Dear Tara-Jane,
Sugar,
Honeysuckle,
My love.

It was October thirtieth when I was diagnosed with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. After Megan's death, I couldn't sleep well at night. I had these repetitive nightmares coming every night. A screeching sound from the wheel. A catastrophic crash. A corpse lay on the ground. A dress drenched in blood, tore up here and there showing the torn skin beneath.

Unconscious. Breathless.

I often jerked up in my bed in the middle of the night. Face drenched with something salty and sticky. I wasn't even sure if it was sweats or tears. It was tickling down from my forehead, my neck, and my bare chest. I couldn't sleep again after a terrifying dream.

My phone was long dead and shoved at the furthest edge of my locker, far from my reach. My ears would be ringing every time I tried to call someone. The memory of Megan's scream flashed on my mind. I wouldn't have the gut to touch the phone ever again.

My life was not easy. It was full of remorse, haunted with guilt for the death of my ex-girlfriend. November fourth was the first day I started smoking, it was on Clayton's birthday. I bought my first cigarette with my salary from The Records. I sneaked out of the party and lit the cigar on a stranded area in Clayton's garden. For once in a while, I felt my muscles relaxed and my clouded mind was cleared from the foggy nightmares.

A pink smoke. Vanilla mixed with cherry flavor. Burned tobacco. Sweet and brave. I remembered you liked it too, Tara-Jane.

Sugar, I thought you were the most beautiful girl I ever witnessed. It was one boring Saturday morning before school started when I had to sit behind the cashier at The Records. It had been my routine during the summer, working so hard to get the money. Until I saw you sitting idly across the street with a black mug in your tiny hands. Looking so comfortable in a mustard sundress. Your hair flowed on your shoulder, barely reaching your breast. I thought it was pure black, but when the sunray touched the silky hair, I was sure there was a hint of brown on your hair. You talked eagerly, flashing well-lined white dents, to the man I guessed as your brother. You shared the same greyish iris. That was Oscar who thought I was not good enough for you but turned out to be my best bud now. Funny if I recalled the memory of us walking in the night while he waited to bring you home.

Two days later, it was Monday, your name was all over the school. When I said everyone was buzzing about you, I meant it. It was Lux who elbowed me when you walked past the field on your trial day as a cheerleader, wearing black shorts and a white shirt. Your hair pulled backward in a pony-tail, granting me your long delicate neck. You seemed so nervous but pretty at the same time. I sat on the bench the entire noon, watching you from afar. When it came to your turn, my stomach churned, I had to admit that I wished you silent good luck from where I sat. Because if you were accepted, I could see you every day on the field.

Nothing was wrong until a sickening memory resurfaced when I saw you shaking hands with Gwendoline. It reminded me of Megan and her as best friends when she was alive. Now it sounded ridiculous, but, at the moment I felt a weird feeling on my stomach. My head went dizzy, I had to grasp the bench beneath me for support. My bile rose up, I wanted to puke so bad. Those feelings were the only reason why I stopped looking at you from the bench afterward and pretended that I didn't have any interest in you. Silly me.

Did you remember about my fucking ankle sprained? I got it on November twenty-sixth, if I was not mistaken, in a football match. My right ankle was throbbing and swollen like a balloon. Dang, it was that Linebacker's fault! He shouldn't have tackled me like a barbaric animal. Maybe I had to teach him how to play right, no? But if I knew that the ankle sprained would lead me to our first encounter on that rainy September I would not complain. It was worth the pain.

Sugar, my love. You told me that you wanted to be a doctor in the future like your dad. But, honestly, you already became a doctor by rescuing my dying life. It was you who helped me. You approached me with fear but curiosity laced on your pretty face. Asking your name was just an attempt to make me less scary in your eyes. For the first time after Megan's accident, I used a phone to call Lux. I didn't know how, but, there was no ringing sound in my ears at the moment. Maybe because I was distracted enough to scrutinize your blue-colored phone case. I noticed that maybe it was your favorite color. A blue bag, a blue nail paint that chipped a little, and a baby blue crop-top you wore.

I caught you staring at me and your cheeks blushed instantly. I didn't bring it to the conversation, afraid if you felt uncomfortable. The strawberry-scented perfume you probably sprayed on your wrists, neck, and a little on your top was emanating to the air. I loved how you wore it not too much. At that moment, your response perplexed me. I couldn't fathom why did you behave not like any other girl I knew? They usually threw herself at me which made my growing repugnance got bigger. I took a mental note that you were, perhaps, different.

With you, the table turned, I found myself kept throwing myself at you. From lunch at my secret place, stealing (or let's say I was just borrowing because I did turn it back) a bike and climbing the tree next to your window, or ditching the party to broke into my uncle's mansion. I found myself feeling content when I was with you. No one gave me that feeling before. The nightmares were ceased, I started to wake up in a pleasant mood since I knew you, Sugar.

As time went by, I learned that I really liked hearing your laugh or simply seeing you smiled. Things that I found cute when you:
Weren't aware of my attempt to steal your food.
Flushing red after I complimented your look.
Biting your lower lip when you were nervous.
Glaring at me.
Complaining about the stain on your white roller skate.
Eating strawberry-flavored ice cream.
Were in your cheerleading uniform.
Spying me.
Didn't admit to spying on me.
Had to tiptoe to kiss me.
Sealed your lips to muffle a curse.
Pretending to be completely okay with Amy.
Unconsciously did a tiny dance to The Archies.
Humming some random tunes when you were happy.
Frowning at your chipped nail.
Trying to avoid eye-contact with me every time I stared too long.
Were too shy to say 'I love you's and 'I miss you's.
Had an attempt to unbuckle my pants.

Tara-Jane, my love, did you count how many times we spent together? Or how many memories we had all this time?
Things were stolen: 1
Mansion broke: 1
Cigarette shared: nearly a box (I counted every stick you stole in Modena)
Records listened: 678
Books read: 309
Kisses: 596860498498?!
Having sex: 5 or 6?
Sunflowers received: thousands
Foods shared: millions
Homeworks did: sorry, never counted
Time spent: 19840927854 hours
Date night: zero, because I never officially ask you on a date, no?

Honeysuckle, the weird feeling was coming back when I knew you were not comfortable to talk to me in public. I clearly remembered how you refused to show them our closeness. I got very nauseous and the ground was spinning below me. That was why I ran away from you after you rejected me. I couldn't face it. I was a coward, I knew. But I regretted my decision because it led you to be harassed at the party. You did nothing wrong. And also not your beautiful dress' fault. It was Ted's retarded mind that was found guilty of his wrongdoing. That day, I promised to myself to protect you from feeling miserable ever again. You, too, had to promise yourself not letting everyone made you felt that way, Tara-Jane.

If I could have one more wish for you, it'll be bringing your dad back to you. So you could have a proper goodbye. At the funeral, you and your mom seemed so lost. The view broke my heart, seeing you so vulnerable was torturing me. Tara-Jane, if you could only knew that your sadness was my sadness, too. Your pain was my pain, too, Honey.

I didn't know whether my decision to apply for college in New York was something egotistical or not. Something that I certain of was my family couldn't afford the tuition fee if I didn't get a scholarship. I was about to tell you but you were still caught up in grieve. There was no attempt to hide it from you, Tara-Jane. I was being honest. As I said, I thought about having a conversation with you but I didn't know it turned to be very sad. Sorry, I was being so emotional. But there was nothing not emotional when it was about you.

So long that I arranged the sentence to talk to you. Coming all the way to Modena was a real big decision for me. Honestly, you looked perfectly fine until I saw the vanilla-flavored ice cream on your hand. And your disturbed expression when Saint's hand on your shoulder. I sensed something weird in his eyes when he looked at you. Longing desperately. I didn't mind if he talked nasty things about me, but, if he tried to land his hand on your skin once again I surely lost my patience. I would admit this now, that I talked to him in the middle of the night without your knowledge. No punch, just talking.

Tara-Jane, my dear, I wrote this note so you could know how important you were in my life. Loving you was easy and natural for me. Like I was made to love you. Before you, my life consisted of nightmares and lethargies. Sadness was lethal, like venom, it spread through my veins left me dying. You were the cure. You were the answer to all my prayers.

I didn't need tumultuous applause nor a grand prize to feel like I was winning. In the end, all I needed was your open arms and you fixed my collar like you used to do, then you said, welcome back, my dear.

Yours truly,
Your favorite man,
Jeremy Harrington.
🕊