Max didn't know what to do. He had to reread the email several times before he even began to understand what the first sentence meant. Did that mean something was wrong with his mind? ...probably. The reminder of his weak attempt of suicide was still on his nightstand, and whenever he glanced toward it, he felt regret. It would have been easier if he had just downed the rest of that bottle. But Max would never know, because by the time he was done with this email, he would be focused on one thing only: finding out what that missing memory in the attic really was.
He clearly wasn't stupid, for the seventeen year old he was. Something happened up there, that much he knew, but it was what happened that still was a clean slate. His father would know, but Max wasn't going to talk to him about it. There was no way. All Max was to him was a body that needed food every so often. And showers, but considering the hatred Max had inside toward himself, he hardly ate or showered.
After several minutes of rereading the end of the email, he sucked in a breath and closed his eyes. Was it time to finally improve? Or, would it be better to let her suffer with him?
With a little shake of his head, Max hit the reply button and immediately began typing.
And the nostalgic feeling of excitement bubbled it's way up to create a new smile that curled ever so slightly on his pale, pink lips.
'Dear Lovey Dovey,'
YOU ARE READING
That Little Letter
Mystery / Thriller~COMPLETED~ Dove had been struggling with school for months, so what does her school do? They give her a penpal that may lighten up her world. At first it was incredibly awkward, but then a deep friendship grew and soon, they never stopped sending l...
