Written by Kristen Simmons
Federal Bureau of Reformation
Archived Record: SECURITY THREATS
Subcategories: INSURGENTS, TERRORISM
Personal correspondence, found in remains of III resistance stronghold
It’s Tuesday night and I can’t sleep. Actually, that’s a lie. I have no idea if it’s Tuesday. Since we found the safe house, the days have sort of started to blend together. All I know is when I got in you were asleep, and I have no idea how to sneak into this kid-sized cot-bed without 1) waking you up, and 2) looking like a total creeper, which would likely lead to 3) getting punched in the face. So I’m sitting on the floor watching you because, let’s be honest, the tough guy black eye thing is more Chase’s style. I’m pretty enough as is.
I keep thinking about that night at the reformatory when you asked me to leave with you when you aged out. Do you remember that? You were waiting for me in the third floor linen closet. It was a Tuesday night – I remember because I always had inventory on Tuesday nights – and now whenever I look at you I think of Tuesdays.
And towels. Because we folded a lot of them after I said yes.
I wasn’t totally honest with you then. If I was, I would have said I didn’t think we should wait. We should have left right then. If I had, everything might be different. I guess I was scared you’d say no. We were good at blending in. We regularly applied our brain wash repellent. In the end it didn’t matter. We ended up together, in another place that feels suspiciously like Ms. Brock’s alter universe. (Good thing I hung on to the brain wash repellent.)
I’m glad you’re sleeping. You need to sleep so you can heal, and this place is going to heal you. I don’t care if they call themselves Three, or Five, or Seven Hundred and Eleven. I don’t care if they have more secrets than the Bureau, or if they look suspiciously cultish with their curtain-clothes dress code. This is the place that’s going to make you better. The doctor here is going help you. And if he can’t, I’ll find someone that will. I promise. I’m not going to let you down again.
I’ve got to go. Long hair or short, crutches or not, you’re beautiful, and I’m going to kick myself if I don’t kiss you right now.
PS. Don’t eat the stuff that looks like chicken. I’m pretty sure it’s either horse or human.
From the Tor/Forge February 17th newsletter. Sign up to receive our newsletter via email.
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