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Jemma stared down at the papers in her hand, rereading the words she’d spent the better part of a night writing, scratching out, then rewriting. She’d gone through nearly 20 sheets before she had a draft she was happy with, and even still she hated every word swimming before her eyes.
Dear Fitz,
I am so sorry…
Not for the first time, she cursed her parents. There was no reason for them to go to England; she had been born there, yes, and they had visited frequently, but it wasn’t home to her. Not the way this small town had become her home. The way the people here mattered. If she was being honest, the way one particular person mattered.
Jemma wished she could call him. It would be so much better if she could hear his voice. If she could hear him, and if he could hear her, he’d know how much she hated this entire thing. How much she didn’t want to go away. How miserable she was without being able to at least call or text him.
But her father had taken to “reviewing” the phone bill every month. He made a show of it being to ensure they weren’t being overcharged, but Jemma knew what he was doing. It was his chance to see every number she called or texted. In theory she might have been connected to the entire world through her mobile, but it was no good to her. Jemma had never felt so utterly cut off.
She climbed out her own window while her parents watched the evening news, carefully picking her way down the trellis Fitz had used to climb up to her window only a few short weeks before. Jemma paused in the garden, waiting to see if anyone would notice what she’d done. When there was no movement, either from her house or the neighbor’s, Jemma took off at a light trot and headed toward the diner.
He’d be there. According to Daisy that’s where he’d been spending the majority of his time these days. That, or playing video games with Hunter and Mack. Jemma had been heartened at the news; there had been a part of her that worried that without being available to him, Fitz would turn his attention to someone else. Someone prettier, kinder.
Someone who wasn’t too afraid to stand up to her family.
Those thoughts chased Jemma through the darkened streets, enabling her to keep going even after she’d passed her usual distance and her legs had grown fatigued. By the time she arrived at the diner, she was a mess, her hair plastered to her temples and her shirt sticking to her skin as she tried to regulate her breathing.
Jemma could see him, even from the dim edge of the parking lot, his head bent as he swept the linoleum floors of his mother’s diner. There was something about the set of his shoulders that bothered her. She hadn’t seen him look that dejected in a long time, and Jemma knew without a doubt that it was because of her.
She itched to run her fingers through his curls, to duck her head against his chest while he held her, but Jemma was left frozen in the parking lot. She watched as his mother came up behind him, her arm easily sliding around his shoulders as she spoke to him. Fitz’ eyes closed briefly, almost as though he were feeling pained, before he relaxed into his mother’s embrace. Jemma could only imagine what they were talking about, but her heart broke with the knowledge that it was likely, in some part, about her.
Jemma could feel tears begin to prick the corners of her eyes and hastily wiped them away. She had spent enough time out here; every minute she was out of the house was a minute closer to her absence being discovered by her parents.
Before she could lose her nerve, Jemma darted over to Fitz’ car and slipped the letter beneath his wiper on the driver’s side. He’d be sure to see it that way, and she could rest a little easier knowing he got her message.
I love you, and I wish there was another way.