At one point, I began to like you too much to ever let you go. I trusted you more than I trusted anyone else. You knew about my power when almost nobody else did.

I remember when I told you. Not about what was supposed to happen to you, I couldn't bring myself to let you know what was going to happen or what I was going to do to stop it. I'm talking about the moment I told you about how I can scan; how I can see the future. We were sitting together on my old tree house, the one my dad made me before he died. We'd just had dinner with my mom, you suggested we go get some air. It was the first moment I knew I couldn't keep such a big part of my life from you, and I knew you wouldn't be scared away from my ability.

I was right. You weren't. You've always supported me.

When a person reaches a certain level of closeness to another, be it romantic or platonic closeness, you can't let them go. If I had to choose to let a group of random strangers die or to let you die, I would choose the strangers. I don't know if that's how it's supposed to go, but that would be my choice.

If I had to give myself major misfortune or willingly let you have it, I would make myself unfortunate. You mean too much to me to let you suffer. Nobody would know if I let this happen to you, nobody important anyway, and the people who knew about my abilities could be convinced I never scanned for your future. But I would know. I did scan for your future, even though that night in the treehouse you told me not to, because I cared too much about your safety. Please don't hate me for this.

--

My hands shook as I read the note. My throat burned as it tried, tried, to hold back tears.