A/N: Thank you so much for the reviews guys! They're always a pleasure to read. Oh, and I know it is quite weird how Gill refers to his mother by his name but I thought that would be maybe a little more respectful and classier? :P Plus, I like writing "Dear Ophelia" better than "Dear Mother". I know I tease Luke a lot in these but I'm not bashing him, I love him! I can just see Gill hating him for being too EXTREME and I need someone for Gill to pick on! I also edited this letter adding in more dialogue as someone suggested it in a review. :) Anyway, here is letter 4! You guys wanted longer letters ;) This letter has a lot of messy alcohol references so forgive me, this is rated T anyway! Haha enjoy and don't forget to review.

Dear Ophelia,

It's summer 3rd, 2008.

Today was Kathy's 21st birthday. She wanted it to be a big event so she invited everyone on the island down to the Brass Bar for a party that was, in her exact words, "going to be so crazy it will cause earthquakes, and shake the Harvest God off his mountain peak!"

I sat in the corner of the bar most of the time and kept to myself, avoiding awkward eye contact with the others. Father seemed to be having the time of his life. He had quite a bit to drink as usual. He was practically drooling on the floor as he ogled the new bar dancer, Selena. But I probably shouldn't tell you that. It's okay though, any chance Father would have with any girl on this island is as slim as pigs flying or Luke reciting the alphabet, absent of error.

Father wasn't the only one having the time of his life. Kathy was dancing on the bar tables, tugging at her blue cardigan as the boys hooted and howled, encouraging her to take it off. Before she could even unbutton her cardigan, Hayden had jerked her by the wrist and rebuked his daughter for engaging in such indecent behaviour, claiming "You are no daughter of mine!" Kathy just blamed it on the alcohol, an excuse Father has used countless times whenever something goes wrong. He even says it when he's sober. He would say: "Gill, I've had too much to drink today," and I'd reply: "Dad, you're at work and it's only 8am in the morning." Really, Mother, can you believe the excuses this man comes up with sometimes?

I'm not sure if this is the same Hamilton you remember marrying. He has lost his mind, literally. Aren't you glad I'm still around trying to keep him on his toes? He would have gone insane by now and jumped off the pier if it wasn't for me.

By the end of the night, everyone was — as Chase would call it — "off their faces". I still sat in the corner sulking and feeling ashamed of living on an island populated with these people. I seemed to be the only one who was sober, even the old Yolanda had a fair bit to drink and was cooing at Cain (who I believe is a married man). I even heard her say "So I hear you're good with animals, well, I'm quite the animal in the haystack." to which Cain would innocently reply "Oh, Yolanda. You're not an animal, but if you were one I suppose you would be the cow." I don't know if she would take that as a compliment or an insult. I'll leave that imagination up to you.

I was alone, Mother, alone and surrounded by stupid drunks. Chase — the only tolerable person who kept me company — had left and joined the crowd of intoxicated idiots as well. I noted that I would disown him for that. It's not that I was against drinking or anything. Sure, I've had my fair share of drinks in the past but I was not the type to "party hard" like Father. I have a reputation to uphold, but then again, so does he. Sometimes I think I'm the responsible adult and he is just a childish teenager trying so hard to fit in with the others.

When I thought the night couldn't get any worse, I spotted Molly in the distance staring at me. I mouthed a rude "What?" and she just smiled and turned away. It seems I wasn't the only sober one. She was standing perfectly straight, smiling and nodding as a drunk Julius flirted with her. Even Owen and Luke made their way over to her, pulling out their best pick up lines. "Molly, because of you the fires are back, even the fire in my heart!" said Owen. I cringed.

Seriously, Mother, I think the whole island has gone mad. They all seem to adore this girl, but I just can't see it. She's annoying, too happy-go-lucky and innocent. Not that I've actually ever spoken to her. The Animal festival was the only time we exchanged a few words — but nothing friendly, of course.

The party soon came to an end when Father had passed out. With a loud thud, he laid sprawled out on the floor. I slapped my face in utter shame. It was an insult when people often compared me to him.

They would say: "You and your Father are so alike!" — And I'd think: are you blind, or just stupid? We are nothing — and never will be — alike. Sometimes I wonder if Luke and I were switched at birth.

At first, everyone thought he was dead, even Luke was poking him with a stick (how he found that stick, I have no idea). The next thing I know is that I'm on the way to the clinic with Father hanging over my shoulder and — making my night even worse — Molly holding him on the other side. "Gill, let me help!" she offered and I guess since Father was a little — no, scratch that, A LOT — on the heavy side, I couldn't reject.

I guess it makes sense that the only two sober people at the party could do the honours of cleaning up the drunken mess. I had to suffer through Kathy's teary eyed, sad attempts at apologizing. She spoke mostly gibberish and at times, even ejected saliva onto my cheek. Disgusting. Even Chase, who was trying to be a good friend (even though I swore I'd disown him for turning into one of the drunks) tried to help but ended up tripping over Toby's sleeping body (don't ask) and falling face first into the wooden floorboards.

Mother, this is exactly why I don't get drunk.

Jin — the only sensible resident who wisely rejected Kathy's invite — tended to Father and allowed him to rest on the clinic beds. Don't worry, Jin said he would be fine in the morning and it was better to have him at the clinic than to bring him home, where he may wake up and burn the house down (believe me, it's almost happened many times before). Besides, I didn't need the burden. He got himself into this mess and I refuse to clean it up. I always have to clean up after his mistakes.

As much as it killed me, I thanked Molly for her help, but then quickly proceeded to say "But I didn't need your help anyway. I could have easily taken Father to the clinic by myself." Her expression turned sour and I couldn't help but smirk a little. She rolled her eyes but for the first time we had — well, sort of — a civil conversation.

She asked "How come you didn't drink like the others?" and I replied "I could ask you the same question." She smiled and said "I have to get up at six tomorrow, I can't risk a hangover." She then urged me to tell her my excuse for not drinking and I simply responded with: "Because I'm not an idiot." And she laughed and said "Well, I guess I'm not an idiot either." It was weird, Mother, but I had relaxed a little. I no longer felt so irritated at that moment. She stared at me awkwardly for a moment before I said goodnight and turned on my heel and left. Any gentleman would have offered to walk her home, but not me.

A good night's rest would clear my mind. What an awful way to begin my summer. Things would be so much easier if you were here.

I really miss you, every single day.

It's not the same without you. Father is not the same.

Well, good night sweet Mother.

Always responsible and sober,

Gill.