“You know I hate you, right?”
“No, you don’t.”
I take a giant swig of wine. “Just let me get through the next few days, then … I’ll talk to him.”
He hugs me again. “Good. I love you.”
“Love you, too. Have a good time at the club.”
“You know I will. See you tomorrow.”
I kiss him on the cheek before taking the wine into my bedroom and closing the door.
After I put on some music, I open my laptop and spend a few minutes checking e-mails. There’s one from Ruby that makes me laugh, as well as several from very helpful companies telling me how to improve my penis size. I delete the junk and switch to my desktop.
There it is.
The little icon that forever taunts me. It’s labeled Asshole’s E-mails. I sip my wine and stare at it, with my finger hovering over the mouse button.
I’ve read them all before. Dozens of times. Always with eyes clouded by bitterness and pain.
I wonder what I’d see if I tried to get past all that. Would they portray a different Holt than the one I’d spent so many hours cursing?
“Fucking fucking fuck.”
I open the file.
The familiar words fill the screen, and I take a deep breath.
The first one is dated three months after he left me.
…
From: EthanHolt <[email protected]>
To: CassandraTaylor <[email protected]>
Subject: <none>
Date: Fri, July 16 at 9:16pm
Cassie,
I’ve been sitting here looking at my screen for two hours trying to get up the courage to e-mail you, and now that I’m typing, I have no fucking idea what I’m going to say.
Should I apologize to you? Of course.
Should I beg for your forgiveness? Absolutely.
Will you give it to me? I doubt it.
But even though I hurt you, I still think I did the right thing by leaving. I needed to go while one of us still had a chance to be whole.
Now I’m smiling, because I can imagine you rolling your eyes and calling me an asshole. You’d be right. I warned you on the first day we met, remember? I was so damned frightened of you, I said we shouldn’t be friends, but you made us friends anyway.
You wound up being the best friend I’ve ever had.
I miss our friendship.
I miss you.
I guess that’s all I wanted to say.
Ethan.
…
The next one is a month later.
From: EthanHolt <[email protected]>
To: CassandraTaylor <[email protected]>
Subject: <none>
Date: Fri, Aug 13, at 7:46pm
Cassie,
I’ve decided to keep writing to you, even if you never reply, because I’m going to pretend you read these and think of me. You know how good I am at pretending.
The show’s going well. The cast is good, and I’m glad I’m back playing Mercutio instead of Romeo. Playing the romantic lead was never my strong suit, as you know.
I often get chest pains when I think of you. It’s not fun. I’m too young to have a heart condition, but I’m afraid to get it checked out in case they tell me what I already know: that it’s defective and can’t be fixed.
I sometimes wonder what you’re doing and hope you’re moving on. That’s what you deserve, but there’s a part of me that hopes you’re miserable I’m gone.
I miss you.
Ethan.
…
And the next one. The one I’ve read more than any other. The one I read when I miss him so much I can almost feel his hands on my body.
From: EthanHolt <[email protected]>
To: CassandraTaylor <[email protected]>
Subject: <none>
Date: Wed, Sept 1, at 2:09am
Cassie,
It’s two am, and I’m drunk. Soooooo fuking drunk. I want you so bad. I wannt you naked and panting. I wanna see your face as you come, and … God … I want you.
Of course, I never did figure out how to fuck you, did I? Coulnd’t just detach and treat it liek sex, ’cause it never was. Ever. It was so much more.
I brought a girl home with me tongiht. A pretty girl. Beautiful, even.
Not as beautiufl as you, but then no one is.
She wanted me to fuck her, but I coudn’t. Couln’t barely kiss her because her lips didn’t taste like yours, and she didn’t smell right because she wan’t you.
Now I’m hard as a fucking rock sitting here writing to you and, I know I’ll never be inside you again, and it’s all I can thing about. So when I finish writing trhis, I’ll probably fuck my hand while I fantasize about you, and then hate myself just a little bit more.
I’m pathetic.
I don’t want to obsess over you anymore. It hurts too much.
I miss you too much.
Ethan.
…
And then, there’s this.
From: EthanHolt <[email protected]>
To: CassandraTaylor <[email protected]>
Subject: No excuse
Date: Wed, Sept 1, at 10:16am
Cassie,
I’m so ashamed of the e-mail I sent you last night. I have no excuse. I drank too much, and, well, you know the rest.
Please delete it and forget it happened.
That’s what I’m going to try to do.