Lethal Lovers

A Letter To My Coat

I write this as a letter to you, my most frequently used coat. I remember when I found you at the department store. To everyone else, you were just like any simple button up, but I could tell there was something valuable about you. Not in the monetary sense; you weren't made of interesting parts or decadent materials, but you were rich in character. There were a couple like you on the clearance rack but I knew you were the one I wanted.

So I took you home with me and slipped you on. You were a bit too tight at first and it was a struggle to remove your tag, but my goodness was it worth it. The fabric that lines you is so soft and warm, then the outer layer, the part everyone sees, is so simple yet perfect in that simplicity. I would take you everywhere with me and I would never get comments about you being out of place. Over the years you've taken some damage, a couple of loose threads and stains, though that's not a complaint I think it makes you far more desirable.

The grit contrasts with your overall plush making you even more comfortable to have on. The only problem is when you try to behave like you're another piece of clothing, or worse something not meant to be worn. There have been a couple of instances, especially over the past few months, where you've tried to convince yourself you're something you're not. You'll be stubbornly holding onto the coat rack. Make it hard for me to wear you, try to roll off me, and worst of all, attempt to patch yourself up when you know you can't do that without me.

Which is why I'm writing this letter that I'll put in your pocket tomorrow. I implore you to stop this nonsense for your sake, I know we don't always agree but this is much more damaging to you than me. I don't understand how you don't know your purpose after I've been here so long and explained it to you a plethora of times. You are my wonderful, pecan-colored, coffee-stained, patch-covered, form fitting coat. Your existence is a wonderful thing. It greatly improves my life and I get frequent compliments when I wear you. I don't know why you keep craving for something you're incapable of having in every sense.

In all honesty, it's getting frustrating to deal with, and I fear you'll destroy yourself if you continue. You don't have as much autonomy as you seem to believe. All these attempts to get away from me, to ruin our symbiotic relationship will always result in you coming back. It's in the fabric of your nature to want to be worn by me, no matter your attempts to deny it. To show you how this is causing you harm, I'll discuss the most recent incident.

I was on one of my nighttime hunts with you accompanying me as you often do. I had just cornered my prey and prepared to strike when you intervened. As I lifted my weapon, you stiffened around the joints of my arm forcing me to stop. I ran after my target regardless, but my inability to move my arm greatly hindered me. With each step I took, your hold got tighter. My skin grew a bluish hue the longer you held until I had no choice but to rip you in a lengthy struggle. It was one of the most painful things I'd experienced in months and what should have been an easy win was ruined.

You were completely out of line by trying to stop me. The level of entitlement you displayed is almost unbelievable. You are my coat, you are here to keep me warm and move with me. I'm wearing you, not the other way around. You're lucky I bothered stitching you up when I got home. The only plus to that whole ordeal is that your scars are alluring. Even then, you complained about my skills in repairing you.

"Oh God, it looks so unnatural, everyone will notice!" you whined like that wasn't my intention. You already know that I like the damage you take to be visible, and if you wanted to avoid this you shouldn't have held me back.

I can always take you off and move onto another coat, but without me, you're an even more useless, bruised shell. You're not expensive, historically important, detailed, or artistic enough to stand on your own. A bland brown layer of fabric would not survive without someone to slip it over them, and while I love the imperfections you hold, most don't. I'm fully aware that I am possessive but it's necessary for me to be when you're an object.

Besides, I don't know why after three years of taking you with me on my hunts, you're now deciding it's something that needs to end. Just last year you'd complain about the morally dubious nature, but you wouldn't get in my way. If there's something I've done during those activities that deeply rubbed you the wrong way I'm genuinely sorry. I know that it can get quite gruesome. But if that's the case you need to communicate what it is. Is it that I've gotten so messy that I can't trust taking you to a public washer? Am I too rough when I scrub you by hand in a hurry? Something else?

I promise whatever it is I can fix it. Even if it's about you being unable to handle the violence. As I said before, I get why it's hard for you. You have to wrap yourself around me as I wrangle and put the long pigs out of their misery, but I must remind you that what I'm doing is necessary. The things I kill aren't like you or me, they're not warm or logical. All they do is tear one another apart for the smallest differences in perception or appearance.

Unlike me, they hate any type of flaw, doing everything they can to cover it up. Color matching each patch and stitch, desperately hoping no one will discover the damage. They are far past their expiration date, I'm doing their entire species a favor whenever I take one out of their misery. It may appear brutal, especially considering how I repurpose their hide but it's truly for the best.

I truly love you and after all the time we've spent together, I'd hate to have to trash you. However, it seems like an increasingly likely possibility. So I plead with you to stop these attempts to get away, to interrupt the system that's been working so well for us. Cause as much as I care for you, I don't need you, but you need me. Allow these words to seep through the fibers of your fabric, and consider your next actions thoroughly. As I can destroy you just as easily as I can repair you.

Every thread that makes you can be ripped in an instant by just one of my thread cutters. The fluff that lines your insides plucked off you like the feathers of a sickly chicken. The patches I've attached to you, easily removable with nothing but my teeth and nails. The material that you're made from, can be frayed, stained, and bleached one after the other within an hour.

With that being said, I would not find pleasure in tearing you apart. I enjoy scaring you but I want it to stem from more natural causes. Torture is boring because it's expected, the wounds you have are entrancing since I can't predict the situation that'll lead to them. Anyway, I've made my point. I sincerely hope you go back to cooperating with me after this.

- With Love, Your Owner