Chapter 30
Shay
“Landon had to leave town for a while, sweetheart,” Mima said after she returned from his place. I was glad that my grandmother checked in on him every Sunday. I had a feeling he needed it a lot that afternoon.
“Is he OK?” I asked, worried after not hearing from him. It wasn’t like him to not check in.
“He is. His mother texted me that he’s going to stay in Los Angeles with her for a while.”
A while? How long was a while?
“But he asked me to give you this letter,” Mima said. She handed me a folded piece of paper.
“He’s really broken, isn’t he, Mima?”
“Oh, honey . . . we’re all a little broken.
If you think anyone in this world doesn’t have cracks, scars, and a story, then you’re not looking close enough.
We weren’t brought into this world to be perfect; we were brought here to be human.
And with that comes a few broken parts. You don’t have to be perfect to love or be loved.
You just have to be brave enough to show the world your scars and call them beautiful. ”
“I love him.”
“Yes, and once you read that letter, I think it will be pretty clear that he loves you, too.”
She left me alone with the pages. I walked over to the couch, sat down, and as I crossed my legs, began reading Landon’s mind.
Chick,
Reading that word was enough to make my chest tighten with nerves. I pushed myself to continue even though I was afraid of what was coming next. Afraid of what his words would tell me, afraid of what his truths would reveal.
I hate myself, and that’s my truth.
Each day, I wake up and wonder why I’m here.
Why I’m fighting when everything feels hopeless.
I wonder what the point is, and that scares me.
I struggle to get out of bed, to exist in a way that looks normal to others.
When we first began our bet, you told me that I was fake, and that’s the truest thing I’ve ever been called.
I am fake.
I fake being popular.
I fake loving parties.
I fake being content with life.
I fake fitting in.
I am fake through every fiber of my soul—except for a small corner that’s real solely for you.
I love myself when I’m with you. Each day I wake up and think of you, and I know why I’m here.
I know why I’m fighting each day when everything feels hopeless.
I know what the point is, and that scares me.
It scares me how much I love myself when I’m with you, because what will happen when you’re gone?
Will I struggle to get out of bed? Will I struggle to exist in a way that looks normal to others? Will I be OK without you around?
It kills me, Shay. It kills me how I break down, how I crumble under the smallest ounce of pressure. It kills me that I snap so easily and have all this rage inside of me that I’m not sure how to control. It kills me that I hurt you.
I hate me for hurting you.
You are the realest thing in my life, and I had to push you away because I don’t think I’m what you need. What you deserve.
When I was younger, I thought about ending my life.
I don’t know if you recall, but I went through a pretty ugly-duckling season.
In sixth grade, I was bullied pretty badly, and I would come home crying every night.
My mom was so worried about me, which was why she quit her traveling job in order to be home with me.
The bullying was bad, though, and I didn’t know how to deal with my thoughts and emotions in an appropriate way.
Everything felt so wild and intense in my head that I’d get panic attacks.
That was the first time I hurt myself.
That was the first time I told my mom I thought about ending my life.
It never really got easier; I just got stronger.
Physically, at least. Emotionally and mentally, I was still a wreck.
Working out became my outlet, and my parents got me on some antidepressant medications.
They work a little. Not as much as I would like, but thankfully I don’t have those urges to hurt myself anymore.
I picked up drinking and drugs to quiet my mind a little more.
I tried to push the bad thoughts so far down that I’d almost forget they were there.
It worked until it didn’t. Then after losing Lance to an overdose, I knew I couldn’t keep down that line.
Even though I loved my uncle, I didn’t want to end up like his story. I didn’t want to follow his path.
I went cold turkey, and then came you.
You threw me for a loop. You brought light into a world that I thought would always be encompassed by shadows. You made me wish and hope and dream of a future I never really thought about.
I don’t want to die, Shay.
For the first time in my life, I want to live.
I want to find a way to feel alive on my own.
The way I feel when I’m around you is how I want to feel when I am alone.
I want to sit in the darkness and be OK with the sound of my own heartbeats.
I want to not struggle to get out of bed. I want to be OK with being by myself.
And then, I want to have you.
I want all of you, Shay, but not like this.
I want to get my mind right first, fix myself, so I can be yours.
So this is my formal letter to let you know that I’m working to never be fake again.
I won’t fake being popular.
I won’t fake loving parties.
I won’t fake being content with life.
I won’t fake fitting in.
It will be real. I’ll be real first for me and then for you.
I’m going to get help. I want to get better. I want this life more than I ever thought I could, and that’s because of you. You awakened me from so many nightmares, and for that, I owe you the world. When I’m better, I’ll find you. I promise.
I love you.
—Landon.
P.S.
I love you.
I said it once so you’d hear me.
Twice to leave an imprint.
I sat back on the couch, feeling a rush of emotions racing through me. Yet the one that stood out the most was the fact that he said he was going to get help. That alone made me cry. It took a strong man to admit to needing a hand.
I pulled out my phone and sent him a message.
Me: How’s your heart tonight?
It took him a few hours to answer, but relief swept through me as my phone dinged later that night.
Landon: Still beating.