Dear Dylan,

This is stupid.

I feel like a dork.

I probably am.

Okay, I'm talking to myself while writing a letter to you. Definitely a dork.

Or maybe crazy.

Possibly both.

Arguing with myself while writing to you now, so definitely both.

But back to the point, wait, what was the point? Oh, right -

Do you realize how you seem to be the only thing to capture my attention? Do you wonder how you saving my life on a daily basis effects me? Or do you simply not think about me when you're not around me? I hope for the first two but I know it's the last. I know because you always come home smelling like cheap perfume and martinis. You come home out of it, high off of that rush and still drunk. I have to put you back together after you smashed yourself to bits. I can't let Cady see you like that. It'd kill her. It kills me more but I have to do it. I have to be the strong one. Cady isn't but she never tries to be. You're the strong one but you pretend you're not, you make me be strong. I wonder if you're looking out for me or if you just hate being the one that has things to do. So I end up being the one pretending to be strong, hiding behind my sarcasm and dirty looks.

You don't see me, not really. You buy my act just like everyone else. You don't get that it kills me every time you pat me on top of the head or pretend to flirt with me just because you're bored. You don't understand how my stomach feels like it's imploding every time you talk to another girl in front of me, saying how proud you are of me. Using our cover of me being your sister to land some other girl in bed. I remember that one time Cady got pissed and kicked me out of our bed. I almost slept on the couch but after about five seconds my neck and back were killing me, I tried the floor (I swear I did) but that was no good either. Eventually I wound up in your bed, tail between my legs and severely in need of sleep, but you didn't mind. You let me stay in your bed that night, if only because you pitied me. I didn't care though, my mind flew a million different places that next morning. In those few fleeting seconds when you first wake up before your brain and memory catch up with you. I got to pretend. Got to forget that you really don't care for me at all. That you don't see me.

Cady says that you care for me. I'm sure she's right about that. You wouldn't keep me around if you didn't have some attachment to me. But it's like our cover story. I'm the kid sister that you look after. You're the heroic big brother watching out for me after our mom and dad died. I care about you more though. You'd never know, I never tell. Cady seems like she could be catching on, so now I have to be more careful. I can't smell your shirts anymore before I throw them in the wash. Or play your guitar when you're not around. I can't wear that one jacket you always seem to forget when you go out when I need to 'run out really quick' when really I don't have anywhere to go. I just want to walk around with that fantasy that you gave me the jacket.

This is stupid.

I'm stupid.

I'm fucking self centered too 'cause this letter says 'I' about every five seconds.

I'm still fucking saying 'I'.

I can't stop.

Damn it.

If I'm going to keep talking about myself then I'll just stop this letter now.

But I'm still sorry that you died.