Ok so, I don't really know where this came from, but I sat here and just started writing, because I had to. And then a letter appeared! It's short, and it's not actually from any particular moment of the show, it's just a letter. I guess I'll probably post one or two more chapters, all in the form of letters. It's just something that popped in my head, so let me know what you think, ok? Oh, and I'm still working on All The Things We Said, and, along with my bestest friend Carol (penname unflavored), on All For Believing.

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, or anything else I may have borrowed from the show.


B. Davis,

Do I still get to call you that? It's always been like our way to recognize each other as best friends, right? Sisters, almost. B. Davis and P. Sawyer. So I guess not. I guess you're just Brooke now. And I hate that.

I don't know why I'm sitting in bed, bothering to write this when I know I'll never have the guts to send it to you. But I need to. I need to say it somehow. Maybe because I have this hope that, by saying it, I'll actually believe in it. By saying it, it will be real and I'll be dealing with it. Then again, maybe that's why it took me so long to sit down and try to put it into words.

It's been almost two years, Brooke. Two years ago, I knew exactly what you were doing, and what your plans for the weekend were. I knew how you felt about work, if you liked your boss or not. I knew all about your latest crush, I knew the time you woke up and what you had for lunch. I knew you, inside out. Most importantly, you knew me, too. It kills me not to know anymore.

You have no idea how strange it still is to me, when something amazing happens in my life, or when I'm so miserable I don't know what to do with myself, and I pick up the phone and realize I can't call you. And I know I could call other people, other friends, but I don't. I put the phone back and try to get distracted with some other thing. Because it's not the same. Because they're not you. I do have friends, and I do love them. They know me pretty well, we talk, we do stuff together all the time, and I'm never alone if I don't want to. But I still feel alone sometimes.

When a new text message pops out, sometimes I still hope it is you telling me how bored or sleepy you are, and asking me how my day is so far. And then I read the first word and, just by the way it's written, I know it's not you. I would probably recognize a message from you before I even read it. I used to. And when you called, it was like you knew how much I needed to talk to you, at that moment, whether it was something good or bad, whether I needed a shoulder to cry on or someone to celebrate, you were there. Even when you couldn't be by my side, somehow, you always managed to be there.

I miss you, Brooke. I know I'm not your favorite person in the world right now, but know that you're still mine. I know I wasn't the best person to have around, and god knows I pushed you away, so I shouldn't have been too surprised when you actually left, right? But I still was, and it still hurt. Cause you were my person. The person who would never go, no matter what I did and no matter what happened. The person who would know just what I needed, even if I said otherwise. The one person who would stay. Forever.

But you didn't stay, and I understand. I really do, now. I was so angry at you, I wanted to pretend that you never existed, I wanted to stop missing you, I wanted to hate you, even. Anything. Anything but what I was feeling. I didn't know what it was, but I knew it hurt more than anything I'd ever felt. And that coming from the girl with two dead moms, a psycho stalker and an unknown half brother. Losing you was worse.

We would fight at times, but none of us would really worry, because the next day we would be fine, remember? What changed? Why couldn't we fix it this time? Why couldn't one of us take that first step and make things right again? Now I know I didn't want to.

I didn't want to, because hating you hurts, Brooke, it really does, but loving you? Sometimes loving you this much, loving you the way I do, it becomes unbearable. You make it so easy to love you, and so hard to let go. You make it so easy for me to be mad at you, but even easier to forgive you. You make it so freaking hard not to fall in love with you… And I've tried, and I fought it, but I don't think I'll ever be strong enough to fight against this feeling. I'm not sure I want to fight it. Because loving you and being close to you is all I've ever known. And now you're gone, because I pushed you away. Because you don't know. Because I'm too afraid. I'm so afraid that sometimes I feel that not ever knowing is better than taking a chance and risking hearing you say you don't love me back. That I can't make you feel what you make me feel. That you don't get nervous before you pick up the phone when you know I'm the one calling, or that you don't get just a bit jealous when I say I have a date with some random guy. Because falling in love with you is so easy, Brooke, it's almost impossible not to, but being loved by you, having your whole heart, that's the hard part. That's the part that scares me, even though I think you already gave me a big part of it. And I didn't protect it the way I should have.

I'm not saying all of this in hopes that you'll read, and then come and say you feel the same, because I guess deep down I know you don't. I'm just saying because I can't stand you being mad at me. I can't stand knowing, through our friends, that you think I'd give our friendship so little value. So you need to know the truth. That's it. I know it doesn't excuse many of the things I said and did, but it's all I've got. I never stopped loving you, I simply loved you too much. Always have. And I have a feeling that I always will.

You'll always be my best friend, my B. Davis. No matter what.

Love,

P. Sawyer.