Eleanor
God, Eleanor thought while she looked at the words-the only words- that she had written to Park since she had last seen him. I'm so lame. "I love you". Seriously Eleanor, that is the best you could come up with? Whether she was lame or not, Park loved her, so it shouldn't really matter. It had taken over a year for Eleanor to work up the courage to write those three words down. She had written them many many times actually, but they never felt right. But now, now they did. Eleanor had loved Park since they started "going together" but she certainly couldn't have told him that then, not with her mother and Richie there and not how everything was. Fuck Richie, Eleanor thought. Fuck him. It was so easy for him to get inside Eleanor's head, even the part of her head that was meant only for Park. The good and the sane part of her head. Yet there was Richie, fucking everything up as usual.
So there she was, stamp in one hand and a "Welcome to St. Paul" postcard in the other, with those three words written on the back. Was she really doing this? After all this time? This was a stupid idea. A very stupid idea. Man up Eleanor, dammit. Ha. If not for the chest she was given notsothanks to God, Eleanor could have been easily mistaken for a 16 year old boy. So man up she did. Eleanor stuck the stamp on and mailed off the postcard to Park anxiously awaiting for his reply. If he even did reply.