I had always wondered what she had written in that letter. That was the "novel" she had written to him all those years ago, before he moved in with Sarah, the one she had tried to get him to make a decision in. But when she pushed for a response, that was the night he came up and told her he and Sarah had broken up.
And he still had the letter.
That bothered me for some reason.
I thought I was done, but in the back of the book I found another piece of paper, also old and folded up. I frowned, wondering when she had written him another letter. I didn't know anything about another letter.
"Dear Mike," it began.
The other night was a mistake. I have to start this letter by saying that. I don't want you to think that I've changed so much, that I've become the type of woman who's okay with doing that sort of thing. It was a mistake. You're married now.
"Hey, I was just joking about that search party," Derek said, coming into the room.
I jumped a little, looking at him guiltily.
He frowned, looking at the letter. "What are you reading?"
"A letter," I said, wondering if he was going to be mad.
"Where did you get that?" he asked.
"It's from my mom, Derek. I found this one and another one in a copy of Wuthering Heights he had up in the top corner of his bookshelf." I glanced back at the letter. "Hold on, let me finish this, please."
He frowned, but let me go back to snooping as he took the one I had already read and started to read it.
Don't get me wrong, Mike, I still love you. I wish to God that I didn't, but I do. I've even tried not to. I've tried hating you. I convinced everybody else, but I find that I don't believe my own lies.
I never believed there was such a thing as "the love of my life" before you. Just the concept that there could be just one person for everyone... it didn't sound right to me. But I do know one thing. I don't ever see myself loving anyone else the way that I love you. I don't even think it's possible to love like this again. Honestly, I think that might be a good thing... When I think of the hell you've put me through... why would I even want to experience that again?
I don't know, but apparently I'm a masochist, because I do want to be with you, even now. You gave me so much hope the other night, and even though I went to hell and back before, I was ready to go again. I guess I still am. Did you mean what you said? Or were you just teasing me, like you always do? Just giving me a taste of the only thing I would give anything to have... just to give it back to her. I want to believe you, I want to believe that you've realized the error of your ways and you won’t do that again.
After all, if you weren't being sincere, then you were being cruel. Why would you stir up all those hopes and feelings in me after all these years if you still didn't intend on following through with any of them?
I won't be your mistress, I feel I should make that much clear. I won't put myself through that again. But if you two really are splitting up, if you really don't love her... if you're really, truly leaving her for good this time, then I'm here. Just like I've always been here.
"What are you doing?"
I gasped, the letter slipping right out of my hands as I looked up at Mike, whose gaze was narrowed.
Unfortunately, the only sound that seemed to come from my mouth was, "Uh..."
Derek recovered a little quicker, saying, "We were just going to watch Scarface, we were going to... get it."
He directed his gaze at the letter that was lying in the floor. "That isn't Scarface."
"No," Derek agreed, looking at me, not really knowing what else to say.
"Get out of my room," Mike said, bending over to pick up the letter off the floor.
Suddenly, seeing the letter in his hand seemed to knock me out of my dumbfounded silence. "You talked to her before it happened," I stated.
He looked at me coldly. "I believe I asked you—"
"No! I didn't get to finish reading that letter, but I read enough. I know—"
"You don't know anything," he said, cutting me off.
Derek took me by the arm. "Nikki, come on," he said.