Page 51 of Dear Future Husband

Anyway, enough about drugs.

All I’m trying to say is that I love books because they are my escape.

I love my mom. I love my brother. With all my heart…but this life is difficult. I probably sound so stupid when I say that.

I am only fifteen years old.

What would I know about the difficulties life has to offer?

I probably don’t, but I can’t deny that there are days, weeks, even months, I spend wishing I could be in a magical new world. A world where I am the main heroine, a character written with the courage to fight back, created to win against the powerful hand of evil and the heart to reach a helping hand out to those in need.

“There are no happy endings in real life.”

That’s what Richard always tells me when he sees me reading my books. He says I shouldn’t spend so much time in fake worlds, reading about happily ever after’s that will never be real. That I should spend more time accepting reality and life for what it really is.

I can’t help but think that he might be right.

The lives I’ve lived through in the books I read are epic, beautiful, full of love, magic and enchanting endings… Then I wake up, and reality drowns me under its melancholy weight, reminding me that I am not powerful, I am not the epic heroine, and I am not written to win.

I think that is another reason I write to you.

You are an escape. A life… A happily ever after I earnestly pray for every day. One that I find myself running to in my dreams. With you, books wouldn’t have to be a getaway from my heavy existence, but a joy in a beautiful life I share and cherish with the one I love.

I melt into the pages of this journal, eager for the day I can melt into you. One day. One day I won’t want to escape my life. One day, maybe, I’ll want to live it.

Love,

Maybelle Mason

21 Check Mate

Maybelle

I was on a beach, and I was running. My joints didn’t buckle, my muscles didn’t give out, and my heart raced with the beat of each stride.

I was alive.

I sprinted, ready to continue my chase with no end in sight until my path forked. Two roads laid before me. I glanced to the right, curious about the emptiness it offered. Something inside me, something forgotten, reached toward it.

Ignoring the internal pull, I turned to the left. The road was long, built with dips and turns, but not too far down; near the middle, there stood a man. I couldn’t make out his features. He seemed more ghost than man, an illusion waving to me.

As I stood between both paths, I had a sinking feeling that I was forgetting something. Something—or someone. Stepping forward, I decided on my path, but as I moved, my legs collapsed, and I fell.

***

Morning sun struck through my window, setting my small bedroom alight. It made those messy caramelwaves and green eyes glow as he knelt against the bed and brushed the sleep-crazed curls from my face.

“Morning, Mayhem.”

Trey had followed through with his promise.

I blinked the world around me into focus. My attention fell down his torso… He was shirtless.

Where did his shirt go—actually, I didn’t quite care.

I reached toward him and placed a hand against his cheek. “You, my friend, are so pretty; it hurts.”

His head rocked back as he guffawed. “Excuse me?” he chopped out through his raspy, sleepy chuckles.