Status: finished, until i decide to write an epilogue. i still may.
Folded Paper.
Allister Roberts.
It was an early Tuesday morning and before Allister even stepped foot out of bed to urinate like he did every morning, he retrieved his cell phone and and texted Hudson that he'd prefer a day alone. She texted back a mildly understanding reply and Allister was sure that she was pouting as she did so ("If that's what you want, then I'll comply. Text me when you decide otherwise. Love you.")
He didn't want to get out of bed today. He didn't have the desire to do anything, but there were certain tasks that needed to be done. There were important decisions to be made that he could, but would not waste anymore time on. So, Allister dragged himself out of bed and started his morning routine.
For him, today felt like the end of his senior year more than anything. He made several phone calls to sever ties, several letters to those he felt like he owed an apology. He even wrote one to him, to Ainsley. And as he did so, he couldn't help the wave of nostalgia that made him want to suffocate because he couldn't fathom the fact that after a little over a year since his painful departure, Ainsley still possessed more than a third of his heart. It only took him three re-writes.
To him, this day wasn't tedious, just long and sorrowful. In a way, he felt bad, but he convinced himself that he was doing this for himself and himself alone. For the majority of his life, his decisions were based off of the opinions and efforts of others and he didn't want that anymore. He was prepared to make his own decisions, regardless of who they may hurt. Even Hudson.
Oh, Hudson; Hudson "Sonny" Anastasia Ackerman. It hurt his head to think about her, to think about what he'd be doing to her. He saved her letter for last and wrote it with his finest pen and the most expensive paper that he could find in his little studio apartment. She was his heart and she deserved nothing but the best of what he had.
It took him around two off and on hours to write hers. He took multiple breaks to pull himself together from multiple breakdowns. In those two hours of writing her letter, he had managed to make his bed to the best of his abilities, completely sweep and mop his floors, and cried until it hurt to exactly three times. And despite all of that, he still managed to write Hudson's letter with his best calligraphy.
He spent the rest of the day enveloping his letters, mailing them, and folding paper. At exactly 10:30 pm, in which Allister had memorized the time when Hudson was just preparing for bed, he picked up his phone and called her. She answered on the first ring. "Hello?"
"I just called to tell you that I love you. I'm sorry that I've neglected you all day. I had a couple of things to take care of," he explained. His chest hurt and he just wanted to stay on the phone with her until the day retired, telling her how sorry he was and how much he loved her. But he couldn't. "Good night, dear."
Hudson laughed lightly. "I love you, too, Allister. More than you'd ever imagine. Good night." The line went dead and her words made it hurt all the worse.
That night, Allister ate an apple for dinner and slept on the floor.
He didn't want to get out of bed today. He didn't have the desire to do anything, but there were certain tasks that needed to be done. There were important decisions to be made that he could, but would not waste anymore time on. So, Allister dragged himself out of bed and started his morning routine.
For him, today felt like the end of his senior year more than anything. He made several phone calls to sever ties, several letters to those he felt like he owed an apology. He even wrote one to him, to Ainsley. And as he did so, he couldn't help the wave of nostalgia that made him want to suffocate because he couldn't fathom the fact that after a little over a year since his painful departure, Ainsley still possessed more than a third of his heart. It only took him three re-writes.
To him, this day wasn't tedious, just long and sorrowful. In a way, he felt bad, but he convinced himself that he was doing this for himself and himself alone. For the majority of his life, his decisions were based off of the opinions and efforts of others and he didn't want that anymore. He was prepared to make his own decisions, regardless of who they may hurt. Even Hudson.
Oh, Hudson; Hudson "Sonny" Anastasia Ackerman. It hurt his head to think about her, to think about what he'd be doing to her. He saved her letter for last and wrote it with his finest pen and the most expensive paper that he could find in his little studio apartment. She was his heart and she deserved nothing but the best of what he had.
It took him around two off and on hours to write hers. He took multiple breaks to pull himself together from multiple breakdowns. In those two hours of writing her letter, he had managed to make his bed to the best of his abilities, completely sweep and mop his floors, and cried until it hurt to exactly three times. And despite all of that, he still managed to write Hudson's letter with his best calligraphy.
He spent the rest of the day enveloping his letters, mailing them, and folding paper. At exactly 10:30 pm, in which Allister had memorized the time when Hudson was just preparing for bed, he picked up his phone and called her. She answered on the first ring. "Hello?"
"I just called to tell you that I love you. I'm sorry that I've neglected you all day. I had a couple of things to take care of," he explained. His chest hurt and he just wanted to stay on the phone with her until the day retired, telling her how sorry he was and how much he loved her. But he couldn't. "Good night, dear."
Hudson laughed lightly. "I love you, too, Allister. More than you'd ever imagine. Good night." The line went dead and her words made it hurt all the worse.
That night, Allister ate an apple for dinner and slept on the floor.
♠ ♠ ♠
I'm sorry.