A/N: I wrote a Twilight fic a while ago that was kind of a hopeless mess, and deleted it eventually when I realized that. This is kind of a rewrite, since I've now done some research (I still haven't actually read the books, because you cannot pay me to undergo that kind of torture). I guess this is kind of a spitefic, and I'm not kind to major canon characters, just as a warning, although they aren't a major part of the plot.
Emily,
I fucking hate you. I hate everything about you. I'm reasonably sure you know that by now.
I'm supposed to be writing down my feelings, because that's more productive than stewing in negative emotions or going out and actually killing something. So here I am, writing down my feelings. Mom is so proud that I'm finally finding a healthy way to express my anger.
I hate you. I hate that you stole Sam from me just by existing. I hate Sam for leaving me without a second glance just because you happened to exist. I hate being a werewolf because it means I have a direct line to Sam's thoughts, and Sam's thoughts are always about you. I hate Jacob for mooning over Bella, and I hate Bella for being the center of everything.
I hate my family for thinking that this was a productive solution to my problems.
I hate myself, just for good measure.
It's not really sunny, but the clouds are lighter than usual, and it doesn't look like there'll be rain.
Hate you,
Leah.
Emily,
Yeah, I'm writing again. Fucking deal with it.
It's just that, you know, we used to be best friends. And if you had been anyone else or Sam had imprinted on anyone else, we'd still be best friends, and I'd cry over Sam and you'd be there to tell me that men were fucking trash, and now you're not.
I miss you. I miss having someone there for me.
It's raining. Again.
Still hate you,
Leah.
Emily,
I'm never going to send you these letters. I'm going to just keep them in a drawer, stacks upon stacks of yellow lined paper, and when I die someone's going to find them, maybe my family, and read them, and maybe pretend to be shocked, but probably just nod and quietly agree that they all knew Leah was a hateful bitch all along.
The breeze is blowing in from the coast, so it's foggy even though it's afternoon.
Still hate you,
Leah.
Emily,
Turns out you and Sam are getting married. I'm not going to congratulate you or tell you how happy I am, because I'm not.
To be honest, all this time, no matter how much I said I was over Sam, there was still this little Disney fantasy that he'd realize that I was the only one for him, ditch you, and come running back to beg for my forgiveness. But now you two are getting married, and it feels final.
Remember back the way things were? Remember back when we were little, and even back then I was always getting angry at the world, but back then I had you to hold me back? I had you to tell me things were going to be okay, and now it feels like nothing is ever going to be okay.
Remember freshman year of high school, when we were both so excited for prom and neither of us ended up with dates? Remember how I was sulking, but you said it would be a shame not to go after finding the perfect dress, and you dragged me there, and I did enjoy it, but I didn't admit that?
Remember when we were nine and wanted to try cliff diving from the top of the bluffs, even though there was nobody around? Remember how you couldn't swim so well, and you almost drowned, and I had to save you, and got so worried because it didn't look like you were breathing, but then you coughed up some water and said that we should do it again?
Remember that time before you got pretty, and were just some clumsy girl with braces your parents scraped to buy you, and some boy called you ugly? Remember I punched him, and you got upset, not even about the insult, but because you were so worried I would get in trouble for it, and I had to spend three hours telling you not to worry because they weren't going to throw me in jail for it?
Remember going out to La Push and watching the sunset with a few bottles of beer stolen from one of our parents' fridges? You'd dance, most of the time, because that's what you did when you got drunk and you were always a fucking lightweight, and some guys might laugh at you, and I'd tell you to chill out sometimes, but mostly I'd just kind of watch you. You were good at dancing. I wonder if you still dance.
The sky can't decide whether or not it's going to rain, and so it's just cold and humid and shitty.
Still hate you,
Leah.