Less than Perfect by S. J. Evans (love letters to the dead txt) 📕

She sobbed, hot tears pouring down her cold face, and curled herself in a protective ball, hoping he would just get everything over with. Hoping that he would just kill her already, even though she knew he wouldn’t. She felt as though she was dying already. The wrong he had done that afternoon was too hard to bear.
He looked hurt; his eyes filled with sorrow and his lips dropping into a frown. He suddenly didn’t look like the same person who had abused her only hours before, but someone entirely different. He looked as though he actually cared for what she had to say. “I’m sorry, Skye. I never wanted to hurt you, really. I just got so…scared. When you panicked. I thought I was going to lose you again, and I needed to talk to you before it happened.” His voice, ringing in Skye’s ears, sounded calm and gentle. He wasn’t angry, wasn’t yelling. It was as if something was holding him back, something new. “But, then you lost it and I got angry because all I wanted to do was talk to you. I wanted you to know the truth, but I blew it.” He started reaching in, trying to stroke her hair, but he stopped. In his eyes was the familiar emotion that Jules had before he left Skye in the restroom—pain

.
She froze, unable to breathe. Was he serious? Did he actually feel pain for doing what he did? Did he really just want to talk and she provoked him by doing what she thought was protecting herself? She wondered. Trying to catch her breath, she stammered, “Wh—what?”
“This isn’t the place, Skye. I’ll tell you everything inside.” He said abruptly. “It’s not safe here.”
“And it’s safe inside

, with you

?” Her tone was weak, so much weaker than she wanted it to be. Shaking her head, she kept herself hidden in the shadows of the trunk. “I don’t want to hear whatever it is you have to say, Bryan,” she croaked. “Please, just let me go.”
He shook his head, taking a deep breath. “Listen to me, Skye,” He said, reaching in and grabbing hold of her arms. His grip was gentle but firm, just enough to keep her in his power without hurting her. “If you let me explain everything to you, talking and that’s all, I’ll let you go in a heartbeat. And I’ll never bother you again. I swear. All I want for you now is to know that I love you, and that I’m going to fix my life. And maybe, someday, I’ll be the person that I want to be—the person that someone could love

.”
She shivered, so taken with his words that she didn’t know which way to turn or what to believe. She didn’t see clearly what he meant or how he meant it, all she saw was the sliver of hope that he was going to set her free. After all he put her through—the pain, the lies, the confusion, the insecurity—he was releasing it all, setting her free to find her control on her own life again.
Taking one long, quivering breath, she slowly nodded her head. “Okay, Bryan. I’ll listen.” She breathed. “Promise me you won’t hurt me, though. Please.”
He smiled a little, a careful smile as he had at their first meeting, and released her arms. Drawing his hand back a little to offer his hand, he nodded his head. “I promise not to hurt you.”
Though her mind was spinning with fear and disbelief, she managed to give her shaky hand in his. She winced, her head throbbing with pain at the small movement. The dark town spun as Bryan helped her out of the trunk, his touch reassuring in a strange way. She couldn’t have imagined letting him touch her willingly, but she knew that she was too weak to manage on her own. For the time being, she needed him just as much as he needed her.
She collapsed in his arms, her breath hitching out of her as she closed her eyes. Bryan caught her, his hands holding her close as he carefully lifted her in his arms. She couldn’t feel his hand touching her, which she was thankful for, but when she opened her eyes again they were inside a house—Bryan’s house.
He carried her over to a shabby door and opened it, adjusting her so that she wouldn’t fall. It led down to a stairway, cold air wafting through the air upon them.
She whimpered, remembering her own basement and the force of his lips against hers. “Bryan, please—” She tried, but words wouldn’t come. Her throat was too dry, her body falling under exhaustion.
“It’s okay, Skye. I promised, remember? My room’s in the basement, that’s all. And you need something to rest on while I explain things; I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.” He assured her, taking a few steps down the stairs, the wooden boards moaning under their weight.
Gaining better consciousness, she felt his finger lightly stroking her arm. She bit her lip, imagining Jules’ finger stroking her. She imagined Jules carrying her, not Bryan, to assure herself that everything was going to be okay. But when she pictured Jules in the car, the look on his face when he whispered her name and drew back in pain, she felt a tear running down her cheek, and all of her fear returned.
“Bry,” she whispered. “What about Jules? I need to make sure he’s alright.”
She was afraid of how he would react, imagining his anger resurfacing and driving him to throw her down the stairs, and cringed. Trying to assure him that she was all his for the time being, she carefully wrapped her arms behind his head and pulled herself closer to him.
It wasn’t Bryan holding her though, it was Jules. He was there, not Bryan. She admitted she was a liar and there was more between them, and everything was going to be perfect. She created the scene. In her mind, she was going to fix everything.
She noticed Bryan’s grip tighten a little, his body gone slightly rigid. He stepped off the last step and steered them around the staircase, towards the door across the way—the door to his bedroom. She had only been at his house once, months ago for a school project, but being there again and under the circumstances that still unnerved her, the place had no appeal.
Bryan pushed the door open with his foot, the hinges creaking as it swayed away from his path. Finally, he opened his mouth to speak. “Jules is going to be fine, Skye. It was just a shot to his shoulder, nothing lethal. I promise.” He spoke the words naturally, the usual tension he’d carry whilst talking about Jules absent.
She sighed heavily, waiting for him to release her and get everything over with. She wanted to make sure Jules was okay for herself; she needed to know that he was safe. All she could think about was the look he gave her before she was dragged away, and the look he gave her when she told him to forget about her. She never wanted to see such hurt again.
Gingerly setting Skye onto his double sized bed, he smiled at her. As he watched her settle against the head of the bed, he sat himself on the foot of the bed. He shook his head, his now shaggy hair framing his face, and sighed. “You called me, Bry. You haven’t called me that since—well, since we first started dating.”
She looked at him then, her crystal eyes searching for his. She hadn’t even realized that she had called him by his old nickname; it seemed so natural, as though she had always been calling him by it. “Oh,” she murmured. “I guess I did.” She pressed her cold hand to her forehead, giving pressure to her aching head.
He shifted his gaze in her direction, a crooked smile swimming on his lips. “I guess the whole we thing is pretty irrelevant now, though,” he mumbled, his lips quivering into a frown. “Skye, are you feeling alright?” His brows narrowed and he scooted a little closer to her.
She jumped back a little, dropping her hand. “Err…yeah, I’m fine.”
“Skye, did you hit your head?”
Gulping down lies, she nodded carefully. “Yeah…” she murmured. She felt her pulse thumping in her head, her body crashing down in agony. “Bryan, please…help me.” She whispered.
He scrambled over to her, putting his hand on her head. “You seem fine but what about how you feel

?”
“Like someone crashed a vase over my head,” she said. “It’s really not that bad though. You can tell me what it is you have to tell me.”
He looked appalled to the idea. “That can wait, Skye. I’m not letting you sit here and suffer. I’ll go get something to ease the pain. Look,”—he took her hand in his—“I’m sorry I ever hurt you, Skye.”
She looked into those bold blue eyes, the rims dark and rimmed with worry, and a small smile occupied her lips. “It’s okay, Bry. I know.” She whispered.
She had no idea where the forgiveness came from. Just minutes before, she was sure she hated him; but when she saw this side of the boy, the side she had once developed good feelings for, she remembered just how wonderful everything felt back then. That was the side she loved. Not that beast he had so often become. Maybe something somehow had changed after all.
When she looked at his hand, holding back tears, she grimaced. She didn’t see his hand, but Jules’s. She didn’t feel his

breath on her neck, but Jules’s. She didn’t think about his

lips brushing against hers, but Jules’s. Looking up, she didn’t see his

face, she saw Jules’s: his smile, his eyes, his skin—his beauty

. She forced herself not to see the fear or worry in his eyes when she was dragged away, but the twinkle in his eyes when he looked at her as if he was seeing her for the first time.
Jules gave her thrill she had never experienced before, butterflies she couldn’t have imagined, happiness she could only dream of, peace she always wanted, and love she’d always yearned for. If one thing was for certain, it would be that she felt incredibly more towards him than she led on. In all those past moments when she wanted to give up, it was he who changed her mind, no one else.
It wasn’t until she heard the smack! of cabinets closing that she realized Bryan had ever left her side. Gazing at him, she lay down, shaking as chills prickled her skin. Something had changed with Bryan and whatever it was, she was grateful for it; even though she felt an incredibly strange uneasiness when she thought about the things he could tell her.
Bryan hurried over to her, a glass of water and some pills in his hand, and sat beside her as he held them out for her. “Here,” he insisted. “Take this.”
She took them, nodding her head as a