//TW: Mentions of suicidal thoughts, nothing graphic but just a heads up :>//
Despite how much I wanted his words to be lies, I couldn't find it within myself to be surprised when I quietly exited the car to hear loud voices floating from inside into the motionless winter night- the resolute moon casting blue shadows across the shining ice-laced sidewalks. No wonder he could hear it, wherever he was, if they were bickering so loudly.
Rising up the porch steps, I paused as another letter waited for me in its usual space, silently beckoning for me to pick it up. Instead, however, I sat down beside it and wrapped my coat around me tighter, preferring to be in its nagging company than to be in the tense domain which would be the company of my parents.
"It's not like she can afford to pay us rent for being in the basement, Terryl." My father's voice rang loudly, the knocker on the front door tinking quietly as it jumped from the thunder of his shout. "With her student debt, it's a miracle she can pay her own phone bill and pay for gas with the job she has. Not to mention that she buys her own food-"
"But she's 25 Mike! If she went back to school for one more year and toughed it out, she could at least be working a better job! I didn't raise her to be a leech in our basement-"
"Do you think she's not trying? Do you think it's safe for her to go back with a stalker anyways?"
For a moment, it was quiet before a snarky laugh followed.
"Do you really call some stupid love letters stalking? If she lived on campus, the security in a dorm might be better for her anyways."
I hadn't known I was holding my breath until a staggering gulp was ripped from my lungs at her words. Catching my head in my hands, I toiled with the rolling torrent of emotions rising and collapsing within the walls of my chest, once again in what was becoming a constant chemical induced storm within my brain. It was humiliating- perhaps even belittling- to hear her say those words; but what felt worse that there was more I hadn't heard. This fight served as only a small appetizer to what I knew was a full-course meal of discontent which has been slowly overtaking the table of our lives; the plates teetering to the floor to break into thousands of pieces.
Even my father didn't seem to have anything to say to that, and the fight seemed to have been settled, or perhaps postponed until the next time I leave for work again.
It felt eerily silent now, sitting on the porch in the wake of their shrieking, but strangely, it felt almost peaceful. There was a certain guilt in being the wedge between them; that I was a stress for them even when I wasn't around. They sounded so... done with me. My hands felt like a shield protecting me from their expectations, so for a little while longer, I sat in the cold and swallowed the growing lump in my throat.
Was I really overreacting because of the letters? Were my panic attacks just me being overly paranoid?
Risking a glance to the red letter sitting beside me, I took a moment to scan my surroundings.
The street was empty- not a sound now except for the wind in the tree's branches or hush of fresh snow skating across patches of ice on the road. It was still, and though it was dark, dim streetlights lit up the sidewalk every few feet. Perhaps because it was well past midnight now, but all the other condos were all dark and sleepy, and hopefully equally oblivious to the chaos which was leaking through the thin walls and into the freezing night.
Though I paused for a moment, I found myself holding the red letter in my chilled hands- half imagining that there was still warmth left in its paper before telling myself that this was exactly my issue- another 'if' accumulating with the others.
'If I was less paranoid, everything wouldn't be as shitty as it was now.'
My fingers didn't hesitate at they peeled open the red envelope and withdrew the familiar letter as if it were habit, my eyes focusing to the delicate words in the wake of my mother's harsh statements.
"Dear Dove, " this one started. "It's going to be ok."
My breathing halted in my chest for a moment before the chaos in my bones turned back to its bitter color.
You can't tell me that, I wanted to say. You can't comfort me when your stalking me- but while it felt hypocritical of him to say that, my eyes lingered on the words for just a moment too long before they moved on to the next.
"I didn't want to tell you about your parents fighting, but I want you to know that I would never lie to you. You're too divine for me to ever lie to, Carmilla..."
After that, followed more poems and lyrical musings- comparisons of 'my' kindness to angels and rolling green hills in the midst of his dead, decrepit tundra. It felt odd to hear about these traits he saw in 'me' which I was so sure didn't exist- like my kindness, or my divine generosity. In the past three months, I had done nothing especially kind; never been noteworthily generous. I worked, and came home- with nothing else to speak to my existence.
Tapping my chin, I read through the rest of his emotional letter, surprised as he began to vent to me now- nearly knocking me off my ass before I stupidly remembered that, while annoying, a stalker was still a person with their own life.
"Thank god I met you, Dove. To be honest, life was getting so hard." He wrote. "I was debating killing myself until I met you- that's how much I hated my life. I don't know what I would ever do without you."
At that, my eyes unfocused; my mind divided. Whoever this person was, he was clearly ill... But, my initial thought at reading those words was apathy.
I hadn't articulated it, but the very twitch of my eyelid seemed to say "then kill yourself and leave me alone".
So much for my supposed kindness, I chuckled internally.
My hands, however, tightened their grip on the delicate paper.
I didn't want to feel bad for my stalker- after all, he was probably lying about that just to toy with me right? Just to make me pity him. But... if he really killed himself, I knew it would only add itself to the growing list I was accumulating of guilts and grievances. It wouldn't be my fault, I assured myself. But it wouldn't be unrelated to me either.
My spine twinged with that disgusted ache once more, frustrated that yet another weight felt like it was piling upon my shoulders- but I still tiredly paced my eyes down his words one by one.
"But don't worry, I'm a stronger person now that you've entered my life- so much so that I can be strong for the both of us. Speaking of us, I finally thought of the perfect Christmas gift to get you; I think it might make things easier for you, and show you just how much I love you, Dove."
A Christmas gift? Something that might make things easier for me?
Letting out a tired sigh, I felt the paranoia crawl back upon my brow and press against my skull as if it wanted to break through the bone and crush my brain.
"I can't wait for you to open it. I hope you have a wonderful night,
Forever yours,
Crow"
Closing the letter, I rose to go inside before pausing, my teeth chewing on the corner of my lip as a curiosity sparked in my veins.
Standing still for a moment, I turned down the porch and walked to the side of our garage to our trash bin, scanning the dark street one more time.
If he saw me read it this time- if he was even watching- would this letter return back to the porch again tomorrow?
Curious to find out, I slipped the letter into the trash and promptly went inside to warm up; the game of tug-of-war slowly evolving into a game of chess.
***
"You're finally back."
My body froze at my mother's voice, stunned that she was still awake; but glancing over to where my dad sat at the kitchen table, it didn't take much to realize that this was an intervention.
"... Yea." I nodded, peeling off my coat and putting it into the closet. I couldn't tell if I was grateful for the heads up in the letter or if it put me even further on edge, so instead of thinking I submitted my cold, tired body into the chair across from hers, the bright yellow light of the dining room feeling as if it were burning my skin.
For a few moments, we all sat in silence; or rather, none of us talked. It couldn't be completely silent when all of our bodies spoke equally loudly: my mother half leaned upon the back of her chair in a powerful and defensive stance, her painted nails drumming into the wooden table which housed a familiar white paper. And next to her, my father sat meekly avoiding my eyes, his face ridden with wrinkles I could have sworn weren't there just yesterday, and his back hunched over just slightly- like the air was beginning to press down on his shoulders with an untiring force.
As for me, even my body felt muted. My hands wound themselves in the cloth of my shirt, hiding beneath the table while my legs crossed together- some primitive part of my brain telling me that, if I was smaller and less threatening, maybe my mom would take pity on me one last time, and we could all go to bed ignoring the letter on the table, as well as the letters constantly appearing on the porch.
Deep down, though, I knew we were all beyond that. We were all tired; all at the end of our ropes living like this. Only, I felt like they were urging me to let go despite my constant cries that there was no net beneath me to catch me. I knew- I knew- that he would follow me if I went back. In a sea of people, I could imagine accidently brushing into him unknowingly; what the paranoia and anxiety would do to me if I didn't have the safety of my room and the locked door which I had now.
Once again, my lips found themselves collapsed upon themselves as my teeth pulled at the dead skin on my lips, petrified. If I could do anything, I would hide from the entire world for a little while- just enough for him to grow bored, just enough for me to grow back my constantly wilting sanity.
Risking a look up, I sucked in a tight breath as I met my mother's dark eyes.
Can't you see how this is ruining me?
".I..." My mom opened her mouth for a moment before closing it; her defensive display shedding from her tense limbs.
"I want you to go back to school, Carmilla." She pressed, gently now instead of the angry demands I had prepared myself for.
She looked so... lifeless.
Perhaps I hadn't noticed it since I wasn't upstairs much when they were home, but even she looked older now- more worn through. Her greying light brown hair looked more frizzy and less smooth than it used to, her clothing not so elegantly put together like she usually prided herself on being.
It almost made me want to chuckle- to twitch my mouth into some mixture of hatred, contempt, and defeat. At least if she had yelled at me, I would have the emotional fortitude to put up a wall and rely on my dad to convince her one more time that I should stay here just a little bit longer.
But now... if she asked so... exasperatingly, I would only be making myself the villain if I continued relying on them so much, right?
"I know you're scared of whoever is sending you those letters, but if you moved back into campus housing, it might be even safer than if you stayed here. You're already 25. You're getting too old to stay with us like this. Your father and I both agree..."
It was only then that my father would meet my eyes, his mouth which usually defended me sealed shut.
"What if- what if I took college classes online?" I caved. "Just to get me back in the flow of things, so I can... can..."
So I can be shielded from him for just a bit longer?
The spit in the back of my throat felt as if it were acid eating into my sinews, the words failing to take shape.
"Sure, Carmilla, " My mother huffed. "But by the fall I want you going back. You only have two semester's worth of credits needed anyways to get your degree anyways, right?"
Nodding my head, the thoughts in my head muted themselves as she pushed the admission's office letter on the table in front of me and got up, leaving me and my father to sit alone as she went to bed.
Once again left in an awkward, betrayed silence, his chair loudly scraped against the floor before he gave my shoulders a reassuring squeeze.
"The world's gotta keep on spinning, Carmilla." He hushed, his hands feeling cool to the touch.
"It's going to be okay."