A/N: This was a hard one to write, mostly because Two-Bit is someone who doesn't really hate people. But then the idea struck me and I came up with this. I hope you all like it.
Disc.: Same.
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Dear Dad,
I don't usually do this. I don't really write much, especially not about stuff like this. It's a waste of time. But I don't know, I guess I feel like I have to. I have to get rid of these feelings somehow. I have to write it out, because I can't tell anyone. I don't really want anyone to know this, because I've tried so hard to fight it. But I can't fight forever; I hate you dad.
I don't hate you for what you did to me. Well, no, I do, but not as much. If it was just me you abandoned, I wouldn't be so angry. I wouldn't hate you so much. But it wasn't; you left your whole family. You left mom. Mom blamed herself for it for the longest time, you know. She thinks it was something she did wrong, that somehow she messed up. But I always saw it for what it was; you were the one who fucked up.
Okay, not always. In the beginning, I blamed myself a little. A lot, actually. I thought it was my fault for not being the perfect son that you wanted. I thought I was the one who drove you away, because I got bad grades and because I got put in detention too much. Or because I was so lazy. I cried myself to sleep every night for weeks after you left; I was so sure that it was my fault. But when I told mom, she said that it wasn't. And she was right. Then I began to realize that you left because you were a coward. That youleft because you couldn't handle taking care of a family.
Do you know what mom had to do after you left, though? She had to become a barmaid. She had to wear a skimpy outfit and go to a bar and serve drinks to rude, loud assholes, and get felt up or harassed by drunks. She had to work so much and so hard at that kind of shitty job, just to be able to put food on the table for Molly and me. She had to come home so early in the morning after being there all night long, and then she could barely even sleep because only a few hours later she'd have to get up and drive Molly and me to school. She always had black circles under her eyes, and it was hard work for her, but she never, ever bailed on us. She toughed it out; do you know what kind of an asshole that makes you look like? She never even yelled at us. She always grinned and accepted whatever we did. She's the strongest woman I know. And she's a hell of a lot stronger than you, too.
And Molly was torn up about it for awhile too, but she barely remembers you now. She's lucky, in a way. She was only four when you left, so I guess it makes sense. But for awhile after she would always come up to me or mom and ask 'Where's daddy'? We always had to say 'We don't know'. She would start crying then, and one of us would have to hug her and tell her that everything was going to be okay. And as she got older, she almost completely forgot about you. But she still wishes she had a dad, like all the other kids.
I wasn't that lucky though. I was ten when you left. Ten. I shouldn't have had to go through that when I was ten. I just came home from school one day and mom was there, crying and telling me that you'd left, that you'd run out on us. I had to be strong for mom, because she was such a wreck for awhile. I tried really hard not to cry around her, but when I was alone, I cried a lot. I hated you then, and I hate you now. You hurt mom so much, you caused her so much pain…I hate you for that. Mom was the best woman around, and you broke her heart. You fucking idiot.
I'm a drunk now. Sort of, anyways. I started drinking when I was twelve, two years after you left, and I just couldn't stop. Alcohol makes me feel good, most of the time, and it helps me not think about you. It helps make me forget sometimes. I can even forget that I hate you when I drink enough. But that never lasts. I'm a happy guy, most of the time. Funny, lovable, and always trying to brighten everyone's days. That's why I can't ever let anyone know how much I hate you. Not even you. That's why I'll never be able to send this letter, not even if I knew where you were. Because I have to keep my mask on, and if I let anyone know about this, then my mask would be broken. And broken masks can't be mended. They're a lot like broken hearts. And you know all about those.
Sincerely,
Keith Matthews.
