Page 45 of Twisted Love

Furious with myself for being so stupid and naïve again I drag the suitcase with me over to the closet and start pulling clothes off hangers, one after another, in a frenzy of movement. Each garment drops into the open suitcase on the floor, their colors blending together into a heap of frustration and simmering fury.

The air fills with the sound of hangers clattering and fabric rustling. My hands work mechanically, folding and shoving as much as I can into the suitcase. Dresses, shirts, jackets—they all disappear into Earl’s black suitcase. The thought of having to return, even for something trivial, makes my stomach turn. No. I’ll take everything of mine now.

I reach for the front pocket of the suitcase to stuff it with my socks and my fingers brush against something smooth and flat. Pulling it out, I see it’s a neatly pressed man’s handkerchief. Something my grandfather would have owned.

Inside is an envelope. I freeze. My gaze locks on it, my pulse quickening. The paper feels delicate in my hands, the edges yellowed and slightly curled as if it’s been waiting for years to be discovered. My fingers tremble as I open it and take the folded letter inside it. The faint scent of old ink wafts up. The handwriting is unmistakably his, though a little neater than I remember—like he’d actually tried to make it perfect for once. My heart thuds painfully in my chest as I begin to read.

Raven babe,

I should probably be paying attention to Mr. Winslow right now—he’s going on about derivatives or something equally brain-numbing—but how can I when your seat is empty? It’s weird not having you here to roll your eyes at me every five minutes or scribble sarcastic notes in my notebook.

Charles, the nosy bastard again, had the cheek to ask me about you. I ignored him, obviously—no need to start another pointless fight. I wonder when he’ll get it through his head that you’re mine.

Also, what the hell were you thinking about making a midnight snack from random fridge leftovers? Food poisoning is a thing, you know. People even die from it!!! One day when I’m rich, you’ll only ever eat in the best restaurants.

Anyway, I was planning to skip after the first period and come over to see you, but I don’t think I can without Miss Loewe making a big deal about the both of us being absent. She has a dirty mind and she’ll probably tell all the churchgoers we’re fornicating or something. I mean, she’s not wrong, but she really should learn to mind her business.

Anyway, I hope you’re feeling better. I can’t stop picturing you all annoyed because your mom keeps fussing over you. You always hate being babied, but you know you secretly love it … maybe just a little.

I miss you like crazy. I don’t think I could live if you were not on this earth.

By the way, I’ve got our history notes. Well, my version of them. I marked the sections that’ll probably show up on the test because, let’s face it, we both know I’m better at guessing these things. You can thank me later by losing another bet. I’m calling it now: double or nothing, loser buys fries for a month.

Anyway, I’m going to show up at your door by lunch, but you’ll only find this after I leave. It’ll be under your pillow. Unless I forget to put it there—you know how just being with you makes me forget things. Not that I’m complaining.

I miss you terribly. Just wanted to write this note to make you smile. I’ve rubbed it with my scent or whatever, like you always say.

Get better soon,okay? Will kiss you soon. I mean, when I come during lunch.

Damn, all of this is so cheesy I might not give you this letter, after all. I just need to write down my frustration at your absence. The truth is all these words are really just to say, Baby Raven, I fucking miss you. Like crazy. Even though it’s only been one day apart. I know … I know … I’m a big baby.

Love u forever,

Your Earl

I readthe letter again and again, my chest contracting with every word. It’s like a window into another life—one where he loved me with the kind of reckless crazy abandon that made everything feel simple and obvious. I took our love for granted. I never imagined it would not last. My fingers trace the faint smudge of ink at the bottom of the page, and for a moment, I let myself be pulled back to those days when his love was so absolute, so tangible.

I fold the letter carefully and press it against my chest. One thing is clear: this letter, hidden for so many years, is proof that the love we shared wasn’t just a figment of my imagination. It was real, despite how near impossible it is to believe now. I must hide it. If he finds it he will surely destroy it with the same ferocity he hacked away his name from the tree trunk.

I look at the suitcase. The lid is still open, clothes spilling out like the emotions threatening to overwhelm me. My hands tremble as I stare at the suitcase, half convinced I can simply close it and walk out.

But … I don’t think I can.

The words, etched into the paper with such deep love, refuse to leave my mind. They are a thread, pulling me backward through time, unraveling the hurt and anger I’ve wrapped myself in these last few days. Earl isn’t just angry. He’s wounded. Something happened. Something I don’t know about and he won’t tell me.

And I can’t ignore it any longer.

I kneel beside the suitcase. Just a few minutes earlier I was ready to leave, convinced that I could just walk out of this house, this marriage, and pretend none of it mattered. But as I grip the edges of the suitcase, my knuckles turning white, the truth stares back at me: I’m not ready. Not to leave. Not to give up. Not until I understand what broke us. No matter what, I will get to the bottom of his hate.

With a start, I take my clothes out of the suitcase and put them away in my closet, just the same way I put away the thought of running away.

When all my clothes are put away again, I press the letter to my chest. It’s not just a letter; it’s a piece of the Earl I used to know, the boy who once loved me so fiercely that it felt like we were untouchable. And maybe that love isn’t dead. Maybe it’s just buried, hidden under years of pain and resentment.

The idea terrifies me and fuels me all at once.

My fingers brush the corner of the envelope as I slip it back inside, safe but not forgotten. Rising to my feet, I glance around the room. The air feels charged, like the calm before a storm. I don’t have a plan, but the one thing I know is that I can’t run away. Not until I find the old him again. Not until I find out why he’s like this—why we have become like this.

CHAPTER28

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