You mourned my loss for so long, it almost astounds me. I didn't expect you to care that much about me, after all, I was a puppy dog for you to kick around. Maybe I feel that way because you clung to me one minute, then pushed me aside the next. Or maybe it's because I've always expected you to run straight into Michael's arms. Which you did. But only to console your broken heart over losing me to that bullet. Wonder of wonders.

You always tell Michael you wish you could have saved me, you wish there had been something you could have said to make me feel like there was another way, but it's pointless. I'm gone now and there is nothing you could have ever said to make me find another way out. Life without you wasn't worth living. Yes, it's cliche, but it's how I felt.

I'd always been stuck on you. Ever since we first met, and you let me have part of your pizza when my slice fell on the ground in junior high. Those were the days, the safest of days. Once I found out your secret in high school, those days of safety and shared lunches were over.

But I overlooked that, my darling Isabel. Because I was in love with you. I never questioned anything, because I was foolish enough to think you'd love me back if I constantly supported you. I foolishly thought that I would get the most beautiful woman in the world, even defeating destiny and everything that came along with it. Destiny is nearly impossible to kick down, I've found.

Oh, my poor sweet Isabel.

If only others could see the pain you still feel. Even Michael, who left my best friend to pursue his destiny with you, couldn't see your hurt, the guilt that embedded itself in your dark, sad eyes. Even after the two of you were married, he saw nothing. And they called me delusional.

I almost pity you.

It's overwhelming how much I misread you.

And now you want to join me. You're sitting there, in your bathroom, in your red silk nightgown, you know I've always liked the way you look in red. You're staring at the shiny blade in your hand, running the dull end along your skin, as if to get the feel of it. Isabel, honey, that cut won't go deep enough. I know, it's fascinating, watching the blood well up, and then trickle down your arm in that thin trail.

You're shivering, but don't worry, my dear. Soon you won't feel any pain. You know, when the flourescent bathroom light hits the razor blade, it's almost pretty, Isabel...it sparkles. You always were one for pretty things. And you're so good at planning. You even painted your nails red, to match your gown. The hue of the blood that is welling up matches it too. Fashionable to the end, my darling.

Would it be selfish to ask you to hurry it along? I suppose it would, it's just that I've missed you so damn much. They never understood us, Isabel. Nobody ever understood us.

Remember, honey, vertically, not horizontally. That's it. Good girl.

So, finally, it seems that I, Alex Charles Whitman, have beaten destiny without even trying. It's getting rather cold...I can't wait to hold you again. Please, don't cry, and don't worry. We'll be together soon.