A/N – Thank you to those who faved and reviewed the first chapter of this story; this chapter is for you guys. At the request of Mia7474, I will make sure to let you all know what the Flock writes in their journals. And yes, Mia, it does remind me of Dear John, but my inspiration is from Pretty Little Liars, because Max and Fang are keeping various secrets from each other.
If you have any suggestions for the future of this story, please let me know. And don't be afraid to PM me . . . I only bite on occasions.
Disclaimer: I am very obviously not James Patterson, because I write differently than him . . . and I' pretty certain I'm a girl.
Gazzy stormed into the house with stacks of paper in his hands, coming in from the mailbox. "Yes!" he yelled, waving a magazine in the air. "I got my next issue of Explosion: For Kids!"
Nudge snatched the layers of letters and various other mail materials and sifted through them.
"Iggy, I think this is a restraining order from that lady at McDonald's you always flirt with," Nudge said, tossing him a think envelope with legal stamps. "This is an order form for a re-subscription to American Girl for Angel . . . Max, you have two letters."
Shocked, Max jumps up and carefully takes her mail. As the Flock wanders off to read their material – Nudge was ecstatic to get a birthday invite to Patty's party – Max reads the addressee information: one is from her mom, and another is from . . . no one? Frustrated, Max ripped it open and unfolded the three-page long letter. And nearly fainted.
Dearest Max, 6/23/2010
I am absolutely shocked that you would write me a letter after what I did to you. I want to apologize, but I know you would never accept it. I wish I could tell you exactly why I left; I know that the note I left you the day of Total and Akila's wedding simply stated that it was for the best, and it really is. But I can tell you no more.
Receiving this letter has brought me immense joy. Where I am living now is opposite of satisfactory. All I wish for everyday is that I can hug you, sit with you, eat tubs of ice cream with you . . . just like the good days. I had a dream last night that I was lying in my bed at home, and saw you standing over me. I was about to lunge forward to hold you, to make sure it was really you, when you suddenly burst into tears and dashed from the room.
As far as your secret goes: I completely understand. I mean, why would you begin to trust me again after I left you? I reassure you that you will be happy after so long without me; I don't deserve you, and you deserve better. Namely one person in particular, but I'll let you figure that one out for yourself.
The moment I got this letter, I brought it to the middle of a forest. It's so beautiful, with a creek running through and a spring in the midst of the thick trees. I love to rest on the high branches and bask in the sun. I had to read your letter over and over again before I managed to write you this. I wanted to say the perfect things, and not leave a single topic out.
As surprising as this sounds, I was so happy to read that you guys wanted to kill me. I am feeling quite . . . depressed lately, and I know it's because I miss you. I can't stay away from you . . . mentally, at least. So if you ever wanted to come and murder me in my sleep, I wouldn't disagree because of how sad I am. Plus, if I heard you were all still hoping that I would come back, I wouldn't be able to contain myself and would have to come home. And then we'd have to go through this all over again.
It's so creative that you're making the kids write in journals and follow the calendar. If I had a day, I would revolve the activities around us. You and I. We would go to your favorite restaurants, and walk through gardens of roses, and kiss under the stars. If I were in charge, I would have us get married right now. I love you so much.
I realize that I'm not helping you through this. But, in all fairness, you're not helping me either. I was so close to walking through the front door to see you all when I first received your letter, and I admit I burst into tears. It was all so overwhelming: I have you trying to contact me, and then my own personal problems out in the real world. I hate living around normal people, and I was just so happy to be able to have a way to get through to you. The key is letters.
With no money to live with, I had to get a job. Using my talent of lying, I said to the big bosses of Mackelsons Inc. that I was 25 years old and had a high talent in making brochures and business flyers. I am now the head of the organizations commercial wing, and make enough so far for a run-down apartment. After working so long, I should have enough to move somewhere nicer, as I earn a salary of $125,000.
My apartment is moldy. It has a little bug problem. The curtains and sofa are moth-eaten, and I have to sleep on a blanket on the floor before I can afford a bed. I borrowed a suit from my landlord to wear to work, and that's pretty much the only other thing I have to wear besides the clothes I brought with me. I do, luckily, have running water, and, even though it's cold, it's something to shower in and wash my shirts and pants with. I have to eat food from the local burger joint next door, with $0.50 cheeseburgers and free boxes of fries. Hopefully, I can someday pay to eat somewhere a little nicer.
Don't worry; I'll take care of you guys, too. I'll send you monthly checks to care for yourselves, but all I ask is for one thing: don't tell the others about our exchanging of letters. And don't tell them where the money comes, when you get it. The last thing I need is a circle of hope enclosing your house, my old home, and I wouldn't be able to stand the guilt. And please, please, never ask me to return. I swear to you, everything will turn out okay.
Know that I constantly think of you, and won't rest until I get your next letter. I have to end this quickly because I must get to work. I spend all day at the office (WOW, I never thought I would say that phrase) in order to survive in these tough times (not that line, either). I wish you the best, and can't wait to hear from you again.
Best Wishes,
Fang
Max was bawling by the time she finished it. Fang sounded so sophisticated now, like he didn't need her. And she was also sad that she couldn't ask him to come back without him getting frazzled or mad. But she was wondering why the letter was dated for that same day; don't letters take a while to reach the person they are addressed to? With her own secret weighing heavily down on her, Max trudged away to find more paper and a pen.
A/N2 – Quick question: what were the false names the Flock used when they stayed with Anne? I might need that information in the later chapters. Thank you for reading, and please comment, fave, and do my poll. If random lines have showed up in this chapter, just ignore them. Word is going crazy with me. And please do my poll; I am in desperate need for your thoughts on the topic.
With Love-
MI (I changed my username.)
