Title: The Letter in My Purse
Feedback: Any and all is appreciated, criticisms taken willingly.
Archiving: Ask and ye shall receive!
Pairing(s): B/S, sort of
Summary: A letter sits hidden in a purse and nobody knows its there but one.
Warning/Disclaimer: Slash potential and so much more! Touchstone, how I wish I were you, congrats for the rights, buddies.
Author's Notes: * sigh * Poor Brooke and Sammy... I just love to torture the latter so...
The letter just sits there in my purse. It just sits there, crushed by the weight of the tire that ran over it along with my cell phone, driver’s license, and my favorite compact complete with mirror. The glass probably shattered into the letter, cutting up the sentences ever so slightly.
I’m sure she’d notice if she read it that that’s what the glass did. But, she’ll never find it. It’s in county lock-up along with Nicole Julian, the one that hit me, never to see the light of day again. It’s probably gathering dust in some evidence box that won’t even be used at trial.
The police just took the purse away, I didn’t see it, but I’ve seen enough Law and Order to know that’s what they do. That’s what they always do. They take away important things from people when a crime’s been committed to stash in some white cardboard box on a metal shelf stacked miles high with other boxes labeled with some obscure date a crime.
Mine: Hit and run - May 2001.
That’s where the letter will remain, until the end of time or a fire sweeps away the police station and destroys all the evidence. Who knows? Nicole might be deranged enough to torch the place herself, who knows? I thought she was my friend…
And now because of my friend, she’ll never read my letter, the letter that took me months to compose, because I couldn’t find the right words to say what I so desperately needed to say to her. Then, slowly, it just became simply what it was and what it needed to be.
I wish I had the words to tell you what I need to say. You say the simplest things so beautifully that sometimes I just wish all I could hear are you. Today I want you to hear me in the only words I know how to say what I need to say: I love you. I love you.
She’ll never get to see it. She’ll never get to read it. She’ll never get to hold it in her hands, unfold it, and read it. I was going to give it to her before Harrison arrived at the restaurant to make his choice, because I didn’t want him to pick me and I didn’t want him to pick her, and her smile and be bathed in happiness, because it would’ve killed me.
All I wanted was for her to read the letter, take my hand, and say, “I love you, Brooke, I love you, too,” before whisking me to prom to dance the night away.