Dearest, Heartbreaker.

||fifth letter||

Dearest,

Heartbreaker/ horse Ryder.

Congratulations, you ruined the whole thing.

you ruined this whole thing.

I bet that's all you do, ruin stuff.

why did you answer?

I didn't want you to, in fact I was writing to you for myself.

because I needed to tell someone

and what better person than the heartbreaker itself?

I didn't even mean to flatter you,

you're not that special.

by the way,

im obviously a girl, you prick.

you can basically smell my perfume in this cheap

white lined paper from my notebook,

but you're just gonna have to deal with it

because I keep my notebook under my pillow

and it smells like me, so whatever.

There's something I don't get though,

you called me a bitch, right?

but you say you don't know me,

so you're kind of contradicting yourself there,

you idiot.

and if you're wondering or saying or thinking

"well you call me names all the time so...."

Well unlike you,

I do know you.

I do remember who I sleep with,

even when I'm drunk off my ass that

someone needs to take care of me that night

so that I don't choke on my own vomit and die.

but y'know what, that's how you are.

you're an ungrateful shit who only thinks of himself,

you don't even remember me.

you don't even remember my name,

much less my face, of course.

and I was the one who took care of your annoying ass at that party

I was the one who took care of you all night.

I was the one who stayed awake to keep an eye on your stupid ass

I was the one who dragged you upstairs to your friends room

because they didn't give a flying fuck about their "friend"

And I didn't even get a freaking thanks,

I didn't even get a

"I'm sorry I shagged you whilst drunk, and Im sorry I don't remember any of it."

it's not like I was expecting one from Ryder Jackson,

lord knows that guy (a.k.a you)

doesn't even know the meaning of freaking gratitude,

you bitch.

Oh, let me clear something up while I'm at it,

don't answer me, I mean it.

I don't want any insults/ comments/ answers/ excuses

that come from you.

you're not worth it.

all questions that I do from here on,

are rhetorical.

meaning, don't answer.

-me

(P.S. I hate chinese food, just as much as I hate you.)

(P.S.S Nevermind, probably not.)