HIM. you know who I’m talking about.
I thought I was okay, you know, after we made up and you promised me nothing happened and I realized I needed some help because I seriously would have bashed his fucking face in if it weren’t for Kyle and Peter, but I can’t get him holding your hand out of my head. and how you let him. I talked with my mom about it and we both agree that that’s not “nothing,” as you say. I am in literal fucking agony over this, grace. like, I can’t sleep at night. my doctor had to up my meds because they just stopped fucking working. I can’t write any songs except total emo shit.
you are ruining my life.
and I’m letting you. you’re like a goddamn drug that I can’t get enough of. do you have any idea how addictive you are? I should turn you into pills, sell you on the street.
I don’t know what to do. I love you so much. like, I would die for you. I really think I would. but you’re driving me crazy. I would never do this to you. how would you feel if you found out I was with some girl all the time? holding her hand? that bad feeling you just had reading that—it’s what I feel all the time.
and don’t read this and say we should break up. you’re not the only one in this relationship. so here’s the deal:
stop being a tease. stop stringing me along. no more contact with him. no fucking letters or after-school talks or sitting together at lunch or phone calls or whatever the hell is going on over there behind my back. yeah, peter told me everything so don’t even try lying. and stop listening to your bitch friends who hate me and want you to be with HIM. why are you turning your back on me and not them?
grace, I love you. can’t you see that? what more do I have to do to show you that we’re meant to be together? soul mates. you’re the one. please don’t fuck around on me.
Gav
Grace—
Are you even reading these? Sometimes I think the letters I write you are diary entries that wind up in the trash. Did he find one? Is that why you won’t write me back?
Listen, I know this whole situation is screwed up. And I know you say we can’t be friends. But that’s CRAZY. You’re one of my best friends. The only person who I can talk to about all the stuff going on in my head—God, Radiohead, the world—all the shit that matters. Can’t we keep that, at least? I promise I won’t talk about “the situation” or try to kiss your forehead or even say stuff like “I really, really want to kiss your forehead.” I swear on all the gods.
You’re not okay. I can see it. And what’s with spending lunch in the library? It’s your senior year. Nat and Lys are super worried about you—Miss B, too. Are you not doing the spring dance concert because I got cast? I’ll totally quit if you need me to. I know he doesn’t want us around each other and even though you know how I feel about him and all of that, I don’t want you to lose your last chance to do a Roosevelt show.
There’s this expression the teachers in my mom’s yoga class use: Namaste. It means “The light in me recognizes the light in you.” Namaste, Grace.
Come back to us.
Come back to me.
G.
Gav—
It’s our year anniversary and I woke up this morning and wished I were dead. For a second there, I really wanted to be. I wanted to wake up in the clouds or into oblivion or whatever happens when we die. That scared the shit out of me. There isn’t any good way to say what I’m about to say. So I’m just going to say it: I’m breaking up with you. As of this moment, we are no longer together. I still love you, but I’m not in love with you. Or maybe I am, I don’t know. That confusion is reason enough to break up, don’t you think? What I do know is that we fight all the time. I know you’re angry at me—hopelessly, endlessly angry at me. I know that no matter what I do, it’s never good enough for you. I know I hurt you so bad about the whole Gideon thing. And I can tell you now that even though nothing happened, I like him. A lot. I’m so sorry.
I’m not getting with Gideon after writing this. I’m not getting with anyone. I need time to be by myself, to figure out who I am and what I’m going to do with the rest of my life. We’ve been together so long—I have no idea what’s me and what’s you. We’ve both sacrificed huge parts of ourselves—me with NYU, you with UCLA—and it’s time to stop doing that. We are so young. Gav, I’m desperately unhappy. I practically start crying the moment I wake up and I cry myself to sleep most nights. Nothing brings me happiness. I’m a zombie, just walking around school in this depressed haze. I can’t keep on like this. It’s my senior year and I’ve worked so hard to get where I’m at.
I’m sorry I’m doing this in a letter, and on our anniversary, which is the shittiest timing and seems purposeful, but isn’t. It’s just I know I won’t be able to break up with you when you’re standing right in front of me being sweet and hot and mine. I don’t know if there’s a future for us. Maybe in a few years we’ll figure it out. Maybe we won’t. Please just give me space and I’ll give you space, too.
I love you, Gav. I love you so much. But I can’t do this anymore. Please don’t hurt yourself. Please.
Grace
THIRTY-SEVEN
I clutch the letter I wrote you in my hands and stare out the window as Nat speeds to your place.
“I am so effing proud of you, Grace,” she’s saying. “I know how hard this is, but seriously, don’t you feel better already?”
I nod, but I’m not so sure.
“You’re positive this isn’t the equivalent of breaking up with someone over text?” I ask, holding up the letter. It just says Gavin on the front.
“Dude,” Lys says from the backseat, “the only reason you have to do it this way is because we now know he threatens to bash people’s heads in when he’s pissed.”
This is true.
“But it’s our year anniversary. Maybe I should wait a day? It’s so harsh.”
“Okay, imagine this,” Lys says. “You don’t give him the letter. He’s going to pick you up tonight and take you out. You’re going to pretend that it’s all good the whole time, but he’s not stupid, so he’ll ask what’s wrong, and you’ll get in a huge fight. And you’ll try to break up and then he’ll cry and ask for one more chance.… Am I on track?”
I nod, miserable.
Nat glances in the rearview mirror. “I think it’s time for the breakup playlist,” she says.
“Hells yeah.” Lys takes her phone out of her backpack and hooks it up to the car stereo.
“You guys made me a breakup playlist?” I ask.