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Dear Asshole,

Okay, so you must be wondering why the fuck am I writing this, right? I mean, we haven’t seen each other in like – what? Five years? And then all of a sudden I decide to write to you again.

Well, the answer for that is simple you ass wipe.

I am still not done talking to you. I am still not done with you.

Let’s start with the day you and I first met. Sophomore year, remember? You were the bad boy who didn’t give a fuck about people. The guy who would pull epic pranks and be Mr. Cool or whatever.

And, me? Well, I was the girl who sat at the front of the class and was early for each class we shared. And did you know what you would do when you saw me?

Nothing.

That was what you did, Xavier. And to be honest, I was fine with that.

And, now, you must be wondering: “What’s the problem then? I ignored you and you didn’t mind. What the hell is the matter?”

Wanna know why, Xavier?

It’s because you should’ve kept ignoring me. You shouldn’t have acknowledged my existence even when you found out that I did fucking exist.

You met me because we were forced to be dance partners at gym and that day – Oh, I remember that day so vividly, – and you said my name wrong. You called me “Robbie” instead of “Robyn.” Not gonna lie, Xavier, but that pissed me off. My name was not that hard to pronounce and instead you made it sound like I was one of the football players you slapped asses with.

When I corrected you, you gave me a smug smirk and said “I’ll remember that.”

And you know what, asshole. That leads me to my first problem.

Because you did.

Want to shove your face in a toilet bowl,

Robyn.