We're Not Related Anymore...

Maddie's Letter

Jacob,

You're a fucking asshole. I hate you. I really fucking do.

I thought we had something real. But you threw it all away. I'm so mad that sometimes I find it hard to even remember why I have loved you as much as I did. But I did and as ashamed as I am to admit, I still do.

There was a time when you felt like the only person in the world who got me. From the first time I met you, it was like there was this realization. Like, oh, there are people who see me for me. Do you remember that one time when we were listening to Turn by The Wombats? I don't know if you know this but it's my favorite song. And there's a line and it goes like this:

I like the way your brain works.

I've always wanted someone to say something like this to me. I've always felt like I wasn't enough. But you made me feel like I was more than enough. You made me feel like the song does and when you ended things, it crushed me.

I know we're not supposed to value ourselves by how people perceive us, but after everything that happened, I felt worthless. My mother would hate me if she knew I'd said this (she raised me to be a strong, independent woman), but that's how I felt.

Women are held to different standards than men and even in this modern age, we still get picked apart by every little thing that we do. After that video, people saw me as a slut. All I wanted... all I needed was for you to stay by my side and tell me everything was going to be ok. And you did, technically. But then you changed your mind. How could you have done that, Jacob? We were supposed to have forever together.

It was your idea, wasn't it? To pack up our things and get out of there. They weren't going to allow us to be together anymore and you said they couldn't stop us. We were just going to get on a bus and start our new life someplace else but then when I was ready to leave, you told me we shouldn't do it. You don't know how angry I was when you said that. How were we supposed to go back to normal when everyone fucking knew? It was like you wanted to just snap your fingers and the world would go back to normal. But it wouldn't and you couldn't fucking see that.

I used to try and wonder what went through your brain at that moment. I don't anymore. And as more days went by, I found it easier to bury the memory I had of you. But then, I came back home and you were there and all these old wounds were bleeding again.

I hate that you have that effect on me. I hate that you still consume my thoughts. It's frustrating and I want, so badly, to get on with my life. But I can't because there's the anger in me and...

I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!

It's not even enough to just write it down. Right now, you're lying on the bed supposedly watching TV. I know you're watching me though. I can feel your eyes bore a hole in the back of my neck. I kind of want to stand up and smother you with a pillow.

This was a bad idea, you know? This letter makes no sense and I should just tear it up. Fuck you, you don't deserve an explanation. Where's my apology, asshole. I want one. Like right now, and I wish you would give me one before I give you this letter because that way I know you'd mean it and not just be saying it because you know I so desperately want one.

But that's not going to happen because you're obtuse. Fucking obtuse, did you know that. And did you know what you said to me last night in your sleep, Jacob? You mumbled something about me being 'worth it'.

I had to make sure you were really asleep when you said it. I was worried this was going to be another one of your mind games. You really meant it though. And were fast asleep too. Unless you were dreaming about some other girl while I was lying next to you. Which, in that case, count your fucking days, buddy.

Fuck. I don't know what else to say.

Goodbye. Asshole.

Don't call or text me after reading this letter. I mean it. I don't want to hear from you again until I see you in person. And if, after reading your stupid-ass short letter, I change my mind, you'll know it when you see me again.

P.S. Fuck you. Again.

Sincerely,

Madeline Anne Culkin

P.P.S. This is what you get when you ask women to tell you how you feel. If you're offended by anything I've said, just remember, you brought it on yourself.

P.P.P.S. Ass. Hole.

End of Part Two.