Page 32 of All Your Firsts

I need to know.

I rip open the letter and see one line. One fucking line. One fucking sentence.

Dear Rosie,

You brought heaven to earth in that angel costume.

- Rush

Angel costume?

As I place my hand over my heart, a rush of thoughts overwhelms my mind. I’m transported back to the chaotic college party from months ago. The guy I danced with. It had to be him. He held on to me tight. Even when Marco showed up, Idistinctly remember him squeezing me before he let me go, as if he was attempting to savor the moment like a lover would. Like he needed one more second with me. Or at least that’s what my mind conjured up.

But why didn’t he say anything then, and why is he barely writing to me now?

And how the hell did he know where to send the letter?

Eight

Vic

Ineed to finish my ledger and supply order, but here I am, watching Rosie dance around the kitchen through one of the many cameras inside my house. I should mention their presence to her. It’s the right thing to do, but a part of me relishes in the sight of her dancing freely, unaware of my knowledge. Something I’m sure would stop as soon as she found out. I could say the cameras were solely for her safety, but it would be a lie.

My nerves were at an all-time high as I handed her the letter, and the only thing that brought me comfort was her expression. She was as white as a ghost once she saw it before ripping it from my hand and holding it to her chest.

The letter is the closest I’ll ever get to her. Being in her head will have to suffice, because I’ll never be in her heart or even in her pants.

If she knew it was me who’d been writing to her for years, she’d probably kill me in my sleep, not that I’ve given her the chance. Ihaven’t used my bedroom next to hers since she’s moved in. I’ve been too scared that I would wake up next to her.

I’ve gotten too close at one point already, and it could have spelled the end of my friendship with her brother.

Six Months Ago – Devils and Angels Night

I watch her from across the overpopulated, smoke-riddled room.

Trust fund college idiots downing shot after shot like it’s holy water. Assuming it will somehow cleanse them of all their sins and transgressions tonight.

The scent of regrets, weed, and overpriced perfume fills the air. If these are what we have to look forward to for our future world leaders, we’re fucked.

But I’m not here for them.

I’m here for her.

The girl I have written to for years.

She knows me better than anyone, and I can’t get her or her last letter out of my mind. She pleaded with me to meet her, which I’ve refused in the past, but this was different. Her letter dripped with depression and loneliness, something I’ve been familiar with my whole life.

Child with dead parents who cared more about their next fix than their kid, check. Foster kid with abandonment issues and anempty fucking stomach, check. Runaway teen with anger issues and a need for violence and adrenaline, check.

Now, I’m the twenty-one-year-old who just paid twenty dollars for entrance to a frat party with a stupid fucking devil mask on as I watch the angel that I can’t get out of my head. She said she’d be at this party if I wanted to meet her.

I never replied. I wasn’t sure if I was going to attend until earlier today. I searched high and low for a devil mask and finally found one after five stores.

Her bright smile lights up the otherwise dismal kitchen. I watch as she talks animatedly to a girl from her art classes that I may or may not have followed her to multiple times.

Her head tilts back as she laughs again, showcasing her delicate neck that would look so much better with my hands wrapped around it.

Her angel costume is modest compared to all the other girls wearing lingerie, but she stands out. The fact that she’s so covered up makes her that much more alluring and sexy.

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