From Lukey, to Mikey ; muke [completed]

Letter 48

trigger warning: self-harm

From Lukey, To Mikey

It's been a month.

I hate writing to you, knowing that I will never receive a letter from you ever again. I hate knowing I won't ever hear your beautiful voice again or feel the vibrations of your giggles on my chest while we're cuddling.

I hate knowing you're dead.

Six feet under, in a closed coffin.

The other guy is still living. What a piece of shit. He carelessly got in the car after drinking all night. He was so pissed he swerved into your lane and hit you head-on. He showed up for your funeral, as if he was rubbing it in my face!

But the bastard survived and you did not. You were the younger one. You were the one with a life ahead of you. I wanted to be with you forever. I wanted us to get married and raise kids and own a house together.

All these things we could've done but now we can't. Because you're dead.

I'm dead too, Mikey. Not literally (like you), but figuratively. I feel awful. I want to die. Ashton and Calum won't keep their hands off of each other. It disgusts me. I want them to stop. It only makes me miss you more.

So as I write this, I'm counting the pills in this lovely, tiny yellow bottle. There is exactly 15. I'm going to swallow them. I'm going to be with you very soon.

Give me a second.

Okay, I'm back. I swallowed them. My head feels very heavy. I can feel death slowly eating at my insides. I don't know... my handwriting... probably veeryy scribbley...

I love you Mikeyy...

Lukey