Heroes Exist (I'm Just Not One of Them)
EIGHT
At first Neil called me conceited, because he found me sitting in the living room with a mosaic of letters fanning out from my position.
He found me sitting at home with a thick layer of words spread out around me. I was lost in a sea of paper and ink and words, words, words, both mine and theirs. I was lost in a sea of their emotions, drowning in the contents of their letters, the outpourings of their hearts, and the most I felt was numb. Do you still need more evidence I’m a monster?
He scoffed in disgust, calling me a self-absorbed prick.
At the time I couldn’t even bring myself to meet his eyes. Instead I whispered an apology and started cleaning up.
But for some reason, something possessed him to reach down and read one of the letters.
Then he made a noise in the back of throat.
“God, no, no, they’re wrong,” he said. When I didn’t respond, he repeated, more forcefully, “They’re wrong! That wasn’t your fault!”
I managed a weak, shuddering laugh before I locked myself in my room for nearly a week.
He found me sitting at home with a thick layer of words spread out around me. I was lost in a sea of paper and ink and words, words, words, both mine and theirs. I was lost in a sea of their emotions, drowning in the contents of their letters, the outpourings of their hearts, and the most I felt was numb. Do you still need more evidence I’m a monster?
He scoffed in disgust, calling me a self-absorbed prick.
At the time I couldn’t even bring myself to meet his eyes. Instead I whispered an apology and started cleaning up.
But for some reason, something possessed him to reach down and read one of the letters.
Then he made a noise in the back of throat.
“God, no, no, they’re wrong,” he said. When I didn’t respond, he repeated, more forcefully, “They’re wrong! That wasn’t your fault!”
I managed a weak, shuddering laugh before I locked myself in my room for nearly a week.