55. Gideon
55
GIDEON
T he water in my bathtub had long gone cold, but I didn’t care. I stayed for hours, rereading every single sentence she wrote, memorizing each word, each curve of her horrific handwriting.
When I had written earlier amidst the suffocating darkness, I didn’t expect her to write back. And yet, when she surprisingly did, her scribbles awoke my inner soul from slumber; drew me out of the abyss, as life itself bloomed within me.
I really miss you, Gideon.
She actually missed me and, in fact, admitted to it in writing.
A boyish smile crept up my lips. A smile that stayed even as I cleaned my blood-stained armor, even as I climbed into my bed, even as I closed my eyes, attempting to fall asleep.
The girl that carved my heart out and stole it, missed me.
And for once, the gloomy world seemed brighter.