2P! America X Reader: Dear Lemon-Lima Ch.1
Violence, swearing, blood, etc.….
I stop my black motorcycle and set the kick stand down. There’s an old mansion. It has boarded up windows, the paint is fading and peeling. The front lawn is covered in weeds. Beer cans and trash litter the walkway and lawn. It looked like the only thing it was used for were the occasional party. So I figured the mansions mailbox was as good as any. I quickly look around, to see if the coast was clear. It is. I drop the enveloped letter into the mailbox and kick my kickstand back up. I rev the engine and tear down the road to school.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Al’s P.O.V. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I watch as a girl on a black motorcycle stops by our mailbox. It’s odd because no one knows we live here. So we NEVER get any mail, we don’t even get any of the newspapers she throws in the mornings. I watch her leave, then when she’s out of sight I go down to our mailbox and extract the letter from within it. It’s a plain white envelope with two black cursive ‘L’s. I’m tempted to just throw it out, but why would she leave a mysterious letter in an ‘abandoned’ mansion’s mailbox? There’s a stain on the pristine back, right where one would put, in the old days, a wax seal was a smear of crimson blood. She sealed the letter with blood. This intrigues me, so I open it. I read the following:
It seems that I have been left alone again. My mother is in an asylum, and my father has been M.I.A. since I was small. I don’t even know what he looks like, or who he is. All I know is his name, which is on a few receipts my mother saved. I am alone and invisible. No one takes their time to know me, the real me, not the one created by rumors, though some may be true. There’s no one I call ‘my friend’. Sometimes I wonder if I’m even sane any more. I mean, come on, I’m writing to a dead person. How can I not be insane? I guess I just need a way to get all the pent up emotion out, and a way to express myself. Hence the letters to a dead person. People look down on me and I can’t seem to ignore it anymore, even though to others it looks like I am. Maybe today will be better…
~Lonely and Suicidal’
It was an attempted call for help, for a friend. I’m really not the person to ask for help, or a friend. Well, unless it’s a fight. Maybe I know this girl. Somehow I know it’s a girl who wrote this letter, but maybe that’s because it was a girl who dropped it in the mailbox. Her motorcycle and helmet were pretty sweet. I guess I’m going to school today.
“ARTHUR, MATT, FRANCIS! GET YOUR SORRY ASSES DOWN HERE!!!! IF YOU’RE NOT IN THE CAR IN TEN MINUTES I’M COMING UP THERE AND KICKING YOUR ASSES!!!!!” I yell up the stairs, I go to the kitchen and grab some of my left over tofu from last night. If I’m going, they sure as hell are coming too. Arthur bounds down the stairs. He’s wearing a bright baby pink button up shirt, a light purple vest, an electric blue bow tie, and a pair of light tan slacks. The darkest article of clothing in his outfit are his black dress shoes. He’s a fucking bundle of energy.
“YEAH!!!! We’re going to school! School, school, school!” He pauses and looks at me angrily. “You should have told me!!! I would have made cupcakes for my classes, and teachers, and the principal, and all my friends!” Arthur whines at me. I shrug and hand him the letter and envelope. “What’s this?”
“I watched a girl stick it in our mailbox and ride off toward the high school. I was going to throw it away, but curiosity got the best of me. I want to find out who she is.” I said passively. Arthur’s eyes get real big and light up at the prospect of getting a new friend, but as he reads the letter his expression darkens and his aura grows black and angry.
“GET YOUR BLOODY ARSES DOWN HERE AND GET IN THE FUCKING CAR!!!!” Arthur screams up the stairs. I expected him to react, but nothing quite like this. He fucking swore. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Matt and Francis move so fast. Hell, they even were tripping over each other trying to get down the stairs. I for one high tailed it out to my baby and started her up. She was a black four door, four wheel drive, 600 horse power hemi-engine, and, of course, a nitro injector, jeep. No body drove this girl but me. Matt climbed into the front seat, and Arthur and Francis climbed into the back. I gunned it and tore down the street.
When we got to school, we were, of course, late. I parked my baby next to the slick motorcycle that I saw the mystery girl drive off on. When Matt and Francis saw it they let out low whistles. I couldn’t blame them, it was a pretty sweet bike. When we walked into the school we were swarmed by girls. The only girl who didn’t swarm us was a (F/C) haired girl. Her hair was (L/H) and her eyes were the purest looking (F/C) orbs I’ve ever seen. Or at least they were until the girl who was trying to throw herself into my pants noticed me looking at her. She took the pen in her hand and threw it at the (F/C) haired girl. She noticed this and caught it. Her (F/C) orbs filled with anger and hatred, it was like looking into the depths of Hell. The girl standing next to me shivered in fear and shrunk closer to me. The (F/C) haired girl tightened her hand around the shaft of the pen. We heard a cracking sound and then she clinched her fist tighter and the pen crumbled. Ink sprayed her jacket and skin. It dripped down her face like blood. She drops the pen and walks toward us. A murderous looking smirk etched itself onto her face. She grabbed the frightened girls color and picked her up off the ground.
“What the hell was the hell was that for Kitten?” She sneers. The girl she’s holding shakes in anger.
“DON’T CALL ME KITTEN!!!! MY NAMES KATRINA!!!” She yells at the girl holding her. The (F/C) haired girl chuckles. I feel a shiver make its way down my spine.
“I’ll call you whatever I want to. You don’t control me.”
“I threw the pen at you because you stole my look and now you’re trying to steal my man!” The (F/C) haired girls face goes blank. A bored look spreads across her face. She cocks an eyebrow.
“You’re look? HA! If anyone should be accusing anyone of stealing their look, it’s me. I’ve worn the jacket every day for the last seven years. Your jacket is brand new. And fake. That’s not even real leather! And as far as you’re ‘man’ is concerned, I have no interest. I was on my way to class. Which, now, thanks to you, I’m late.” The (F/C) haired girl drops the shivering blonde girl and runs a hand through her hair, streaking the red ink through it. Then she turns and begins to walk away. I quickly grab her arm. She stops and I can almost feel her aura trying to kill me. She expertly flips me through the air and down the hall. Her eyes burn into mine. “Do not touch me.”
I watch as she walks away, she was a sexy swinging walk, like the one described in that song ‘She’s Country’. Matt and Francis are laughing at me. I get up and wince. Oh, that’s gonna bruise. I look at the blonde girl.
“Since when was I ‘you’re man’? I don’t remember agreeing to that, bitch. If I want you I’ll have you. But I don’t. So keep your hands to yourself.” I say getting up and going to my class. My crew follow me. In our class room we find The BTT, and our twins. The girl who flipped me this morning was there too. I sit down next to my twin and he stiffens. “What’s that girl’s name?”
“Oh, you mean _______? Yeah that’s her. She’s great and all, but she never lets me be the hero. She always has everything taken care of by the time I get there. But, oh man, can she party. I never consider throwing a party unless I know she can come. Other than that I really don’t think she ever hangs out with anyone.” He says kicking his feet up on the desk and leaning back in his chair. I look over at her. _____. It seems to be a little girly for her. But then again, it was her parents who named her, not herself. She’s got her skull candy headphones on, the fix I think, the black buds hidden by her hair and blends with her jacket. She shifts and I hear a jingle. On closer inspection I see a dog tag on a chain, with a house key, and some other keys on it. Her dark blue skinny jeans have a thin strip of leather running down the sides of her legs. Her feet are covered in black military combat boots. She’s clearly not paying attention to the teacher, but neither am I.