Brooklyn was born in the big apple 15 years ago. She loved it there, the shops, the skyscrapers, the people.
Until.... her parents decided they were leaving her in Chicago, all alone.
At least they bought her a nice apartment.
But things get lone...
I smiled as I heard the cries from the child. She screamed for her mother, hot tears burning down the infant's cheeks. She'd get over it soon, soon, she'd forget. Her sadness and anger only fueled me. I grinned widely as I approached her cradle. She hushed instantly as she saw my face. My grin was pasted on with makeup, my eyes dark with evil intentions. "Oh no little one, cry more!" I hissed. She only softly whimpered. She was terrified of me, so afraid she couldn't make a sound. I laid her back down and I paced the room. "Now, I have you. Your mother and father think you are dead. Soon, they'll get the letter I sent and foolishly come searching for you. Oh, what fun it'll be to torture them, I'll kill the boy, and I'll take the girl for myself. Soon I'll have all of his happiness, I'll take it all and live in his perfect life..." I smiled a wide and greedy smile as I walked back out of the bedroom, clicking my heels as I left the terrified child....
~back in Brooklyn's pov~
I shifted in the bed. I felt for Pete in the dark, beginning to fear the worst as I couldn't find him. Ever since we lost the baby we had both been a bit paranoid, never leaving the house, especially never leaving each other's side. I sat up, squinting into the dark. The door suddenly opened and I rushed under the covers. I heard Pete's laugh as I peeked above the covers. He kissed my forehead and climbed back into bed. I turned onto my back, staring at the ceiling. Every once in a while a car would drive by and send a trail of light through the room, or some leaves would rustle. As the late night turned to early morning business men turned the keys in their business cars. They drive down the same roads, went to the same buildings, everyday, and never wondered what else they could be doing. And yet they are happy. Happy with their little housewives and perfect blonde babies. Utter normality. No adventure, no worries, no fear, no love. They don't know what true love is, and yet, they are happy. True love is laying next to someone, watching them breathe, the slow raise and fall of their body. True love is being able to not say a word all day, and still have the best day of your life. It's being able to look in someone's eyes and see where you will be years from now. It's sharing a bed made for one person, because you've become one person. You've found your other half. You don't need some extravagant romance, you just need each other. No matter what happens and what things you have to face, you have your long lost teammate, by your side for the rest of the journey. "Brooklyn?" I snapped out of my day-dream, "Yes love?" I whispered into the room, filled with color from the sunrise. Pete sat up and spun around to look out the window. He tapped my shoulder, telling me to do the same. I gaze out the window, in all the beauty, I could only see him. The sun rose slowly, peeking it's tired head out of the clouds. Orange, violent, red, pink, amid all sorts of other colors danced upon Pete's face. As we looked out the window his hand found mine and held it tight. "With you I feel immortal. I feel safe and free. I want to keep you safe from everything and I never want anyone to hurt you. I-I really love you." Pete turned to me, his beautiful hazel eyes (can you tell I really love his eyes?) tearing down every wall I've ever built inside myself. My heart spilt with love and fear, fear of the future. I nuzzled my head into his chest, mumbling my reply, "I love you too, Peter Panda."
And I swear to protect you and those yet to come. And those yet to come
A sudden ring of the doorbell made us jump. Pete pulled on a shirt and lazily walked to the door. I watched from upstairs as he opened the door, he was handed a letter. He shut the door and looked up at me, a little worry gathered in those gorgeous eyes (SERIOUSLY they are so beautiful). He sprinted up the stairs and handed me the letter. I smiled and opened it and saw a formulated article, words pasted together with different fonts from what looked to be magazines.
Dear Mr. and Mrs. Peter Wentz She's not dead. Your baby girl isn't dead. And I intend to keep her here with me. She's darling, really looks like her mom. Speaking her mom, Brooklyn... What a gorgeous girl. The fact that she married you is out right despicable, we both know she could do so much better. Does she even love you? Do you even love her? What if she leaves you? What are you going to do? A weakling like you would probably cry for days...never recover. All you are is afraid. Afraid of real life, of real people and facing real life. Aren't you? Still that little boy crying over spilt milk. You don't deserve such a beautiful wife and child. Remember when you wanted to give up? Remember when you almost did in that van? Why didn't you? Hope? C'mom Pete, you know there's none of that. Give up.
With love,
Mr. Sandman
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missed me?
A slow tear trickled down my cheek. It hurt me to even think about what this could possibly mean. Who is this Mr. Sandman? I had to ask Pete who this was, when I asked him, he turned and walked away from me. I chased after him, he ripped the letter from my hand, I pulled at his shirt trying to get it back, not wanting Pete to read the horrors that where written. I didn't want him to believe any of it.
