Sequel to the post You’re Welcome.
Ella walked lazily to the kitchen and tossed some frozen food onto the gas, to make it edible. Or close. The lines of her rough kohl had spread and she rubbed them even more, till the smudges under her eyes became hideous.
The neon-clock wasn’t lit any more… it was ordinary. Just like many things of the night become. Just like their conversation had become. Ordinary.
Whit was dead, and it was ordinary. She had thrown Sam out, and it was ordinary. Probably for the first time in her life, she had woken up in need of an agenda, and with neither of her best friends in a position to talk to, and it was ordinary. Well, it wasn’t particularly new… or special. She had to see it coming… What they had, Sam and Whit and her, it was long gone. And she had known this day was coming.
You don’t just walk away from the people you love. You don’t just let them go either. But Whit had walked away and Elle had let her go, and Sam had been just indifferent. That was when the troubles had begun.
Whitney had taken to drugs. Sam had left them both for Europe, and posted happy pictures with unknown friends regularly. Elle had decided to be just as stuck-up, and she joined the ballet lessons she had promised Whit she would do with her.
It had taken them only a month to see things weren’t going too good. Whit was in hospital every second day, Sam was on the phone with Elle worrying about Whit, and Elle was the arrogant girl in the ward room, acting like it was her job, and nothing more, to get Whit out… only for her to fall back again.
One month and Elle, Whit and Sam had needed those infamous round-the-couch meetings. They had to “talk about it”.
Elle emptied the contents of the pan in the bin. If she ever got beyond the look, she could never get herself to eat that smelly food. She would order out. Again.
The bell rang. Elle cursed. That early in the morning, with her eyes as they were… but whoever it was, deserved it. Everyone has their pace in New York, and hers was slow, big deal!
She opened the door, and peeked outside. It was a delivery. She signed for it, thanked the guy, checked him out and came back in. She recognised the handwriting on the envelope. A fat envelope, green and rubbed around the corners.
She couldn’t place it, but she had seen it, she knew. Slowly, as if the handwriting had sparked need of investigating, she checked for signs on the envelope to guess where it came from. Nothing. She tore it open, and out stumbled some sheets of paper.
There was another envelope, and a long piece of paper, which she opened first.
Elle drew her breath in, as she read the first few words.
It was Whit.
I’m sorry Elle. I tried to say it, to you and to Sam, but I didn’t. I can’t ask you to understand, I can’t ask you to believe in me every time I do something that I KNOW is wrong. So I have decided to do this, and I feel it’s my duty to tell you somehow, though this isn’t the best of means.
Please try, and let me go El.
I’m leaving new York. I’m going East… I’m gonna try and explore… who am I kidding, I’m running babe. I don’t think I can do it in here, where I know you’d be there to watch my back, or Sam to take care of me if you fight me. I’m gonna try and escape, and for that I’m choosing to leave you both stranded. And like this.
I’m sorry El. I really am.
Lots and lots of love,
I’m sorry babe. You guys were my family and I’m running out on you. But maybe, it’s for the best. I have to try.
Elle let the tears come. Whit had wanted to change, Whit hadn’t been lost.
Whit had wanted to fight the drug, to make things better and now she was dead.
The tears had come, even if they were a night late.
Elle wanted to call Sam back. When Whit could want to fight it, how could Elle let it win? How could Elle let her friendships stain?
But now, Whit had died, before she had a chance to make things right, Sam and Elle had fought, and everyone was alone, and hurt.
But the love had long gone. The faith had long gone. And they had let it go.