[Josh is kind of poetic in his letter... lol. And it's SO long

By the way, the font is [.font=Segoe Script][/font] without the dot.]

Dear Alexandra,

I cannot believe that I am writing this right now. I swore to myself that I would never speak to the likes of you again, through any form of contact. But yet here I am, pen in hand, ready to tell my story to someone who is basically a total stranger to me. Sure, we shared a moment, but it didn't last long enough for me to learn anything about you. Or at least, not much. And I'm about to trust you with a secret, a cryptic tale of failed love and lost dreams, which is the reality of my life. Such a foolish, idiotic thing I will do for you. But after finding out your story, how could I not respond? You deserve at least this. I ask that we not meet for person for a while, because of obvious reasons. But this form of contact is controlled, we can easily erase or scratch out the things we didn't mean to write. It's not like direct conversation, where anything can slip out. This very paragraph has taken me hours to write, because I have been dwelling over how to put such troubles into words.

I, too, had a rough life growing up. I was born to a couple that had already had a child, and didn't want another. They abandoned me. I had to grow up with the fact that I was a mistake, I wasn't supposed to be alive, and I had a family, parents and a sister, that existed without me. I was raised in various foster homes, none of them a good place to live. I was prone to being a target for the other children, because at the time I felt weak and hopeless by the betrayal of those joined to me by blood. I was constantly abused by the other kids, both verbally and physically. I had to do something to stay alive, so I started to fight back.

I eventually started a routine of running away from the foster homes I was entrusted to and staying on the streets. Though they were supposed to, my foster parents never called the police or went looking for me. They didn't care where I'd gone. I could be dead, for all they knew. It just meant there was one less damaged kid to handle. I fell in with the toughest crowd in the area, and they made me feel like a million dollars. They told me I was important, made me believe that they were my friends. Words cannot describe the admirtation I felt for them, though they were six or seven years my seniors. They said I could tell them anything, and I did. I poured my heart out to them. How foolish I was.

They taught me how to steal, and they would make me do it for them. I didn't mind, because I thought they considered me brave and talented when I walked out with cash or jewellery. But one night, I snuck off on my own to steal something for myself, rather than handing it off to them. They cornered me, and demanded that I hand over my prize. I begged them to let me alone, but they persisted. They beat me until I was almost dead, took all I had, and ran off. I felt worthless when I woke up, knowing they had used me. I swore I would never trust another person again.

And then there was her. She was so sweet and caring, how could I resist handing my heart to her? I thought she loved me, by the way she ran her fingers through my hair, closed her eyes when I kissed her. When I caught her with him, I couldn't believe she had betrayed me in such a horrible manner. I blacked out. I lost control. When I black out, Alexandra, I don't know what I'm doing.

I regained my conscience in the back of a police cruiser, my hands cuffed behind my back. It was then that I knew my life was over. They told me I was going to jail for murder. While I was in jail, I was seen as the murderer of a young girl, and other prisoners were relentless in their treatment of me. I barely survived the first few weeks. So I toughened up to my current standards. No more trust, no more love. Lust became something I was accustomed to. Those moments were blissful and calm, and I forgot about my troubles.

I eventually managed to convince them to release me from jail, using the same methods of con art that were once used to fool me. It worked, and now I'm back here. I just found out that my parents wish to meet with me. I don't want to speak to them, but I must. The province demands it.

So now you know. I don't ask for your pity. And I don't ask for forgiveness for my actions. I just want you to know that I wasn't always like this. Even if you should choose not to reply, I ask that you show this to no one. Your letter is locked away in a secret place, and none shall lay eyes on it by myself. That much you can trust.

Josh

Dear Alexandra,

Well aren't you one to just come right out and say it? You would think given the current circumstances of our relationship, you'd be a little shy in asking questions like that, now wouldn't you? No fear of offending me by demanding if I smoke or not?

But I guess I can safely say that I'm not offended. After all, it's in human nature to be curious, and there's no doubt I've had a lot of curious people ask me about that. But I haven't told many of them the truth. I suppose I could tell you, considering I'm already dead set on murdering you if you give out the previous information, so adding to the list doesn't bother me one bit. Don't repeat this to anyone - or else. You know how I can get, so you should know not to cross me on this one. If your cheek still stings from the slap, it's nothing compared to what you will feel if I find out you've told anyone my secrets. There's a reason they're kept secret, alright?

Yes, I am suffering from an addiction. I'm almost certain your next question would be 'to what', so I'll just answer that right here and now. I take a multitude of substances, mostly whatever I can get my hands on. Anything to keep me going. Why do I do it? Because it numbs you. It gives you this blissful sense of peace and relaxation, lets you forget about what's going on in your life. It calms me, I never black out while I'm high. So that's why I do it. I know that it might kill me, but I don't care. Sometimes I think I'd be better off dead.

Josh