Alex Muller the Crazy Chick

Prologue ------- [ This story is kinda corny and cringy but I love it. Don't read it if you are a avid reader and hate plot holes, teen romance, and cringy one liners. I don't know why but I love writing like this :)] ------- I'm going nowhere and you know that. Leave your bags in the car and keep on running. I won't pretend that I won't miss this. – Portland Maine, Donovan Woods ------- Hi, It's me again, you know, Alex Muller. I . . . I haven't talked to you in a while, but I hope what I'm about to tell you is enough to make up for all this time apart that I went missing. I'll just start up with saying I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I'm such a total b***h most of the time. I'm sorry that I don't smile all the time. I'm sorry that I have so much baggage strapped to my shoulders that you can't share. I'm sorry that you can't understand that sometimes I just . . . I fall under all this heavy weight and I don't get up. I'm sorry that I give up when I think I can't take it anymore. I'm saying sorry for all the times . . . you know? And I'm also saying sorry for all the f***s and shits that constantly came out of my mouth when you met me. I still slip up sometimes and Al just laughs at me. He still thinks I can do better, by the way. But whatever. I have my heart tangled up with someone else's heart strings. My heart isn't this big heavy rock anymore that just sits there in my chest cavity, eating away at everything anymore. I smile, so that's a bonus. I don't throw so many tantrums anymore, because you know . . . I noticed how stupid I look every time I start screaming and shouting anyway. I do slip up though . . . because I'm this f*****g clumsy chick that can't do anything right without someone holding my hand all the time. Yeah. Just saying. I think what I'm trying to say is . . . or what I'm trying to say is that . . . that I miss you. I miss you so much that I sit there sometimes wondering why and how I was stopping myself from running straight into your arms and kissing your face all over like some sick nut-job that likes little kids gagging and grown-ups yelling at me to just stop. Maybe I am that person . . . oh wait I actually am that person. Huh, funny. I'm typing away on my computer, writing this email, while I'm supposed to write my literacy class short story for tomorrow. I cried a little while writing this, and I pretty much had a business major student handing me tissues over the wooden compartment of my study cubicle. Poor guy. He even has red eyes from all the studying. But yeah, I miss you more than anything. I think . . . I think the only thing stopping me is my fear. My fear of myself, my fear of rejection, my fear of you still hating me in some way keeps pulling at my brain. It's telling me to remember that I don't actually have the right, now do I? Do I? I'm sorry it took me six months to contact you. I'm sorry that I'm not a f*****g bunny that jumps at the first chance. I'm more like a cockroach. I hide away and wait for the night to come shining through the thick black until I brave the outside. I'm waiting. And I'm trying to build up the guts to call you next. I don't know if that's going to take another six months or whatever. I'll see. So yeah . . . I hope. I hope so much, John. And I'm still sitting here waiting, Alex Muller aka The Crazy Chick -------