SEVEN
Dear Asshole,
Did you miss my letters, Xavier?
Yeah, it's been about five months since I last wrote but it's because you pissed me off with your stupid visit. But, now, that that's out of my system, here's another letter. You're probably not happy but I don't care.
By the way, my grades have been slipping drastically. God, medical school is a fucking bitch. I wonder what you would do if you ever went to College. Maybe you'd try the vet gig since you want to give free consultations to creatures of your own kind. Yes, Xavier, if you didn't understand my insult, I am calling you an animal – more specifically a dog. A disgusting and morbid dog.
Speaking of dogs, I just got myself a golden retriever. It was better trained than you though, except for the part that it isn't potty trained yet. At least, you were potty trained right?
Okay, fine, I'll stop it with the lame dog jokes and just get back to business.
So, what do I hate about you in this letter?
First you must be wondering why there's a picture of you attached to this letter. Well, I was rummaging through my stuff when I saw it and I just had to hate how attractive you look.
Yes, that's so immature of me but fuck you.
I found more but I decided to choose this one since it's the first one I took of you.
You remember that day, Xavier? It was only a month of working with you and you already got us deserted in the post office because you told me "we didn't need an umbrella" but we did need it because it rained hard and I couldn't get the package wet. So we talked till the rain subdued and we just talked about one topic to another. And then I decided to try out my new camera and poor little me, only had you to take pictures of.
But of course, Xavier Morgan doesn't want his picture taken, now, does he?
So, I had to be discreet.
And just as the sun rose, I got a picture of you staring directly at the camera and looking as hot as hell (Of course, I never told you). You smirked afterwards and said that I would never make it as a part of the paparazzi. I blushed and you, inconsiderate asshole, pointed it out and asked if I want my picture taken. I said no but you did it anyway, using your phone.
So, that became the official camera war between us.
We took shot after shot after shot after shot after shot after shot. I took like a hundred pictures of you and in most of them, you looked hot (Again, I didn't tell you) while my shots made me look like a chipmunk with a facial spasm problem. You laughed and said you'll keep them even though they took about half of the memory in your phone while I deleted some of mine even though, deep inside, I didn't want to.
And, now, looking at this picture I can officially say that I had a hot ex-boyfriend. You look like the All American Abercrombie model. Dirty blonde hair. Blue eyes. Six Pack. Seriously, Xavier, it's like your mom raised you to look like that. It so annoying. I was never the type of girl to care how hot a guy looks but – DAMN.
Did you just have to look like that?
I mean, I experienced hot boyfriends but you take the award of the hottest boyfriend in my and probably every single ex of yours boyfriend list.
I can almost hear you ask: "Are you really ranting to me about how good looking I am?"
Yes, Xavier, I am.
But you know what I hate more?
I wish you were just a pretty face.
Why the hell did you show me you were something more?
Killing you in my head,
Robyn,
