Fallon's Love Letters

By Neva Teal

Fallon Newhaven is a 17 year old girl who works in TipTapToeing as a dishwasher. One day her heart is awaken, set alight the second she sees Dashiell Skye walking down the street. From that moment on Fallon writes him anonymous love letters.
When Dashiell leaves the country to pursue a career in Hollywood as an actor, Fallon hops on a plane and follows him.
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"I saw you, I loved you.
How can anyone dare explain love's nature?
I'm Fallon, I'm seventeen and will I ever send this letter to you? I doubt not my feelings truthfulness for truest is my sentiment. I loved you, Dash, the very moment I saw you, walking down the street, past our coffeehouse. I dare not send this to you. I will not. I'm not brave, others are, yet in me threads a meek soul. Fear is my name. Well, actually is Fallon but you'll never see this letter, so I'm free to reveal it.
My dearest Dashiell Skye, I have never seen such beauty in a man. I'm young, I know, but I swear I'm positive, even if I live to be a hundred, your beauty is beyond compare. No one is your equal, you stand above all else, being equal only among Gods."

• Language: English
• Publisher: Neva Teal
• Release date: May 29, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311115577

Neva Teal

Lived all over the world.Loves horses and cats.Believes angels are everywhere.

Book preview

Fallon's Love Letters

Published by Neva Teal at Smashwords

Copyright 2015 Neva Teal

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to the site and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

All other trademarks and brands mentioned in the book are the property of their respective owners.

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Cover images: photo copyright of Khorzhevska/Fotolia and texture copyright of Evelyn Flint/Daydreaming Images

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 26

CHAPTER 27

CHAPTER 28

CHAPTER 29

CHAPTER 30

CHAPTER 31

CHAPTER 32

OTHER BOOKS

CHAPTER 1

I saw you, I loved you.

How can anyone dare explain love’s nature?

I’m Fallon, I’m seventeen and will I ever send this letter to you? I doubt not my feelings truthfulness for truest is my sentiment. I loved you, Dash, the very moment I saw you, walking down the street, past our coffeehouse. I dare not send this to you. I will not. I’m not brave, others are, yet in me threads a meek soul. Fear is my name. Well, actually is Fallon but you‘ll never see this letter, so I’m free to reveal it.

My dearest Dashiell Skye, I have never seen such beauty in a man. I’m young, I know, bit I swear I’m positive, even if I live to be a hundred, your beauty is beyond compare. No one is your equal, you stand above all else, being equal only among Gods.

Maybe I’ll keep this letter. Yes. For a moment, for a bit (a fleeting sigh). I love you, Dashiell.

I love you. I’ll burn these lines in a few days. My heart is yours.

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A few days passed since I wrote the letter I won’t send, mainly because my name is there. I keep it in my tiny safe and walk around all day with the key in my necklace. It’s beautifully made so everyone thinks it’s an accessory, holding neither other function nor meaning. How wrong they are. The key opens up my heart. There’s only one person with whom I can confide, my sister, Sophia. I haven’t told her yet though. I’m trying to calm myself. The emotions overwhelm me. How can I find the words? The right ones, piercing through her soul, making her see what I feel, what I felt. But Sophia is too rational and will try to bring me back from the clouds. We love each other, there’s no question, and have always been close. Almost like twins, even though she’s older. She’s my best friend, my soulmate, my confident, the one I’d throw myself over a cliff without a second thought. With no hesitation or regret.

But how can I tell Sophia when I can’t even tell myself? I must find the proper words. First, I must recollect vividly that day in all its brightness.

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For the last two weeks I’ve been working on TipTapToeing after I’ve dropped out of high school. Not a glamorous job, I admit. I wasn’t even a waitress. My parents were mad at me and after only two days of having left school for good, Mom talked to an old friend and she got me a job at this trendy coffee shop - as a dishwasher. Or, more accurately, General Glass Smasher. Every other cup would slip out of my hands and shatter on the floor. I’d freeze. Actually, most of the time I froze and felt out-of-place, almost like an alien stranded in a bizarre planet. What am I doing here?, was a non-stop question revolving around my confused, dazed skull. Why am I here? What the hell am I supposed to do with my life? Is this it? Am I a high school dropout, dishwasher now? Is that my Full Title? Should I introduce myself as such from now on?

Oh, my Lord, what am I to do with the rest of my life? Who am I supposed to be? Who, who am I?

I shared my fears with Sophia.

She brushed my hair aside, hugged me and said she loved me. Then gave me a smile and took me out for gelato.

I’m shy, an introvert. I am an ordinary type of girl. No one would do a double take on me. I’m rather invisible. Sometimes it’s nice; you can watch others without being caught. I like it. The stuff you find out just by observing people attentively is staggering. It’s wonderful being invisible then. What I don’t like is being thought as stupid or being underestimated.

Never - ever - undervalue a Scorpio.

Seriously. You’ll have the surprise of your life. My Sun is tucked away in the twelfth house. A colleague, who is into astrology, told me that meant I really liked privacy. Yeah, absolutely right. I admit I like to know about people and not share myself as much. I keep myself secret and, at the same time, discover all that I can possibly can about others.

So, here I am, TipTapToeing into life, quietly and sadly, breaking stuff (not on purpose), being invisible, living in an ever growing silent despair, when suddenly my heart is awaken and I’m sure it will never fall asleep again, even if I live to be a hundred.

My heart burnt in an everlasting flame, set alight by only seeing Dashiell walking by.

I saw him, a mere glance and in the same instant, my soul broke in two, one part stayed in my body, the other half flew away.

He’s a new ballet dancer, Gary the barista informed another colleague. Both were oblivious to me as I listened, quietly and discreetly, while I put the glasses away and left.

Oh my, isn’t he a peach? How they laughed.

Before he left my sight I imprinted in my brain his exquisite figure: a tall young man, very pale, with dark hair and I swear with dark, glittering eyes, as if light piercing through darkness. The pure paleness and blackness made for a powerful contrast. I looked around, after I had the first impact (love at first sight is no joke, it resembles an imploding universe inside you). I was relieved to see no one had noticed. And nobody else but I and the two baristas seemed to have noticed him either.

Dashiell, said Gary as I walked into the kitchen and resumed my duties, Dashiell Skye. It suits him. Looks like a fallen angel.

I remember everything about that day. He had dark jeans and a white shirt with long sleeves. Dashiell glided, not walked. I remember the day’s scents: an overwhelming minty aroma on the kitchen. Gretchen, the cook, loved to burn peppermint oil. I have allergies. It helps me breath better. Every day her clothes and hair were drowned in this minty odor. I rather liked it. I remember the sound of our juicer, squashing together oranges and mangos. The temperature was constant, neither warm nor cold, however outside a soft breeze would lift at times the air on passers’ by necks. The coffee odor filled the room and although I never quite liked the taste and never had drunk it, it was a pleasant sort of smell, comforting and comfortable, surrounding me. That day, when I left, in a daze, I had broken half a dozen plates and cups and, miraculously wasn’t fired. The manager, my mother’s dear friend, pitied me and was bound by friendship, so I ended up staying on that job more time than I ever expected. Outside a soft, light, magical and momentary gust of wind caressed my skin with a sweet-smelling rose scent which perfumed the air. It only lasted a second - but I felt it. It was as if my guardian angel was confirming that he, Dashiell, HE was the One.

The rose aroma penetrated my skin, accompanying me on my way home - as a sweet-scented armor, surrounding my spirit, guarding my soul’s essence.

CHAPTER 2

I haven’t yet revealed to Sophia I’ve fallen in love. I fear her tender judgment. I can see it clearly: she’ll sigh, brush my hair aside and hug me. Even cry a little and then whisper heart shuttering words: Oh Fallon. I’m not mad but have always been considered special by my family. Fallon’s special others would whisper as if such words held a sort of frightening, evil magic. My imagination, my sensitiveness. Everything in me is in excess. I exaggerate, I feel too much. I have no desire to hear those pitiful and softly spoken words ever again. So, for the time being, I’ll keep my love private, locked away in my heart, sharing it with God, my diary and these letters. Oh Dashiell, I’ll send one eventually, this I swear upon my heart. I imagine sometimes you are already expecting them and it might hurt not to receive them. I imagine I promised you, in heaven before the Descent, I’d love you no matter what and I’d write you - no matter what. I envision a flaming sword above my chest as I write the oath: I’ll send a love letter, hoping you’ll hide it, read it, cherish it - and feel the overflowing abundance of adoration I’m sending you.

I saw you again, pass by. My shift was soon to be over but I left early, Gretchen screaming in my ear:

Where the devil you think you’re going?! Fallon, Fallon! Oh, that girl...

And she let me go, that girl, carrying the feeling of some sort of specialness which could not be touched, for fear I might break. Many times I used it to my advantage. It allowed me to get away with things many ordinary people could not. Oh, the privileges of being considered singular.

I put my coat on, grab my bag and quickly follow you. The sky was blue and I saw angel feathers, bright and clear, encircling me. I frantically searched and then I saw you in a corner speaking to a young man, a fellow dancer probably. It was too far away to hear. I waited, hidden, leaning against the wall, pretending to read emails on my phone. I covered my face with a scarf and round cap. From the corner of my eye I saw you leave. I waited, my heart pounding, and followed you. Then you stopped and got on the bus. So this is your normal route. Good to know.

Tomorrow I know just what to bring.

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I left work, hurriedly; no one said a word, watching me with commiserated eyes. That girl, I heard a whisper but pretended not to notice. I run after you. You walk quickly. Your legs are longer, you’re in better shape than me, Dashiell, and I’ve always hated gym class. My heart palpitates as I shadow you. You run. Have you seen me? Is this why you run? My body receives a jolt of fear. No. It’s impossible. I’m never seen. It can’t be. Not now, when I absolutely need to be invisible. No, I cannot be seen! Suddenly you stop running and look behind you. I freeze. I turn my back, pretending to be looking for something in my bag. A different one of course. Today I also have another hat and scarf. You cannot recognize me, ever. My heart beats, my body trembles. I decide to take a peek. He’s no longer there. Suddenly a bus passes near me. As it drives away I see him, I see you, seated near an old woman.

It’s a different bus. Where are you going? I didn’t even have a chance to take your picture. I’ll wait. I can always wait.

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Two days have passed.

This time I’m prepared. I came in early so I could leave early and find you on your path, instead of chasing and running after you (though it makes me feel like a bee, chasing the fairest of heaven’s flowers).

And then, in a magical moment, a stillness sent from paradise enveloped me as you passed by. You were inches away, on that enchanted moment; if I could touch you my heart would be whole, I would be complete and could finally die happy. However the spell cracked and I saw you moving away. It took all my might to grab the camera and take a hidden picture. It was only of your back, but it was the very first of my enchanted album. Soon I’ll fill it with thousands of images. Well, hundreds at least. Oh God, I carry your scent in me. It latched upon my skin when you strolled by, as if it knew we were meant to be together. Your skin, your scent recognized me as your soulmate, I’m sure of it. Even Mom noticed something strange. She submerged her noose on my hair, sniffed deeply as a Momma lioness does with her cubs, and said:

You smell different. Were where you?

I shrugged, replied I was in the same place as usual, my job, and went to my room before Mom could pose any other question. I love Mom and she, like me, can have a very pesky sixth sense about people.

I printed the photo and put it on my secret album and hid it away, somewhere no one could find. Afterwards I spent the rest of the day daydreaming about you. My body shaking as I imagined your soft fingers slightly caressing my pale skin, as pale as yours; your lips, full and red, though unmistakably masculine, touching mine tenderly as if a butterfly resting there, flipping its wings. I pictured my fingers going through your dark hair and sniffing them, noticing a strange, husky aroma. Finally I fell asleep visualizing you, Dashiell, kissing my closed eyes, my eyelashes and eyebrows, while your hand moved towards my body’s deep secluded mysteries, breaking free my soul’s desire.

Oh, how I love