Sebastian rushed down the street, checking his watch every fifteen seconds. He was supposed to meet Alex for dinner half an hour ago, but the meeting with the Italians had gone on longer than expected because, if there was any language Sebastian lacked, it was Italian. He hoped in the bottom of his heart that the poison killed them slowly.
He felt horrible about dinner. Alex was his son, his only child, and here he was, late again because he put business before his own flesh and blood. The boy wasn’t answering his phone, so Seb didn’t even know if he’d left the restaurant yet.
He stopped just before he got to the door and fixed his jacket and wiped a bead of sweat from his temple. He ducked inside and nodded to the hostess, scanning the crowd for his son’s shock of dark brown hair.
Write a letter to someone now. You can say anything you wish. Do not address it. When finished, pass it to the person next to you. They will read it, guess who it is to, and pass it to the next person, continuing until you get your own letter back.
I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’m a dick to everybody, I’m sorry I’m one to you. I’m sorry I am a sarcastic shit about everything. I’m sorry that I do stupid things that I know will make you angry, and then act like it isn’t my fault. I’m sorry I’m the dumb brat with daddy issues no one talks about. I’m sorry we can’t be around each other very long without things going wrong one way or another. I’m sorry because I love you, and because I don’t think you know that half as well as you should.