#nightxinxgale

Dear Spencer,

When I first set out to write this letter I had every intention of exploding in anger and detailing to you exactly where I’d like to put my foot in relation to your body but when pen was put to paper, I found that drain away instantly and it was replaced with a weight on my chest that seemingly held a vice grip on my throat.

I’ll admit that when we first met you terrified me, you made me cry and you frustrated me - I’d just seen a man shot in the head and you treated me like I was crying over spilled milk. But I guess I shouldn’t blame you, you have your own reasons, right? It’s probably a business you’ve well and truly become numb to, similar to how I’ve become desensitised to men treating me like a prostitute. It’s nothing we can control but rather a harsh reality we’ve stopped trying to change. I think I stopped blaming you shortly after that and instead I just wished I could leave and be by myself. 

I partly wanted to disappear because I felt as little as anything whilst under your gaze, I’ve put myself down to that level so many times and it stung when it came from someone who didn’t know me too. I was having a bad day at work too, I was tired, emotionally, physically exhausted - ready to snap and you kept driving home the fact that I’m a nuisance. I am a nuisance. I can admit that and being with you just made that all the more clear.

I’ll never understand why you made me come with you instead of sending me to your receiving station to await questioning.

Then we parted ways and I more or less pushed you from mind - a trick I’ve learned working in the escort business. No use dwelling on faces you’ll probably never see again. But I did see you again. Perhaps coincidence.

You were almost like a knight in shining armour when it happened - a gunshot, I nearly lost my life and you came out of nowhere, talking down this ex-client of mine who didn’t take no for an answer. You put yourself in front of the gun, between me and danger and I still question why you did it. You even took a bullet for me. Something I never deserved from you. Me, someone who only ever brought annoyance to you. 

I called the ambulance shortly after you passed out on the sidewalk - told them everything and who it was. They asked me if I wanted to go with you to the hospital but I couldn’t bring myself to do it, I didn’t have any right. That night I went home and drank myself into unconsciousness, I was utterly ashamed of what happened to you. 

I called by your station the day after, asked if there were any updates on you and they told me you were still recovering in the hospital. I took a trip there too, gave my name and they let me up to your room. You were asleep when I called by and I didn’t want to wake you so I left pretty soon afterwards. I’m not sure if you noticed but I left a get-well card without signing my name and some flowers too. Though, it probably means nothing after you saved my life.

I’m not even sure why I’m writing this - I probably won’t even send it. I guess I feel guilty for being everything you’ve painted me as. I’ve never had the best confidence but I guess you saw that. 

I’m sorry for putting you in harm’s way. I hope you recover soon.