1642734778_punk-57-pdf

She’ll listen to me. She’ll understand. All this wasn’t meant to happen.
I dig in my jeans for my keys and climb in my truck, charging out of the
park and onto the highway.
The letters. Goddammit! Knowing Ryen’s temper, they’re probably
shredded at the bottom of a garbage disposal right now. Fuck!
I grip the steering wheel, rubbing my eyes with my other hand. The
road is blurry, and I try to calm my breathing.
Those letters are everything. They’re her and me, kids just trying to
figure themselves out and going through all our growing pains. They’re
where I first started to fall for her and need her. They’re my fucking songs
and a part of me.
Our history is in those letters. Every beautiful thing she ever said to me
to tilt my world on its side.
My stomach rolls. If they’re gone, so help me God…
And if Ryen won’t hear me out, I don’t know what I’ll do.
After ten minutes, I’m finally parking on the street in front of her house.
I kill the car and jump out, running up to her front door.
The house is dark and quiet, which is expected at one in the morning.
But when I lift the flower pot, the key is missing. I curl my fists.
I round the house, checking windows to see if they lift, but then I spot a
ladder propped up on the side of the house and stop. Gazing up, I see no
light coming through Ryen’s window.
Fuck it. If she’s not there I’ll wait.
I start climbing.
Making my way up the ladder, I step onto the roof and walk over to her
window. The room is pitch black, but I hear music, “True Friends” by
Bring Me the Horizon playing, and I don’t hesitate. Lifting the window, I
swing a leg in and bow down, sliding in.