Can't Believe That I Survived

'Ronnie please, just listen to me-'
'No, Max, they say bitch-ass things about my best friend, I'll fucking kill them.'
'Dude, just stop. I'm fine. We don't need to get invol-' 
'Well, I already am.'
'Ronnie-No!'

My eyes shoot open and I sit up shakily, damp from a cold sweat that has formed on my skinny figure. My head is throbbing and a pang of heartbreak shoots through my chest, making my stomach flip. 

Max... You should've listened to him.

I rub my hands over my face as an ineffective attempt to brush the painful memories away.

Signing deeply I look over my shoulder, seeing the faint red glow of my alarm clock. It reads 6:47am, exactly 13 minutes until breakfast.
My hand finds its way underneath my pillow and pulls out the letter I hadn't finished reading last night. I can barely make out the words as it is still dark, but I can read them.

Ronnie talked about his childhood and teenage years, and the meaning behind the band's name, Escape The Fate. He explained that one day, he and Max were sitting on some guy's porch, completely poor and homeless, and they thought that was their fate, but they escaped it. 
Even though they seemed small, those words meant everything to me. They helped to turn my life around, and gave me strength to keep going no matter what the circumstances. 
I picked up my small duffel bag and slung it over my shoulder, before blowing a kiss to Ronnie on the screen and mouthing a thank you. 
I ran into the nearest grocery store just before closing and hurriedly asked a staff member to show me to the manager's office. 
I burst the door open and before waiting for a response from the startled bald man I stated, 'Just give me a place to stay and I'll work for minimum wage. Anything, please.'

After a short silence he nodded his head, scribbled something on a piece of paper and handed it to me. 'Be here at eight tomorrow morning.' Was all he said.

On the piece of paper was the address to a block of apartments

My life had taken a complete 180 degree turn in a couple of minutes.
I had a house, I had a job, I soon had money, and I had food.

When I had soon made enough money to leave Vegas, I bought a small flat in LA.
Now,  my life can't get any better than this. 
I own a cafe called 'Situations', after my savior. 
I live with my two best friends. I own a fairly decent car, and earn enough money to live on. 
Now, whenever something gets just a little too much to handle, I listen to your music, or remember what you said, 'We thought it was our fate, but we escaped it.'

Your words helped me through the worst times of my life, so thank you, Ronnie.
You literally saved my life, and I hope to return the favor one day.

Sincerely,
Anna Grace Elislee x

P.S
I know you're in prison and going through tough times right now, so I don't expect you to reply. I just wanted you to know how much you've done for me, and how inspirational you are. 
Yeah, you probably think I'm just a gigantic fan girl. Think what you like. :p
By the way, how are you? Not great, I'm guessing. I was devastated when I found out you had been taken away... 
Sorry, this P.S has turned into somewhat of a novel, so I'll just leave it at that. 
Thank you for everything.

A light smile stretches over my face and I close my eyes for a minute, enjoying this silent yet happy and content moment, because I know it won't happen again for a long time.
You're an amazing fan girl.

                           ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Since the news went live about 'Mr. Ronald Joseph Radke was sent to prison this week after violating probation' And blah blah blah, I've been getting shitloads of fan mail. 

Hundreds of letters, artwork, pictures and soft toys arrive at my cell door everyday before dinner period. Usually I only have an hour to sort through them so most are left unopened until the next day.

To my luck only a small load of letters came through today, which will give me heaps of time to myself before next period. Don't get me wrong though, I love opening mail. It keeps me occupied.

I stand out of my bed to find my pen and paper but the room starts spinning wildly. 
I hold my palms to my forehead, stumble clumsily over to the toilet in the corner of the small room and-for the third time today-do the expected.

Groaning, I sit up and wipe my mouth on my orange sleeve. A rush of nausea washes over me once again, and I duck my head into the bowl.
My head is always spinning from this dizzy blurry vision and my stomach has had enough...

When my stomach has been completely emptied and the contents of it flushed down the drain, I clasp the side of my bedside table and pull myself up off the cold, hard floor. Ignoring my pounding head, my hands scrabble through the drawers in search of my writing tools. They grab something, and pull out a bright red envelope.

Inside it is my first fan letter. 

My eyes widen at its sudden appearance as if I haven't seen it in years, yet it has only been about a week or so.

I automatically nod my head at the envelope and take my pen and paper from the drawer, replacing them with the small bright package.

Pushing myself back onto my bed, I sit watching the paper as if it would print my many roaming thoughts onto the blank sheet. 
Finally I pick up the pen with my left hand and, trying my best not to smudge the ink
(Fountain pens fucking suck.), I start writing.

Dear Anna Grace Elislee...