Paper
One of the advantages of having more space in the house than three people could reasonably use, Pogue decided, was being able to get away from everyone else when he needed to. Christmas holidays were fun and all, but, God. If anyone else had any more family drama they had better get it out and get it over with or he was going to go apeshit.
Half the year gone. College letters were starting to come back, Caleb had gotten into Harvard. Not that anyone had doubted he would. Pogue's grades were what his parents called something of an issue. He was already eyeing garages, putting out feelers for a job. College, school. It just wasn't his thing. Sure, he was smart. He was good at it when he put in the work, but getting him to actually write the papers and turn them in on time was a job of work.
He was hiding in his room. Hiding from Kate, from the history paper he was going to be late turning in (again), from Caleb, from Reid, from Tyler. From his parents. From everyone. It was empty, or at least it sounded empty in the house. Caleb was going to Harvard. It stuck in his mind.
Before he knew what he was doing he was grabbing a pen and a couple pieces of paper from the desk, remnants of his mother's long-ago efforts to get him to write somewhat legibly. It was an itch, part of the restlessness that was driving him to hide from people and go on long drives on Ipswich's back roads. Something. Things left undone. Things left unsaid. Opportunities that were slipping away. As though the four of them were ending and there wasn't enough time left to do everything that he wanted to do.
He wrote:
Caleb,
I know you'll never read this, and I know you'll never hear this. And I know you probably don't care probably don't probably don't think too much about it. But there are things I have to say. Things I have to tell you and I don't know how to say them so I ran up here and hid to write it down.
It's like when I look at you and you're looking at me and I know you probably think it's just a moment of, hey, we've been friends forever, we know each other really well but you don't know me. Not like that, not what I'm thinking. Because while you're thinking that, or, I don't know, maybe you're just worrying about that test you just took, and I'm thinking about what I want to do to you.
... okay, it's my letter, dammit, I'll be as girly as I want.
I want to be with you. You probably don't even know I think of guys like that, and I want to be with you. I want to curl up against you and be in your arms and have it be all right. Hell, I just want to be in your arms. To feel what that's like, one time. To feel what it's like to kiss you. Just a taste. God, I want you so bad.
He had to stop and fight not to dig the pen into the paper.
I still don't know when it happened. Some time, one summer, I don't know. It wasn't a conscious thing. I didn't choose to be like this. It was like, one day I realized I was pacing until you came over. Or waiting till you got out of class, or stupid little things like that. And it's not like I didn't know why, although I didn't want to admit it for the longest time.
Caleb, I love you. I love you, I love you. I love you.
Good-bye.
No, not goodbye. But he grabbed the piece of paper with a vicious movement and clenched it in his fist until it burned, until only slightly sweaty, greasy ashes were left.
It wasn't fair. Not to Caleb, not to Kate, not to Sarah. It wasn't fair, and they shouldn't have to carry that. It wasn't like Caleb ... he loved Sarah. And Pogue loved Kate, he did, even with all that mess. God, Kate. He closed his eyes, head falling back and hand opening to release the ashes to the ground. Suddenly he wanted to see her, badly. He missed her easy steadiness and quiet comfort. And he had gotten some of it out, anyway. Not all of it, but enough where he could breathe again.
Pogue Parry // The Covenant // 756 words
Half the year gone. College letters were starting to come back, Caleb had gotten into Harvard. Not that anyone had doubted he would. Pogue's grades were what his parents called something of an issue. He was already eyeing garages, putting out feelers for a job. College, school. It just wasn't his thing. Sure, he was smart. He was good at it when he put in the work, but getting him to actually write the papers and turn them in on time was a job of work.
He was hiding in his room. Hiding from Kate, from the history paper he was going to be late turning in (again), from Caleb, from Reid, from Tyler. From his parents. From everyone. It was empty, or at least it sounded empty in the house. Caleb was going to Harvard. It stuck in his mind.
Before he knew what he was doing he was grabbing a pen and a couple pieces of paper from the desk, remnants of his mother's long-ago efforts to get him to write somewhat legibly. It was an itch, part of the restlessness that was driving him to hide from people and go on long drives on Ipswich's back roads. Something. Things left undone. Things left unsaid. Opportunities that were slipping away. As though the four of them were ending and there wasn't enough time left to do everything that he wanted to do.
He wrote:
Caleb,
I know you'll never read this, and I know you'll never hear this. And I know you probably don't care probably don't probably don't think too much about it. But there are things I have to say. Things I have to tell you and I don't know how to say them so I ran up here and hid to write it down.
It's like when I look at you and you're looking at me and I know you probably think it's just a moment of, hey, we've been friends forever, we know each other really well but you don't know me. Not like that, not what I'm thinking. Because while you're thinking that, or, I don't know, maybe you're just worrying about that test you just took, and I'm thinking about what I want to do to you.
... okay, it's my letter, dammit, I'll be as girly as I want.
I want to be with you. You probably don't even know I think of guys like that, and I want to be with you. I want to curl up against you and be in your arms and have it be all right. Hell, I just want to be in your arms. To feel what that's like, one time. To feel what it's like to kiss you. Just a taste. God, I want you so bad.
He had to stop and fight not to dig the pen into the paper.
I still don't know when it happened. Some time, one summer, I don't know. It wasn't a conscious thing. I didn't choose to be like this. It was like, one day I realized I was pacing until you came over. Or waiting till you got out of class, or stupid little things like that. And it's not like I didn't know why, although I didn't want to admit it for the longest time.
Caleb, I love you. I love you, I love you. I love you.
Good-bye.
No, not goodbye. But he grabbed the piece of paper with a vicious movement and clenched it in his fist until it burned, until only slightly sweaty, greasy ashes were left.
It wasn't fair. Not to Caleb, not to Kate, not to Sarah. It wasn't fair, and they shouldn't have to carry that. It wasn't like Caleb ... he loved Sarah. And Pogue loved Kate, he did, even with all that mess. God, Kate. He closed his eyes, head falling back and hand opening to release the ashes to the ground. Suddenly he wanted to see her, badly. He missed her easy steadiness and quiet comfort. And he had gotten some of it out, anyway. Not all of it, but enough where he could breathe again.
Pogue Parry // The Covenant // 756 words