Not Quite Sure Yet

Chapter 1

1

Dear Joey,

I don't know how to start this letter.

I don't know how to write this letter, even if I can start it half decently.

I don't know how to even fucking think without you.

Pathetic, innit?

And worse, I can't even mourn you because you're not here to tell me now to do it.

I can't cry still, even now. I can't even shed a fucking tear over you, over us, over anything. You always told me one day, you would make me cry. You promised.

Is it worrying that I actually am dying to cry?

 Is it worrying that my eyes haven't even watered once, through all of this?

Is that fucking worrying enough for you to come back?

Would you come back if I told you they all called me a heartless dick? Would you come back if I told you that I had eggs thrown at my fucking windows because apparently I'm the reason you left, would you? Would you come back if I told you I was taking the blame for your stupid mistake?

Would you come back if I told you Mom cried for you? My mother, the strongest woman I know, howled and sobbed and shook when you left, you selfish bastard.

Would you come back if I told you that I'm in therapy?

Would you come back if you knew why I'm in therapy?

The answer is no, of course.

You wouldn't come back for shit.

You selfish bastard.

Cole.