Page 81 of Returned Mail

I laughed.

I hope you’re happy.

A laugh escapes me before I can stop it.

Thank you for the camera.

And the picture.

You’re beautiful.

My hand tightens on the page.

I read it again. ‘You’re beautiful.’ She doesn’t know what she’s talking about. The picture was taken in bad lighting, with exhaustion and a cut on my face I didn’t bother hiding. Beautiful is not a word that belongs anywhere near me.

Then I keep reading.

And before you make that weird or pretend I didn’t say it, I mean it.

I close my eyes for half a second.

She knows me too well for someone who doesn’t know me at all.

You look tired.

You look like you’ve had a hard few months.

You also look real.

I think that’s what got me.

The air leaves my lungs slowly. No one has ever said it like that. Not like a compliment. Not like she is seeing the worn parts and refusing to look away. I don’t know what to do with that.

So I read the next part.

Here’s me.

Three failed attempts because apparently I forgot how cameras work the second I realized you were going to see my face.

This is the least terrifying one.

For whatever it’s worth, I’m glad I’m the one living here too.

Mostly.

That makes me laugh again.

This time, Mack definitely hears it. “Oh, this is bad,” he calls.

“Mind your business.”

“Can’t. You’re being weird in public.”

“I’m on my bunk.”

“Public.”

I fold the letter halfway and glare at him. He grins like he knows exactly what he’s doing. I don’t give him the satisfaction of reacting. I wait until he looks away before I read the letter again. Then I look at the picture, then the letter, then the picture again. This is not curiosity anymore.