Written. (JB//Complete)

Chapter 37.

Scarlett,

I always thought that was a nice name. The cute little reference to a classic story. It suits you. But your name is the least of things I care about right now, it's not the reason why I'm making this.

(Just to warn you, this will probably be one of the most cheesiest damned letters of all time, or that I can manage to write without vomiting, and I cringe while writing this.)

I'm not much of a writer. I guess you could expect that from only two and a half years of high school. But I'll give it a go, bring back the good old times...if you could call them that. For you.

Yeah, I know, I've fuc-screwed up more times than ever needed, nor intended. And I'm sorry, you already know that. It's just the believing part I'm worried about. And if you need more than a single 'sorry', here: I'm sorry for keeping your journal. I'm sorry for misplacing it. I'm sorry for letting James get ahold of it, and I'm sorry for ruining you and everything involved with the person you've become. And you're damn...dang right there's more than that to be sorry about. And you're dang right it's going to be hard to put into plain text. But I'll end up doing it, for you.

I've noticed a couple huge things in your writing. We're actually pretty similar, believe it or not. I have felt the things you've felt, from what you've written. I have felt ruined. Defeated. Conquered. And I might have even had it worse than you have. See, you can heal and get over what you've been through, although it may not be the easiest thing.

I can't heal from what I've been through.

There are many, many things I haven't told you about myself that I should have. I would tell you all that I feel you should know, or at least would want to know, but you would need to give me permission to do so. And it's fine if you'd rather not find out about anything that has to do with me anymore, I get it. I completely understand if you'd rather not see me at all anymore. But whether you're living the life in Cambridge at your dream college with your dream friends and dream everything, you know where I'll be; stuck in plain, old Stratford, Canada. I more than likely won't be busy. I'll probably just be sitting on my damned couch I notice you crinkle your nose at whenever you see it, drinking a beer which you hate when I do, and admiring the beautiful artwork of dirty dishes and trash all around the room that you can't bear not being able to clean up.

I'm not writing this for your sympathy, or to get you back, or to bring myself back to you. Rather, it's the opposite.

This is more of a goodbye letter, or a letter of choice, to put it in lighter terms. I'm basically giving you a choice of giving me one more chance, giving me one more act of forgiveness. And I understand if you think I've had enough of those, because I have, I know. But I promise you, if you do end up giving me this, I won't screw it up. Nothing will end up screwed up, as many times as it will take me to make sure that doesn't happen. You will get the life you've wanted, deserved. And if that life doesn't include me, then I'll make that happen.

I'd just like to let you know that I will now be keeping my distance from you. I remember the last time I was in feet's distance from you, you looked petrified, tired, and confused with me and much more, in all ways possible. I don't like seeing you like that as much as you don't like being like that. So if that's what happens every time I'm around you, then I'll be sure to keep away, I'll make sure to do whatever makes you happy.

On the other half, you know I'll always be there for you, whether you want me to be or not. I'll be here waiting for you, because I truthfully have nothing better to be doing. You are worth my wait, my while, you are worth everything, and you always have been.

If you'd like to hear more words from me, words that I'd rather not write down because they will not have any significant meaning to them on damned college ruled sheets of paper, you can find me. You can get them from me. And I'll be glad to give them to you. And I'll most definitely be glad to hear from you, also. If there's anything at all that you've wanted or want to tell me, shoot. But for the moment, since there's only so much damned pencil lead left...

—J. B. x
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FIN.

just to let you know this is not the end of the book okay don't freak out. if I actually made this the ending I would a pretty shitty writer because I honestly hate when people write a book (ones that particularly have sucked all throughout the novel) an then they just end it with "to be continued" like no thats 5th grade writing u can't do that it needs an ending you sad sucky fucktard excuse of a writer (((and to be honest I actually hate tht I wrote that but I mean blame it on the character ok he sucks at writing not me)))

so yeah this is not one of those books okay that's just what Justin wrote and you know how he's an unintelligent dumdum and yeah. also sorry that this is a shorter chapter because I just wanted to dedicate a part of the book to Justin's letter in one chapter. The end is coming soon though.

Vote, Enjoy, Comment, Caress.

-clarissa