Love Letters to Luna

Chapter 3: Mothers Gits and Letters

Hello,

The book for this chapter is 'The Hunger Games" by Susan Collins
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The picture (located where ever) is of Blaise's car (read on).

Enjoy xx

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Luna's POV

11:05am
My forest green wall clock read.
Another boring day at 4 Fern Avenue. Mickey slumped onto my bed, he won't leave me alone when Carol (my mother) isn't home, which is pretty much 24/7. While it's nice to have her out of the house, there is absolutely nothing to do at my so called 'home'.

Carol turns off the wifi throughout the day and hides the tv remotes, she keeps the password a secret, but it couldn't be more obvious, her oh so loved cat was the subject of the wifi password (which I quickly discovered this on a lazy summer day trying to hack into the network). Though I can't exactly use it, she watches the amount of data used like a hawk, I can use it for about 20 minutes undetected, learned that one the hard way.

The day I hacked into the network I spent the entire time on Tumblr looking up Everlark fan fiction, it was the best but Carol of course checked our usage and it had gone up dramatically. I got a good lecture about how I'm a good for nothing brat who's sucking the life and money out of my 'poor' and 'hardworking' parents, that I'm lucky they didn't give me to an orphanage. This conversation (if you can call it that) was the same one I had, had numerous times but it was worse, that was the first time that she hit me and it hurt. I mean of course it hurt, but the bruise that appeared has lingered much longer in my mind then it did on my face.

I have been pretty much left to my own devices for the first 17 years of my life, school sucks and home sucks too, there’s no real escape except for when I write. In the past 17 years my best friend has been me, I came up with ideal situations in my head, like one day I'll move out of Carol and John's God forsaken house and move to England specifically to London, get a job and become someone new, and I sort of write them out but in different contexts. They were mostly short love stories; boy meets girl, they fall in love. Love dovey stuff and then bam! Complication! And then of course they somehow fall back together.

I had a loose floorboard that I stored all of them under so no one could find them, but me.

It's was my little secret.

Eventually I felt as though I'd written the same thing over and over, and it lost its spark, so I started writing tragic stories, where the guy turns out to be a complete git, and the girl's friends turn against her and the girl is better off without them. I again found solace.

But then again nothing lasts forever, Carol was looking through my room (don't ask me why, she's psycho) and found all of my stories. That night when I came home she burned every last one of them, told me to stop living in a dream world and start making myself useful, get a bloody job, pull my weight. I decided to stop writing in fear that she would find them again.

This was years ago though, but those two key events play through my head almost every day. For the life of me I cannot make friends, whenever I have talked to people I come out hostile. I guess I have trust issues, it feels like every ones out to get me, which they are. I know it. Why would they be nice? I've never been to anyone else so why would they.

Anyway, enough moping for today. I decided to start writing my letter to Daisy. The pen palling was something the school counsellor suggested, to ease me into socializing with human beings. Yep. So I'm doing it I guess. It'll be nice to write again though. I ripped put a page from my notebook and took a black pen from my desk.