other. Your soul speaks to mine in a language all their own.
You’re right, we are stuck in an endless loop of pain, which is why it’s for the best that we aren’t together. That doesn’t mean I don’t want you in my life. Quite the opposite. For seven minutes and forty-two seconds, I didn’t know if you were alive or dead. I didn’t know if I’d ever get to see you smile or hear your laugh. Didn’t know if I’d ever get to hold you or smell your sweet perfume or tell you that I have been hopelessly in love with you for far longer than I would have preferred.
I wish it was as simple as I love you, you love me, we grow old together, the end. Obviously, life isn’t that easy for us, our world isn’t that easy. I have a girlfriend who loves me, and you’re getting married…we are destined to never be together. Just because I can’t have you in all the ways my soul craves, doesn’t mean I won’t take whatever I’m able to have.
So, if this is all I can have, if this is the only way I can have you, a series of gut wrenching,, soul exposing letters where we can be ourselves and speak our firmest truths, so be it. Even the tiniest amount of Bridgette Brenton in my life is better than a thousand lives without, I can promise that.
All of the love I possibly have to give,
Maggie
I don’t realize I’m crying until I feel the first tear roll down my face. Clutching the paper to my chest, I let out a soft sob as I shake my head. Not eloquent? That dumb bitch just wrote me the most beautifully heartbreaking love note to ever exist. Shakespeare level tragedy lives within her words. To love but never truly have. To want but never touch. Only staying connected, only existing between exchanged parchment and ink.
It’s more than enough for me, though.
Grabbing another piece of paper, I begin drafting a response immediately, a buzz of excitement tingling at the tips of my fingers as I do.
* * *
It’s been two weeks of Maggie and I sending letters to each other. Thomas has been in Europe or Asia or wherever on business, which has been a godsend. Then again, I suspect he’s less away on business and more in hiding since the Brethren fell.
Oh, did I mention that too casually?
Technically, the Brethren did not ‘fall.’ It is still very much thriving, but the power of control has shifted. No one really knows what happened. All everyone is talking about is that all the position holding Elders are dead, their Legacies taking their place. Which means the new leader of the Brethren is none other than Asher Putnam.
Besides that huge bombshell, nothing else has really changed. It’s life as usual except for a few addendums to our standards and ways of doing things. Arranged marriages are no longer tolerated. Any union has to be willingly entered into by both parties. No exceptions. My father was furious about that one, whereas I could have literally jumped to the moon with joy.
Do I think Asher eliminating arranged marriages will stop my father from trying? Absolutely not. Do I think that if he did try to strong arm me, the new Brethren Elders would help me? Unlikely, seeing as the seat holders are Asher, who stabbed me with a fork, Liam, who hates my guts, Jeremy, who is sour I didn’t fall for him, Dane, who is his best friend, and a few others.
Regardless, the odds are definitely not in my favor. Thomas going underground is a good sign. A lot of the older members have been laying low. If the rumors are true and the Legacies murdered their own parents, what’s to stop them from taking out everyone in the old generation?
Another addendum is that sexual orientation and gender identity are no longer…enforced, I suppose? Before, someone being openly queer was grounds for, well, death. The way some, like Liam and Maggie, had been able to escape such a fate is beyond me, but I couldn’t be more relieved. It’s the twenty first century, it’s about time we stopped giving a shit who loves who or who fucks who. It’s nobody’s goddamn business.
Nothing has happened between me and Maggie since that first day she brought me home. She feels so guilty, but I told her that it was on me, that it wouldn’t happen again, and to not ruin a good thing with Maryia because of it. It fucking damn near killed me to write all that out, and I didn’t mean a goddamn word of it, but I knew it was what she needed to hear. I just want her to be happy.
It's the last week of school, and the place is practically a ghost town with all the seniors taking their exams early. It’s crazy to think that next year I’ll be a senior, and then the next year…well, I guess for once my future is finally in my hands. I just wish I didn’t feel like it was so damn bleak. Set aside Thomas and any other arrangements my father would no doubt try to set up for me, I’m still alone. No friends, no mom, a horrible father, a stoner brother…okay, I take that last one back.
Brad has been amazing since my…incident. He’s always checking on me, dropping by with dinner, or offering to take me out for the day. He still drives me to all of my therapy sessions, though if I’m honest, I know he really does that so he can make sure I’m still going. I don’t care, though. The support is nice, the relationship is nice. We haven’t been this close since he moved out, and I didn’t realize how much I really missed my brother.
I’m making my way through the courtyard when I see a familiar redhead coming around the corner. A smile spreads across my face as she makes her way toward me and we stop just a few inches shy of each other.
“Hi,” I say.
“Hey,” Maggie says before rifling through her bag. “Here.”
She hands me a white card and I feel my smile disappear. I can’t lie that I wished it was another letter from her. I’m still waiting for her to write me back. Then again, we never hand them off to each other, typically we slide them under each other’s doors. It’s a little less confrontational, more anonymous. I know it gives me the comfort I need to write anything and everything I want on that page without any fear of judgment. Not like Maggie would ever judge me about anything. I’m convinced she’s the only person in the world who truly cares for who I am to my core. Still, I haven’t shared everything with her, so maybe I’m speaking too soon.
Flipping over the card, I can’t help but feel shocked.
You are cordially invited to the union of Skyla Putnam to Asher Putnam, Liam Walcott, Ronan Putnam, Vincent Griggs, and Wesley Preston.
They’re getting married? Or I guess unioned? Is that a thing? Apparently so, or at least Asher has deemed it so. Why am I invited, though?
“Skyla wanted me to make sure that got to you,” Maggie says.
I give her a disbelieving look, and she laughs, nodding.
“I gotta be honest, I’m surprised, too. I think if you took the time to get to know her, you’d see what a ridiculously big heart she has, though.”
Big enough for five men, apparently.
Fuck, okay. I know that was bitchy. I’m working on it.
“It’s this Saturday. Kind of last minute, but if you’re not busy…?” Maggie shrugs.
I nod. “I’ll think about it.”
Maggie looks like she’s going to step away when she pauses.
“That invitation is just for you, no plus one.”
“Is that you telling me or Skyla?” I question.
A look of want tinged with sadness enters her eyes as she gives me a soft smile.
“Definitely me.”
I can’t help but smile at that.
“Well, if I can’t bring a date, then you can’t e?—”
“Baby!” Maryia says as she comes out of nowhere, pressing a kiss to Maggie’s cheek before slipping her arm around her waist. “Oh, hi, Bridgette. I didn’t see you there.”
Sure you didn’t, you stupid cunt.
I dislike Maryia for a lot more reasons other than her being with Maggie. For example, she’s a world class bitch, and I should know. She rivals me. The only difference is instead of owning it, she hides it behind this sugary sweet exterior that I’m not sure Maggie can even see through. It’s all an act, a mask. She comes across all sweet and loving but really, she’s just a possessive, controlling asshole. Good. She should be possessive. If she lets her guard down for even a second, I’m stealing what’s always been mine, and she won’t be able to do a goddamn thing about it.
I wonder how smug she’d be if she knew barely two weeks ago, I was eating her girlfriend’s cunt while she was devouring my pussy like I’m the best thing she’s ever tasted. I’d never hurt Maggie like that, but god, the satisfaction I’d get from dropping that bombshell on her is unparalleled.
Maryia’s eyes move down to the invitation in my hand, her eyebrows shooting up to her mousy brown rat’s nest excuse of hair.
“Wow, so you’re coming?”
Well, to be honest, I hadn’t planned on it. Why on earth would I want to go to a wedding union thing between the guy I was obsessed with for a majority of my life to a girl I bullied, while the girl I’m hopelessly in love with stands by her side with her girlfriend? Pass. The way Maryia’s irritation is practically seeping through her skin, however, has me changing my mind.
“Yeah, I think I am. Thank you, and tell Skyla I said thank you.”
Maggie nods, her eyes flicking between me and Maryia uneasily. We all stand there awkwardly for several seconds before Maryia practically yanks Maggie away, lacing their hands together as they walk towards the parking lot.
My self-satisfied smile at pissing Maryia off slips away quickly as I watch them go. She doesn’t even deserve Maggie. Neither do I, but she sure as hell doesn’t. I hope Maggie realizes that. I hope she knows that if things were different, if I could go back…they’d be different.