The sun was shining as I sat on the bridge, my legs dangling over the ledge. I smiled at the pale blue sky, feeling the warmth on my face. The river below was calm and satiated, gently splashing along the rocks. It was completely different from the last time I had been there.

It'd been a month ago since I'd last been to the bridge. There wasn't much for me to do there anymore, as all it brought back were terrible memories. Memories of the emptiness that filled me. The hopelessness that threatened to take over.

A month ago, when I stood on the edge of the bridge, wind whipping through my hair, I thought I would die. I expected to. I was moments away from letting go and dropping into the river below. Letting the water wash away my pain and sorrows.

But the day before I was destined to jump, I sent six letters. One to each of my five exes. A letter to tell each of them how they destroyed my life. How they brought me to that moment, where I dangled between life and death. The sixth letter went to my crush. Booker Hicks.

Like an angel, he appeared as I moved to step off the bridge. He talked me off the ledge. Told me everything I needed to hear to finally push away the decision to end my life. I ended the day asleep in his arms.

Every day since then has been a better day than the last. Everything I thought I lost finally started to come back. My grades. My relationship with my parents. My happiness. Finally, everything was right again. I had the missing puzzle piece in my heart.

But I never got responses.

When I originally sent my letters of grievances, I didn't expect to live to see the day they opened the letters. I thought I would be long gone by the time they broke the seal. But when I lived, I started to expect a response. I'd wait by my mailbox, every day, waiting for the responses that never came.

After a couple weeks, I forgot about the letters. They disappeared into the back of my brain, gone in the past that I was trying to block. I focused on Booker, the only guy who ever truly loved me. The only guy who seemed to want to help.

I glanced down at the water below me. I could have ended up in those waters, if not for Booker. I could have sank to the bottom, where I would never be found. They would search downriver. They would search the bridge. But they would never have found me. I would have disappeared forever. Just like they wanted.

I pushed them from my thoughts. I had Booker now. My goofy, smart, athletic Booker. The one who brought me into the light. Chased away the darkness to save me. Held me as I let my demons escape. Stayed with me through everything.

Every time I remembered that he was mine, I smiled. Remembering that he loved and cherished me brought a giddy smile from my chest. To think about the way he smiled at me would make butterflies flutter in my chest. He was mine and I was his. For the first time, I had someone who I knew would always respect me.

Gravel crunched as a car pulled into the park next to the bridge. I glanced over to see Booker's small blue car, its headlights turning off. I smiled as I watched Booker step out, adorned in his blue and yellow letterman jacket. But the smile faded as I saw his expression.

It wasn't his usual smile. It was a smirk, or a cheeky grin. It was stone cold, as if he'd been preparing himself. His eyes were glossy, the rims of his eyes slightly red and puffy. It looked as though he was going to a funeral.

"Luk," Booker called, somber. I slowly stood up from the bridge's edge, tilting my head.

"Yeah?" I asked, feeling concerned.

"Could you come over here, please?"

I stared at him for a moment longer before beginning to slowly take steps towards him. Each one felt like a crack of thunder as my heart began to beat faster. Booker was never like this. He was always smiling at me, even if he didn't feel like smiling. But he wasn't smiling now. He was far from it.

About a week into our relationship, which started a few days after the bridge, Booker knew everything about my exes. He knew every scar they'd inflicted upon me. Every tear that dropped from my eyes. He knew everything. Once he knew it all, he vowed to never treat me the same as they did. One of the things he told me was that he would always smile, no matter how dark the times.

Despite the shining sun above, it'd never felt like a darker moment.

"Booker," I said slowly, stopping in front of him. "What is it?"

He didn't answer me. He simply stared down at me with his deep blue eyes, a sad expression on his face. It took me a moment to realize that the sadness wasn't for him.

It was for me.

"Can I hug you?" he asked softly. I nodded.

Booker slowly wrapped his arms around me, pulling me into him. The smell of strawberries and vanilla washed over me as I wrapped my thin arms around him, squeezing his waist tightly. For a moment, it was silent, the only sounds being that of our breathing. Then he spoke.

"You got some letters in the mail today," he whispered so quietly, I could barely hear him.

"I did?" I never got mail. "How do you know that?"

"Your parents told me."

"Why would they tell you I got letters?"

Booker remained silent.

"What are the letters?"

Silence.

"Booker, what are the letters about?"

Booker slowly backed out from the embrace, sliding his hands to my shoulders. He held my shoulders gently, staring down at me with his increasingly sad eyes. With every growing second, I was becoming more and more aggravated.

"Booker, what are the-"

"It's better if you see for yourself," he interrupted, taking a deep breath.

With a reluctant gaze, Booker reached into the pocket of his letterman jacket, pulling out a stack of white envelopes. My eyes attached to them, my curiosity for their identity burning bright. Nothing about them seemed special. Nothing seemed strange. They were just letters.

He handed them to me upside down, the addresses hidden. Curious, but concerned by Booker, I stared at their backs for a moment. I could feel Booker's gaze boring into me as he watched to see how I would react. I slowly turned them over.

My blood ran cold.

I stared at the letters, my breath coming short. My heart began to pound as I shifted the envelopes to see them all. I saw the words but they didn't connect in my brain. I saw the names but they weren't recognized. Then it all came together as Booker spoke the truth I feared.

"They're letters from your exes."