Letters

July 13, 2011

Dear Max,

I have no fucking clue why I'm still writing this bullshit. You clearly don't give a fuck, but my psychiatrist said that "getting out my emotions in a creative way" is the most effective thing to do and writing is considered a "creative outlet". Besides, I'd rather do this than share my dumbass feelings with Mom or step douche.

I dyed the front of my hair blue today, like I always wanted to do. It's an electric blue, and really  bright. I absolutely love it, too. It's the only thing I love in my shit life.

I ran away a couple weeks ago, but step fucker was able to track me down with the whole Arcadia Police Force. He dragged me home where I was lectured for hours by him and Mom about how I "worried them sick" and to "promise you'll never do this to us again". That's one of the reasons I'm in therapy now.

Oh yeah, and therapy SUCKS ASS. Mom pays this pretentious fucker to sit in front of me for an hour and ask me about my feelings. I, of course, don't tell him shit. It's none of his business what's going on in my life. But somehow this guy is able to "analyze" me, since he's prescribed me with a shit ton of meds that just make me sleepy. I guess if I'm sleeping all the time Mom and step fucker won't have to worry about me running away again.

Step fucker got a job at the elite Blackwell Academy as a stupid ass security guard and now I get to go there tuition free. Barf. The hipster bullshit of Blackwell is more your style than mine, obviously. Mom is happy though, probably because she knows step douche will keep me on a leash. I start next month... ugh.

I'd ask for a call, but I know that shit won't happen,
Chloe

AN: Hey, so I recently replayed Life Is Strange and realized Chloe actually attended Blackwell in 2010, not 2011, but I'm too lazy to change all the dates around. I apologize to fans that get annoyed when little things are off, Please forgive me