Letters to the Hybrid

Chapter 2

To my dearest soulmate,

Because apparently I have one of those now. This whole thing sucks because I have a soulmate but I'm trapped in a cell and being used as leverage against him. And I don't even know if I'll ever be able to meet him, or you I guess, if you're reading my letters.

The vampire bitch who threw me in this damn cell said I'd meet you as long as you made the right choice. The choice to bless her with her freedom from your wrath. So maybe do that and we can go get milkshakes to celebrate, I'm kind of obsessed with chocolate cookies and creme now.

I really hope you made the right choice because the food she's been giving me sucks.

She also asked me if I needed one thing to enjoy my stay in this lovely little establishment. Note my sarcasm because I can't really bitch tone it through writing. I mean I guess I can, I kind of just did.

Anyway, I told her I wanted a couple of notebooks and a shit ton of pens. I asked for a shit ton of pens and not just a couple because I'll still lose them, even if this is a small and enclosed space. My power is unmatched.

I asked for the paper because writing and doodling is the only thing that keeps my mind occupied. And talking, but I can't really do that unless I know I'm actually alone in whatever place I'm in. Can you imagine the awkwardness if whatever kidnapping babysitter there is heard me talk to myself 24/7?

Anyways, writing is the only way I can talk now. I have a bunch of stuff going on in my head, so communicating is the only way I won't go crazy. That's a pro and a con of being in a relationship with me, I'll talk about my problems and what bothers me, but when I talk I don't stop.

Ok, I'm back on track now. So far, in the letter I've addressed to my new soulmate, there is currently a shitty drawing of a pumpkin, a cute drawing of a frog, a pretty trippy mushroom, and whatever random star I drew on the borders. I know you'll see them if you ever get to read these, but I still feel the need to list them all.

It feels weird addressing this letter to my soulmate. All because I was born with a small set of initials behind my left ear. N.M. I wonder what your name is. I guess I'll have to ask Katherine the next time she comes to "visit."

Do you have my initials behind your ear as well? I really would like to know, I mean, it would be cool if I had some sort of mark on you like you have on me. You know, an eye for an eye. I think it's kind of sexist if you had your mark on me but I couldn't have one on you. I mean, I think the possessive shit is kind of hot so long as it's not toxic. I'll wear someone else's initials if I love you that much, but no dice if you won't wear mine in return.

My initials are C.K., Clementine Kincade, but I go by Clove. I hate my name, but I do admit it has a nice ring to it. I got my name from my grandmother on my dad's side, but my mom liked the name Clove. They compromised, my dad could put Clementine down on my birth certificate but my mom could nickname me Clove. The name kind of stuck and now I think every one has forgotten that my real name is Clementine. Oops.

I swear to all things unholy I will beat your ass if you ever learn my name and start deciding to call me your little orange or your little fruit or something. Trust me, I've got some moves that you don't want to see. And maybe some moves that you do...

Just kidding, that came out really dirty.

Oops.

I guess I should probably write some things about me incase I don't get out of this alive and you don't get the chance to enjoy my presence. Really hope this isn't some foreshadowing, but if it is, I called it.

My name is Clove, I'm 23 years old but I'll be turning 24 in two months. I swear to all the fucking oranges in the world, I better not be celebrating my birthday in a damn prison cell. I think I might actually sue someone. Probably Katherine, but she'd probably compel the judge or kill my lawyer.

I'm sitting here writing a letter and I still manage to get just as off topic as I do when I'm talking. What the fuck.

Anyway, I guess some other things about me is I love to draw and write, obviously, but I'm absolute shit at both. Tough tits because I really like doing both.

The color I despise the most is orange. Surprise, surprise, Clementine hates the color orange. Now I want to slap myself for referring to myself as Clementine. I really mean it, if you call me your little orange, or Clementine, I'll pull out my gardening moves. Those include beating you with my mom's gardening tools. I can get really creative with shovels.

What's another thing about me? Damnit, I'm not good at coming up with things on the spot! And I'm writing, so I don't even have to come up with things on the spot. Honestly I could never do speed dating, so that's another thing about me.

But I don't think I'll ever need to worry about speed dating because I have a soulmate. You just keep getting better and better, buddy. Though I think you'll still need to worry about speed dating, soulmate, because I don't ever stop talking or asking questions.

I guess it would be smart to go on some dates just to make sure you aren't a shitty dude. I mean, what the hell am I going to do if my soulmate is an asshole? Maybe I'll just die in here and I'll never have to worry about it.

Well, that got dark real fast.

I'm actually hoping you show up soon to get me out of here. Trust me, I've tried breaking myself out. I can pick a lot of locks, but I can't exactly destroy a solid steel door. I haven't triggered my curse and I really don't want to sit in this cell with a broken bone.

So I'm just going to sit on this uncomfortable mattress and spill my heart out to a guy I haven't met yet on this paper. Seems pretty legit.

I guess I should probably put down something else about me. Let me think...

My worse childhood memories are actually pretty funny, depending on who you ask. I accidentally keyed someone's car at a pool, I brought some bees to school, and I traumatized this really innocent looking kid at a restaurant on the beach. He was an obnoxious redhead named Dylan who criticized my sandcastle building skills. I told him that Santa Clause didn't exist and it was his parents all along. I also told him that his mom took all his teeth and threw them away instead of the tooth fairy coming to take them. He ran away crying and I snuck back to my parents, who were thankfully getting the check.

Yeah, I guess I was a pretty awful kid. I think there has been some improvement because the last time I keyed someone's car, it was well deserved. In my sophomore year of high school, I found out my supposed "best friend", ex best friend now, was spreading some pretty nasty rumors about me hooking up with people and almost getting pregnant.

So yeah, I keyed that bitch's brand new car she got for her 16th birthday. Best revenge ever.

I guess I should probably end this letter soon before it gets too long; I'm running out of room on the page. It's been kind of therapeutic.

Why the hell can I write this long ass letter but I could barely write a 500 word essay for my physics class? Oh well, my 12th grade physics teacher can kiss my ass. Maybe we can key his car if you ever get me out of here. That can be our first date.

I can't wait.

Sincerely,

Clove