Words Left Unspoken

Ethan's Letter.

                                                                                                                                                           April 28, 2009

Dear Ethan,

I barely knew you. The only class we had together was eleventh grade English first semester. I saw you a few times at the parties I went to with Julia, but you didn’t really know me—how could you? We barely spoke. Still, that didn’t stop you from calling me a slut. You joined in the rumors, spreading them, and you even had the audacity to add to them.

You saw me at the party at the end of eleventh grade—and we all know that’s where my bad reputation got its start. You saw what transpired between Jacob and I, but did you come to my defense? No—not even close.

I know you remember. I was wearing a little red dress that stopped right above my knee. Earlier, you told me I looked pretty—the last nice thing you ever said to me.

Sound familiar? I thought so.

Over the next days, weeks, and months, you called me a slut, whore, and other names I’d rather not repeat. And you didn’t only whisper them behind my back either—you walked up to me and spit the words into my face, just to make sure I got the message. Well, let me give you this message—it hurt. A lot.

Now, you’re probably wondering why I couldn’t just brush off your vicious comments like everyone else’s, but here’s the thing, Ethan—I have a secret. Do you think you can keep it? You did such a great job not telling anyone that you saw Jacob make a move on me. So here it is: I liked you—I mean, really liked you.

Your words stung the most. It felt as though someone was ripping me into little pieces as slowly as possible. Every time our paths crossed, you took the opportunity to attack me with your words and each time you did, I lost a little bit more and more of myself to them.

Then you stopped talking to me all together—for one week. For one week, I endured your cold shoulder, which, for some reason, hurt a lot more than I thought it would. I hoped that ridiculing me had gotten old and you found something else with which to occupy your time. Then maybe, just maybe, I could collect the pieces of my broken heart that you scattered all over the school halls and begin to heal.

But all too soon, it began again. Your words hit me like slugs to the stomach. Even though I knew they were coming, there was nothing I could do to prepare for the way your words tore through me—like bullets: fast and deadly. All you had to do was pull the trigger. How much can one little word hurt, right?

As much as I liked you…. no… like is the wrong word—to have feelings for someone who put me so much, I would have to love you. So, as much as I loved you, Ethan, it had to stop. I needed you out of my life—otherwise, I would lose myself to your words.

But I could never escape you. And you would never leave; you would never stop.

So if you wouldn’t leave, that only left one option. I’d have to be the one to go.

Goodbye.

Love,

Gracie.