Not exactly the ugly duckling

 

Dear Helga.

This fucking sucks.

I don't know what the fuck happened and sometimes I fucking hate you for refusing to explain things to me.

Do you have any idea how much you've fucking hurt me? I feel like such a fucking tosser, moping around like some pathetic school kid, pining over you. I wish I could just go 'fuck it' and forget you. I've TRIED to forget you, but you WON'T GET OUT OF MY GODDAMNED HEAD.

I want to grab you and shake your fucking teeth out of your head you make me so angry! Why won't you talk to me? You haven't replied to any of my messages, you haven't been online. You're making me feel like a fucking stalker, but all I want is an explanation!

It's been over a month since I last spoke to you. Nothing. Not a single fucking word from you since I left Hillwood.

I miss you so fucking much.

I miss talking to you every night. I miss texting you throughout the day. I really regret that we missed out on spending that second week together.

I hate myself for missing you. I feel like a fucking chump.

Part of me was hoping that you'd miss me enough to get in touch. But it's been two weeks since I last tried to contact you, and you just don't seem to give a shit.

I'm so fucking confused. I suppose that's why I can't get over this shit. I could handle it if you just didn't like me back, but I KNOW that we were heading somewhere! I KNOW that it wasn't just me!

I suppose I can understand it from your point of view too. You've always been scared of letting people close. I get it, if you freaked out when I said I was falling for you. I get it if you lashed out because you were just too afraid to let me in.

I hoped you'd get over that though. I would never do anything to hurt you. I couldn't guarantee that whatever relationship we had would last forever, but I can tell you I hoped that it would.

This has been the longest fucking month of my life. Steve keeps trying to tempt me out of my doldrums with chicks. But I just don't SEE other girls. I don't react to them anymore. Before you, if some girl came onto me and I declined, it was my head saying no, but my body still wanted to get laid.

Now I just don't feel anything.

I really fucking hate this. I wish it would stop. I know it will eventually, heartbreak and shit doesn't last forever if you keep trying to stay optimistic, but some days it's hard to face getting out of bed.

I spoke to Phoebe. I know you'll hate that. She couldn't tell me anything I didn't already know. She thinks maybe I should go talk to someone. I wouldn't know what to say though.

I mean, we weren't even 'going out'. I had no claim on you, no right to fall for you like I have. I feel so fucking STUPID for getting this upset.

Phoebe also said she's worried about you, that you seemed 'hollow' when she spoke to you. That scares me. I hope everything is OK with you. I suppose Bob and Olga are both living with you now.

I hope Nick stays away from you. I wish I was there to help you. I wish I could just take you out of there and bundle you up in my room, and in my arms.

FUCK I HATE THIS.

This erratic swinging between loving and hating you does my fucking head in. One second I'm seething at how much of a bitch you've been, the next I'm worrying about your safety, the next I'm all dewy eyed thinking about how beautiful you are and how good you feel.

I dream about you. I find myself looking at pictures of you. I've stopped jerking off because you were the only thing I would think about when I tried.

…

Arnold stopped at that revelation. He hadn't consciously realised that he had stopped 'relieving himself' for that reason. He just figured he wasn't 'in the mood'.

Maybe Phoebe was right… this writing a letter (never to be sent, of course) shit was kinda helpful. Allowing him to vent without making a fool of himself.

He hit the 'save' button and shut down his computer. He was tired, a dead, heavy tired that he couldn't seem to shake, like he was recovering from the flu. But he did feel a bit better, getting all of that shit out, emptying his head, admitting things to himself that he couldn't say to anyone else.

He pushed his laptop to the other side of the bed and curled up on his side. He hadn't bothered closing his curtains, and he watched light and shadow play against his window. It was getting cold, a light spray of rain splattered briefly against the glass, but it wouldn't last.

He loved fall. He missed the Fall in Hillwood, with it's blustery rains and sudden summery days. Although the summer past hadn't been that hot, sadly. He missed that too, the heat waves, the humidity. Lying on the roof, doing absolutely nothing.

He finally realised what was wrong with him. He wasn't just heartbroken, he was lonely.

He just wanted to go home.