Page 58 of Oleander

“Caspien has such an old soul; I think he’d appreciate a letter rather than a text or an email.”

“A letter,” I repeated stupidly.

A few minutes later, he came back from his desk with a sheet of headed notepaper with what I assumed to be Caspien’s dorm number and address in La Troyeux written on it.

“I don’t know. I don’t think he wants to hear from me.” I was folding the piece of paper anyway. Once and then again into a small cream square.

“Of course he does,” Gideon said, putting his hand on my shoulder. “You’re his only friend in this world.”

“Cas hates me, Gideon.”

At this, Gideon threw his head back and laughed. “He said that?”

“Not in as many words, but he’s made it pretty clear, yeah.”

“Well, then he definitely cares about you, that’s certain.”

I frowned at that. “I don’t understand.”

Gideon seemed a little disbelieving that I was being so slow about this. “If Caspien didn’t care, then you’d know, trust me.” Gideon smiled. “His ambivalence is much crueller than his animosity. If he acts as though he hates you, then it’s very likely he feels the opposite.”

There was a gleam in Gideon’s eye that day that I took to be a sort of shared joy. Something well-meant and benevolent. Like he was imparting some kind and helpful wisdom that would help me navigate what was to come.

But, of course, nothing could have been further from the truth.

After dinner and a shower, I went to my room and dug around in a box until I found a notepad. Then I sat at my desk to write a letter to Caspien. Gideon knew him best of all, so if he thought he’d respond to a letter – he’d completely ignored my text earlier – then I would try.

Dear Cas,

I’m writing this because you left. Why did you leave? I thought you hated that school?

I tore the page out and crumpled it up. If I was going to write to him, then it had to at least hold his bloody attention. I’d been writing for years, squirrelling away on a fantasy story set in a small island town I never wanted anyone to read. But still, I knew I could write better than what I’d just written down.

I had no clue what to say. How honest to be. I decided to write it as though he’d never read it, the way I wrote my fantasy story.

Dear Cas.

You left.

I can’t believe you left.

I went to the house today to try and catch you before you did, but I was too late. It felt different without you inside it. I think that’s how my life is going to feel now. Sometimes, it feels as though you’ve always been here; I can’t remember what my life was like before this summer. Before you.

I’m guessing you left because you didn’t want to look at me after what happened, and I suppose I get it. I’ve been scared for days about looking at you, too, scared about what I might do when I did. I haven’t stopped thinking about it.

You’re everywhere: in my head and my dreams, and I’m not sure what it all means.

I meant it when I said I’d break up with Ellie. I would have. If you wanted me to, then I would have. I shouldn’tbewith Ellie. Not when I feel the things I do about you. Things that scare me. I’m not scared that I might be gay or anything; I don’t think I care about that.

I’m only scared of you not feeling the same way and what that might make me do.

I’m sure you don’t feel the same way. I’m still pretty sure you hate me – though when I said that to Gideon, he said that’s the proof that you don’t. That you have to care to have said anything at all about your feelings.

But you’ve gone back to a place you hate because it’s preferable to being here, with me. So, I don’t know what to think about that.

What if I’d promised never to kiss you again? Never to touch you again? Would you have stayed then?

I think that would almost be worse. To see you and be close to you and have the memory of what it felt like to...to be with you like that and not be allowed to do it again.