I don't own Twilight
My Letters To You
/Chapter 7/
I guess we didn't see each other on Easter, huh?
As small as our hometown is, you know all the tricks to disappear into thin air, you clever thing. But then again, maybe you're just a coward. And maybe it's for the better that I didn't run into you.
I might have bitch-slapped you. Well, not really. I'm not the violent type and can hardly do any damage with these skinny arms of mine. But I would have liked to pull her hair.
So much.
The few text messages we typed that weekend didn't really clear things up between us, did they? Actually, not at all. Did you seriously think it would soothe me when you told me you're not a couple, rather just "friends +"? Was I meant to applaud you or give you the manly fist-bump?
What the fuck does "+" mean, anyway?
Misspelling on your part? God, I hope this was just an auto-correct screw up. Please?
"Don't be so dense, Bella. It doesn't suit you. Because let's be honest with each other, you know exactly what it means."
There goes your voice inside my head again...
Yes, I know what it means, but I want to ignore it, don't want it to be true. This is so unreal. I've never seen you with another girl in all these years I've known you. You've never mentioned one. Come on, you didn't even have time to get yourself a girlfriend or fuck-buddy - or whatever it is you call her - after we split up nine years ago. I was always around. And when I wasn't there with you, we were on the phone for hours. You were talking me into sleep with mundane chatter or discussing the endlessness of the universe.
The once so bright stars seem dull to me now. See? I can be romantic or rather cheesy.
So, after all these years, you decide to get yourself some action? I mean, you said yourself she's not your girlfriend, so are you just screwing her? Are you having freaky doctor-sex with her? Animal-style? That is so unusual for you and has me utterly confused. Remember when you told me there is no sex for you when you're not in love? Back in February - when we had our romp - was that being in love for you? Or was it a mistake?
Am I the foolish one here for thinking we could give "us" another chance? What now? What is this thing you have with her? And what the hell is this thing you have with me? Just tell me. Who am I to you?
I think I'm going to be sick. The possibilities in my head – they're just... ugh. I strongly hope banging my head against the table top, repeatedly, will get rid of this feeling I have that I'll be the sore loser.
Ouch.
Nope, it doesn't.
Isn't it odd that we never really talked about our sex lives these past few years. If you had girls to screw, I didn't know. Would that actually be something you'd confide in me as your best friend - given our romantic history? I'm not sure, because I didn't confide in you concerning my nighttime activities either. What I know for sure is that you didn't have a girlfriend in the last nine years. Kind of a fact that'd be hard to disguise, since we shared your bed all the time - in a non-sexual way, until recently. How did you manage? Didn't you have a libido at all? No needs whatsoever? That doesn't seem healthy to me. Or were you just as sneaky as I was and got something secretly? Too ashamed the other one wouldn't approve of your choice in release-seeking. Too ashamed that you could never find something as unique as we had. You've never had that twinkle in your eyes for any other person—the one you always had when we were still together.
Though it's useless to rack my brain about the "what ifs," it's all I got at the moment. Replaying every second of us again and again before my eyes – browsing my brain for our best moments – is all I have.
My life is so dull without you… working… thinking of you… working some more…still thinking of you… coming home… thinking of you…having dinner… still thinking of you. Notice the pattern there?
I'm thinking of you, thinking of you, thinking of you, crying about you, wondering about her. I wonder where I fit in in all this mess.
Can you say: obsession?
Actually I'm wondering why the guys from the loony bin still haven't approached me... very carefully... with a straitjacket handy. Maybe even some drugs ready - enough to be able to put a horse to sleep.
"Provided by my new 'girlfriend,' surely?"
Definitely.
Stop laughing your ass off.
I don't see any humor in this. I'm already picturing her coming after me with a huge ass syringe - filled to the brim with some horse narcotic – screaming: "Hold her down, hold her down."
Talk about fury in the slaughterhouse.
How did she manage to weasel herself into your life and kick me right out of it in record time?
On top of all that crap, your parents are walking on egg shells around me since the holidays. Do I have the crazy eyes already? Does it say "loser" on my forehead? What did you actually tell them about our fight that has them looking all sad and pitiful at me? Huh? Did you manage to convince them, yet again, that you're an angel?
You didn't tell them the truth, right? Rather some story about me being all jealous of her. I know you're the golden boy. Nothing can shatter this. It's a universal law. Feel free to pat your own back. But don't judge me for spelling "golden" like this:
C
O
W
A
R
D
I had lunch with your mom a few days ago, and I don't get the impression that she likes your new girl very much. She kept telling me how you guys aren't really cozy with each other - not like we were. Never touching... at least that is somewhat soothing...
Not soothing whatsoever is the fact that we actually talked on the phone today. Wasn't it what I wanted for all this time now? Damn right it was, but I pictured our conversation a little differently and dare I say even longer than the mere thirty seconds you had for me. Best friend, anyone? I thought we could go back to how we were. That thought, however, was out of the window when you mentioned - casually – you were on vacation with her, the week after Easter.
Why is everything nowadays "casual" with you? What's up with that? This casual screwing guy who has friends with benefits – that's not you. You, the upholder of moral standards, suddenly fucking your best friend over? Literally. You should be ashamed of yourself. And that's not just my broken pride speaking.
So while you were on vacation, I used my time wisely and figured I should write you an email to explain my erratic behavior. Did you notice yet, that it's always me apologizing, by the way? I'm apologizing for something I didn't even do wrong. Remind me to face-palm myself the next time.
But I thought- what the heck- and poured my heart and soul into this email.
Said email sat for seven days in your inbox.
Unopened.
If that's not a slap in the face, I don't know what is.
I deleted it.
Do you regret giving me free access to all your password-protected things, yet? I've learned so much from a phenomenal tech-geek. The geek that is you.
When did we go from sharing bodily fluids, passwords and toothbrushes, seeing each other naked to you not even reading my emails?
Resourceful- that's what I am. And thanks to my gold-medal-worth stalker techniques, otherwise known as Facebook, I know now that she lives in your house. Most of the time. She even brought her two cats.
Does she sleep in your bedroom? Stupid question on my part. I know.
I hate you for this.
You've known her for such a short amount of time, yet you still manage to involve her in every aspect of your life. She is even friends with some of your relatives. I want to punch you. Hard. Choke you and beat some sense into you. With a baseball bat. She's even friends with your brother's wife - a former good friend of mine, before she went all psycho on my ass. It seems I'm a magnet to all my fellow lunatics in this world.
I don't know how the hell these two - pardon my language - bitches even met, since your brother is divorcing her ass and doesn't even live with her anymore. Does she speak ill of me to appease her? Does that make it easier for her to get in your pants? In your well-equipped pants?
Why yes, I remember. Shocker? That kind of thing is hard to forget. Pardon the pun.
I know you couldn't make use of the wonder you're sporting in your pants for nine years with me - until February. We were best friends, you know, not friends with benefits. No friends with a "+."
All that time… did you want to "make love" to me?
Did you imagine a future with me, and I was too blind to see?
Are you happy now with her? Does she fuck you better than I did?
I highly doubt it.
A/N
Thanks to every single one of you who's reading, reviewing, alerting or simply chewing their nails over this mess.
B, you know the drill: ILY and will name my firstborn after you. No matter the gender.
Mel, I want to put you in my poket and hug you every few seconds.
