Hate On Aspen Hale

01 | The First Letter

01 | The First Letter

You are the most frustrating piece of shit—

My mother taught me never to swear when I was young. She said it was rude, and especially disrespectful to the ones you were swearing at because you sound uneducated. Swearing at someone meant that you though they were unworthy of real words, that you could only speak to them in such impolite, disgusting swear words. And, mind you, I don't respect you, Aspen Hale, but neither do I want to break the promise I gave my mother to not swear (or rather, I don't want written proof of my swearing ways to end up in my mother's hands).

If it was not obvious before, it should be now. I hate you. This isn't a petty thing like you stole my girlfriend (which I understand you have done to many once-happy men, and this is probably not that petty because you've probably broken many hearts because of that) or that I was one of those girls that had their heart broken by you.

In fact, the details aren't important; I just want you to know I hate you.

I just wanted you to know that, no, you aren't loved by the whole student body. And that while everyone makes mistakes, the worst thing about you is when you make a mistake, you don't acknowledge it.

I would write sincerely–but then we'd both know I'd be lying,

Anonymous.

    —-

I cringed at the letter in front of me.

I wasn't usually one to write a letter the person I most hate but Aspen Hale–he was an exception.

It's quite pathetic, and really lame, but sometimes I felt like writing out all my feelings on paper to get all the anger out of my system. (And my brother seems to think so too because it was either writing or using him as a punching bag.)

The most perfect way to get this hate out of my system was to actually give it to him. But I was too much of a wuss to go up to him and it would most likely end up tossed in the bin, unread.

I sighed, clicking the top of my pen and I let it slip out of my fingers. It's the middle of History class where Ms Portman usually rambled on about anything and everything.

"Psst, Carson." A voice broke my out of my thoughts.

I looked around and spotted my twin brother, Gavin, leaning over his desk to try and catch my attention. I ignored him because I was still a teensy bit angry with him. This morning he had taken all the cereal for himself–a petty thing to be angry at him for I must admit, but food was food.

He wasn't the one who had to starve through Ms Portman's life story.

Speaking of Ms Portman, she was currently gesturing rapidly with her hands and going off on a tangent from what we were really meant to be learning about, World War II.

It was no surprise; most of her lessons consisted of her endless babbling and the slight mention of an early mark (probably because Ms Portman felt slightly apologetic for her talkative nature.)

Thud.

I sent a glare back at Gavin, who had been kicking my chair. I tried move a bit more forward and ignore it but Gavin's legs were long and the incessant banging irritated me too much. I quickly folded the sheet of paper, in case Gavin was peeking at what I was writing, and I slipped it into the pocket of my jeans.