So Much It Hurts (29 page)

Chris kissed me gently on the lips, then softly kissed the tears away that slid down my cheeks. Holding me tightly, he rested his chin on top of my head. I buried my face into his chest while I clung desperately to him, breathing in the memory of his scent, singeing it into my brain. Both of our shoulders shook from the sobs that reverberated in our chests. We stood together, wallowing in our sorrow, for several minutes.

That moment felt all too familiar to me. The memory of the night we stood in his driveway before he left for juvie again flashed through my mind. I was losing him—
again
! It was another goodbye that would send my depression into a tailspin. I felt so alive in his arms; I couldn’t let him go. I wanted so desperately to cling to him forever. A love I had tucked away so deeply into my soul was reignited eight years later by a single glance. I didn’t want to say goodbye again!
Why, God? Why?!
Finally, one of us had to pull away.

“I gotta go,” I whispered.

“I know,” he sighed, his eyes bloodshot from crying.

He slowly walked me to the door, the sadness nearly palpable between us. Kissing one last time, our lips lingered a little longer than a peck as we both relished that very last moment.

“Never forget me?” His lower lip quivered with repressed sorrow.

“Never,” I promised. A final tear escaped my eye and slid down my cheek just as I turned to leave. I walked away feeling as though I had left my heart at the door of room 204.
Oh, God, what have I done?

When I stepped into my condo, the girls were busy packing up to head home. Tori saw me first. “Kaitlyn’s home,” she announced flatly, rolling her eyes. I didn’t think she would let my decision affect our friendship, but I could definitely sense her reproach to the matter.

“Kaitlyn!” The other girls shouted simultaneously and came running at once.

“Tell. Us. Everything!” Lisa cried.

“Girls,” Shannon chided, “can’t a girl have a few private moments in her life?” Then she turned to look at me. “Let me ask you this, do you have any regrets?”

“No,” I tried to say with a straight face.

“Then that’s all we need to know,” she said with a smile. I could not have been more thankful for her friendship at that moment.

Calling my mother was the first thing on my agenda the minute I dropped Shannon off at her house.

“Mom,” I said anxiously when she picked up the phone. “Can I come over for a minute? I’ve been looking for something and can’t find it anywhere. Do you mind if I stop by and search the attic. I might have left it there when I moved out.”

“Sure, sweetheart,” she replied. “What is it you’re looking for? I may be able to help you.”

“It’s nothing you’d recognize. Just an old box of mementos I kept from high school.”

She laughed. “Oh, okay. I pretty much just boxed everything up and carried it to the attic when you moved out. You should be able to find what you’re looking for up there.”

“Thanks, mom,” I said quickly, trying to disguise my seething anger, and hung up the phone.

I pulled into the driveway of my old house. Just sitting there in my car brought back so many memories…setting up my first lemonade stand, helping my dad wash the car, building snowmen in the front yard with mom that year it snowed almost a foot, my first kiss with Trevor, and the night I sneaked out to see Chris the last night before he left for juvie.

My memory of that night reminded me of my mission, which was to find those letters–that is, if she even kept them. Knowing my mom, the hoarder, she had them boxed up somewhere in that attic. I was determined to find them.

“Hi, honey,” my mom said when I walked into the kitchen.

“Hi, mom. I’m in a hurry. I just need to check the attic, then I’ll be out of your hair. Michael and Eli are expecting me.”

“Okay, just go ahead. I’m going to stay down here. That old attic messes with my allergies…all that dust.”

I headed up to the attic, fearful and excited to find out the truth. The musty smell of the dark attic overwhelmed me as I stepped across wooden beams lining the floor. Boxes upon boxes were stacked against the walls. While my mother was a hoarder, she was also a very organized one. Every box was labeled.
Kaitlyn’s baby clothes. Kaitlyn’s stuffed animals. Kaitlyn’s wedding dress. Photo albums. Vacation souvenirs.
Christmas decorations.
It didn’t take me long to figure out the box that didn’t have a label was the very one for which I had been searching. An old, round hat box sat in one corner of the attic, beckoning me to open it. I rushed to it, grabbing it up as if I were a child on Christmas morning reaching for that first big gift. Before opening it, I closed my eyes. Part of me prayed the box would contain exactly what I needed, but the other half of me prayed it wouldn’t, for fear I wouldn’t be able to handle the truth that my mother had kept from me all these years. My nerves quaked my stomach while my trembling hands lifted the lid. A thick manila envelope stuffed to its max was crammed inside. Carefully, I pulled the envelope out.

About twenty white, letter sized envelopes dumped out into the box with each and every one of them addressed to me. Tears stung my eyes. Anger gripped me as I desperately tried to contain the roar in the back of my throat, threatening to escape.

“Mother, how could you?” I growled under my breath, bitter thoughts and resentment built a fortress around my heart. “Un-fucking-believable,” I groaned, as I opened the first letter.

Letter after letter with the same declarations of love, Chris pleaded for me to write him back, to no avail. In that moment, I was livid at my mother for what she had done, interfering in a way she had no right to interfere. It wasn’t until I opened the last letter that my heart had even an ounce of understanding. The last letter wasn’t from Chris. Instead, it was written by my mother’s hand.