Letters to my friend xoxo
743 Words
Letters to my friend xoxo
I sit on the edge of my bed, my legs pressed tightly together as my gaze sweeps across the room for what feels like the hundredth time tonight.
Nothing is out of place.
Nothing is missing.
At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.
I haven’t had the courage to search properly. I’m terrified of what I might find if I do.
The cameras installed around the penthouse are supposed to make me feel safer. Vicky insisted on them after the last incident, but even with them blinking quietly from every corner, the fear never really leaves.
Because stalkers in my profession are normal.
Actresses deal with obsessive fans all the time.
But mine isn’t the harmless kind.
Mine doesn’t send flowers or desperate love confessions.
Mine watches.
Mine waits.
Mine makes sure I know he’s there without ever revealing himself completely.
A shiver crawls down my spine at the thought.
I glance around the room again before my eyes land on the open window across from me.
Cold air slips inside, lifting the thin curtains gently.
Slowly, I rise to my feet and walk toward it.
Vegas.
I still can’t believe I’m here.
If someone had told me years ago that I’d end up in Las Vegas, living in a luxury penthouse overlooking a city that never sleeps, I would’ve laughed in their face.
Who willingly stays in a world that scars them?
Not visible scars.
Those are easy.
It’s the invisible ones that ruin people.
The kind that ache in silence.
I close the window and stare down at the glittering city beneath me.
Ten floors up.
High enough.
If I jumped, it would be over instantly.
The thought doesn’t scare me nearly as much as it should.
But I don’t want to die.
I want to live.
Live long enough to make people pay.
---
Dante
Age 36
Dear Friend xoxo,
You won’t believe it — I actually won first place.
I’m so happy.
I finally get to leave this country.
I never thought freedom would feel this exciting.
I still haven’t received your last letter though. Maybe it’s because of the distance between us? Or maybe the mail system just hates me.
I don’t really have much to say today. I think I’m too excited to think properly.
But now you owe me two letters.
Much love,
Aria :)
I stare at the letter longer than I should.
The paper has softened over the years, worn carefully at the edges from being unfolded too many times.
“Boss.”
Diego’s voice barely registers.
“Boss.”
I release a slow breath, jaw tightening as I finally drag my gaze away from the page.
I hate being interrupted.
Especially now.
Especially when my thoughts are buried somewhere between the lines of a girl who never understood what she was becoming to me.
Fuck.
Hating Aria would be easier if these letters didn’t exist.
Back then, she’d been naive. Innocent in a way that felt almost dangerous.
Now she’s older.
Sharper.
A woman the world wants.
A woman I was never supposed to care about.
And yet somehow, through years of ink and paper, she became mine long before I ever touched her life directly.
“Where’d you disappear to?” Diego asks, crossing the room.
I hadn’t even realized he was still standing there.
“Did you get it?” I ask roughly, crushing the cigarette into the ashtray.
Diego nods and hands me a file.
“I got everything I could.” His expression hardens slightly. “But there’s a problem.”
I flip the file open.
Pictures.
Reports.
Aria.
Always Aria.
“What problem?”
“There are no official records of her parents’ deaths.” He leans against the desk. “Nothing. It’s like the entire thing was erased.”
I look up sharply.
“That’s impossible.”
“I know.” His voice lowers. “Which means someone powerful wanted it buried.”
Silence fills the room.
My gaze drifts back down to the photograph clipped inside the file.
Aria smiles brightly in it, completely unaware of the storm surrounding her.
For a second, I remember the girl from the letters.
Then I remember the blood.
The betrayal.
The years stolen from me.
My fingers tighten around the photograph.
She shouldn’t be smiling.
Not after what her family did to mine.
And when I’m finished with her—
She won’t be.
- Writer
