Like We Used To (Prologue)
Title: Like We Used To
Author: wokeupfromdream
Pairing: Jalex (who else?)
Rating: NC-17
POV: Alex
Summary: I told you, I want nothing to do with you ever again. What are you doing here?!
Disclaimer: The story is mine, the characters aren't. If this had actually happened, I'd shit myself. Title belongs to A Rocket To The Moon.
Author's Notes: This is a new idea and I might continue it, if you guys like it. Please comment and let me know what you think. :D
hit me up ;)
He used to send letters to me. One every Saturday. At first I wasn't used to it. I would be surprised when my mom would throw a small envelope across the kitchen table. Even more so, when I would open the mailbox and find a letter addressed to Alex Gaskarth. People didn't send me letters; that's what email and texting was for. And yet, every Saturday there would be a letter waiting for me. I checked the return address the first few times, but afterwards I had grown accustomed to the feel of the envelopes he used, and I knew it was him.
I never read them. Ever. I would set them in a stack on my table and they would sit there collecting dust. However, the curiosity always got to me, as I sat in my room and I felt the very presence of the letters. I would sit there for hours at a time, staring at them and wondering what they could say, instead of doing my homework. Would he say he missed me? Would he even apologize? I came close to opening the first letter a couple of times. But I chickened out, afraid of what information it could hold. Why did he send me letters anyway? I had told him it was over. He had moved. Things were never going to go back to the way they were. Why even bother with the attempts of communication?
Eventually I got sick of seeing the letters taunting me, begging me to rip them open and drink up their words, if only to feel closer to him. So I put the letters away in the back of my clothing drawer. Every Saturday the stack would grow bigger, until one day I didn't receive a letter. I didn't receive one the week after that either. I had figured that he gave up, since I never bothered to respond, let alone read them.
Some days I regret not reading that last letter, after I have realized that no more would come. Because if I had opened the envelope, I would find a thin piece of paper and on it in his messy handwriting, it would say: I'm coming home.
Author: wokeupfromdream
Pairing: Jalex (who else?)
Rating: NC-17
POV: Alex
Summary: I told you, I want nothing to do with you ever again. What are you doing here?!
Disclaimer: The story is mine, the characters aren't. If this had actually happened, I'd shit myself. Title belongs to A Rocket To The Moon.
Author's Notes: This is a new idea and I might continue it, if you guys like it. Please comment and let me know what you think. :D
hit me up ;)
He used to send letters to me. One every Saturday. At first I wasn't used to it. I would be surprised when my mom would throw a small envelope across the kitchen table. Even more so, when I would open the mailbox and find a letter addressed to Alex Gaskarth. People didn't send me letters; that's what email and texting was for. And yet, every Saturday there would be a letter waiting for me. I checked the return address the first few times, but afterwards I had grown accustomed to the feel of the envelopes he used, and I knew it was him.
I never read them. Ever. I would set them in a stack on my table and they would sit there collecting dust. However, the curiosity always got to me, as I sat in my room and I felt the very presence of the letters. I would sit there for hours at a time, staring at them and wondering what they could say, instead of doing my homework. Would he say he missed me? Would he even apologize? I came close to opening the first letter a couple of times. But I chickened out, afraid of what information it could hold. Why did he send me letters anyway? I had told him it was over. He had moved. Things were never going to go back to the way they were. Why even bother with the attempts of communication?
Eventually I got sick of seeing the letters taunting me, begging me to rip them open and drink up their words, if only to feel closer to him. So I put the letters away in the back of my clothing drawer. Every Saturday the stack would grow bigger, until one day I didn't receive a letter. I didn't receive one the week after that either. I had figured that he gave up, since I never bothered to respond, let alone read them.
Some days I regret not reading that last letter, after I have realized that no more would come. Because if I had opened the envelope, I would find a thin piece of paper and on it in his messy handwriting, it would say: I'm coming home.