Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight; Twilight owns me.

Dear Quil,

I'm sorry that I have to do this in a letter; I wish I could be there to tell you this in person, but I've got to go. I can't stay here, not with you.

You've always been there for me, always been the older brother I'd always wanted. You were the perfect brother/uncle, but you're never going to be more than a brother to me. You love me, and I think you might want more from me than to be my brother, but I can't be with you, Quil.

You've always treated me like a delicate flower, a glass knick-knack that you can keep on a shelf and admire. I'm not an object to be protected, Quil. I'm a person. I know that if I were to become involved with you in a romantic way, I'd always feel oppressed, like I was stuck. I don't want that, and I don't want to live in La Push for eternity.

I want to see the world, become an actress, hug Johnny Depp. I can't do those things with you. You're a homebody, Quil, and even though you'd follow me, you'd never be truly happy.

Don't' think this is about you letting me get my belly button pierced last week, Quil. That's just one of the reasons I'm leaving. I'm tired of you treating me like a little kid, and you're never going to let me go if I don't do something about this. Yeah, I know you don't like stomach piercings, and yeah, I know that you're dead-set against me making my own decisions until I'm twenty-one, but I'm in control of my life, Quil. Not you. Never you.

That said, there's something else; I'm pregnant. Please, please, please don't have a coronary, but I'm pregnant, and it's Eric Yorkie's. You know, the guy who works at the drugstore in Forks? I've always had a think for older men, and he's about your age.

By the time you read this, we'll be long gone. Actually, we're going to – try not to cringe at the cliché – Las Vegas. Elvis is going to preside at our ceremony.

I know it sounds crazy, juvenile, but it's so me, Quil. It's got my name written all over it. It's unexpected, wild, and crazy, but I'm releasing my inhibitions once and for all. I'll keep in touch and write often, Quil, but I can't call you. Knowing you, you'd trace the line, track down my beloved Eric and I, and then tear his arms off. I can't let you do that to the father of my child.

Don't' worry about me, Quil! Even though I'm just eighteen, I'm wise enough to make my own choices. Take my meth addiction, for instance. Oops – you didn't know about that before, did you? Ah, well; it's too late now- I wrote that in pen. I used to be an addict; actually, I was hooked on it since I was fourteen.

Fortuantely, Eric knows a good doctor who was able to help me stop. Now I'm off the drugs, and I'm almost done with the alcohol, too! Don't worry about the baby- Eric's family is chocked-full of stupid people already; what's one more?

I wish I could tell you more, but that's pretty much it! I hope you're well and that you don't keel over once you read this. I love you, big brother.

Anyway, as I was saying, I've got to go buy some lingerie for the big wedding night. Talk to you later!

Forever,

Your Little Claire

P.S. Quil- the entire letter above is one massive prank. I do love you, I'm not pregnant, and Eric Yorkie is a real creeper. See? It could be worse. Me wanting to get my belly button pierced doesn't seem that bad now, does it?

A/N: Just a random thought that came to me while I was playing guitar. I hope you liked it, and I would love to hear what you think!