Dearest Lover,
I hate your guts.
Sincerely,
The Broken
Are you familiar with that feeling you get when a family member walks into the room and you're on the computer? It doesn't matter what you're doing – you can be looking at kittens for all it matters – but the moment they look at your computer screen, the whatever-it-was-that-you-were-doing is changed to some other tab, minimized and muted. We do it to avoid looking suspicious, I think, but it has the opposite effect.
"Amu…"
My sister was standing behind me on her very tippy toes, trying to glance over my shoulder at my computer screen. Like always, she was dressed in a poofy dress, makeup, and an aura of I'm-so-much-cooler-than-you that made me want to keel over.
Not that I did. No, that would be completely uncool and, if there was anything Hinamori Amu wasn't, it was uncool.
Yeah, I'll keep telling myself that.
So I just sat there and glared at her reflection in my computer screen. It didn't have quite the same effect as a direct glare but, you know, you take it where you can get it.
"Go away, Ami."
Like any middle schooler, she only huffed.
"Mom said—"
And there's another thing about her. 'Mom said' is her second favorite phrase these days, only after I'm a freaking adult!
Okay, so maybe she's never actually said that one, but she might as well have, from the way she talked, walked, and, you know, just was.
"I'm busy."
She huffed again, kicking at my chair with a small foot, gasping out loud when she found out that, hey, stubbing your toe on purpose hurt as much as stubbing it on accident.
Yeah, I could've told her that.
"Amu!" She pouts, "But mom told me to do the dishes!"
Of course she did. In Ami terms, that means get Amu to do the dishes for you because, seriously, why would Ami ever do something for herself? That would just be ridiculous. For seriously.
"So do them."
And, thankfully enough, that was that, and I was able to get back to the thing I'd all but banished off of my computer screen.
It was a simple email, one that Ami probably wouldn't want to read for fear of actually having to admit to being literate, as so many of her friends weren't (or, at the very least, so I assumed by their facebook pages). Yet, I hoped that it would be at least somewhat effective in getting my point across. I've been stomped on too many times for it not to work.
And so, I gave all of my hope to some stupid pixels on my stupid computer screen, with the vague notion that, maybe these people wouldn't have the good sense not to open some email from a complete stranger who calls themselves The Broken.
I certainly wouldn't.
But, then again, they were all just that sort of person. The type that would have to reply, that wouldn't rest until they knew without a doubt that it was just another stupid little wack-job lunatic that, if ignored, would only fizzle out of existence as so many had done before.
But I refused to fizzle out. I wouldn't do it again. Eight times, I had been tried. Eight times, I had been crushed and torn and picked apart, piece by piece, and I refuse to, of all things fizzle out. Like a candle in water or a riot of one. Of all things, I wouldn't do that again.
I am Hinamori Amu. I am broken, but strong.
And so, like any deranged lunatic bent on revenge, I typed out my anger. Not on a blog or a twitter, but on an email.
To: Tsukiyomi Ikuto midnightblackcat
From: The Broken sincerelythebroken
Dear Tsukiyomi Ikuto,
Have you ever realized just how strange your name is to say? Tsuki, a girl's name, Yomi, another girl's name, and Ikuto, which might as well be a girl's name, for the way you act. Not to be judgmental or anything. It's just that, you know, I think that, in another life, you were a girl.
As I said, not to be offensive or anything. I mean, there is no way that I mean for you to take any offense to any of this (okay, so maybe a little bit of offensive, but, you know, whatever).
Besides that, how are you? Great? Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. Not that I'm bitter or anything. No sirree. I am, by no means bitter. After all, who would think that? Why would anyone ever be bitter of Tsukiyomi Ikuto, the notoriously apathetic badboy on campus? The one that failed to notice anyone at all at school? That one? What would anyone ever have against him, when he only ever interacted with one girl. You know, ever. And he'd long since left her in the dust?
Oh, I'm sorry, am I getting personal now? I've done my research. It's strange to think that you, at one point, were in love. Call me a pessimist, but… I've always assumed that love like that didn't work out. You know, the kind where only one ever talked and the other never even bothered to listen? I'd always figured that that kind of love wasn't really love.
But, you know, to each their own and all that. Who am I to judge, right? I'm just some messed up little nobody with a computer.
Don't mind the man behind the curtain and all that.
Only, I may or may not be a man, am probably not behind a curtain, and, for the most part, am not in a stupid emerald city.
But I digress.
The point of this email – that is, if we're assuming that there's a point – is, well, that there is none. There is absolutely no point to this and, if I had any remorse, I would definitely apologize to you.
But I don't, so I won't. Tough luck. Life's like that sometimes. Unremorseful and all that.
But you know that, don't you? The best of us rise to the challenge. The worst of us mold to it, becoming a mirror image of the cruel world that they'd been thrust into.
Guess which one you are. I dare you.
Sincerely,
The Broken
And that wasn't even the only one. Total, I had eight emails ready to be sent out, each sent to some other person who, at one point or another, had had a hand in my demise.
Did they deserve whatever it was I planned to do it?
Of course not. Nobody did.
But I didn't plan on regretting anything. One by one, I stared at my emails. Tsukiyomi Ikuto, Tsukiyomi Utau, Hotori Tadase, Fujisaki Nagihiko, Yukari Kairi, Yuiki Yaya, Mashiro Rima, Souma Kukai, Yamabuki Saaya. Every single one of them, aware of it or not, had torn me apart.
And revenge would be sweet. They would remember what they did, what they didn't do. And I would enjoy how they wondered, if they bothered to.
"Amu! Get your butt down here!"
Sighing, I pressed send on all of my emails before making my way downstairs, readying myself to face whatever chore my mom would probably have next. Probably something like mopping the whole ceiling. You know, something stupid.
Cinderella, Cinderella. All I hear is Cinderell-
"What are you singing, Amu?"
I only spared my mom a small smile, glad for my strange tendency not to speak loudly enough for my mom to decipher anything I said. Ever.
"Absolutely nothing, Mama."
Which was close enough to the truth. When did I say anything worth being noted?
Never, that's when.
To: Tsukiyomi Utau trappedbutterfly
From: The Broken sincerelythebroken
Dear Tsukiyomi Utau,
Or did you prefer Hoshina Utau? I could never quite figure that one out. I figured that you'd like your stage name better, that being the one that you actually chose for yourself and all. Then again, give your brother complex, did you used to pretend to be married to your brother? When you were younger? Maybe you dreamed of having that last name for a different reason.
Oops, I wasn't supposed to knowing about that. My bad, popstar. A common slip up, I figure. People let out their secrets all the time. Even more often, they let out other people's secrets.
I mean, there's number two, right? Popstar? As in, idol? Singing on a stage in front of hundreds of people? Any of this ringing a bell?
No? That's too bad, I was pretty sure that you'd have the guts to fuss up by now, but, you know, I've been wrong before. I'm stupid and all that, you know? I get things wrong all the time.
Like you, for example, are still a coward. Who would've figured? In a different world, one where I didn't keep on falling for the same old tricks over and over again, perhaps I would've.
But here, I'm as ignorant as the rest of the world. I'm the type of girl who gets shocked again and again by the same old stupid magic trick, even though I know all of the secrets.
Tell me, popstar, are you, too, shocked every time you peel off your makeup, change into some jeans and a t-shirt, put on those sunglasses…
Are you shocked every time you admit to just being a normal girl? I would be. It's a different world out there, I figure. One where fake and plastic are simply synonyms for success. Not the kind of world that many like to live in but, you know, people go where they belong, I guess.
I'd admire you for it, had you not been so… admirable. You know, the type of person that I'd just ignore on the street because – hey – I really don't like you.
Really. Gasp. Shock. The horror. Someone, somewhere, doesn't like you.
Should have seen it coming, popstar.
But, maybe you're like me? Perhaps you, too, are the type of person who gets shocked by the same old same old, watching every stupid magic trick, watching the same sorts of slight-of-hand illusions that shock first timers and bore people who'd actually bothered to come to the show twice, and being shocked to silence every time.
It's okay. People are stupid. I should know, I'm one of them.
You are, too.
Sincerely,
The Broken
To: Hotori Tadase hotorit
From: The Broken sincerelythebroken
Dear Hotori Tadase,
Hello, Prince. Or, rather, king. Wouldn't want your highness to go into a funk, you know? The sort of thing where you yack on and on about how underestimated you are because, while people admit to you being royalty, they don't admit to you being the best kind of royalty. And you, frankly, will not stand for that.
Well, I say find a chair, because you don't have to stand. You just have to deal. You know, like the rest of us stupid little broken folk. The kind that aren't even called royalty. People like me are lucky to be called scum, that's how bad it is. We're lucky if we're called at all.
Generally, as a rule, we're not called. Rather, we're not even seen. Just like you, really, aren't. People see your blond hair and stupid cape, and assume you're royalty.
Gasp, shock. The horror. People aren't really seeing you, prince.
Rather, they see you about as much as they see me, which is to say that they don't. Maybe a smile r two, if the sun hits you just right. But honestly, if you dyed your hair and everything, nobody would even spare you a second glance.
Face it, you're disposable. Disposable and fickle, the type of thing that goes in and out with the seasons. In two years, once you've graduated, Seiyo High will forget that you even existed. I promise, you really don't matter as much as you like to think you do. You, really, don't matter much at all.
Don't take it personally. People don't matter much, as a rule. Actually, they just kind of, you know, fade in and out. Stuff like that.
Breath in, breath out. Wave hi, walk away. Say goodbye, ask about their day. Going through the motions without so much as caring what any of the motions meant.
(It doesn't really matter if you look like you care, right?)
All things considered, I suppose that all of this is for the better. You wouldn't make it as a real person, anyway. Fake is something you're good at, I figure. As far as I'm considered…
It's just a skill. A talent. Like playing soccer or drawing or singing or anything else. It's like acting, only without a script, and the only character that's there is you.
You don't get awards for acting like yourself. Usually, that's called just being, but I think you're a special case. Nobody can be that impervious that life, the universe, and everything. I'm certainly not.
So do tell, Prince. What is it, exactly, that'll make you crack?
Everyone does, at some point or another. I figure you're not different.
I'll be waiting.
Sincerely, the Broken
To: Fujisaki Nagihiko breakbasketball
From: The Broken sincerelythebroken
Dear Fujisaki Nagihiko,
Hello, dancer. Nadeshiko. I'm not quite sure which one you'd prefer, really. But you're both, I figure, so you have to answer to both, both.
Wait, I wasn't supposed to admit to knowing that, was I? Oh well, what's done is done and all that. I guess I'll just put it all out there right now, right?
Hello, I am broken, and you are, too. I know it well enough. I mean, you don't exactly go out of your way to hide how fake your smiles are. And you can't ever truly hide the way that your eyes don't light up, even as you light up the rest of the room. It's just… you know, one of those things. You're either really smiling, or you're not.
I'll give you a hint as to which you are. You're not the first.
Not to assume anything, though. I'm sure that, at some point in time, you definitely were happy. Just, you know, not now. Or yesterday. Or any time in the recent past, nor in the foreseeable future. You are, simply put, a sad person. That's just how it is, all that there is to it.
The only time any sort of happiness reaches you is on the court or on the dancefloor. Even then, your smiles don't reach your eyes. No. Rather, they just seem to move out of your movements and straight into the eyes of anyone else watching.
And so I ask you, are you happy?
I don't think so. But who am I to you? Some random stranger with too much time on their hands, and a few emails that she probably shouldn't have in the first place. I am nothing to you.
(I'll let you in on a secret. Nothingness isn't a two-way relationship)
So, perhaps… you don't know me.
But I know you.
You know, in the least creepy way possible.
Which is hard, because there's almost no way for that not to be creepy (but, you know, I manage. Life's tough and all that. I can live). Or maybe not live, per say. More accurately, I survive. Or persevere.
Something like that. I have to strength and will, but not the way. Or maybe I'm thinking of the wrong saying. I don't even know (it's not important. Honest).
But whatever. None of this is important to you, so what am I still rambling on about for? I don't really know. No reason, I assume. I don't really have any sort of purpose, really.
But… maybe that's just the case with most people. Most things. And I'm just the first one that's actually bothering to admit to it. Whatever, not important.
Honest.
Sincerely,
The Broken
(P.S.: I think you'd fool more people if you stopped smiling so much. It's kind of creepy)
More to come
A/N:
Hey there all! Long time no acknowledge!
/shot
Anyway, I recently cleaned out my stories, and I ended up with only one: Letters from the Broken. I absolutely loved writing that story but… I realize that the ending… kind of sucked. And by that, I mean that it did. A lot.
So, like any good writer, I decided to rewrite it in the hopes of, ,you know, actually create progress and all that sorts of stuff.
Thanks for reading! The next part should be up soon. When, I won't say, simply because I don't feel too keen on breaking even more promises.