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NO MATTER WHAT I DO I GET CAUGHT UP IN SHIT
IT WAS SUPPOSED to be a normal Wednesday night for Belle. Grab a bottle of booze and watch the same chick flick for the possibly millionth time, reciting its lines and mirroring the actors' faces with red, intoxicated cheeks. Perhaps grab a tub of ice cream if she was feeling it.
Her plans were ruined when she found an envelope in her mailbox.
She already knew who it was from—there was nobody else who knew her address that would send her a letter like some incongruous maniac. Who the hell still sent letters? It was the 21st century.
With a sigh and a eucalyptus candle lit in front of her, she opened the envelope with her bare hands, ripping it apart carelessly. Inside was a paper, as she expected, and as she folded it open, another sigh fell from her mouth.
She had to squint to read the letters in the darkness of her living room.
Dear Belle,
I hope this letter finds you well. I hope this letter finds you well because there is no other way for me to know if you are well, and I think we both know why.
Your father and I have been discussing the terms of the agreement we made after you graduated, and we feel that we are ready to see you again. In turn, we hope you are ready to see us too. We would like to come to visit within the next few weeks, Belle.
I am excited to see what kind of life you have been living since your last performance. I am even more excited to see my daughter.
With Love, Mother
Belle scoffed, pressing her thumbs to the top of the paper. With love, my ass. She tore it in half. Ready to see you, my ass. She tore it into quarters, and further until there was a pile of scraps on her dining table, some holding a few letters of words previously stitched together like a broken puzzle.
How did they even find my address?
She groaned loudly, rolling her head back in fatigue. Her night was completely ruined.
Her head snapped forward. Or is it?
She glanced at the clock in her living room, looking past the piano that even further reminded her of the person who might make her night slightly better. He should be off work.
Picking up her phone, she clicked on his contact, biting her lip nervously before mustering the courage to press the button to call him.
With no time to contemplate what she had just done, she pressed the phone to her ear, hearing it ring a few times before the line picked up.
"Hello?" his raspy voice hit her ear. "Belle? What's wrong? You never call me like this."
Belle realized he was right. She really must have been out of her mind then and there to call him so spontaneously. Did Yoongi not like calling over the phone?
