Free Larkin's Letters by Jax Jillian Page A

Larkin’s house and found her cooking them dinner in the kitchen. She was at the sink, her back was turned to him, but he knew she had heard him come in through the noisy front door. “Just in time for dinner,” he remembers her calling out to him. And as she had turned to face him, he had grabbed her right hand and put it on his shoulder, then took her left hand and led her into a dance. He quickly spun her around, and as she looked up at him with a smile, he had asked, “Do you want to go dancing with me tonight?”
    They had danced the night away at a jazz club in Atlantic City. It had been the most fun he had had in a long time. They barely sat down the entire night, and it was so good to see Larkin laughing and smiling. But he could tell she was getting tired, and he was worried about it. She had fallen asleep on the way home, and he had carried her into the house and tucked her into bed. Before he turned the light out, he had noticed her manuscript on her nightstand. He grabbed it, sat next to her on her bed, and attempted to find where it was she had left off. As he was searching, she had grabbed his hand and pulled it away from her work in progress. “No, Ryan. You can’t. I have to read it to you. Remember?”
    “Okay, that’s fine. I’m sorry.” He closed it, put it back in the folder, and bent over to give her a goodnight kiss on the forehead. She grabbed his hand as he brushed her chin with his thumb. “Lay here with me.” He positioned himself on his side to face her. He had given her a quick smile and wink whenever he would catch a quick glimpse of her blue eyes as she struggled to keep them open. He had not wanted to take his eyes off of her. Every moment he had spent with her those past two months had been an awakening. An awakening into what she had meant to him. When he had been away from her, he didn’t just miss her; he missed all the little things—the way she had called him Fish, the way she had said “hey” when she answered the phone, the way she had wrapped her arms around his neck when he hugged her good-bye, the way she had smiled at him when she saw him for the first time in a long while—and he never thought that the little things would have meant everything to him.
     
    Letter #12 - October 17, 2011
     
    Ryan,
    It’s late. I remember the night of my first treatment. I was so exhausted, and I couldn’t keep my eyes open. But tonight, that couldn’t be more further from the truth. I would give anything to keep them closed, but I can’t.
    I miss you. You couldn’t stay with me. You were supposed to stay with me this week, but you’re not here. I keep reliving our conversation from earlier today after my treatment. You and I took a walk through the park just across the parking lot. It was a pleasant day, the breeze had subsided from the day before, and the sun’s rays would make occasional short visits through the small breaks in the clouds, but not enough to fully dry the grass and the park benches from the earlier rainstorm. I wanted to rest so you took your sweatshirt off and placed it on the bench so we had a dry place to sit. I knew you had something on your mind. I could tell. You had a hard time looking me in the eyes.
    Ryan, you’re gone. You left. You had to, I know. I also know you wanted to stay. I know you tried to. I know you would if you could. Now I can’t sleep because I can’t stop thinking about you and how disappointed I feel that you’re not here. My heart hurts. I don’t understand why it hurts so much. I never used to think that longing for someone to be near, missing them so much, could actually cause physical pain. My heart hurts. It hurts to breathe. It hurts to move. It hurts to cry. It even hurts to touch my chest. I guess a heart really can break. And mine must be breaking. I have been having these feelings that are so confusing. Feelings I have never had before. Not even for Chris. I miss you like crazy right now. I miss your smell. I miss your