Page 104 of Unconditionally Yours

Dear Rhys,

Okay, buckle up, because I know you already heard some of this live and raw and you might think that was enough but it wasn’t. So. Let’s unpack.

I was out running an errand. For one of my men. Not naming names, but it’s you. No, you don’t get those details. You said I need boundaries, which means you get some too, Dr. Ethical Distance.

Anyway, it turned life-threatening, which I feel should earn me a sticker or at least a graham cracker. There was a man. He clucked. Think farm but with cult vibes. There was a knife. Sit with that image.

You know I fucked Jett. You don’t know I ruined it. Like I always fucking do.

But here’s the part that will make your little therapist brain twitch: I went to his house. I left him something. And yeah, maybe it sounds a little Hank-adjacent, but it’s not the same. Jett’s hurting. Like, real hurt. Like heart-wounds and silence and angry eyes that didn’t know how to look at me anymore.

I had to show him it still matters. That I still care. That I see him, even if he can’t stand to look at me right now.

I was just gonna leave it in his bike bag, but his bike was gone. So I went in. The window was open. I didn’t break anything, so technically it’s just... assisted entry. If you’re gonna nitpick, then go ahead and call the morality police.

I left my dress. I took a little something. A memento. Don’t be judgy. It was necessary theft. There’s a difference. You already know I’ve been charged with public indecency once, and frankly, I didn’t feel like climbing back out a window naked. Naked window climbing is for girls who didn’t almost get stabbed by a chicken cultist today.

I didn’t give Benji the time I wanted to today. It was a you and Jett kind of day. I feel like that says something fucked up about my priorities.

After I finish this, I’m taking Mr. Wriggles to see Benji. I’ll fix his lunch for tomorrow, tuck him in, maybe watch him sleep a little. Quiet time. Sweet time. Time I haven’t earned but want anyway.

I have group tomorrow with Dr. Dickblock. Maybe I’ll see you. Maybe you’ll look at me like I’m not just a glittery problem. Or if you think I am, you’ll still want to solve me with your mouth. Either way, I’ll wear lipstick.

P.S. Mr. Wriggles also thinks you’re repressing something.

Rhys Journal

Oh fuck, I cannot wait until Friday. I just know Kira’s gonna cancel. Manifesting it. Willed it into the universe. You should’ve heard the message I left her, chef’s kiss, poetic, threatening, motivational. Totally worth surviving the Chicken Man.

God, I wish you’d been there with Jett. Maybe if you’d helped me tell Jett, he wouldn’t have looked at me like I was a bomb he’d already let go off in his chest.

Benji Journal

I’ll be over soon, my love. I missed everything: your voice, your laugh, even the way you say my name like it’s got honey stuck to it.

Texts don’t hold you right.

Today’s been rough. The kind of rough that makes me crave soft edges.

I just… need you.

Jett Journal

I hope you found the things. I hope they make you realize I love you.

And if they don’t, I hope they piss you off enough to come hunt me down.

Then I’ll show you. I’m here. I never left.

Also? Your neighbor watched me. I couldn’t get a good look, but if you’re fucking someone that close to home, I swear to God. I’m already dealing with one pissy ex-neighbor with Benji, and the idea of some porch-adjacent bitch orbiting my men is gross.

Tell her to go water her azaleas and stay in her fucking lane.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Delilah

Benji’s place is dark. Not in the serial killer way, unless we’re talking emotional slaughter, in which case, yes. I pull in beside his car and let myself in with the key he let me keep like it was no big deal. Like I’m not the type to whisper ‘mine’ while licking doorknobs.