The fourth note was hard for Lukas to unfold.  He sniffed hard and bit his bottom lip until it bled.  Wiping his lip on his shirt sleeve, he took a deep breath and began reading the second to last note.

Dear Lukas,

            I’ve been doing some thinking.  This whole week, I’ve been doing nothing but thinking.  It’s the only thing I have left that keeps me from going crazy.  I’ve been thinking about a lot of things.  You.  Me.  Emma.  My friends.  Everything.  I’ve been thinking about everything.  I’ve been thinking about the last thing Emma said to be before she walked out of my life.  It happened at school in the middle of the hallway.  She was putting away her psychology book.  I tried to ask her to consider taking me back.  You know what her response was?

            “I’m not wasting another second with someone who would rather sleep with my brother than me.”

            Do you know what the world around you shattering sounds like?  It sounds like nothing.  Temporary deafness.  Standing there, dumbstruck without a clue what to do.  Do you know what it feels like?  Your eyes stinging with the painful sadness of being left alone.  Eyes on you, two for every person.  Forty eyes.  Watching you try not to cry.  Waiting for you to break down in tears.  And what it looks like?  Uselessness.  Completely useless to anyone.  A boy standing in the middle of the hallway while his ex saunters off.  And everyone thinks you’re something you’re not.  Everyone thinks you’re into guys.

            I went home and I cried.  I’ve never cried that hard before.  I didn’t cry like that when my grandma died.  I didn’t cry like that when I broke my arm.  It wasn’t physical pain.  It wasn’t loss of a relative.  It was loss of myself.  I don’t know who I am.  I don’t know what I am.  I’ve always been Chandler White: Jock Extraordinaire.  Popular, smart, charming, attractive, and… straight.  But I don’t think so anymore.  I think I’ve got a crush on someone close to me, and that’s so confusing.  If it’s true, then I’ve never felt so alone before.  You and I both know what they say about guys who like guys.  They’ll go to Hell.  They’ll never find a loving relationship.  They’re wrong.  They’re the reason behind global warming, 911, and the reason Desperate Housewives went off the air.  None of it makes sense, but if I am one of those guys, then I’ll be hearing that every day of my life.  I don’t want to do this.

            I’m not strong enough to hear that every day.  I can’t handle that.  Can you imagine being hated for being who you are, Luk?  Can you imagine someone beating you to death for loving?  It’s happening all around us, every single day.  I don’t want to be a victim.  I don’t want someone else to kill me for who I might love.  I don’t want to be myself, but I don’t want to pretend to.  I can’t do this alone.  My mom thinks I’m gay too.  She wouldn’t talk to me at dinner.  That was like a knife in my chest.  Not even my own mother loves me.  No one loves me.

            I don’t want to be this way alone.  I can’t.

            I can’t live like this.  I don’t want to be here.  I won’t live like this, Lukas.  I just won’t.  Will you forgive me?

            -Chan

            It took Lukas a moment to process what he’d just read.  The boy jumped up and ran downstairs, heading for the phone.  His foot slipped and he tumbled down the last two steps.  He was numb though.  He didn’t feel anything.  Adrenaline pumped through his veins, pulsing with his quickening heartbeat while he fumbled to dial Chandler’s phone number.  This couldn’t be happening.  Chandler hadn’t done something to himself.  There was no answer.  “Fuck!” Lukas screamed, swatting away tears while he called again.  There was still no answer.  Lukas fell to his knees in the kitchen, his head buried in his hands.  Everything came washing over him, pulling him into the dark depths of loss.  Chandler was gone.

            He couldn’t focus on the last letter.  He had thought reading the fourth had been hard.  Even thinking about the last note was too much for him.  There was no way in hell he could bring himself to do it.  Instead, he sobbed to himself, clenching the phone until his fingers turned white.  The boy rocked back and forth, shudders running through his body haphazardly.  He stood up and threw the phone across the room, watching as it bounced off the wall and clattered to the tile.  With blurred vision, he grabbed the phone and threw it again, this time turning away before he could see where it landed.

            “Lukas?” his mother called, closing the front door and placing the bags on the ground.  She heard him crying in the kitchen and ran to him, pulling him into a hug.  “What’s wrong, honey?  Lukas, what’s wrong?” she asked.

            “He’s gone, Mom.  Chandler’s gone,” he wailed, burying his face in her jacket.  His eyes leaked like unattended faucets.

            “Oh, honey,” she whispered, rubbing his back slowly.  “Baby,” she whispered softly.  His mother continued to gently hold him until he calmed down.  That proved to take all afternoon.