Multi-fandom Oneshots

Dear Charlie, (Perks of Being a Wallflower)

Dear Charlie,

I'm glad that she told you I didn't sleep with that person at that party... that stupid party. Even though I could have. Because I didn't. Ultimately I'm glad that you won't be sending me anymore letters. And believe me, it's not because I didn't want them, or enjoy them. It's because I think you should be trying to participate more. It's just a shame I never got to tell you.

I know your name is not really Charlie, nor Patrick is Patrick, or Sam is Sam. But yet I feel like I know all of you. Whether it was simply from your letters or perhaps you weren't as good at hiding your real names and situations as you thought.

I didn't try and find you, though. I swear. I may have tried to in the beginning if I'm being honest. But as you sent me more letters and shared your story with me... I gave up. Because I realized I didn't need to respond to every single letter. You never needed advice or someone to help you.

You needed someone to listen.

And I'm happy that I got to be that person for you. That I got to know you in a way I doubt most do. You trusted me and shared so much of yourself. And you may not have received a letter back from me... but you knew I was there. You knew I would read them. Sympathize with them. Understand them. Relate to them.

Because to be frank, your letters helped me too.

I'm afraid she is the only one who believes I did not sleep with that person. Because I could have. I wanted to. But I didn't. I really didn't and it seems no one believed me. Besides her.

I know who the her was. How could I not? She was the only one who believed and trusted me. But she was also secretive. She told me nothing about her past and her personal life. She never gave me insight on who she was or what was going on with her.

She was kind of like me for you.

She's helped me get through it all just as I helped you get through your first year of high school. I think she referred me to you because she knew how similar we really were.

She saw our wounds and scars and realized how they matched. How similar we are and how we've been through the same things.

I don't know if you know her that well either. But I thought it was worth mentioning that there are people like me and her in the world. We do exist. And we are all there for each other. Because we know how it feels.

Like if you met me, you wouldn't think I'm that person who sleeps around with everyone, or that drunk person who gets way too crazy and tends to ruin everything they touch... even a good time.

Instead, you would see me as the person who is crumbling. Who's world is falling apart and how they cannot do a single thing to stop it. No matter how much they try. And all they can do is deal with it and carry on. You would see the real me... and accept me.

So I definitely think it is ok to think like that. Because I do too. And it seems like you've found people who surround you that think the same way we do. They accept you. Hardships and all. They love you.

But here's the thing, Charlie.

You cannot depend on them to make you happy. To make the things you've seen stop. That starts from within yourself. Which I'm probably sure your doctor has already told you. I know the journey has been tough for you. From your best friend, to being in the hospital, to being lonely, to losing your friends, to getting bad again, to your accident... what your aunt had been doing all that time.

And with this being the last letter you may ever send me, I need to know that you are going to be ok and stay ok. As much as you can, anyway.

There will be hardships and bad times. There will be moments where you think it will never get better. But I swear to you, it always does. You just have to hold on. It starts with you. You have to believe you can get better and try at it. Then you can start to let others in to help. Once you do your bit of the work, the people who surround and love you will help you the rest of the way.

I need you to try and remember that. No matter how dark the world may seem.

And now that I've finished writing this, I will proceed to throw it in my trash can, set a match, and watch the words I have written to you burn. Just like I've done, responding to each of your letters. Because responding. Even pretending to answer— to help someone through these troubles and not ruin it! Like I ruin everything I touch... That helped me. That got me through everything I was going through. And this is going to be the last one. The last time I'll see your letter arrive in my mailbox. The last time I'll read one of your brilliant writings that are assigned to my eyes only. The last time that you give me the same comfort I gave you by having someone to send those letters and for me to have someone that needed me. No matter in what way it was.

I guess I have to start taking my own advice. I can't rely on you and your letters to get me by, anymore. I have to focus in on myself and start healing from the inside and out.

Goodbye, Charlie. Hopefully forever. Hopefully so that you will never feel the need to need me again. Good luck, Charlie.

Sincerely,

Your Listener.

Oh! Ps, btw. I am so looking forward to reading whatever "slut and the falcon" is. I'll be on the lookout in bookstores. It's nice to know I'm not the only one who believes in you anymore...