What If

After the week ended and I still refused to answer his calls, his texts became angry and frustrated. He didn’t relent. Every morning I received messages asking if I was busy that evening. Then by the middle of the day, when I hadn’t responded, he got noticeably agitated.

Afraid that Arrow would be at my apartment when I got there, I took the chicken way out and drove to Darcy’s instead. I didn’t tell her what was going on because I knew she wouldn’t agree with my way of thinking. Instead, I told her I missed her and needed some friend time. She brought up Arrow, but I moved the conversation to her and the new guy she started dating. She was smitten with Greg, the man she was lip locked with at Miller’s party.

By the time I made it back to my apartment it was nearly two in the morning. Stuck to the front door was a small note with my name written at the top in a scroll I recognized as Arrow’s.

Briar,

I’ll be back tomorrow, the day after that, and the day after that until you open the damn door. Is this because of what happened in the truck? Talk to me, Briar. Come over and we can figure all of this out. You know there’s no pressure, right? We can take a few steps back if we’re moving too fast. But if you continue running, I’m just going to have to keep chasing.

I’m frustrated but I’m yours,

Arrow

At the very bottom he listed his address and quick directions.

With a loud sigh I locked the door and went to my closet to search for a box that I hadn’t dared to open in years. It rested at the bottom of a dresser drawer. I pulled out the wooden box with cheesy stickers from my teen years stuck all over the front and sides. Inside was a different story. The box held different colors of paper: some were small, and others were full sheets. Letters were inside of envelopes, and others had silly drawings on them.

I started to add this one to the collection, but hours later I still sat on the carpet of the bedroom floor, skimming through each one of them. Arrow’s letters in high school were funny, teasing, and had me laughing. The few I had from when he was in boot camp were more difficult for me to get through. Mostly, I read the lyrics at the top of the pages and let my eyes drown in tears, words blurring in front of me. I ran the tips of my fingers along the indentations of where his pen once pressed against the paper, recreating each word.

Obviously I was a glutton for punishment. I slid his newest letter on top of the rest and slammed the top shut. I was going about this wrong. Ignoring him without explaining why wasn’t fair to either of us. It was childish, the easy way out.

I picked up my phone, debated on calling him, and decided that hearing his voice wasn’t the best thing for me when I was still weepy over all the letters I’d been reading. He would detect the sorrow in my tone. He’d know I was crying and would come over, demanding to have the conversation sooner rather than when I was actually prepared for it. I sent a quick text, praying he’d simply send one back and didn’t call me.

Me: Free tomorrow? I’ll come over.

Arrow: See you then. I’ll be here all day.

The smell of tequila wafted strongly as I poured a hefty amount into my orange juice and ice. Why couldn’t this be easier? Why couldn’t I stop caring about him? Why did it feel like, while trying to protect my heart, I was breaking it even more? I needed to stop by his place, tell him we couldn’t be together, and explain that it would never work, then turn around and walk away.



When I awoke the next morning cringing, I moved around the small apartment cleaning, re-cleaning, showering, brushing my teeth… twice, getting dressed, stripping out of the clothes, and putting something else on. Get a grip. Half the day passed in a whirl. My phone went off more than once with Arrow’s name flashing across the screen. He left voicemails which I listened to on speakerphone as I paced around my living room. His gravelly voice echoed off the empty walls.

Eventually, my mood turned angry. The past came to an ugly head. All the times Arrow should’ve chosen me! All the times Arrow could’ve contacted me! The fact that he deleted and blocked me from his pages, got a new cell phone number, didn’t even bother to contact me when he came back from Afghanistan to tell me he was okay. The way he made me fall completely, madly, un-fucking-conditionally in love with him and then tossed me to the side like I was some worthless piece of trash instead of the best friend who adored him with every molecule, every atom, every single piece of matter that created me…

In a mess of rage, I marched into my bedroom and grabbed the box with his letters that meant the world to me and were meaningless to him. I snatched the car keys off the coffee table and drove insanely fast to the address he gave me. I arrived there in no time, knocking hard enough on the door that my knuckles turned crimson.

When Arrow opened the door; his eyebrows drew together like he was ready to holler at me, scold me for not speaking to him all week; I lost it. I shoved the box of letters into his chest. The action caught him off guard, and he took a few wide steps backward, trying to get a good hold of the object in his hands. Instead, the box fell to the ground, scattering hundreds of sheets of paper across his floor.

I must’ve looked insane as I kicked at the pile continuously.

“What is this? What are these?” Arrow looked down.

“What are these?” I screamed in the middle of a humorless laugh. “It’s every letter you ever wrote me.” Arrow’s eyes were saucers. “I’m sick and tired of living in the past, Arrow. So here…” I slid the toe of my shoe underneath the pile, again, and kicked them up in the air. “Here’s a shit ton of memories for you. I don’t want them anymore!”

“Stop! What the hell are you doing?” Arrow yelled. I ignored him and slew the pages across the carpet; I heard the harsh sound of paper ripping.

“You son of a bitch!” I screamed, leaning down, picking up a handful of his letters, and wadding them up. I threw them at his feet.

“Briar! Calm down!” His voice rumbled loudly in the small space that could barely constitute as a living room.

“How could you?” I questioned. My hands formed fists at my sides, arms straight and taut. The adrenaline caused my entire body to shake in small tremors.

“What are we talking about?” He moved towards me, arms outstretched like he was preparing to touch me.

“Don’t you come any closer, Arrow!” I took a step back.

“You need to explain this to me right now… Now,” he demanded, his voice taking on a serious and low quality.

I laughed hysterically but humorlessly, crazed, insane, lunatic. I felt like all of those things, but I was past caring. I felt like a volcano ready to spew my lava and flames angrily.

“You want to know why I stopped writing you, Arrow?” I didn’t wait for his answer. “Because you were killing me! Knowing you wrote Lacey, that you probably wrote these long and elaborate love notes… I couldn’t take it! I couldn’t take it!” I took a menacing step towards him. “Actually let’s take a step back,” I said in a deathly tone. “Why did you leave me in that room, asleep, at the party our freshmen year of high school? Huh? And then go out into that living room and make out with my best friend? That’s the worst kind of cruel…” I shook my head, thinking about what I wanted to address next. “Then you dated her all through high school. Am I crazy, Arrow? Because half the time I would’ve sworn there was something bigger between us. I would have placed a bet on the fact that you led me on!” Arrow’s mouth hung open, his eyebrows pulled together. “Then Lacey! Lacey… Do you know how much I loathe that name?” I smiled cynically. “You slept with her that night of your going away party and guess what, Arrow? Take a guess… Never mind, let me tell you… I wouldn’t even let Killian kiss me that night because I wanted you!” I hadn’t finished, but suddenly Arrow was in my face.