Free The Record of My Heart (Words #3.5) by Georgina Guthrie Page B

alter-ego, Jung Willman. He leans toward histrionics from time to time, but you’ll get used to him. I happen to think he’s a rather endearing chap.
    See you soon, and in case you’re at all unsure, I can’t frigging wait to kiss you again. I’m also very excited about seeing you in skis. I’m in dire need of a good belly laugh. ;)
    Love,
    ~D
    xoxoxo…

Monday, March 23
    Hello, my love,
    Before I say anything else, I have to apologize again, Aubrey. I’m sorry for abandoning you on Friday. For not telling you about my anxiety weeks ago. For turning to my mother in the office on Friday instead of reaching out to you. For our lost weekend and all the fun we could have had. For the promises you’ve had to make to my father. For my past, and for all the compromises my baggage is foisting upon you—upon us. And on and on it goes…I’m so sorry.
    All of this seems too much for someone to tolerate, and yet there you are, putting on a brave face and enduring everything. I asked you to forgive me this morning, and you told me there was nothing to forgive, as always, the epitome of understanding. I suppose I had no control over the events of this weekend, but I still feel horrible for essentially deserting you here, not knowing what was going on.
    My dad told me about the conversation you two had the other day—how you said losing gloves is your tragic flaw and he told you he’s never heard of one of Shakespeare’s heroes spiraling to his downfall because of a lost glove. The irony is rich, isn’t it? Think of all the chaos that’s unraveled, all because of that stupid striped glove. Regardless of the cause, there’s no turning back. We can’t erase what happened. Now we must try to move forward.
    I won’t pretend I’m happy about the arrangement you’ve made with my father. I guess I should take comfort in knowing things could be much worse—at least it was my father who found us out and not someone else. Being forced to drastically rein in our behavior doesn’t change what’s in my heart, though. I’m not prepared to apologize for my feelings. I’m not sorry we met, and I’m not sorry I’m falling in love with you—HAVE fallen in love with you. I won’t apologize for wanting to be with you every minute of the day, for wanting to talk to you and laugh with you, for wishing I could hold you and kiss you…
    It’s inconceivable to me that we’ll be completely out of contact, except for classroom time, without even texts or emails to sustain us, especially when I remember how excited I was to receive that first email from you last Friday. I suppose I’ll have to reread it until I’ve committed it to memory, and fill this flash drive with even more letters to you that I’m not able to send.
    All I can hope for now is that the coming weeks will pass quickly and without further incident. I’m notorious for torturing myself with recriminations and for overthinking everything, but I hope the wait and the time apart doesn’t take too much of a toll on you. I would gladly bear the entire burden if it meant peace of mind for you, and that’s the reason I’m agreeing to your conditions. I want your conscience to remain clear. I would hate to put pressure on you, heaping guilt on you in the process, so I will take my lead from you.
    If I could make one demand of the universe, it would be this—
    Sonnet 19
    “Devouring Time, blunt thou the lion’s paws,
And make the earth devour her own sweet brood;
Pluck the keen teeth from the fierce tiger’s jaws,
And burn the long-lived phoenix in her blood;
Make glad and sorry seasons as thou fleets,
And do whate’er thou wilt, swift-footed Time,
To the wide world and all her fading sweets;
But I forbid thee one most heinous crime:
O, carve not with thy hours my love’s fair brow,
Nor draw no lines there with thine antique pen;
Him in thy course untainted do allow
Yet, do thy worst, old Time: despite thy wrong.”
    Regardless of Shakespeare’s intentions when he