Can't Believe That I Survived

      *2 weeks later*

After work I trudge lazily into my bedroom and slump into my bed face-first, too tired to bother with the report I'm supposed to be doing for the café.
I'm alone, but Jane and Jack should be home soon.

As if on cue, I hear the front door to our apartment open then close with an almost inaudible click. A slight shuffling of feet make its way to my doorway. 

'Something came in the mail for you today.' Jack states curiously.
My head flicks up at this sudden news, causing me to stare lightly at the tall figure standing at my door. I never get mail.
'Oh yeah? Who's it from?'
'It doesn't say.'
'Where's it from?'
'Nevada, I think. Judging by the post stamps.'
'When'd you-' 
'Okay, okay! What are you, twenty questions?' he laughs as I mock-glare at him.
'Read it. Go find out everything for yourself. It's on the counter.' 

I pull myself to my feet and pad into the kitchen, his mysterious eyes trained on me as I pass him.

A royal-blue envelope sits at the bench, awaiting attention.
My fingers slide over its shiny surface, feeling for the opening as I study the postal stamps. One reads 'Nevada Desert' I furrow my eyebrows in confusion. What...? I don't know anyone in the-'
Suddenly, it hits me. 
My eyes widen and my heart jumps. I tear the seal open, revealing a slightly smudged but still beautifully neat letter. No. No... It can't be...

Dear Anna Grace Elislee,

Is that a Miss, Ms, or Mrs? Probably not Mrs. You're only 23 years old.
I find it slightly unfair on girls, that men only need one title. It must get confusing with three.

I'm Ronald Joseph Radke, or RONNIE FUCKIN' RADKE!
I'm 24 years of age, turning 25 in 4 months, on December 15.
I live in Nevada but I don't have a house, because I'm a dumbass and got sent to prison for making bad decisions.

How am I? I'm not doing as bad as you probably think. The cravings are unbearable, though. I have to pay to see a drug counsellor, which helps.
Prison's nothing like the movies. It not all sinister and scary, like someone's just around the corner with a butcher's knife.  It's more just... Cold and boring. And lonely. 
It gets a little intimidating sometimes. Just think - How would you feel if you were locked up in a building with hundreds of murderers and rapists and pedophiles? It's not pleasant. Especially if you've ended up here because of some stupid misunderstanding.

To pass spare time after my duties I write songs, draw pictures, open fan letters, attempt to control my withdrawal, watch t.v or just think to myself. I do that often; usually just to scold myself, or think about my family or my past. I don't interact much with the others.

My mother left us when I was young, so I understand completely what it's like to be abandoned... Although I still had my brothers and dad. Especially now, I don't have anyone to watch my back. I'm sorry you had to go through so much at such a young age, but I'm glad that you got through all the bullshit.  

I loved your letter, and I think you're amazing for doing so well when you once had so little. You really inspire me.

It's awesome that you named your cafe after one of my songs. When I get out I'll definitely visit sometime.

Sincerely,
Ronald Joseph Radke

P.S
Sorry if it's difficult to read; Left handers and fountain pens don't mix well.
It was a gift from my dad for my 15th birthday, because he knew I loved to write. I keep it close to me, as a remembrance of home.
I don't understand why they'd allow a prisoner-a suspect of murder-to keep a sharp pointy pen, though. 
You don't know how happy I am to talk to someone other than my family. Well, it's sort-of talking, right? Yeah, I do get hundreds of fans writing to me everyday, but it's different.
Yours was my first letter.

Also, I've been working on this for over a week... I had no idea what to say. It's still shitty, I know. Oh well.

My hands are shaking manically now, and I'm on the verge of screaming my heart out.
'Holy fuck!' I whisper-shout.
'So, who's it from?' Jack asks from behind me as he constructs a mouth-watering bacon and avocado sandwich.
'Only Ronnie FUCKIN' Radke!'
His jaw drops and I can almost see his eyes sparkle. I can't see properly though, because of that damn hair. I swear I'll chop it all off in his sleep.
'No! Let me see it.' he demands as he finishes putting together his delicious meal, and snatches the letter out of my hands.
After a short silence, he looks up from the paper. 'Fucking shit. How'd you manage that?' He cringes. 'You weren't a groupie, were you?' 
'No! You know how I feel about that! It's borderline prostitution!' I exclaim, throwing my arms about as I speak. 'All I did was send him an innocent letter, explaining my childhood and everything-'
'You told a stranger your life story when you haven't even told your closest friend? That's cruel.' he pouts, folding his long arms over his chest.
'Nooo, it's different, you see...' I tug at his hands, untangling them. 'I'll probably never even meet the guy, unfortunately... but I have to live with you.'
'What's your point? Is that a bad thing?'
I think for a minute, realizing I didn't actually have a point. 'It won't be awkward...?' I try. He remains quiet. 
'You never asked before! And no, of course it's not a bad thing. You do the laundry for me. I'm not complaining!' I grin cheekily. 
He sighs over-dramatically, and pulls his hands away from my hold, taking his sandwich. Walking away, he calls over his shoulder, 'I can move out!'
'But you won't!' I holler back. 
'Shut up, or I'll throw my dinner in your face! And I really don't want to do that 'cause I'm frickin' hungry!' 
I laugh as my phone buzzes in my pocket. I flip it out and read the text.
Sender: Janeyyy Received:7.43pm
Heyyy just letting you know I'll be late getting home so eat without me, I'll get Macca's or something. - Jane x

I place my phone onto the counter, and glance at the letter. My heart skips a beat and starts hammering again, so I take a moment to quietly squeal with joy.
Ronnie Radke wrote to me. Oh my shit.