Playing the Game

1. Layers

It's actually the one letter I've written that I considered sending. But that heart I told you I had? Guess it works because hurting him like that wasn't on my agenda, no matter how badly he hurt us, hurt her.

Beside the mess of papers etched in my handwriting lies the stack of mostly unopened letters from him, all containing the same markings, wielding the same branding. These aren't even all of them either. They'd never fit in one box.

They've been coming a lot more frequently lately. The closer it gets to his release, the more he sends. I don't know why, I don't know what they could possibly contain. Nothing he could write down on a lousy letter would take away the years of hurt he left behind. Even if he has reformed himself, he's still the same man. The one I get to visit in my nightmares.

I press the letter in the box, ignoring the way it bends the others as I forcefully find it a place. The lid is slammed shut before the box is promptly shoved back beneath my bed.

I should be sleeping right now, I should be getting rest before my flight to New York in the morning. Every summer, I spend a few weeks volunteering at the local community center in a small town outside of Albany, Tommy's hometown. His sister Sadie and her husband Austin have opened their home to me every time. And seeing as their daughter, June, is my best friend, I anticipate it each and every time. It's also nice to visit Tommy's side of the family.

You see, Tommy married my mom when I was seven years old. He came into our lives at the most perfect time, sweeping my mom right off her feet and giving us a complete family, one we never truly knew. He became my dad. Sure, we don't actually share DNA, but by all things that actually matter, he's my dad.

So, getting to spend some time every summer seeing where he grew up, working at the same community center he used to volunteer at, I don't know, it just means something more.

I flip my phone over, checking the time again, only to be more disappointed at the fact that it's officially morning by AM standards and I'm still completely unable to fall asleep. That letter burning a hole through my chest. I wish it weren't. I wish it was just a damn letter. That I could add it to the box and push it out of my head. But it's never that easy. It's never just a letter.

With a heavy exhale, I push myself up, trudging out to the kitchen in defeat. There's only one way I can possibly find peace tonight.

Setting the kettle on the stove, I swing around to the cupboard, grabbing two mugs and placing them on the counter. Next, I reach for the packets, tearing them open and pouring them into each cup. When the water begins to whistle, I reach for the kettle, pouring the water just over halfway before stirring it all together. Watching the powdered chocolate dissolve in a steady swirl of piping hot water begins to add to that sense of calm I'm desperately craving.

The sound of the fridge opening has a small smile forming on my face as Tommy's presence becomes known. He brings the milk over, filling up each cup to the top, cooling it down to perfection. We don't say anything, not before our masterpiece is complete with marshmallows and a perfect sprinkle of cinnamon.

We both grab our respectable mugs and take a seat at the counter. There's still an ounce of silence as we each take our first sip, the warm rush of chocolate soothing the tangled pieces inside.

"I take it you're not here because you're anxious about your flight this morning?" Tommy jumps in, getting our late night hot chocolate conversation started.

We've been having these ever since I was a kid. Started out on the night when the nightmares hit. They used to happen a lot. Mom would cuddle beside me or I'd join them in bed, the comfort and safety of their arms all I needed to keep me tethered to reality. One night, when it just wasn't enough to stay in the quiet of their room, Tommy brought me out here. He made us hot chocolate and we just talked.