Status: All Chapters Posted. Late.
The Open Book
Shot One
Carter was never very good at the emotional thing. He preferred distance, which was why he had always given his advice through the school newspaper. That way, he was able to give his logical opinion on a subject without some person bawling on his sleeves. It wasn’t that Carter didn’t care about other people’s feelings; it was that he wasn’t equipped to handle them.
If someone had said to him that he would care this much about a boy he didn’t know, he never would have believed them. Yet here he was, holding a crying boy in his arms, not quite sure how he had gotten there.
xXx
“Fucking hell. I hate the Monday morning rush,” Carter grumbled as he emptied the mailbox for the advice column. People always had the most problems on the weekend. It figured they would; there was more time for drama on the weekends. Dozens of scraps of papers scattered onto the floor and Carter didn’t even bother to pick them up. There was more than likely a person with a similar problem in the stack he was still clutching.
He went to sit down to write the half a dozen replies that he would need but found himself turning around to retrieve the papers. If he left them all over the floor, there was a high probability that someone who wasn’t supposed to read them would get a glimpse of their contents. Sighing, Carter stooped to pick up the letters. One felt a tad heavier than the rest and Carter noticed that it was places in an envelope.
No one bothered to put the letters in envelopes.
Carter looked at the pale blue envelope. Glitter? Was his name honestly written in glitter on the front of the envelope? The properness of the letter, but lack of formality, bothered Carter in a way that made his stomach churn. He pulled the pieces of paper out and was surprised by how long it was. If the writing had been a tad smaller, maybe it would have fit on one sheet of paper, but the words were double spaced and two lines tall each. Perhaps the person had wanted to attract attention by the weight? Carter couldn’t be sure.
Well. Dearest. I must say that I intend to ignore every form of letter-writing etiquette known to man. Though, I’m sure that you’ve seen worse. I suppose that I could sit here and ask you a ton of questions about all of my problems- that is the point of an advice columnist, after all- but I’m not going to do that. No; I would rather just inform someone that I do indeed HAVE problems.
You seem the least likely to freak out considering the shitty letters you get handed every day. I feel absolutely horrible for you, I really do. It is impossible for me to fathom the idea of listening to every student in the school whining about this or that, especially when you have so many problems of your own.
Oh yes. I know why you call yourself ‘The Open Book’.
I’m in the same predicament as you. I must ask, though: Where on earth do you come up with such creative stories about where you got your bruises? Is there a website or something? Don’t worry; your secret is safe with me. I have no intention of running off to the police, or to a counsellor, or a teacher. I recognize a fellow survivor and understand why you want to keep it quiet. I’m going to assume that your reasons are similar to mine and just leave it at that.
What I don’t understand is how you can take it all. Don’t you ever get frustrated? I know that I do. There are only a few things keeping me alive. One of them is you. I really wanted to write you this letter to tell you that you aren’t alone. I won’t promise you that there is hope because I don’t know that for certain, and quite frankly, I don’t believe it myself.
I lived to write this letter to you and now I’ve done exactly that. There isn’t much left to say or do now so I’m going to put down this pen before this becomes more of a rant than it already is.
Love,
Alexander The Great
Carter stared blankly at the page; not quite comprehending what it had to say. Some boy named Alexander had lived to write him this. It took him a few moments, but the meaning of the words slowly started to seep into his mind. This boy, in his own opinion, had nothing else to live for.
If he had nothing else to live for, then he wouldn’t remain living for very long.
Carter had arrived early in order to reply to these letters and leave his office before anyone came to school in time to see that it was him who answered their tedious questions. Fear gurgled in his stomach. Some time, this boy had seen him in here. He simple had to know who it was.
If someone had said to him that he would care this much about a boy he didn’t know, he never would have believed them. Yet here he was, holding a crying boy in his arms, not quite sure how he had gotten there.
xXx
“Fucking hell. I hate the Monday morning rush,” Carter grumbled as he emptied the mailbox for the advice column. People always had the most problems on the weekend. It figured they would; there was more time for drama on the weekends. Dozens of scraps of papers scattered onto the floor and Carter didn’t even bother to pick them up. There was more than likely a person with a similar problem in the stack he was still clutching.
He went to sit down to write the half a dozen replies that he would need but found himself turning around to retrieve the papers. If he left them all over the floor, there was a high probability that someone who wasn’t supposed to read them would get a glimpse of their contents. Sighing, Carter stooped to pick up the letters. One felt a tad heavier than the rest and Carter noticed that it was places in an envelope.
No one bothered to put the letters in envelopes.
Carter looked at the pale blue envelope. Glitter? Was his name honestly written in glitter on the front of the envelope? The properness of the letter, but lack of formality, bothered Carter in a way that made his stomach churn. He pulled the pieces of paper out and was surprised by how long it was. If the writing had been a tad smaller, maybe it would have fit on one sheet of paper, but the words were double spaced and two lines tall each. Perhaps the person had wanted to attract attention by the weight? Carter couldn’t be sure.
Well. Dearest. I must say that I intend to ignore every form of letter-writing etiquette known to man. Though, I’m sure that you’ve seen worse. I suppose that I could sit here and ask you a ton of questions about all of my problems- that is the point of an advice columnist, after all- but I’m not going to do that. No; I would rather just inform someone that I do indeed HAVE problems.
You seem the least likely to freak out considering the shitty letters you get handed every day. I feel absolutely horrible for you, I really do. It is impossible for me to fathom the idea of listening to every student in the school whining about this or that, especially when you have so many problems of your own.
Oh yes. I know why you call yourself ‘The Open Book’.
I’m in the same predicament as you. I must ask, though: Where on earth do you come up with such creative stories about where you got your bruises? Is there a website or something? Don’t worry; your secret is safe with me. I have no intention of running off to the police, or to a counsellor, or a teacher. I recognize a fellow survivor and understand why you want to keep it quiet. I’m going to assume that your reasons are similar to mine and just leave it at that.
What I don’t understand is how you can take it all. Don’t you ever get frustrated? I know that I do. There are only a few things keeping me alive. One of them is you. I really wanted to write you this letter to tell you that you aren’t alone. I won’t promise you that there is hope because I don’t know that for certain, and quite frankly, I don’t believe it myself.
I lived to write this letter to you and now I’ve done exactly that. There isn’t much left to say or do now so I’m going to put down this pen before this becomes more of a rant than it already is.
Love,
Alexander The Great
Carter stared blankly at the page; not quite comprehending what it had to say. Some boy named Alexander had lived to write him this. It took him a few moments, but the meaning of the words slowly started to seep into his mind. This boy, in his own opinion, had nothing else to live for.
If he had nothing else to live for, then he wouldn’t remain living for very long.
Carter had arrived early in order to reply to these letters and leave his office before anyone came to school in time to see that it was him who answered their tedious questions. Fear gurgled in his stomach. Some time, this boy had seen him in here. He simple had to know who it was.