Remember when you crawled into my window up on the fourth floor balcony at three in the morning screaming about how she broke your heart, drunk out of your mind? I do.
Do you remember how I held you as you sobbed, not commenting on the fact that I'd never seen you cry in our eleven years of friendship?
Do you remember how I tended to your self inflicted injuries without making a snide remark, not judging the red, bloodied cuts that danced across your arms.
Do you?
I do.
But that night, do you also remember telling me that you were sorry, and that you truly loved me? Because I definitely do.
Do you remember how you kissed me? With such fever and longing and you stole my virginity? Because I can't get that back. I'm not mad mind you, for I would have rather not have lost it to anyone else but you.
But do you remember stumbling back to her, after spending the night with me, begging for her to take you back? And her welcoming you with open arms?
Do you remember me texting you, day after day? Begging for you to respond?
Do you remember that night, on January 16th, when I called you four times in an hour, begging for you to pick up? Pleading?
You didn't understand how pathetic you made me feel.
But when I called you for the fourteenth time, I decided that you didn't care, and that you never did.
So the next morning, when you finally texted me back with the simple phrase, "what did you want," it was to late.
Do you remember how pretty I had made my suicide note? Written in my own blood? Do you remember the last line, written only for you to truly understand? I hope you got what I meant.
I hope you remember how much you fucked me over, Natsume Hyuuga.