Work Text:
Dear Caroline,
Josie left. Josie left the school, and she didn’t say goodbye, and I know it’s stupid but it hurts.
I don’t know when you’ll receive this letter. It may be tomorrow. It may be months from now.
I don’t know why I’m writing this letter. Scratch that. I do. I’m writing this letter because all I want to know, that she’s safe, with you.
I don’t think I could live with myself if she wasn’t safe. If I let her down. If something happened. It already feels like a bullet ripping through my chest at the fact she left. And there’s reminders everywhere. The empty spot in the dining room. The empty chair at assembly’s. The empty desk in Chemistry of magic. The silence in the garden, the plants left unattended. The absence of humming and the melody of a ukulele floating through the air. No more quiet singing as pencil scratches against paper. The gentle laughter filling the air. And a single, steady ‘thump, thump’ of a heart. Josie’s heart.
The funny thing is, Caroline, is that your daughter helps lull me to sleep. And she doesn’t even know it. I tune into her heartbeat, and find myself drifting to a calming sleep. Knowing she’s safe.
I guess I won’t have that anymore.
It’s funny, because I will never stop loving Josie. She was my first crush. My bisexual awakening. She deserved the moon and the stars, and so much more than what she ended up with. And I just hope one day she realizes her worth. I regret my younger self not asking her out. Maybe I could’ve shown her the world. Let her live as Josie. Not as Lizzie’s sister, or the other Saltzman twin. Just Josie.
Lizzie doesn’t seem to be fairing any better than me. She tries to hide it, and for a short bit of time, she has. But I can see it. Can see it in how bitchy she’s been. How she looks next to her after telling a joke, as if she can hear her laughter too, only to find an empty seat. How she refuses to do tours anymore. Because who else would say ‘we’re fraternal’? I’ve read something about a phantom limb. How after someone gets a body part amputated, leg, hand, foot, whatever, they can sometimes still feel like it’s there. Even when it’s so clearly gone. And sometimes I feel like Lizzie feels like that. She feels the ghost of her sister. I’m trying to help as much as I can with her transition. I feel like Josie would’ve been better at this. She always knew what to say.
I know I’ll miss Josie terribly. And I’m afraid. I’m afraid I’ll lose her forever. Maybe I already have.
I just wished I could’ve said the words sooner to her.
“I 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 a crush on you. And I 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 you Josie.”
Please don’t show her this letter Caroline.
Please, just tell her, I’m safe. And I’m okay. And I owe most of that to her. And I miss her.
Best regards,
Hope.