I guess this is probably overdue. I just never really knew how to... say it. But Lieutenant Irving suggested I try writing you a letter. And I've tried a bunch of times to write this, not really knowing how to start but I guess this would be a lot easier than trying to say it out loud. This.. means he knows about you. Knows how I feel about you. I don't really know how that's going to pan out, and I'm kinda worried about it.
(Wynonna also knows, for the record. She was the only one I really told, after the first time we kissed. I didn't tell anyone else.)
With not telling people— it's not out of shame. It's not. I swear. I just don't really know much about any of this stuff because it's never been something for me. But I know how a lot of people feel towards me, and I know this would all come back on you if they found out about the two of us. There's enough in this place going on without any of that. I don't want people giving you a hard time, I've never wanted that for you. And just— I don't know what this is, what we are exactly.
But I still like it. I like you. I love you. You're so frustrating and obnoxious and I never know what I'm gonna get with you half the time. You're so dumb and annoying. But you're kind, and the good kind of dumb. You're a good person. You give me more grace than I give myself some days. And with how awful everything is in this place, you're something nice and peaceful and good. I miss the nights when you're not sleeping on my bedroom floor, and even when you snore — it's comforting to know you're there.
And I was so mad at you for what you did.
I know if you hadn't been there, I don't think I would be here. I know that. You saved me. You stopped Lieutenant Little from doing something even more unforgiveable. He did something wrong, he hurt me. And I've thought a lot about the people who've hurt me before. There was this verse I used to read over and over again: "When justice is done, it brings joy to the righteous but terror to evildoers." And I kinda wonder if it's like when you're drowning, but your body's trying to fight back against it. The thrashing and clawing, how violent it is but you're still dying. I was dying, back home. Maybe I still am. I don't know.
And a lot of the time that's hard to reckon with. I'm tired, Tim. Some days I'm too tired. Being here in the Northern Territories has given me a lot of time to reflect on things, but I'm still tired. Sometimes I still don't want to be here at all. But I'm trying to be here. And I don't know what'll happen when I go back home. But when I thought about it, I knew it was wrong to think about that. About being angry and vengeful. I hope one day Nathan Prescott gets punished for what he did to me, but I didn't want to be the one to obsess over punishment. I don't want to be hateful or vengeful or always so angry for what happened to me.
Lieutenant Little will pay for what he did until the day he dies: he'll never forgive himself even if I do. I know how much pain all of this will cause him, and it'll stay with him even longer than the pain he caused me. He's not a man who shrugs off his mistakes and forgets about them.
He's saved my life three times in this place. He didn't have to. No one has to do anything in this place other than try to survive. But he did. He found me out in the wilds when I first ended up in this place, freaking out and cold and he gave me his coat and led me to Milton. He talked me down from the top of the Basin when the Darkwalker got into my head enough to make everything I'd been feeling come back to the front of my mind and just think maybe there was no point in trying to keep going — like I'd already wasted my life, it was over. The only thing I needed to do was put myself to sleep forever like I was supposed to do back home. And when the Darkwalker took over and made everyone go crazy last June — he stopped another Interloper from killing me. He killed that man. To stop him from killing me. I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for him.
But he's more than that, too. He's kind, and gentle. He has the best laugh and he sucks at cooking but he's pretty good at prepping vegetables for me. He always has time to listen to me play violin, and he just wants me to be safe and happy. He's important to me, and I care about him. He's family to me. He's someone so precious to me and I'm so glad I ever met him.
And you could have taken him away from me — and I don't think I could have forgiven you for that. I was so mad that you turned stopping what was going on into hurting him back, into getting some kind of instant revenge or whatever crap that was that you pulled. I was the one who got hurt, and you made it about you. You took it out of my hands, you took the power out of my hands — and you, of all people, should know know how wrong that was to do to someone like me, knowing what I'd been through back home. If anything, I should have been the one who decided. But it was like you forgot about me, and I was so angry with you about it. And you couldn't even come and say sorry about it afterwards.
I don't want to be angry. I don't want to hate you, because I love you. And I had to go away so I wasn't just stuck in Milton being angry with you, letting it fester. I just wanted some time and some space to go and not think about it. Because I'm allowed that. And it helped, it did. Something new to focus on while I tried to make peace with what happened. And I think I was okay. Maybe. Doing a little better.
I don't remember what happened, how it went wrong on the way back. And I don't really remember much of what happened, but I remember thinking how you once told me that you didn't like hurting people. That you didn't want to hurt me. And it felt like such a joke because you did hurt me. I've never felt like that before, that kind of anger. Like the things you said to me were just crap, like you just lied. Like you didn't really care about me and you were just proving it all right that no one cares.
And I hurt you. I hit you. I've never hit anyone, but I hit you. And I'm sorry. I'm sorry a thousand times over. And I don't care if you think you deserved it. You deserve me being angry at you, you deserve me wanting to be away from you for a while for what you did, for how you hurt me. But you didn't deserve me hitting you.
I have to work on forgiving myself for that, even if you'll probably tell me there's nothing to be forgiven for.
But I also want you to tell me sorry, too. Because I deserve that. I know you stopped him from almost killing me, and that was right. But you twisted it. You hurt me. And I want you to say sorry.
Because I want us to be okay again. Even though I was mad, I missed you. I missed being around you. I missed your dumb smile (Yes. It's dumb. Super dumb. And cute.). Because I still like you and love you, and despite the fact I don't know exactly what we are — I wanna find out. I want us to talk because I know you can be honest, and I wanna work this out.
And I hope maybe you come find me after you read this.
A Letter, July 2016. | cw: suicide ideation, discussions of attempted suicide, mild ref to npc death
I guess this is probably overdue. I just never really knew how to... say it. But Lieutenant Irving suggested I try writing you a letter. And I've tried a bunch of times to write this, not really knowing how to start but I guess this would be a lot easier than trying to say it out loud. This.. means he knows about you. Knows how I feel about you. I don't really know how that's going to pan out, and I'm kinda worried about it.
(Wynonna also knows, for the record. She was the only one I really told, after the first time we kissed. I didn't tell anyone else.)
With not telling people— it's not out of shame. It's not. I swear. I just don't really know much about any of this stuff because it's never been something for me. But I know how a lot of people feel towards me, and I know this would all come back on you if they found out about the two of us. There's enough in this place going on without any of that. I don't want people giving you a hard time, I've never wanted that for you. And just— I don't know what this is, what we are exactly.
But I still like it. I like you. I love you. You're so frustrating and obnoxious and I never know what I'm gonna get with you half the time. You're so dumb and annoying. But you're kind, and the good kind of dumb. You're a good person. You give me more grace than I give myself some days. And with how awful everything is in this place, you're something nice and peaceful and good. I miss the nights when you're not sleeping on my bedroom floor, and even when you snore — it's comforting to know you're there.
And I was so mad at you for what you did.
I know if you hadn't been there, I don't think I would be here. I know that. You saved me. You stopped Lieutenant Little from doing something even more unforgiveable. He did something wrong, he hurt me. And I've thought a lot about the people who've hurt me before. There was this verse I used to read over and over again: "When justice is done, it brings joy to the righteous but terror to evildoers." And I kinda wonder if it's like when you're drowning, but your body's trying to fight back against it. The thrashing and clawing, how violent it is but you're still dying. I was dying, back home. Maybe I still am. I don't know.
And a lot of the time that's hard to reckon with. I'm tired, Tim. Some days I'm too tired. Being here in the Northern Territories has given me a lot of time to reflect on things, but I'm still tired. Sometimes I still don't want to be here at all. But I'm trying to be here. And I don't know what'll happen when I go back home. But when I thought about it, I knew it was wrong to think about that. About being angry and vengeful. I hope one day Nathan Prescott gets punished for what he did to me, but I didn't want to be the one to obsess over punishment. I don't want to be hateful or vengeful or always so angry for what happened to me.
Lieutenant Little will pay for what he did until the day he dies: he'll never forgive himself even if I do. I know how much pain all of this will cause him, and it'll stay with him even longer than the pain he caused me. He's not a man who shrugs off his mistakes and forgets about them.
He's saved my life three times in this place. He didn't have to. No one has to do anything in this place other than try to survive. But he did. He found me out in the wilds when I first ended up in this place, freaking out and cold and he gave me his coat and led me to Milton. He talked me down from the top of the Basin when the Darkwalker got into my head enough to make everything I'd been feeling come back to the front of my mind and just think maybe there was no point in trying to keep going — like I'd already wasted my life, it was over. The only thing I needed to do was put myself to sleep forever like I was supposed to do back home. And when the Darkwalker took over and made everyone go crazy last June — he stopped another Interloper from killing me. He killed that man. To stop him from killing me. I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for him.
But he's more than that, too. He's kind, and gentle. He has the best laugh and he sucks at cooking but he's pretty good at prepping vegetables for me. He always has time to listen to me play violin, and he just wants me to be safe and happy. He's important to me, and I care about him. He's family to me. He's someone so precious to me and I'm so glad I ever met him.
And you could have taken him away from me — and I don't think I could have forgiven you for that. I was so mad that you turned stopping what was going on into hurting him back, into getting some kind of instant revenge or whatever crap that was that you pulled. I was the one who got hurt, and you made it about you. You took it out of my hands, you took the power out of my hands — and you, of all people, should know know how wrong that was to do to someone like me, knowing what I'd been through back home. If anything, I should have been the one who decided. But it was like you forgot about me, and I was so angry with you about it. And you couldn't even come and say sorry about it afterwards.
I don't want to be angry. I don't want to hate you, because I love you. And I had to go away so I wasn't just stuck in Milton being angry with you, letting it fester. I just wanted some time and some space to go and not think about it. Because I'm allowed that. And it helped, it did. Something new to focus on while I tried to make peace with what happened. And I think I was okay. Maybe. Doing a little better.
I don't remember what happened, how it went wrong on the way back. And I don't really remember much of what happened, but I remember thinking how you once told me that you didn't like hurting people. That you didn't want to hurt me. And it felt like such a joke because you did hurt me. I've never felt like that before, that kind of anger. Like the things you said to me were just crap, like you just lied. Like you didn't really care about me and you were just proving it all right that no one cares.
And I hurt you. I hit you. I've never hit anyone, but I hit you. And I'm sorry. I'm sorry a thousand times over. And I don't care if you think you deserved it. You deserve me being angry at you, you deserve me wanting to be away from you for a while for what you did, for how you hurt me. But you didn't deserve me hitting you.
I have to work on forgiving myself for that, even if you'll probably tell me there's nothing to be forgiven for.
But I also want you to tell me sorry, too. Because I deserve that. I know you stopped him from almost killing me, and that was right. But you twisted it. You hurt me. And I want you to say sorry.
Because I want us to be okay again. Even though I was mad, I missed you. I missed being around you. I missed your dumb smile (Yes. It's dumb. Super dumb. And cute.). Because I still like you and love you, and despite the fact I don't know exactly what we are — I wanna find out. I want us to talk because I know you can be honest, and I wanna work this out.
And I hope maybe you come find me after you read this.
Kate.