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Dear Lucas

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I've written seven of these letters already, so I thought I would have this down by now, that it would be easy. I wrote to El how happy I am to be her friend, I told my mom to be strong after I'm gone, I thanked Steve for always looking out for us. Hell, I even told Mike that I don't actually hate him. But now writing this to you… I've been stuck staring at this page for the past five ten fifteen minutes, and I still don't know what to say. 

It's not like I don't have anything to tell you, it's the opposite really. I have so much I wanna say to you, and it's really hard to put it into words.

It doesn't help that you're sitting back there on the couch right now, watching me. And I know you don't know what I'm writing, that you can't read my mind. But sometimes I swear it feels like you almost can. That you can just look at me and tell what I'm thinking, what I'm feeling, tell that I'm lying when I say I'm fine. And that scares the shit out of me. That's why I ended up breaking up with you. I couldn't handle being around you, because I knew you'd see right through my lies and pretending.

Sorry about that, by the way. The breakup, I mean. You didn't deserve it, you did nothing wrong. What you said the day of the pep rally, when you told me I was being like a ghost...Yeah, that's how I've been feeling. And in some way, after I found out about the curse, for a second I thought that it would make things easier. Make the inevitable easier. I've already been slipping away, disappearing, letting you go. I figured that it would at least soften the blow a bit. But that's not true. Nothing about this is easy. 

 

Lucas, I'm scared. I'm really scared. 

I just wish I could walk over to you right now, to be honest with you and tell you how terrified I am and tell you ask you to please have you hold me until this whole thing blows over. 

I really miss holding your hand. I still remember the last time I did. It was back in January. That one morning when the school parking lot was totally frozen over and I almost tripped and fell on my ass but you caught me and held me up. I don't blame you if you don't remember. It's a dumb thing to fixate on anyways, it wasn't anything major, you were just being nice. 

And that's the thing. You're really nice, and kind, and sweet and genuine. You're a really good person, Lucas. But I'm not. I try to be, I do, but I just keep lashing out, and ignoring you, and being horrible to you. 

I'm so sorry. 

I'm such a coward. I can't make myself be honest with you, I can't make myself say all of this to your face. Things would be different if I was braver. If I had been braver and less naive last summer, if I had just believed El right away when she said she had a bad feeling about Billy. If I had, maybe we could've stopped him sooner, could've saved all those people. If I had been braver, I would've run to help him at Starcourt, pushed him away, stopped the Mindflayer from killing him. But I didn't. I wasn't brave. I was a coward, just standing there, watching as it happened.

(Just like I was that time at Will's house when he grabbed you and threatened you. I'm sorry I didn't help you sooner.) 

In my nightmares I keep replaying that night at Starcourt over and over again, wishing I could change what happened. But I can't. Sometimes I imagine if I had been the one facing the Mindflayer instead, if I had sacrificed myself for everyone. Maybe it should've been me. Maybe I was supposed to die that day.

Sorry, that was really dark. But, I guess Vecna inevitably possessing me and snapping all my bones into pieces is too. God, I hope you aren't there to see it when it happens. I'm sorry if you were.  

Shit, I'm already a page into this letter and I still haven't arrived at my point, what I really need to tell you. I guess I'm just stalling, I mean, this is one of the last letters I'm writing. But I don't know how much time I have left to stall. So I should just come right out and say it. 

And I'm warning you, this next part is super embarrassing and I sure as hell wouldn't be admitting it to you out loud. So you better not laugh at me. I'll be dead. It would be rude.

So you know how I got a C in English this semester? Well, I don't really give a shit about all that, but I still like reading. Especially now that I've been having trouble sleeping, I've started to read at night, to get my mind off the nightmares. I haven't had the energy to go over to the library, but my mom, she has all these trashy romance novels. So I've tried to look through them for something at least a little decent. And it turns out she has a bunch of old Jane Austen books so I've been reading those. And yeah I know, who am I to dump you and then spend my time reading about romance. But they're easy to read and they're nice distractions. Anyways, I was reading one of them a couple weeks ago and there was this quote that really stuck with me. The gist of it is that there's this couple —and they're kind of a bit related, so that's not the point, ignore that— but in the big scene where they get together

one of them says

the guy says 

Shit this is hard. 

Just giving you the quote, okay.

 

"If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more."

 

So there. That's what it's taken me a page and a half to get to. I'm basically at death's door and I still can barely even write that. But I needed to. I need to tell you. If I died without telling you, I would regret it so much that I would just die again. 

I love you, okay. And it scares the living daylights out of me. Cause I don't think I've ever… If I've ever felt like this about anyone else. I love you so much that it hurts. It hurts so much because I know I'm not good for you, I know I should just let you go and not drag you down with me, to make you worry. 

And now I've dragged you into all this. I'm sorry for blindsiding you with this once I'm gone and you're reading this letter. You're probably so angry at me right now for only saying it now, and I'm really sorry. But I needed to tell you. Because I love you, Lucas. I'm so glad I met you. I'm even happy that I got sucked into all of this craziness, because you've been right there with me. God, remember that day at the arcade, when you made me swear that I accepted the risk of what I was getting myself involved with. Looking back on it, I had absolutely no idea what I was getting myself into. But, I did say that I accepted the risk, so there's no one else but me to blame for that. I know you're blaming yourself, wishing you hadn't told me anything. But it's not your fault, please don't think that. I don't regret it. Because that's how I got to know you. Got to know everyone involved in this craziness.  

 

Well, here comes the ending of this letter. Now that I've finally gotten to writing it, I really don't know how to end it. But I guess the ending is inevitable. For the letter and also for… you know. 

So I just need to tell you that I love you, and I'm sorry for not being better, for not being honest with you, for ruining this. And I also need you to know that you really were the best. You made me really happy. You made me feel important, like I was someone worth getting to know, worth talking to. You really are great at that, you know. Making people you care about feel important. I wish I'd been better at that. Better at letting you know how much I appreciate you, how much I care about you, how much I love you. But I'm letting you know now. It's a little too late, I know, but I hope it's something at least, for when I'm gone.

Just promise me you won't be too sad, okay. Cause I hate to see you sad. And I hope you all figure out a way to end this curse, so no one else has to suffer. And when I'm gone, I'm letting you decide who gets all my stuff. You can have my Walkman, since yours broke last month, and I know you're saving up for a new one. You can use that money to get flowers for my mom or something. She really likes tulips. Especially the orange ones. And you can have my skateboard too if you want, just don't throw it away. And I'm sure you can figure out where the rest of my stuff will go. You're smart like that. 

 

I love you.

 

I'm sorry.

 

Love, your Max