A Little Secret (The Little Things #4)

Hijacked Epilogue

TATUM

Dear Archer,

Hi.

I wipe at my tear-stained cheeks and scratch out the word before writing beside it.

Hi.

I miss you.

I know it’s stupid. I know you won’t reply. You can’t. You’re dead. But my therapist told me to write to you. He said that I should get some things off my chest. That I should tell you everything I wanted to say before you died, so I can get some closure.

I told him it was a waste of time. In a way, I guess it still is. But it’s been years, Arch. Years since you left. Since your life was ripped from you. And it’s weird. Because it feels like it was yesterday. Like you were just here. Just a text away. That I’ll see you at brunch. At least, I would if I still went to them.

I shake my head, scribble out the sentence, and start again.

At least, I would if I still went to them.

Then, I think of all the pain I’ve been drowning in since your death, and…it twists the time. Making it drag out into…fucking eternity.

Hell, it feels like it’s been so long that I don’t even know how to live without it. The pain. The constant ache. The reminder that you’re gone, and everyone else is still here.

Living.

A tear slips past my cheek, staining the lined paper.

It’s why I hate brunch. Why I hate Mav and Ophelia and hockey and Lockwood Heights in general. Because you’re supposed to be here, Arch. You’re supposed to be here, but you aren’t.

You aren’t here.

Does that make sense?

With a pathetic laugh, I wipe beneath my nose and continue writing.

What am I saying? Of course, it doesn’t make sense. I’m writing to a dead person. None of this makes sense.

All I know is that I’m tired. So damn tired. I don’t know what else to do .

How can I let someone go when they were never mine to begin with?

My pen hovers above the page.

How can I let someone go when they were never mine to begin with?

I suck my bottom lip into my mouth and bite down. Hard.

I can’t.

I’ve tried. Trust me, I’ve tried, Arch. But even now, I miss you.

And yes, I’m aware of how pathetic it is.

You used to tell me I could come to you for anything. I’m not sure if you would even remember telling me this if you were still here, but you did. And honestly, I miss that, too. Knowing I had someone. Someone who cared.

Don’t get me wrong, I know my parents care. I know your parents care. But you? You were different.

You saw me.

You saw me in a way no one saw me.

And now, I’m afraid I’m just as much of a ghost as you are. Maybe that’s why I can’t find a reason to care. About anything or anyone. Because…what’s the point?

My therapist says I’m self-sabotaging. Or at least, that’s what he said before I stopped seeing him. Super healthy, I know. But I don’t care about that, either.

Not anymore.

Don’t worry. I’ll keep pretending. I’ll keep showing up because I know it’s what you would want me to do even when it sucks.

I just…I hope you know I miss you.

That’s all I want to say.

Love,

Tatum