Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

From: S Shipman <[email protected]>

To: <[email protected]>

Date: 3 Oct 1996 at 23:10

Subject: Let’s talk.

Dear Jackie,

Did you miss me?

I know you did.

I know you asked Van if she heard anything from Tai about me. I know you drove past my house after I left. I know you called my mum. I know you still have the necklace I gave you.

Do you still wear it? I hope you do.

I wish you hadn’t left for that godforsaken family trip after what happened. We could have talked about everything. I wish I had more time to explain. I waited for your call, your letter, anything. But you just left. And then I left.

Anyways. How is Rutgers? Is it everything you hoped for? Do you have a roommate? Have you decided which sorority you want to join? Are you going to play soccer again? It would be a shame to waste such talent.

I hope you are having the time of your life, Jax. Believe it or not, I have always wanted the best for you.

I am keeping things vague here because I’ve mailed the same to the other eleven Jacquelin Taylors (never knew your name was so common) with a Rutgers student E-mail ID, so don’t be surprised if they ask you about it tomorrow. Tell them it’s nothing to worry about. Tell them that you are the only one I want.

Always yours,

Shauna

Chapter Text

From: [email protected]

To: S Shipman [email protected]

Date: 6 Oct 1996 at 22:10

Re: Let’s talk.

fuck you

From: S Shipman <[email protected]>

To: <[email protected]>

Date: 6 Oct 1996 at 22:20

Re: Let’s talk.

 

Thanks for the confirmation.

 

Always yours, 

Shauna

Chapter Text

From: S Shipman <[email protected]>

To: <[email protected]>

Date: 15 Oct 1996 at 07:25

Subject: My ways.

Dear Jackie,

I hope you reply soon to the first email I sent. I do want to know how you are doing over there. It’s okay to take time, but you know that patience has never been my strongest suit.

You know I have my ways to make you talk, but I don’t want to start this like that.

Always yours,

Shauna

Chapter Text

From: S Shipman<[email protected]>

To: <[email protected]>

Date: 17 Oct 1996 at 07:10
Subject: Other Jackies.

Dear Jackie,

Five other Jackies that I wrote to have replied to my email, yet you have not.

Jacquelin Taylor from Longridge congratulated me on getting into Brown. (Come to think of it, you’ve never congratulated me, have you?) She’s Pre-med and getting along with her roommates quite well.

Jacquelin Taylor, a senior from Iowa City, asked if I was a serial killer. I answered ambiguously to that one just for fun.

Jacquelin Taylor from Nashville thinks the whole thing is actually romantic. I can see why she would say that.

Jacquelin Taylor from New York is an Art History major and said that if I sent her twenty dollars, she’ll pretend to be you. Honestly, I am halfway convinced. It would be better than your unreasonable silence and immature answers.

Jacquelin Taylor from Canada tells me that Jacquelin Taylor from Wiskayok has been telling everyone that Shauna Shipman is a psychopathic, manipulative, lying bitch who needs to be reported and blocked from their mailing lists.

If you could feel the way I think, you'd never call me a psychopath. Also, manipulative, really? Nobody is manipulating anybody. If they want to talk to me, it's their choice.

And must you call me a liar when you are the one lying to them about me? Honestly, it's just like you to not only control your correspondence but theirs as well.

Where does your hunger for control end, Jax? You should give it up sometimes. I think you’ll like it.

Always yours,
Shauna

Chapter Text

From: S Shipman <[email protected]>

To: <[email protected]>

Date: 20 Oct 1996 at 07:37

Subject: NY Jackie

Dear Jackie,

I think NY Jacqueline is the best Jacqueline at Rutgers. Did you know she drives a motorcycle and paints pet portraits for free in the park on weekends? She is mean in that New York sort of way where you’re not sure whether to be offended or amused. Apparently, she is fluent in French. I asked her if she could teach me, and she said yes, but only if I compensated her. 

So I promised I’ll get coffee with her when she comes to Providence for some conference at RISD next month. I can’t wait to meet her. It's a strange concept that so many people with the same name could have such different personalities. A name is only a name after all. 

Say hi to her for me when you see her on campus.

Always yours,

Shauna

Chapter Text

From: S Shipman <[email protected]>

To: <[email protected]>

Date: 22 Oct 1996 at 17:35

Subject: Soccer

Dear Jackie,

I went to the soccer tryouts today. You wouldn’t believe the kind of “athletes” that showed up. Granted, Brown does not have a serious women’s soccer program; I had expected at least minimum competence. Some of those girls would not even make varsity in Wiskayok on a good day. In the end, only Cate and I finished the tryouts.

You remember Catherine Vanderbilt, right? From Harbinger Academy? Blonde and just about your height. We used to make fun of them for their prissy little uniforms. Turns out Cate is not half bad. She is a Psychology major, which works out well for me as I have decided to pursue Psychology for my double major. I think we’ll be spending a lot of time together.

Have you decided on your major yet? Oh, forgive me. Has your major been decided for you yet? It’s marketing, I’ll bet. Mrs Taylor never missed a chance to mention her degree that hangs in your living room. Or that it was during college that she met your father, and you should do the same.

I have been meaning to ask – did you like controlling so much of my life because you had no control over your own?

Let me know.

Always Yours,

Shauna

Chapter Text

From: S Shipman <[email protected]>

To: <[email protected]>

Date: 26 Oct 1996 at 07:55
Subject: Ridiculous

Dear Jackie,

This is getting ridiculous.

It pains me to admit that waiting for your reply is driving me crazy. It’s pitiful the way I keep refreshing my email. My classmates have started sending me curious glances.

I knew it would take you some time to form a proper reply, but now I suspect that you’ve already done that. Is a ‘fuck you’ everything you wanted to say to me?

We are conjoined soul twins. Isn’t that what you used to say, Jax? It used to gross me out so much because I think of you in ways that twins certainly don’t. But I get the sentiment now. Don’t you miss me like a limb? Do you not get phantom ache in the empty space I left beside you? Be honest.

This is our chance for closure. I know I fucked up. You should know that you fucked up, too. If there’s nothing to salvage in the ruins of what we destroyed, at least we’d know that we tried. Talk to me. Let’s handle this like adults. The distance between us has put some things in perspective for me.

If you are worried I’ll lie to you again or something – I won’t. I’m ready to come clean. Ask me anything and I promise I'll answer. You know I’ve never been dishonest when I write.

Always yours,
Shauna

Chapter Text

From: [email protected]

To: S Shipman [email protected]

Date: 26 Oct 1996 at 03:09

Subject: let’s fucking talk

You wanna talk? Let’s fucking talk.

You fucked my boyfriend and wrote horrible things about me. You let me plan a future with you knowing you were not in it. You let me believe you loved me when you hated me. You broke my fucking heart.

And “we” didn’t destroy anything. You did. What was my crime? Believing you? Taking everything you said at face value? Im not a mind reader. YOU took an axe to our conjoined souls and cut it down to the bone. Of course I fucking miss you. So much it makes me wanna jump off a fucking building or something. But that doesn’t mean I can sweep all this hurt under a rug and be your friend.

You are asking me to trust you? Is this some joke to you? DO you even realize how much your words haunt me? More than your actions – more than you fucking my boyfriend – what you said, what you wrote

Your honesty is cruel, Shauna. Your truth hurts me.

Congratulations on getting into Brown though. I hope sabotaging us was worth it. Maybe studying ivy league psychology will help you realize how fucked up you are. And yeah I am dumb and studying marketing at Rutgers but at least I am not terrorizing the people with creepy psychopathic emails. And paying someone to pretend to be me? I guess I underestimted how pathetic and desperate you can become

And Catherine Vander Cunt, seriously? You think I am so stupid that I’ll fall for your stupid bait. Here you go, Im jealous and you got me to respond. Hope you are fucking happy now that I hate her and hate you.

Oh I thought yhou hated soccer? Or did you did just hate it because of me? Maybe you deserve someone like Catherine VanderClit. Isn’t she everything you claimed I was – prissy obnoxious, selfish, fragile, tragic? Are you also gonna write about her in your little journal that I bought you? Does she know how much you hate her secretly? But I guess that’s your thing right. Hating pweple behind their backs

control? You have the self-control of a drunk psychopath on a killing rampage. Maybe you should learn to control yourself befor you lecture me. If you were so miserable with me in control why didn’t you do anything about it? Why did you let me treat you like a sidekick? I wasn’t pointing a gun at your head. Fuck. Why shauna? What made you want to hurt me so bad? Was I so horrible?

I’m glad you gained some perspective or whatever but I’ll never forgive you for the distance you put between us to gain it.

Don’t ever try to contact me again. I swear to God I’ll have you reported.

please fuck off.

Chapter Text

From: S Shipman <[email protected]>

To: <[email protected]>

Date: 31 Oct 1996 at 07:05

Subject: Halloween

Dear Jackie,

When scientists first started capturing deep-sea anglerfish, they found that all of them were females with parasites attached to them. It turned out that these parasites were the males of the species reduced to tiny parasites wholly dependent on females for survival, permanently attached to the female's body and unable to fend for themselves, eventually incorporated into the female's tissues and blood vessels.

We were not conjoined twins, Jackie. We were parasitic.

I believed you when you said I shouldn’t be friends with June Osborn because her feet smell. I didn’t join the school paper because that’d be too nerdy, according to you. I joined soccer because that’d be cool. Your suggestions were commands; defying them came with punishments.

You stopped talking to me for three weeks because I lent Kelsey Smith my textbook in eighth grade. You once sent that JV girl to the infirmary because she paired up with me in practice. You made sure no one was allowed to be my lab partner except the girls you approved. Imagine telling me for years that no boy was good enough to be my boyfriend, then suddenly you want me to date Randy Walsh. Did you think he was good enough for me? That he was the best I could do.

You were an all-encompassing person, Jackie. You monopolised my time, my thoughts, my opinions. You ran my life like a totalitarian. 

For the longest time, I didn’t say anything because I didn’t know what was wrong, except for the horrible feeling in my heart when you pulled away. I used to think that’s how all friendships worked because you were the only friend I was allowed to have.

You wonder why I never said anything because you don’t even remember the times when I did.

I first mentioned applying to Ivy Leagues in Sophomore year, and you laughed in my face. You said, ‘it’s not like we’d both be able to get in’. In truth, you knew you wouldn’t be able to get in. Not because you’re not smart enough, but because you had already accepted the cookie-cutter life your parents had decided. You said, ‘Deb wouldn’t be able to afford it anyway. ’ Like you were doing me a favour by choosing Rutgers.

I got into Brown out of spite. To prove that I could cut you out of my life like you were capable of. I spent the entire summer ensuring a full scholarship, stressing about loan applications. You didn't even notice. Tell me, Jackie, if I had told you about my plans earlier, would you not have found a way to dissuade me?

You said – you were ‘saving me the trouble’. That I should not ‘bother with high school boys’. That you were ‘protecting’ me. You infantilised me. You isolated me. You pushed people away from me until I was alone, then said you were the only one who stayed.

Pathetic and desperate – isn’t that how you liked me?  There are parts of you that wanted me to beg for your attention. That loved me on my knees, liked to be worshipped by me. You revelled in knowing that loyal little Shauna will always be in your corner, no matter what.

I know I put the final nail in the coffin, but you are the one who let us die. You were my best friend, Jackie. Couldn’t you tell I was dying inside?

Are you not tired of pretending that everything was okay between us?

You took and took and took until I had nothing to give. By the time I realised how much of me you were consuming, I was already addicted to you. Your opinion, your validation, your support, you were my everything. And I’ll even admit, sometimes I liked giving you all of me. I loved proving myself useful to you. But why did you stop acknowledging me? All the compliments you held back, all the passive-aggressive bullshit. The silences and cold shoulders. The asymmetric codependency. Do you even remember when you last said ‘I love you’ back?

It’s Halloween today. Eleven years of friendship, and can you recall the one time you let me decide our costumes? The one time I wasn’t dressed as the side character?

Intentionally or not, you treated me like a sidekick. And I let you.

Happy Halloween, I guess.

Did I hate you? The truth is, Jackie, that I don’t even know. I don’t know if I hated you then or if I hate you now. All I know is that I couldn’t go on like that. If I hadn’t dared to cut us off, I would’ve let you consume me, kill me. Now that I have done that, I realised I can't live without you. I need you. It’s fucked up and pathetic, I know. Perhaps I truly became a part of you, tissues and vessels and bones infused like an angelfish.

I wish I had handled things better. I wish I hadn’t broken your heart to get away from you.

You deserved a better friend, Jax. Maybe we both did.

Always yours,

Shauna

P.S. - No, I didn’t join soccer.

Chapter Text

From: [email protected]

To: S Shipman [email protected]

Date: 5 Nov 1996 at 09:13

Subject: where do we go from here

I don’t know how to explain in a way that makes sense.

Would you believe me if I said I didn’t know how rotten we had become until we imploded?

Would you believe me if I said I did everything because I was scared out of my goddamn mind?

What happened to us is exactly what I feared would happen. It’s my nightmare come true.

I’ll confess -  I had realised what would become of us long before you did. I knew deep down that one day you wouldn’t need me in your life anymore.

Do you remember when Ms Clarke gave us that ‘Where Do You Imagine Yourself in Ten Years’ essay in freshman year? Most of the class wrote about getting married. Some wrote about having big jobs or playing for the NFL. Taissa wanted to become a mayor. Nat wanted to be in a band. Van wanted to watch movies all day.

I wrote about us. Our houses facing each other. Watering flowers after our husbands had gone off to work. Our kids growing up together like we had. White picket fences and minivans to drive our kids to soccer practice. I wrote more about us than me, wondering if you were doing the same. Shuana and I this, Shuna and I that.

You got an A in that essay. Ms Clarke had you read it in front of the class. You grumbled, but I gave you a thumbs up. I was so excited to hear your version of the fantasy I had written. I expected yours to be more eloquent. More refined. More cohesive. But surely, you would want the same things. A lifetime together, attached at the hips.

You hadn’t mentioned me once.

You wrote about Paris instead. You wrote how you imagined yourself sitting in cafes, writing, and reading all day in your Parisian apartment. Friends hanging out in the seedy pubs discussing philosophy. Learning French and walking the streets in the evening. Having picnics on the banks of the Seine and idlying in the louvre. Vivid and detailed as if you had already been there.

Boys in the back of the class snickered. Van in the front row listened in awe. Mari called it a pipe dream. Nat muttered, ‘pretentious. ’ But I knew.

I knew that day that I would lose you one day. I’ll lose you to books and poets and painters. I’ll lose you to floppy-haired boys with broody eyes who can quote obscure writers verbatim. To dreamy men who will write songs about you. I knew you would break all of their hearts until you found the one.

I dreaded that day.

I hid my essay when you demanded to see it, then flushed it down the toilet at lunch break. You wouldn’t say it to my face, but I knew what you’d think if you ever read that – how boring. You’d know how limited I was even in my imagination, how I had limited you as well. I couldn’t have you knowing that.

You had always been too brilliant for Wiskayok. Too big to stay in the confines of small-town narrow minds. Too driven to get stuck in picket fences. Too pretty to be defined by the standards of country club dwellers.

So instead of letting go, I clung harder each time I felt you drifting away. Tried to make it seem like you were the one who needed me. I tried to brush off the times you could sense your protests. I was paranoid that if I gave up an inch, you’d make it a mile. (But that didn’t work at all, did it? You eventually put miles between us anyway.)

You think you’re pathetic? If you looked inside my brain, you’d be surprised to find how far from esteem I was willing to fall just to have your company.

I never wanted to own you, I just wanted to know you (that didn’t work out either), and the thought of anyone knowing you better than I do makes me sick.

Was it so bad that I wanted you all to myself all the time? 

I dragged you to soccer, knowing how much you hated it, because I thought if I was persistent enough, maybe, like me, you’ll grow to love it. (Turned out you never loved me either.)

You wonder why I suddenly pushed you to Randy fucking Walsh? I never thought he was good enough. In my head, no one in the whole world would ever be good enough for you. But I wanted you to have someone you’ll never love more than me. I wanted you to be miserable with a boy so you could relate to how I was with Jeff. I knew even misery would be sweet with you.

I chose Rutgers because that’s the only way I could keep you tied to the mediocrity of Wiskayok. You’ve always lived in dreams, Shauna. Your ambitions were never as loud as Tai’s, but I could always hear them whispering. Selfishly, I said everything I could to stop you.

I couldn’t say ‘love you’ back because somewhere deep down I knew I meant it more than you did, and it must be true because I’m miserable without you and you are just okay.

You were ten when you first declared you wanted to run away from Wiskayok, twelve when you chose to spend more time in fiction than in reality, and fourteen when you knew exactly what you wanted to become.

I waited for those realisations to come to me. Waited, maybe someday I’ll have my own dreams. But all I could ever dream of was you. Then you left me like I didn’t matter at all. And even now, I don’t know what I want from life except you.

Maybe one day I will realise how wrong I was, how strangling my obsessive possessiveness must have felt for you. But even now, I can’t find it in myself to regret it. I wish I had never let you go. Maybe because holding onto your corpse felt better than not having you at all.

You think you are desperate? Most nights, I can’t sleep because my life has become a fucking nightmare. Your words echo in my ears. I chase your ghost through campuses. I miss your smile and your eyes and your judgmental little smirk. I miss how you used to quote writers and poets, and philosophers, like you had them written in the back of your hand. I hate every other girl who shares my name and reads your words. All day I think about what you must be doing, what you must be wearing. You have made me crazy.

You said male anglerfish are parasites that attach themselves to female hosts, but do the females not gain something from it as well? Does it not ensure the survival of the species? I am no biologist, but there has to be some level of symbiosis in it, right?

Not a rumour to spoil your image. Not a party where you weren’t invited. Tell me that you didn’t like having my attention, that you didn’t flourish under it. No matter how many dirty fouls and red cards you got, no matter how many unnecessary fights you got into, I always had your back. Tell me you didn’t enjoy a good game of soccer, that a hard win didn’t make you feel like the champion of the world. Lie to me and say that you didn’t like having me all to yourself, too.

You say we were parasitic, then you say you crave me. So, was I the parasite, or were you?

You fucked my boyfriend behind my back, knowing how much the betrayal would hurt me, and even now you refuse to talk about it. Do you even regret it? Or did you really love him? It is okay if you do. You can have him. As pathetic as it sounds, you are the only one I want back in my life.

Eleven years of friendship – was it all so terrible that you punished me so cruelly? Did I deserve it?

Were we always destined to end up in ruin? Being our worst selves with each other. You sound so sure that we can salvage something from it, but I feel hopeless. Why would you even want me if I was so terrible to you?

You won’t forgive me because you hate me, and I can’t forgive you because you won’t apologise. So, where do we go from here, Shauna?

Chapter Text

From: S Shipman <[email protected]>

To: <[email protected]>

Date: 15 Nov 1996 at 07:25 AM

Subject: Wildfire

Dear Jackie,

I don’t hate you. I could never even if I tried.

No, it wasn’t terrible all the time.

You say all these things now – how much you wanted me, needed me – but I wish you had told these when I needed to hear them. You were my sun, Jackie. I would have revolved around you for eternity had you asked me. Instead, we both became pathetic and miserable.

If I could pinpoint when everything started to feel terrible between us, I would circle that first day of school in Sophomore year when Jeff asked you out to be his girlfriend. You were so happy, and for a while, I was too.

Then, suddenly, one day I realised that I wasn’t your priority anymore while you remained mine. Trust me, I could gladly take another lifetime of being treated as an afterthought by the whole fucking world, but not being your priority dealt the final blow.

I have tried to rationalise it. To justify it. I play that night in my head like a song stuck on a loop. It buzzes and buzzes and buzzes. It makes me want to rip my hair out. What was I thinking? Or maybe that was precisely the problem. I wasn’t thinking at all. I remember feeling angry. So much fucking anger at myself, at you, at Jeffery fucking Sadecki. I remember taking it all out at him. Whatever it was, trust me, that night wasn’t pleasurable at all. Your perfume on his skin and that stupid watch you had given him last Valentine's. I remember envy. Why did you choose him over me?

I remember feeling hollow afterwards - the urge to walk into running traffic so I wouldn’t have to face it. Face you.

I wish I could explain why I did it. But the truth is that I don’t even know.

I don’t love Jeff. I never did and never will. His name tastes like acid in my mouth and hurts something deep in my gut. I don’t like to talk about him. I don’t like thinking about him. He is the one truly, truly hated.

I regret him all the time.

So, I’m sorry. For hurting you. For breaking your heart. Despite everything, you didn’t deserve it. I was angry and upset, but none of it is an excuse for how horrible a friend I was to you.

I still see you in my dreams, your hand looped in mine, running through hallways and playgrounds and parties. Twelve, fifteen, seventeen. You are always there with me.

And I don’t know, maybe we were always on a dead-end street at a snail’s pace, and I just floored the accelerator. Perhaps we were both parasites. Or maybe we were a forest full of dead trees, and I lit a match that caught wildfire. But they say sometimes wildfires are what forests need. Some seeds sprout only after being exposed to fire. Some fires eliminate pests and diseases from the forest. Sometimes the ash adds nutrients to the soil. Sometimes it's a chance to begin again. To begin stronger. Maybe that's us now. 

Always yours,

Shauna

Chapter Text

From: [email protected]

To: S Shipman [email protected]

Date: 20 Nov 1996 at 11:05 AM

Subject: fuck jeff

Shauna, 

Thank you for apologising. I needed it. I am not sure if I can forgive you yet, but I don’t wanna fight anymore.

I’m sorry too. I wish I had said all these things when you needed them. I was so scared that I didn’t see how much I was hurting you. I am so fucking sorry. I wish I could go back and scream it in your face until you got annoyed with me. I wish I could go back and fix everything. 

I love you, okay? You are my favourite person in the whole world. You are my other half. Let’s go back to conjoined twins or parasites or whatever in a healthier way. We could both be each other’s sun.

And I hate Jeff, too. I don’t care about him. I am sorry I let him get between us. Fuck him, to be honest. Well, not fuck him, but you get what I mean. Let’s agree to mention him ever again.

You know I can never stay angry with you for long. You have no idea how much I missed talking to you. I have reread your emails like a hundred times. Even the ones that make me cry.

I’ll be honest, I don’t know how to be in like a healthy friendship with you because I’m still obsessed with you. I’m afraid I’ll overdo things, say things without meaning to. So I’m trusting you to lead us this time. You set the pace. I’ll follow, I promise. If I do something stupid or make you uncomfortable, you have to tell me. Promise me, okay?

Don’t mess up again. My heart won’t be able to take it. I’m so ready to put all this in the past. This is honestly the lightest I have felt since that night. Thank you for being honest. It meant a lot to me.

I’m still a little bit mad, though. My best friend got accepted into an Ivy League, and I didn’t even get to celebrate. Totally unfair. I wish you had talked to me back then. I might have been upset. Might have thrown a fit over it, but I would have eventually understood. You are the smartest person I know. You deserve it so much.

I never got the chance to tell you how proud I am of you. I’m gonna throw you a party when you come home for Thanksgiving weekend, if that’s okay with you. (I promise, I will not gonna make this about myself. I really want to celebrate you.)

You are coming home for Thanksgiving, right?

Anyway, send me your phone number. I wanna hear your voice.

Love always,

Jackie

Chapter Text

From: S Shipman <[email protected]>

To: <[email protected]>

Date: 23 Nov 1996 at 07:55 AM

Subject: Wounds

Dear Jackie,

I promise I’ll try not to mess it up again. I promise I’ll tell you everything. However, you must make the same promise to me. If I am being an idiot, say it to my face. Please don’t resort to reading my journal.

I don’t know what I am doing either. I am probably as obsessive as you, if not more. I am certainly more prone to falling into bad habits. We have never set proper boundaries before. Sometimes, I kind of liked it. It made us different, more infused than others. Best among best friends as if friendship were a competition. I was weirdly proud about it at some point. So, I guess we will just have to go with it, then course correct if something feels off.

Here’s something I want to tell you - I don’t want a party. Thank you for the offer, but I don’t like parties, especially the ones thrown in my honour. It makes me feel like a fraud, as if I am wearing a skin that doesn’t fit me. I despised the birthday parties you used to throw. Please don’t take it the wrong way. I appreciated the effort, but parties mostly meant sharing my time with everyone when I would’ve rather spent it with you.

I want to make it up to you, though. Have dinner with me sometime? I will not be coming home for Thanksgiving, so unfortunately, we will have to postpone it for the future. But I’d like to go to a proper dinner, somewhere outside of Wiskayok, if you accept, of course.

I love you too, Jax. Not fighting feels good. I am not sure if I am past all the resentment yet. I have not been able to forgive myself for what I had done either. The wounds have become scars, but they still itch sometimes. I am hopeful that with time, they will only remain reminders of the past.

Always yours,

Shauna

P.S. – We should probably switch to your personal mail next time.

P.S. - Jackie from NY just sent me a mail saying someone slashed her motorcycle tyres. I am not even going to ask you. You are going to pay for it if she asks for compensation.  

Chapter Text

From: J Taylor <[email protected]>

To: S Shipman [email protected]

Date: 25 Nov 1996 at 11:05 AM

Subject: miss you

Well, that sucks.

I am gonna miss your face. But it's okay. Why can’t you come? Do you have some other plans? Or are you just gonna sulk in the library the whole time?

I’ll take you up on that dinner date, though. It’s been so long since we went on one of those. Could we go to that Italian place Nat was working at last summer? Or maybe we could go somewhere in New York? Unless you have planned something already? We can do whatever you want. I can’t wait.

We were totally the best pair of best friends in all of history. Still are, I think. After all, how many of them can claim they know each other as well as we do? And it is a competition, Shipman, believe it or not (just kidding).

I am sorry about reading your journal. I was kinda at the end of my wits. I know you value your privacy so much. I promise to not do so in the future.

Your number, Shauna! Or is this a thing? Like, do you not want to give me your number? I know you and Van talk, so I can easily get it from her. Unless you don’t want to hear my voice? Is that it? It’s alright if you don’t wanna. You can tell me why, though? I’ll be a little bit upset. But I’ll listen, I swear.

Or maybe you just forgot. In that case, send it to me ASAP!

Also, can I visit Deb?

Love Always,

Jackie

P.S. – I’ll pay whatever. Promise me you won't talk to any other Jackie.

Chapter Text

From: S Shipman <[email protected]>

To: J Taylor <[email protected]>

Date: 28 Nov 1996 at 07:23 AM

Subject: Happy Thanksgiving

Dear Jackie,

Mum is going to be working the whole time, and Uncle Jesse won’t be able to make it.

It kind of worked out in my favour because we have several tests scheduled the week after Thanksgiving. The professors clearly hate us. I have decided to stay back and study. I have to prepare for end sem exams anyway. This way, I could get ahead of it for a little bit.

And I get an empty library for once. You wouldn’t believe how territorial some of these assholes are about their library spaces; hoarders, all of them.

I didn’t have any plans initially, but Professor Anderson just invited Cate and me to dinner. So, I guess I’ll have to go.

Anyway, if your parents bother you too much, you can always go to my place. You know where the key is. I’m sure Mum’ll be ecstatic to see you. She has been asking about you since the summer. I swear she loves you more than she loves me (I do too if we are being honest).

About the phone – yes, I have been avoiding it. I should have explained earlier. I am an idiot. I do want to hear your voice. But I am scared.  Everything still feels new, tender. I am afraid I will mess up again. In writing, I find myself more in control. I think through the things I want to say to you and read what you say in context. We are seeking clarity to ensure we are understood and heard. We have been doing well so far. I don’t want to change it so soon. I’m sorry, but I’m not ready yet.

For dinner, we can go anywhere you want, Jax.

Always yours,

Shauna

P.S. – I promise I won't talk to any other Jackie.

Chapter Text

From: J Taylor <[email protected]>

To: S Shipman [email protected]

Date: 5 Dec 1996 at 01:05 AM

Subject: we missed you

Dear Shauna,

Don’t apologise. I promised we’ll do things at your pace. Besides, the writing emails thing is kinda cute, isn’t it? Send me your number when you are ready. I’ll always be here.  

By the way, I can confirm that I remain the favourite Shipman child.

Dinner with my parents was awful as usual. Well, with Mom, cause I don’t know where the hell Dad went. So I ran away to your house as soon as Mom went to sleep. Deb was so happy when she opened the door that I almost burst into tears on the spot.

You didn’t tell me she got a new haircut! She looked so pretty! Nervous as hell though. She asked me how it looked, and trust me, when I told her that she looked beautiful, she was beaming. Like, actually giggling and all. Apparently, when she asked you, you had only grumbled in reply, so she was insecure about it. Seriously, Shipman, that is not nice. You have to call her tomorrow and say you just remembered her pretty haircut.

(She also told me that you haven’t been calling her. She misses you all the time. Call her, okay?)

Anyway, we dressed up in our best clothes like old times and went to watch the new Tom Cruise movie. And guess who we saw at the theatre (dramatic pause here) – Van! And Tai! Together! K-i-s-s-i-n-g in the back! Honestly, we wouldn’t have recognised them had it not been for Van’s face matching the colour of her hair. And Tai fumbling like a teenage boy. Deb was so cool about it, though. She teased them relentlessly. And I couldn’t hold back laughing. We gave them their privacy after that.

We went to Al’s diner for dinner because Deb wasn’t planning on having any company (why didn’t you tell her?). Stephanie - Al’s wife - asked about you. Your Mum was smiling ear to ear when she told her that you were at Brown. Then Stephanie gave us a celebratory discount! Can you believe that? Stingy Stephanie gave us a discount. She never gave us one when we used to go after our matches. We ate all the cheap, greasy and sugary stuff, and at one point, Al and Steph joined us at the table. It was so fun.

Thanks for letting me visit. I had the best time.

Enough about us.

Of course, you will complain about having to share the library with other people. It’s a public space, Shipman. Don’t be a crybaby. Besides, I think you secretly like being surrounded by nerds. Did you spend all your time holed up in there? Having a few social interactions won't kill you, you know. It’s actually good for mental health. There’s research and stuff about it.

I’m pretty sure your professors don’t hate you. They are inviting you to dinners. And you have always been a teacher’s favourite. I’ll bet it hasn’t changed even now. Mine, on the other hand, definitely do hate me. They are, like, failing me in half the classes this semester.

Anyway.

Did you go to that dinner with Catherine? Tell me all about it.

Your favourite,

Jackie

Chapter Text

From: S Shipman <[email protected]>

To: J Taylor <[email protected]>

Date: 12 Dec 1996 at 07:35 AM

Subject: People

Dear Jackie,

I am glad you had a great time. I am kind of jealous of you. But it's okay, I got a lot of stuff done in the meantime, so now I can spend Christmas without worrying.

I called Mum yesterday. She really liked having you, too. She wanted me to tell you that you are invited to Christmas. But I won’t. You don’t need an invitation in your own home. The doors are always for you and will remain so as long as the house stands.

Now I know why Tai sounded less stuck-up the last time I talked to her. She calls us dramatic when it’s really them. I’ll be sure to tease her about it more. Mum’s always been cool about stuff like that. After all, she is my mum.

I’m sure you must have charmed Stingy Stephnie into giving a discount. You can melt the coldest hearts with those eyes of yours. I have had the first-hand experience of that.

Dinner with Dr Anderson went surprisingly good, and by good, I mean I didn’t feel like wanting to run away all the time. Cate was her usual cheery self. But Dr Anderson turned out to be quite an invigorating host. I genuinely didn’t even realise how quickly time passed.

Dr Anderson is the one who has been encouraging me to send my pieces to the literary magazine. I don’t want to. Freshmen never get published. And I am aware that my pieces lack polish. They are good enough for class, but lit mag requires a whole other level of finesse. Then there’s the editor – Harry Newman – who overheard me critiquing his poems at a party. He’s been pissed off about it ever since. I don’t think I will get a chance there until after he graduates.

Also, I am not a teacher’s pet. And my professors don’t ‘specifically’ hate me. They hate the student body in general, I think.

I do socialise, Jackie. But exactly the required amount. As Sartre said, hell is other people. While their company is tolerable, it lacks the intimacy of a close relationship. Mostly, I don't want to hang out with other people because it makes me wish I were hanging out with you instead.

But don’t worry about me. Cate’s a good friend and has taken up the responsibility of being social enough for both of us.

I hope you’ve also found good friends there. 

You were joking about failing half your classes, right?

Always yours,

Shauna

P.S. – Did Lottie call you?

Chapter Text

From: J Taylor <[email protected]>

To: S Shipman [email protected]

Date: 20 Dec 1996 at 12:09 AM

Subject: can’t wait for Christmas

Aww, Shipman, you say the sweetest things.

Yes. Lottie called. You don’t have to go to her party if you don’t feel like it. We can hang out somewhere else instead. You promised me a dinner, remember?

I think your professor is right. Send in those stories! You always underestimate yourself. Remember that poetry competition in seventh grade? You gave the poem you wrote to Joni Mara, and she won the competition instead of you. I was so mad. I mean, who does that? 

The worst that can happen is that this editor guy will reject your piece. Since when are you scared of rejection? And if your professor thinks it's good enough, then maybe it is. You know what? Send it to me. I’ll read it and decide.

But I have to agree – hell is other people. (Except you. You are heaven.)

I am happy you found a good friend. Trust me, Rutgers has none of those. It’s okay, though. I’ll make friends next year.

I wish I was joking about failing classes. Things are not as easy as they were in high school. You are not here to make sense of things. I don’t understand half the stuff they teach here. Either they don’t know how to do their job, or I am just dumb.

Ugh, I can’t believe I have to go home for Christmas and sit through all the lectures Mom and Dad have surely prepared for me. I wouldn't have even gone if it weren't for you.  Honestly, seeing you is going to be the only good thing about this - the things I do for you, Shipaman. You should appreciate me more. 

When are you coming home for Christmas? How long are you gonna stay for? Are you gonna bring Catherine with you?

I’m leaving the day after tomorrow on the bus. Mom wants to spend Christmas with Grandma this year. But I’ll be back in time for Lottie’s Party. Maybe I’ll meet you there if you decide to go? Let me know.

Waiting for you,

Jackie

Chapter Text

From: S Shipman <[email protected]>

To: J Taylor <[email protected]>

Date: 23 Dec 1996 at 07:35 AM

Subject: Lot's Party

Dear Jackie,

Please stop calling her Catherine. Why will I bring her home for Christmas? She’s annoying.

Yes, I remember the seventh-grade poetry competition. You bullied Joni Mara into giving me the bookstore voucher she won. My hero! How could I ever forget? But this isn’t seventh grade. There are serious writers here. People are processing their childhood traumas, writing introspective personal essays on topics that I cannot even begin to fathom, and all I write is weird little horror fictions.

My writing is personal. I’m not going to send it to some man who’ll read it to reject it on some weird little power trip.

I’m not gonna send it to you either. That’s not how it works.

Yes, I’ll be at Lot’s. We have been talking on the phone. She is upset that she didn’t get to say proper goodbyes because of our fallout. So I promised I would go to the party. It’s supposed to be just some yellowjackets and a few friends. I will be okay.

I’m making reservations at Mario’s for the day after Christmas. Be ready.

But, Jax, I am getting worried about you.

Yes, things aren’t as easy in college. It’s not supposed to be.

I'd like to discuss this when we meet. Are you having trouble comprehending or memorising? Are they specific subjects? It could be the professors as well. I know some of them could be hard asses. But surely, you can ask for help from someone. A friend or maybe a tutor. 

Anyway. We’ll figure something out.

You are one of the smartest people I know, Jax. I’m not even exaggerating. Don’t diminish yourself, okay?

Always yours,

Shauna

Chapter Text

From: J Taylor <[email protected]>

To: S Shipman [email protected]

Date: 25 Dec 1996 at 04:45 PM

Subject: Merry Christmas!

Dear Shauna,

You are worrying about me too much.

Mom has already bitten my ear off about it. Dad has his disappointed-that-it-cannot-be-solved-with-a-credit-card face on. I don’t need it from you either. I’ll figure it out next sem. Promise.

I am fine being alone. I’ll learn to love myself or whatever. You were always good at being alone. Why can’t I do the same?

Anyway, I just wanted to wish you a Merry Christmas!

Yes, I’ll see you at Lot’s Party. I’ve asked Dad to drop me there directly, so you don’t need to pick me up.

See ya soon,

Jackie

Chapter Text

From: S Shipman <[email protected]>

To: J Taylor <[email protected]>

Date: 26 Dec 1996 at 11:14 AM

Subject: Where were you?

What the fuck, Jackie?

Where the fuck were you?

I waited for you all fucking night. I thought I saw you. I kept looking for you in her house. Where did you go? 

Laura Lee said she saw you walking home. What the hell? Why didn’t you come see me?

We had plans, Jackie. Did you bail on me? I made reservations and shit.

If you weren’t comfortable going to the party, why didn’t you tell me?

I waited for you like a goddamn idiot. 

Chapter Text

From: S Shipman <[email protected]>

To: J Taylor <[email protected]>

Date: 31 Dec 1996 at 1:24 PM

Subject: Are you ok?

Hey, 

I know I freaked out a little last time. But I am just worried, okay?

I drove by your house yesterday. Your curtains were drawn. It looked like nobody was home, so I didn't stop by. I called you when I got home. Your mom said you were sick. I’m not sure if I believed her.

Why didn’t you pick up? Did you go back to Rutgers already? Did I do something wrong? I don't understand what happened. 

You are scaring me, Jax.

Are you okay?

I’ll be leaving tomorrow. I'd like to see you before I go. Or if you are not ready, please tell me. I won’t be upset. I won't freak out, I swear. I need to know that you are okay. 

Come home if you can. Or at least call me back.

Chapter Text

From: S Shipman <[email protected]>

To: J Taylor <[email protected]>

Date: 6 Jan 1997 at 2:30 PM

Subject: What the hell happened?

Jackie,

Your mom said you went back to college.

If you don’t want to talk, just tell me. I swear I’ll back off. Or if you'd rather, we can forget all this. We don’t have to talk about academics or anything else. We can pretend this never happened. 

I will come to Rutgers if you do not reply within a week.

Tell me to fuck off. Tell me I am being an asshole. Tell me what I did wrong. Tell me you hate me again. 

Just talk to me goddamnit

We said we wouldn’t do this anymore. Then why are you doing this to me?

Chapter Text

From: J Taylor <[email protected]>

To: S Shipman [email protected]

Date: 10 Jan 1997 at 09:45 PM

Subject: I’m Sorry

I am sorry. I didn’t mean to do this. Please don’t worry about me. And please don't come. It’s not worth it.

I went to Lot’s party that night.

I couldn’t face you. Turns out, I am a coward.

I watched you. You were dancing with Tai. Your hair looked longer and your face sharper—more colour in your cheeks than I have ever seen. I watched you giggle at something Lot said. You seemed so unburdened. Somehow younger and taller. As if you had been carrying an invisible weight and it had been lifted off of you.

Was it me? Was it me you had been carrying all these years?

You were glowing, Shauna.

I have never seen you like that. Confident in your steps, radiant. Did I dim you all those years? Hid you? Kept you in the shadows? Trust me, it was one thing to read it in your diary, in your emails, another to see it happen in front of my eyes. The weight of it -

I did that to you.

Even then, as I stood there, I could see it so clearly in my mind. I knew if I went there, you would come to me. Drawn as if by gravity itself. I knew the effect I would have on you, on everyone. I would suck the lightness and make it tentative, heavy with an unknown weight.

Even then, I could not shut off the part of my brain that wanted to claim you. That wanted to sink my teeth into your flesh and snarl mine.

How can a friend think like that?

I got sick of myself.

I ran for the bathroom and saw myself in the mirror.

Did you know why Coach Martinez made me captain? I didn’t have the best footwork, I wasn’t the fastest, and I wasn’t the toughest. He only made me captain because I had influence. I think my college coach knows it, too. I had nothing to contribute—only false influence. Now my influence means nothing here. And my skills are not good enough to get me on the team.

But most importantly, I can’t play the game I love because I couldn’t match the minimum GPA requirement.

I failed half my classes last semester. I can’t focus long enough to read a fucking page. My skin buzzes when the professor calls my name. I sit in the back row, hide and drown my misery in alcohol in those stupid frat parties.

No one wants to be my friend. Sure, there are girls who want me to come with them to some party. Ask me where I bought the dress.  Want me to hook up with some boy they think is hot. But now I see them as you saw. And I see myself in them.

I am exactly as you had predicted. Tragic, boring, insecure. You were right, Shauna; high school was the best my life was ever gonna get. I don’t know who Jackie Taylor is outside of Wiskayok. I don’t think I’ll find her. And if this is it, I don’t think I love her.

I couldn’t face you after that. I didn’t feel worthy. So, I decided to walk away.

I walked home in the cold and got sick. Really sick. I couldn’t even walk away correctly. How fucking predictable, right?

I don’t even know why I am telling you all these things. But I’m beginning to understand why you hated me. It’s not fair to ask you to be with someone like me when even I can’t be with myself sometimes. 

Chapter Text

From: S Shipman <[email protected]>

To: J Taylor <[email protected]>

Date: 11 Jan 1997 at 5:30 PM

Subject: Versions

Dear Jackie,

You are so wrong. I’m always, always going to worry about you. You are always worth it to me. There’s no out. No 'me' without you. Have I not made that clear in the past couple of months?

You were never a burden, Jackie. Never a nuisance. You were my Sun - are my Sun. Of course, I would’ve gravitated towards you. Trust me, I would have glowed brighter with you. I never despised you for claiming me, Jackie. It was the abandonment that I resented.

I have always felt about you the same way you do. I felt jealous and possessive, and angry. It felt like I'd go crazy if I couldn't have all of you all the time. Maybe we were both wrong. And two wrongs don’t make a right, but it does make us the same.

I know it scares you now that it’s dawning on you. But we promised each other that we would grow up, not grow apart. 

And I was stupid, okay?

You have no idea how I look at you. All of those things I wrote in my journal, all of those things I said to you, began with love and admiration. The admiration charred to jealousy, and the love rotted to resentment because I was lonely and insecure and a fucking hypocrite. All the things I said to you, I said them because back then, I was hurting. And all I wanted to do was hurt back. Perhaps I could never be sorry enough for the hurt that I have caused you. But please remember that I was wrong for what I wrote in that journal. 

As far as soccer goes, before the team, before the championship, you started because you loved kicking a goddamn ball.  You have always been the happiest on the grass. You spent summers training when you could have gone on vacation. Soccer meant - no - means something to you. Nobody can take that away from you. Are you just going to stop because your coach said no?

You didn’t go to Rutgers just because it was convenient. You have tracked their Women’s soccer program since you were fourteen. A program you have always wanted to play for. A coach you admire. It’s one of the best teams in this country, and you belong there. Fight for that fucking spot.

Regarding academics - we have been there, remember? You have overcome it before, back in freshman year. You felt anxious all the time. Couldn’t focus, couldn’t sit still. Everything felt overwhelming. But we found ways - soccer, music, sometimes silence, and sometimes that tomato-shaped timer we borrowed from mum's kitchen. You just needed a little time to adjust to high school, but that didn't mean you were lacking in any way. And all of those things that helped back then, maybe they will help again? There’s no loss in trying.

Intelligence comes in many forms, Jax. Sometimes it’s solving an equation, sometimes it’s knowing the exact force it takes to send a ball into the net. A doctor is intelligent, so is the artist who paints. Walking into a defeated locker room and inspiring it to fight till the last second with a few words is a type of intelligence not many possess. But you do. 

And influence? Only fools stumble upon it. The smartest of people carve it out and wield it with grace like you did.

So, yeah, if you call yourself stupid again, I swear to God, I will come to Rutgers and fucking slap you myself.

You were Jackie Fucking Taylor. You maintained a 3.5 GPA and led a soccer team full of harmone-addled teenage girls from a bumfuck town to the nationals. You were the Prom Queen and one of the kindest people in our entire school.

Maybe you’ll find that Jackie Taylor once again. Maybe you'll find a new one to love. But until then, I’ll love every version of you enough for both of us. That's a promise.

Always yours,

Shauna

P.S. - I am no longer upset about the Christmas thing. I wanted to see you, but if you are not ready, then it is not the right time.

Chapter Text

From: J Taylor <[email protected]>

To: S Shipman [email protected]

Date: 31 Jan 1997 at 10:15 PM

Subject: was that a pep talk?

Was that a pep talk, Shipman? I almost forgot how good you were at writing those. How many times have you helped me draft speeches?

Anyway. You made me cry again. God, Shauna. Ugh, I can’t type out this thing because I keep crying. I have read your email so many times, I think I'll have it memorised by the end of the semester. 

I completely forgot those things. You helped me so much back in freshman year and in middle school. I've never been good with change, I think. I was so relaxed those last few months of high school because I thought you would be here with me. Then you weren't. And I kinda freaked out with so much change. I thought I was broken. I thought something was wrong with me. I thought this was how it was going to be. I thought I’d have to drop out of college and become just like my mother. Then everything you said would come true. 

But the things you said this time are helping. 

The timer thing helped. I studied for two hours every day last week. I know it must not sound much by your standards, but to me, that's monumental. You would be shocked to know the amount of time I spend in the library now. I've started to sit in front of classes and ask questions even though it scares the shit out of me. The professors definitely hate me more now because I annoy them so much with questions, but I don't care. I got a B plus in my latest test, and it’s the highest I have scored since I got here. You have no idea how relieved I am. You have no idea how much you helped.

I’ve started running in the mornings. My pace is shit like pre-sophomore year levels, but it helps me sleep at night. I also found this Boys’ Soccer Club nearby. They wouldn’t let me join the team because of their fragile egos, but I managed to convince the manager to let me use their ground.

You were right. I still love kicking a ball.

I took so long to reply to your last email because I wanted some time to figure things out a little. I wanted to be better. I wanted you to know that I am trying. I wanted you to be proud of me.

I know I still have a long way to go. Like, I don’t think I can go up to Coach Jensen anytime soon. I don’t think I can get rejected like that again. She didn’t even let me try out last time. She is a stickler for academics. I doubt she’ll give me a chance. But that's okay. I found a place to kick a ball into the net. It's enough for now. 

Enough about me. 

Did you submit that piece to the LitMag, or are you still being a pussy? Who are you rooming with this semester? How’s Catherine?

Tell me everything about Brown.

P.S. I am still sorry about the Christmas thing. I promise I will do better next time. Let’s plan to meet sometime soon. You owe me a dinner after all.