It Starts with Us by Colleen Hoover

going on in my life, but reading her words has shown me that she didn’t need
protecting from it. If anything, she could have helped me through it.
It makes me want to write her another letter, but even more, it makes me
want to be in her presence, talking about these things face-to-face. I know
we’re taking things slow, but the more I’m around her, the more impatient I
am to be around her again.
I stand up to take the journal inside and to grab something to drink for the
wait, but I pause as soon as I come to a stand. There’s a streetlight at the
other end of the alley creating a spotlight on the building, and there’s a
shadow moving across the light. The shadow travels across the building in
the other direction, as if whatever is casting the shadow is coming my way. I
back up a step so that I can remain hidden.
Someone eventually comes into view. A kid closes in on the back door.
I don’t know if this kid is my brother, but it’s definitely the same person I
saw on the security footage at Corrigan’s. The same clothes, the same hoodie
tightened around their face.
I remain hidden and watch them, becoming more and more convinced by
the second that it’s exactly who I think it is. He’s built like me. He even
moves like me. I’m filled with anxious energy because I want to meet him. I
want to tell him that I’m not angry and that I know what he’s going through.
I’m not sure I was even angry at whoever was doing this before I knew it
could potentially be my brother. It’s hard to be angry at a kid, but it’s
especially hard to be angry at one who was raised by the same woman who
attempted to raise me. I know what it’s like to have to do what you can to
survive. I also know what it’s like when you’d do anything to get someone’s
attention. Anyone’s. There were times in my childhood I just wanted to be
noticed, and I have a feeling that’s exactly what’s going on here.
He’s hoping to be caught. This is more a cry for attention than anything.
He walks right up to the back door of the restaurant without an ounce of
hesitation. This place has become familiar to him. He checks the back door to
see if it’s locked. When it doesn’t open, he pulls a new can of spray paint out
of his hoodie. I wait for him to lift it, and that’s when I decide to make my
presence known.
“You’re holding it wrong.” My voice startles him. When he spins around
and looks up at me and I see how young he really is, my heartstrings stretch
so tight, it feels like they’re about to pop. I try to imagine Theo out here alone
in the middle of the night like this.