My Sweet Disaster

First Letter.

13th January, 2013

3.22 AM

Dear Christian,

Would it be appropriate to start my first letter to you by talking about how shitty life is and bitching about my mother? It wouldn't. But I'll write it anyway.

It's been one month since you're gone. As you know my beloved, drunken mother (look at those adjectives! I know.) won't buy me a cell phone, because I didn't get an A in three subjects. I always wanted to tell her that I loved reading, stories, and painting other than studying. But her slaps still make me hide in my closet like back in the days when you were a kid and you did something bad. I can still feel the unhealthy smell of vodka coming from my mother every single morning and I just can't do this anymore, you know? She blows all the money I earn to pay the bills. I've been doing three part time jobs and I'm starting to have insomnia. It's three in the morning here and I haven't blinked for two hours. Literally. 

So, I try to remember the sparkling moment when you tried to kiss me. But you didn't, and I'm happy that you didn't kiss me that time. Because someday I will be just a girl who had no life. And I don't want you to live with that. Like come on your first kiss with a nobody? That'd be pretty humiliating. 

Oh, silly me. I haven't asked you; how are you? How is the new city? I miss you a lot. I miss our coffee days. Remember we first met in a coffee shop? I poured my coffee all over your shirt. Your loose white shirt was ruined by the black coffee. It was hilarious how everyone stared at you but after sometimes I felt a bit bad for your shirt. Though you didn't tell me anything that day. Just stared at me. You told me you weren't mad at me but I could see your flushed cheeks clearly.

My love for you grew much worse when you fought for me. When those people addressed me as something pretty bad. They called me a whore, my mother a whore and you straight punched them in their eyes. They feared you so much. I did tell you about my mother. How she was mentally depressed after my father had left us, he killed himself. Well, as far as I know it was my mother's fault. And I hated my mother since then. She abused me, cut me, and broke me down. Nobody cared what she did thus I silently started to swallow those pains. She was not every usual mother, and I was not any usual girl either. I think that makes us even.

Chris, I want to hold your hand and walk by that beautiful lake. When the moon light will shine we will see the reflection of us, I'll gaze deep into your soul and you into mine. You know that I am a huge hydrophobic. I hate deep water because once someone drowned me into this very lake. But whatever, with you I can conquer any fear I have in me.

You told me to reminisce the good past when you're gone. But do I have any good memory? Except for those lonely Christmas, New Years eve. The torture of my mother and the wounds made by those people. I have only one good memory that still keeps me happy, alive. And it is You and your brother. When everybody was drooling over your hotness and fame, you were the only one who looked me in the eyes and told me 'I'm here.' You said those words so sweetly than anyone ever can! And I thank you for that. 

A very, big, massive New Year wish to you Christian. I'm sorry that I haven't replied to your letter early. My mom never lets me. I hope you have your times. Please come here soon. I miss you.

Yours Ever,
Aveline.

___________

Water streamed down from that boys' face that day. The dark sky grumbled as his pain began to swallow him whole. He actually found out those letters she wanted him to read. But it was very late, after everything went down to that lake he found the one last remaining essence of Aveline. 

He lost his love, she wrote her story. 

Part of Christian knew it was his fault, he would've called the police by the time he realized what was happening with Aveline. But Aveline was good at pretending. The only time she opened up fully was the time Christian was unable to help. Stupid, stupid Aveline!

Christian's eyes twitched when he saw her handwriting. Her hand writing was always that type of hand writing which makes you read those words twice, even thrice. "Why?" Chris let out a painful sob. His brother, Elliot standing behind him, crying like a little boy. "Why Ave?" He couldn't bear the pain.

In that same lake, same place he found the letters and the same place she embraced her fear. Christian tried to read every single of those thousand words. Because that is what Aveline wanted. To tell the reasons. To describe her sweet disaster.