the butterflies have broken wings

Dear Annie,

Sometimes, when I consciously acknowledge that I'm writing a letter to myself, from myself, it feels almost laughably pathetic. The absurdity of it—the fact that I'm communicating with myself like this—makes me want to roll my eyes. But still, I do it. I need to do it. So, here we are, once again.

I suppose I'll continue feeling sorry for myself.

Last night, Jack and Dad had another fight. Shocking, I know. It's not like this is anything new. It's the same issues they've been clashing over for years now, and though I try to see both sides, it's becoming more than just tiresome. It's exhausting. Truly, deeply, exhausting.

I wish I could explain just how drained I feel—how even in my dreams, I'm tired. How I wake up after a full night's sleep still weary, even though I can't remember the last time I slept well. It's like I'm being consumed by this invisible weight, this black wave that just won't stop rising.

I know Dad's been through a lot. I understand that. But it's like he forgets that we all went through it. We all carry those scars, not just him. And I don't want to call my own father selfish, but... sometimes I don't know how else to think about it. It's like we're all supposed to bear the brunt of his pain, while he gets to be the center of it.

Whatever. I'm just having a lot of bad days lately.

You know those days when nothing's technically wrong, but nothing's really right either? Like the sky can't decide if it wants to be gray, white, or blue, so it just settles for a muddled, indifferent mess. That's how everything feels right now—a blur of nothingness and too much all at once.

The nightmares are back, worse than ever. I wish they'd just stop, but they won't. Jack doesn't know about them, and I can't tell him. He'd start to worry, and the last thing I want is to give him something else to stress about. He already thinks it's his "brotherly duty" to look out for me, but I'm tired of being something he has to look after. I've caused him enough strain as it is.

The truth is, I feel like I'm carrying too much baggage, and it's not even mine to begin with. Scars that aren't even mine to bear. But here I am, living with them anyway.

It's hard to explain, but I feel like the forest is dark again. The trees are bare, their leaves dead, and the butterflies... they've all got broken wings.

But I'm okay, though.

At least, I think I am.

– Annie

Leo read the last few lines over and over again, the words burning into his mind like an open wound he couldn't close. Each repetition sank deeper, the weight of them more unbearable. He couldn't shake the question: What was it that hurt Annie so much? What had broken her in ways he couldn't understand?

The more he thought about it, the more his head ached, the confusion swirling until it was too much to handle. He felt physically sick—his stomach churned, and a wave of disgust washed over him, making him feel like the very paper in his hands was too heavy to hold. Guilt was a bitter poison running through his veins, twisting his gut as he stared at her thoughts—her raw, vulnerable, private thoughts—laid bare before him, even though he wasn't meant to see them.

It was chronic remorse, the kind that doesn't fade but instead grows, festers, gnaws at you.

It had all started innocently enough. He'd found the paper on the library floor the day before, thinking it was someone's class notes, just something to toss in the recycling bin. But a single accidental glance at the words had changed everything. In that fleeting moment, he realized what he held wasn't just some disposable note—it was a piece of someone's soul. Annie's soul. Her innermost thoughts, spilled out in ink for no one to see but herself.

It was like he'd opened Pandora's box, not knowing the destruction waiting inside.

Leo wasn't someone who typically cared about personal feelings, least of all from a girl he didn't really know. But something about the letter had stopped him cold. It twisted his insides, made his blood run cold as he read her words. And once he did, he couldn't unsee them. He couldn't unread them. He had stepped over a line he hadn't meant to cross, but there was no going back now.

Annie was someone he barely noticed before. A quiet girl, always in the background—usually alone, head down in a book or scribbling in her notebook. He'd seen her, sure, sitting in the library or in the back of a classroom, but she never drew attention to herself. She was the kind of person who melted into the scenery. She had a stillness to her, one that made her easy to overlook.

But that changed the moment he read her words. It was like she'd suddenly been pulled into sharp focus.

He hadn't known it at the time, but he had noticed her more than once—because of Jack. Jack Halden, her brother, was part of Leo's social circle, though their worlds barely intersected. Leo couldn't believe he hadn't made the connection sooner. Annie was Jack's sister, yet she lived in an entirely different universe within the same school walls. The thought gnawed at him even more.

And then, yesterday, he had spoken to her. Just a few simple words exchanged outside in the parking lot, but the way her eyes darted, her nervous fidgeting—it all made sense now. The girl who wrote the letter, the girl with those deep, wounded thoughts, was standing right in front of him, and he hadn't even known it.

Since then, the letter had haunted him. Her worry, her pain, her brokenness—it was all etched in her words, and now they were etched in him too.

Leo sighed, running his fingers through his hair, shoving the folded piece of paper into his pocket as if to distance himself from it. He needed to get to class, to pull himself together and stop obsessing over something he had no right to be involved in.

But when he entered homeroom, he couldn't help it—his eyes found Annie instantly. This time, it was different. This time, he wasn't just seeing her in passing. Now he was aware of her in a way that he hadn't been before. She wasn't just the quiet girl in the corner anymore. She was Annie, with all her secrets and hidden pain, now tangled up with his own confusion.

She was sitting at her desk, writing again. Leo's heart skipped a beat. Was she writing another letter? Did she know her last one was missing? Surely, she would've panicked if she realized it was gone.

"Hey, man," Justin, one of Leo's friends, nudged him with his elbow, snapping him back to reality. "You good? You look spaced out. Late night?"

Leo forced a laugh, shaking his head. "Yeah, man, just tired. Didn't sleep well."

The last thing Leo wanted was for his friends—or anyone—to have the slightest clue about what was going on in his head. They wouldn't understand. And Leo wasn't willing to let them in on this. Not this. Whatever it was he felt toward Annie and the letter, it was his to figure out.

Justin shrugged and turned back to the rest of the group, not pushing further. Leo was grateful. The last thing he needed was more eyes on Annie or on him. He wasn't even sure why he cared so much, but the thought of anyone else finding out made his chest tighten.

Class ended, and Leo made a snap decision. He stayed seated as the bell rang, ignoring the casual goodbyes from his friends as they filed out. He didn't follow. Instead, he waited—waited for the room to clear and the hallways to empty.

He was waiting for her.

It was almost like watching himself from outside his own body as he moved toward her locker. This is so wrong. Turn around. Stop. You have to stop.

But he didn't stop. The guilt gnawed at him, but something stronger was pulling him forward. There was a kind of guilt that paralyzed you, and then there was the kind that fueled your actions, pushing you toward something you couldn't explain. Leo wasn't sure which kind this was, but he was in too deep to care.

He cracked the combination—easier than it should've been—and opened the locker door. His heart pounded in his chest, a mix of guilt and adrenaline flooding his system. Sitting right there on top of her neatly stacked books was another letter. Just sitting there, tempting him.

With a glance around to ensure the coast was clear, Leo made the switch. He placed the old letter back on top of her books and took the new one. His hands shook slightly as he folded it and slipped it into his pocket.

This is so wrong. What the hell are you doing?

But it was too late. The deed was done, and Leo knew there was no going back now.

He ducked out of sight before anyone could catch him, heading straight for the bleachers. His usual spot. The place where he'd go to smoke and clear his head. But today, a cigarette wasn't going to be enough to calm his nerves.

Leo sat down and pulled out the letter. His fingers trembled as he unfolded it, the familiar guilt churning in his gut. He lit a cigarette and took a long drag, the smoke curling up around him as he read the words on the page.

It wasn't malicious, he told himself. It wasn't wrong, not really—not in the way that mattered. His actions were wrong, yes, but his intentions were something else. He just... wanted to understand her. He needed to know why her words had affected him so deeply.

But even as he told himself this, Leo knew the truth was more complicated.

✉

Dear Annie,

Something strange happened yesterday.

Leo Smith—Leo Smith—talked to me. Well, kind of. I don't know if I'd even call it much of a conversation. It was... brief. But also really weird. Completely out of character. I mean, come on, a guy like him doesn't just talk to someone like me. That's not self-pity talking; it's just reality.

I've been trying not to overthink it. Surely it meant nothing. But it's hard to shake how out of place it all felt. It wasn't a normal interaction for me—people like him don't notice people like me. Did I do something wrong? Maybe I've somehow upset him without knowing. I've been wracking my brain for answers, but I'm coming up empty. I'd know if I did something wrong... right?

Unless there's a rumor going around. That wouldn't surprise me, honestly. I mean, this school runs on rumors. Still, I can't imagine what anyone would have to say about me. I barely exist in their world, and I prefer it that way. There's nothing interesting about me, nothing worth talking about—good or bad.

I kind of want to laugh at how sad that sounds.

Jay and Amari think Leo was probably just messing with me. That makes sense. It seems more likely than any other explanation. What else could it have been? I'm sure I'm overthinking it, and it was just a fluke. I mean, he only asked my name. That's hardly worth obsessing over, right?

In other news, Uncle Kalvin is coming over for dinner on Friday. I'd like to say I'm looking forward to it, but honestly, I feel like throwing up at the thought of sitting through that. I don't want to dredge up the past again. I'm tired of pretending things didn't happen. I'm tired of fighting it, of thinking about it at all. For once, I think I just want someone else to fight for me. Is that selfish?

I'm so tired, Annie. Tired in a way that sleep doesn't fix. Tired with everything. Tired of the world feeling so heavy on my shoulders.

But I'm okay. I think.

Anyway, I'm doing okay.

– Annie

✉

Leo re-read the note at least four times before letting out a long, frustrated sigh and grinding out his cigarette beneath his shoe. What does it all mean?

His mind was a chaotic mess, a whirlwind of emotions crashing into one another. Annie's words clung to him, gnawing at his conscience, leaving him both confused and angry—angry at himself for becoming the world's biggest jerk, for violating her privacy in the worst possible way. He had literally broken into her locker, stealing the letters she wrote for no one's eyes but her own. What kind of person does that?

Guilt rippled through him, thick and suffocating. He didn't recognize who he was becoming, and the worst part? He wasn't sure he wanted to know.

And then there was the guilt of how much his actions had already unsettled her. Just talking to her the day before had thrown her off balance, made her question what she'd done wrong. He saw it clearly now—she had spent hours worrying, doubting herself, because of him. How could he not feel bad? How could he not feel like he was piling onto whatever she was already struggling with? It was like he'd stormed into her quiet life, leaving nothing but disruption in his wake.

Shame gnawed at him, burrowing deep into his soul, leaving him hollow.

Yet, despite all of it, despite knowing how wrong it was—he wanted more. He wanted to know what she was writing now, what she was thinking, what else lay behind the quiet, troubled girl she kept hidden from the world. He didn't understand why. Maybe he was trying to make sense of her in a way he couldn't even make sense of himself.

Leo cursed under his breath, shoving the folded paper deep into his pocket. He was spiraling, and he knew it. His mind was tangled in knots he couldn't unravel, and the only thing he could think to do was to distract himself.

He headed back to school, convincing himself that going to class would at least keep his mind occupied.

For now.

But deep down, he knew this was far from over.

✉