Hey, Fischer.

I'm not even sure why I'm writing this. I know you won't see it. Just like you haven't seen any of them. But my therapist says better out than in, so I guess I'll keep writing them.

Your birthday was yesterday. I had school and then detention so I didn't even get to celebrate it. You would've laughed so hard if you'd been there. And you would've stood with me. And then you'd sit with me in detention and make corny jokes under your breath and we'd giggle behind our hands until our lungs hurt. I kept looking up and expecting to see you. Even though I knew you wouldn't be.

Stupid, huh?

Well, at this rate I'm gonna fail the year and I'll be stuck in this shitty town that much longer. Abrams keeps telling me I'll wind up in a trailer park if I don't start applying myself. And all I hear is the stuff you would've said about that after class. Walking home from school. I really miss that.

My mom's worried and my dad keeps trying to find new ways to lure me out of my room. I hate that but I don't know how to make it better. Sometimes even breathing is hard and all I can think then is how quickly you'd understand how I feel right now. And that just makes it even worse.

I hope you wake up soon. I mean, wouldn't it be nice to go hang out at the beach? You said you wanted to draw the sunset. I know the best spot to see it, so--

Just wake up soon. Please.

Love,

Theodore

P.S.: Cod really misses you

Hey, Fischer.

Here's another letter to add to the pile collecting dust on your desk. I'm still going to that stupid therapist. You would hate her too...always trying to drag out your feelings. What feelings bruh? You'd laugh but I'd say you'd be funny in therapy. You would talk so much lies and shit, she'd believe everything. You know I just sit there staring at the wall or the pot of pinks on her desk.

I didn't go to school today. I just couldn't. Not when every time I look up, expecting you to walk in, and you ain't there. I won't go tomorrow either. Abrams will be down my neck, again. I'm sick of walking home alone. Just me along the sidewalk, hearing the laughter of the others and their friends.

My mom and dad are fighting again, about me staying in my room. I just wish they'd leave me alone. But they don't understand how empty the table is without you. Stupid how I miss your loser jokes at dinner? Huh? Mom's always in the bathroom crying. Dad keeps leaving at night. Man, I'm sick of him trying to get me to talk to him.

Please, please, just wake up, before I fall asleep too.

Love,

Theodore.

Ps. Would you be mad if I went to the beach at sunset tomorrow?

Sometimes it feels like the world is outside of you.

You know--that feeling you get, where it's almost like everything's miles away, where everything's just. . .muffled. Distant. Disconnected.

I've felt like that for months now.

September's almost over. The trees look like they've been lit on fire. Autumn was a little early this year. Fischer would love to see this, so I stop on the steps and lift my camera. Take a picture. Memories of last year flood my mind and my throat burns. My therapist says crying is good. I don't know how to tell her that I haven't cried since I found out Fischer was sick. Just like I couldn't cry last time. Some people at my school still call me 'ice princess'. And even after a year I still hear 'Theadora' enough to drive me insane--well, if I had the energy to go insane.

I walk slow on the way home. Stop in at Annie's to grab a coffee I won't drink, because it's made like Fischer makes his and he likes ungodly amounts of cream and sugar. But the smell of it is almost enough to convince myself he's walking next to me, alive and well.

Almost.

Mr. Fischer's out walking Cod when I reach my neighborhood. He offers a sad, understanding kind of smile that makes my throat burn again because there's that dimple in his left cheek, the same one his son has.

"Any news?" I ask, not really expecting an answer. I'm still disappointed when he just shakes his head.

I bend down to pet Cod. He probably misses Fischer even more than I do. Then I go home.

My mom hugs me when I come in. I lean my head on her shoulder and wait until she lets go. Then I take off my shoes and go up to my room and shut the door behind me. I don't lock it 'cause my parents get scared when I do, and I can't blame them.

I put the coffee on my desk and drop my bag in its chair, then go over to the window and sit down, letting my head rest on the cool glass. Fischer loves this spot. Every time he comes over, he goes right to it, like it'll disappear if he doesn't claim it. It makes me laugh every time even though it's such a common occurrence.

I sit there until the light outside goes dark and the stars come out. My mom brings up a plate of food that I force myself to eat. Even then I barely manage half before I know one more bite will make me sick. After that I stand under the shower spray for a while, zoning out, until I realize it's gone cold and get out. Dry myself off. Get dressed.

I pull on the hoodie Fischer gave me before climbing into bed and pulling the quilt up, up over my head. When I lay like this I can almost pretend it's all fake and when I come out again, he'll be there, grinning like he always does when he sees me.

Almost.

My throat's still burning when I drift off.