Dear Fin,

      Sometimes, time catches you in an endless loop and you are captured in the same few seconds of a clock. Life is like a clock, your life time spanned between one midnight to the other. A second could be years . . . seconds ago, I met you. And Etta. And Bea. And Bea met Claude and Claude met Bea. And life went on between those seconds.

    I can't help thinking about those seconds because, today, I realized how quickly they flew behind. I was faced with a big shock. Today, I received my invitation to Bea and Claude's wedding. Seconds ago, they met. Now, they're getting married. That should've been us . . . but you have Ally and I've officially become classified as asexual.

     Considering a wedding is soon to occur, I need to plan on who I'm going to bring. The invitation included a plus one and the only person I can think of bringing in Ailsa. Of course, I enjoy spending time with her, it's just . . . well, it would be nice to actually have a date. 

    Plus, meeting up with my family can be a scary encounter. You remember them, they can be quite critical and judgemental. Although I love them, and Bea and Claude are held dear to my hearts, I can't help but fear the situation slightly. 

     And thinking of Claude and Bea's wedding only continued to remind me of Jeanine and Michael's. 

    Encounter Number Eighty-Nine:

    Anxiously, I touched your forehead, feeling the smoothness of your skin underneath my fingers. You leaned into my touch, relishing in it, even though you constantly complained about my fussing. I couldn't help it, though, you had just recently been emitted from the psych ward and my nerves buzzed whenever I saw you. 

     "Baby, I'm fine," you insisted, sharing a small smile with me.

    I shot him an apologetic look. "I'm sorry."

    You sighed. "I know you're just worried, but . . . I wouldn't have come today unless I was one hundred percent positive that I would be alright."

    "Liar," I accused. "You would've come of you're in a hospital gown and attached to an IV."

    You shrugged. "Okay, maybe I am a world class hero. Would you like to know something about world class heroes?"

    I smirked. "Al-alright. Enlighten me."

    You leaned forward, cupping my cheeks in your hands and placing a kiss against my lips. I held your elbows, happy that I could take part of this simple bliss once more.

    After Etta's burial, you slit your wrists. After all the trauma you had faced, your mother thought it would be best for you to find some perspective and the hospital offered twenty-four hour care. What you didn't know was, since your mother didn't have the funding, my father paid for it. My dad said that he figured he owed you since you had warned him about my own depression. None of us had told you, though, in hopes that you wouldn't be angered about the decision.

    "You look beautiful, by the way," you breathed into my ear, your words tickling my ear.

    To be honest, I can't even remember what I was wearing that day. 

     I blushed. "Thank you. You look really h-handsome."

    And it was true. In your suit and skinny black tie, you looked absolutely adorable.

    "Thanks. I guess it's time we hit up that wedding?" You suggested.

    I sighed. "Alright, babe."

    The wedding was the definition of Jeanine. We're at some grand hotel that I couldn't pronounce its name because it was genuinely French; a ballroom had been rented out, classically adorned with chandeliers and roses and elegant golden chairs for the ceremony. The air smelled thickly of roses, the dim light gently twinkling from the rather fancy light fixture.

    You and I had seats in the second row. Everyone else in my family plus the groom's family were allowed front row seats, there were still seats remaining in the front row, but yet Jeanine had still insisted on giving me second row seats. That's just my family for you.

     Next to me, you curled your arm around my shoulders. I leaned into your touch, relaxing as our bodies pressed together. Although you weren't fully well yet, I was glad you were here with me, I wasn't sure I could handle another family event alone. Although, I obviously loved my family, they could be very . . . judgmental of me. Especially since I was the youngest and hadn't achieved anything in my life.

    You pressed your lips against my forehead. "Let the games begin."

    The ceremony was beautiful, in a Jeanine sort of way. She wore an extravagant fluffy white dress with a veil so thick I couldn't see her face, a clump of roses caught between her carefully manicured fists. The groom looked decent -in my opinion- in his tie and tux. They spoke their vows, which had been memorized, the ancient words that promised an eternity between the pair.

    People cried. I didn't see what the point of crying at weddings was since you're celebrating something happy. The joining of two people in the most official of ways, it was a beautiful thing. But, maybe, in a way it was sad . . . it represented losing your independence, your innocence, your freedom. Maybe, people cried at weddings because you lose a person more than you ever could at a funeral.

    Afterwards, there was a grand reception. The chairs and altar were pushed aside, a wide array of gorgeously set up tables now dotting the room. A dance floor lined one side of the room, but the majority of my stuffy family wouldn't dare step on it. Well, not including the traditional part of it, since Jeanine and Michael had their first dance on the dance floor. It was to something extremely cliche I spotted you flinching to.

    Then, photos were taken of the families. Although you didn't want to be in the picture, I insisted that you joined in. Then we returned to the tables, none touching the dance floor. We had dinner and desert. Dinner was mouth watering turkey with gravy, the most desirable roasted potatoes and peppered broccoli. Desert, of course, was the classic stark white wedding cake, the flavor the ever delicious red velvet. We enjoyed ourselves, feasting on the food and champagne, laughing and talking and joking, ignoring the world around us.

    "Oh, Jeanine, do tell Michael's mother more about your plans for the honeymoon," Mom insisted, smiling from behind her glass of sparkling champagne. "Linda, they're going to love it. Rather, who wouldn't?"

    Everyone around us laughed and I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Due to my father, you and I had been placed at a table with the bride and groom. The table contained: Mom, Dad, Claude, Bea, Jeanine, Michael, Michael's mother (Linda), Michael's father (Teri), Michael's sister (Joan), you and me. We had been keeping somewhat to ourselves, but it was impossible when everyone was bustling up to the bride.

    "Oh, Jeanine, do tell!" Exclaimed Linda, a small plump woman with heavily shadowed eyes and too many rings upon her plump fingers.

    Jeanine's eyes glittered with excitement. "Well, we're going to the island of-"

    Your arm squeezed around my shoulders. You leaned your head forward, your lips brushing against my ear. You murmured, "Let's go dance."

    I giggled. "Okay."

    You stood up gracefully, coming behind me to pull back my chair. I smiled gratefully at you, rising to my feet and taking your hand. You offered me an earth shattering smile and-

    "Where do you think you're going?" Jeanine sneered, interrupting what might've been a beautiful moment between you and I.

    "Da-dance fl-floor," I murmured, blushing under the gaze of the rest of the table.

    Instantly, they started to laugh. Well, rather my mother and Jeanine did.

    "What's so funny?" I heard Linda mumbling to her husband, Teri, a rather small man with beady black eyes and massive dark spots under his arms. He shook his head in response, obviously as baffled as his wife. 

    "You actually thought the dance floor was for dancing?" Jeanine demanded. "You poor stuttering fool-"

    "But . . . isn't it?" Michael asked, from next to her, interrupting.

    Jeanine rolled her eyes. "Of course it isn't, silly. It's symbolic."

   "Symbolic for what, shuffling feet?" Bea asked.

    "No. The groom and bride share their first dance there as husband and wife," Jeanine explained.

    "Jeanine," Claude started slowly. "Are you sure you passed sixth grade? I'm pretty sure that's when symbolism was covered."

    Everyone chuckled at that. You shared a small smile with me, squeezing my shoulders. Someone in my family was finally standing up for me, it was a rare feeling.

    Then, Jeanine promptly burst into tears.

    Michael froze, appearing awkward, before slowly patting her shoulder. She was sputtering, but no one could tell what she was saying specifically. One thing was definite, though: no matter how she beautiful she was, Jeanine was an ugly crier. And Jeanine cried a lot.

   My mother pushed past Michael, wrapping her arms around the crying girl. "Oh, poor baby. The stress from planning this all has finally hit her. Poor thing . . ."

   I gulped. Of course, only I could manage to make my sister cry on what was supposed to be the happiest day of her life.

    You squeezed your arm around me. "Baby, it's okay-"

    But the moment had passed. "I-I just ne-need to use th-the ba-bathro-room."

    "Dove-"

    But I had already slipped away. Tears stung my gaze as I headed to where I had said, the bathroom. Of course, the bathrooms were extremely fancy in their sparkling white marble carvings.

    I leaned against the counter, running water over my hands. The water was icy cold but I could barely feel it; I could feel the miserable stuttering of my heart, the trembling of my limbs and the lukewarm tears swimming down my cheeks. I was so ashamed of myself. Here I was, insisting that I had to be strong for you, and yet the slightest bit of goading from my family sent me crying.

    "Annalise?"

    I wiped the tears from my face, turning off the faucet as I sniffed. I turned. "I'm s-sorry, I'll b-be ri-right out-"

    It was you.

    "Th-this is the gi-girls was-washro-room," I told him.

    You smiled sheepishly. "I'm a rebel, dove. I don't conform with the rules. I shit where I want to."

    I couldn't help but smile weakly at you. You were just so . . . you.

    "You okay?" You asked.

    "Fi-fine," I insisted, but you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around me.

    "You know you don't have to lie to me, remember? You and I, we're misfits, so we have to stick together. You've protected me so I'll protect you," you said, your voice filled with determination, your fingers trailing up and down my spine. "No matter how much you get sick of me, I'm in it with you for the long haul."

    I pressed my face into your neck, reveling in the security in your arms. You kissed my forehead and your breath was a wind that swirled around me, your heartbeat a harmony, you lips the only thing tying me to this world.

    "I'm sorry," I murmured. For not being strong enough, I almost added, but I didn't.

    "You don't have to be sorry, darling. Sometimes, people hurt us. But what matters is that you and I stick together, that we protect each other. We're a team, got it?" You asked.

    I nodded.

   You sighed, your breath stirring the hair on top of my head. "I love you, Annalise Martin. Now let's go get our bogey on."

    My eyebrows rose. "You mean dancing?"

    You shrugged as well as you could while holding me. "Whatever it's that you kids call it."

    I smiled, pulling away. "Whatever. I love you, too, Finland Erickson."

     End of Encounter Number Eighty-Nine.

    It seems like seconds ago that we're at that wedding, but I guess it really was, in the clock-life metaphor. Seconds ago, you loved me. But seconds have passed, and now I'm no longer in your life and you love Ally.

     Maybe, in a few more seconds, I'll be reading about you marrying Ally in the newspaper. Then, a few later, I'll be reading about your children . . . then, maybe I'll survive long enough to hear about your death in that eleventh hour. And then the clock will strike midnight as I die of heartbreak.

     Sometimes, I wonder what will happen to me. Yes, I got accepted into an art gallery, but that didn't guarantee long term success. Maybe, in just a few seconds, I would be a starving artist on the street. My eleventh hour could be so soon and I didn't even know it . . .

   No matter how many people denied it, death is terrifying. The prospect is horrifying, that in a matter of moments -bam- you're gone. You're dead. You will never live to see another moment again.

    But that's why we have weddings, maybe. It's more than just a ceremony to represent the coming together of a man and a woman permanently. It's about celebrating being alive and being together, because who cares if you're alive if you're alone?

    That's why I'm grateful to have Ailsa. I'm starting to feel . . . not so lonely. And that's a wonderful feeling. Maybe I don't need you anymore, or Etta. And you can have Ally and we can both be happy on our own . . .

    . . . And then again, maybe not.

    Once upon a time, I was just a lonely little girl who stuttered and cried because I was constantly bullied. Since then, that lonely little girl had met you. And suddenly, I'm not just some girl anymore, I'm a woman who can stand her own. Now the only questioning bit is wither or not she'll get her happily ever after.

    You know I think about you a lot and . . . and I do it because I don't quite understand what happened. The more and more I think about it, I don't see where we fell apart. It just kind of happened. That is the worst part, I think, that I can't pinpoint it to one thing. I just wasn't the one.

    Sometimes, I try to imagine myself in the future. I see myself . . . well, that's the problem, I see myself in too many places. I see myself as a successful painter with a family, or an unsuccessful painter living on the streets or- let's just change the subject to more pleasant things.

    You know, throughout all of these letters, I don't think I've ever asked how you're. So how are you, Finland Erickson? Tell me about your day. Although, my imagination speaks for itself and I can just imagine the endless possibilities.

    Me? I'm . . . I don't know what I am yet, but I'm hoping to develop into something good. But you already knew that, didn't you? You sly dog.

    Encounter Number One Hundred and Three:

    Today, we're graduating high school. To older people, it seemed like a rather basic accomplishment and looked back upon it as just, but to those of younger generations . . . well, it was the end of an era. And although I hadn't personally enjoyed the majority of my school days, just the fact that I was leaving seemed preposterous.

    Plus, I'd be leaving you. We're going to different universities, I was studying art in New York City while you're staying a little bit closer to home -to be near your mother- and studying music. Although it really wasn't too dramatic of a distance -a few minor hours- I knew I would miss you terribly. But better things were awaiting us outside in the real world. One day, I had hoped, millions of people would be listening to your spellbinding music while I stood in the background painting successfully. The world needed two misfits like us and we're ready to face it.

    Or so we thought.

    Our graduating class wore navy gowns with matching hats. The ceremony was fairly basic; in our gymnasium, upon hearing our name, we must step out of line and enter the stage to grab our diplomas and allow parents to snap pictures and shake hands with the principle.

    Since your last name started with an E, you're called onto stage fairly early. I clapped for you, smiling as you shyly strolled across the stage, smiling meekly at the principle and cameras. I could see tears streaming down your mother's eyes. 

    There was a big gap between you and I. When my name was called, I stepped out of the significantly smaller line, and headed to the stage. But, of course, my diploma acceptance couldn't be as simple as yours; you're the new kid with the cool younger sister that had died this year, I was stuttering fool that no one had ever liked throughout all twelve grades (plus kindergarten).

    "H-hey! G-go-good j-job up the-there," someone called up from the audience.

    People laughed.

    A lot of people laughed.

    More people than had clapped, at least.

    "Ignore them," murmured the principle in a kind tone. "They won't be laughing when they're working for you one day, Ms. Martin."

    Teachers had always liked me. Before you came along, I would spend my lunch hours cowering in a teacher's room, so I think a lot of them had a soft spot for poor stuttering me. The principle was no exception.

    "Congratulations, Ms. Martin," he continued. "I know you'll make Dolton proud."

    That was the name of our high school, Dolton.

    "Th-thank you, sir," I responded, appreciating his kind words. 

    From the stage, I could see you smiling and clapping up at me. I smiled meekly back at you. My father was mimicking your actions and my mother herself was clapping politely. It wasn't what I expected, but it was . . . nice, I guess.

    End of Encounter One Hundred and Three.

    Sometimes, I think about how fast time passes. I've been thinking about it a lot lately and I'm sure it has been reflected in my letters. It's just, you really can't ever know how much time you have and that's terrifying. You can't count how many grains of sand are left in the hourglass.

    These thoughts started when I started remembering Etta. She cheated the hourglass. Because one second, she was here, and the next she was gone. She should've had so many more grains left, but by a series of unfortunate events, suddenly the hourglass was clogged and she couldn't find anymore sand. She was gone. She vanished so quickly and it could happen to anyone.

    I wonder how many grains of sand I have.

    Yes, mortality is a strange thing . . .

-Annalise

*

Hey Reader!

    Chapter's Song: "Panic Cord" by Gabrielle Aplin, this song is about panicking and ending things before they should've naturally ended. I think this song relates to this chapter in an odd sort of way, noting on how fast time passes and how fast things can end. 

    I love you all.

    Thanks for reading.

    Love Your Favorite Liar <3