The next day passed by.

The night was drawing closer.

My anger had resurfaced.

The sunset arrived, and I sat in my chair, drinking alcohol. Even though I wasn't the legal age, my parents would let me drink if I asked and if they were okay for us to. That day, I asked for a full bottle and my mum delivered. I let it drain my thoughts down the sink.

I remember that evening like the back of my hand; I sat there, drinking, trying to push away the memories that were trying to resurface, the ones I pushed away to try and heal. I guess something didn't want me to heal just then.

The sun waved at me, but I refused to wave back. Something clicked in that moment, something that ignited the flame that was burning inside me further. I jumped out of my chair and marched over to the caravan, opening the door, and looking directly at my bed, where a letter lay. I felt like tearing it apart, but I knew not to. It was from him.

Fucking Pete.

I opened it and merely saw the words meet at the playground.

That night I would meet him again.
This time, I wouldn't let him play around in my mind.