sorry i killed your girlfriend | iwaoi

1- the most frustrating apology letter

most would agree, a letter that says "hey! i killed your girlfriend!" is a bit bold, but anythings better than doing it over text. plus, this could to into my museum someday! (obviously i would have one, my crime is a little bit heinous..) my hand fumbled and shook, the pen i was using to write the letter of bad news soiled the paper.

"shit." was followed by a sigh, there goes my first draft. I shivered slightly, as my eyes drifted off to the mutilated girl across from me. it makes it five time as awkward, since she has no eyes or hair, so she kind of looks like a doll that was customized from syd. which is definitely NOT something that should be said about a dead body.

instead of things to write, I kept imaging what my sixty minutes special would look like, god i hope they choose good photos of me. that is not the point, focus hajime! okay, i'm ready, was a thought sewn into my head, as a matter of fact i was NOT ready. i sat there for over fifteen minutes contemplating what to write.

a simple, "your girlfriend is kinda dead, and its totally my fault since I murdered her because i liked you and was lowkey jealous" wouldn't apply in this situation. eventually, forty different pieces of paper were scattered around my room in front of me. right now would be an excruciatingly horrible time for one of my parents to storm into my room.

"emery, i blame this on you. if you weren't so hard to hide, I wouldn't have to write a letter of apology." i mumble, as i flip of the corpse on my floor. i grab the pen and start writing again, it wasn't like my normal neat writing, it was scratchy, and disorganized. i took a sigh, as i formed what looked like "dear oikawa, i love you but i did something bad."

"emery, how does that sound. it is about you, so i want your opinion." i said, my god i'm going crazy, but i should be considerate, this is about her death. i almost imagined her nodding, which scared the living hell out of me, but i would imagine that was the alcohol. i sigh as I remembered the five, six, no i'm sure it was seven shots i downed. so, emery, i might join you soon I guess...

"i know, you'll hate me. especially since i kinda killed your girlfriend, but i killed your girlfriend." i wrote out, as i finished the last note i yelped "FUCK!" i threw the paper down, got up and searched my desk for whiteout. which was  definitely a desperate need at the moment. i threw my shit on the floor, pens, extra papers, until i reached a photo of him.

staring back at me were two innocent boys, two boys who still saw love and happiness and not a whore named emery. i feel so worthless right now,  why did i do it... part of me feels bad, the other feels relief. that maybe in another world the little boy in the photo will never feel dread or jealousy. maybe i'm his guardian, the savior.. i'm no jesus but, i guess maybe in a different timeline this pays off?

"oikawa, I doubt you'd let me call you oiks again, but part of my heart still desires to mumble it." i successfully write, surprisingly, its not scratchy. its not blunt, it describes the pain, the grief the whore put me through. i got up and kicked her corpse, before apologizing. hmm, i guess she doesn't deserve to be kicked.

i still remember the first day i called him oiks. it was the day before the start of sixth grade. he talked about it all summer, to the point it became numbing to the thought of moving on. i guess i never saw the importance of worrying about something like that. i hadn't realized that he was nervous of growth.

"iwa.. what if we get separated..?" i'd never heard oikawa sound so sad, and minuscule. "what do you mean, oikawa? we are going to the same school after all." i tried to reassure him, but i could still see tears dwelling in his eyes. he seemed so stiff, rather upset, especially for him. considering the fact that every time i had seen him over the summer, there just had to be a conversation of what binder to use, what notebook color fit his personality best.. and what would sixth grade be like.

"but thats not just it iwa! what if.. we stop being friends?" those words, something about them sent a shock through my body, haunting me. i heard his pain, and i wanted to take it away. i turned to him, i look him directly in the eye. just to see the painstaking eyes, with puddles of tears flowing down his cheeks. in the heat of the moment i had grabbed his hand.

"oiks, we will be fine. i'll never let that happen."

sucks that it might just be true. unfortunately, he may not want to be seen near me. i'm a murderer after all. i wouldn't want to be associated with me either. without noticing it, i started crying and i had ruined the only good draft i had. fuck! my head screamed out, i brutally grabbed the page, crumbling it up in my palm.

i chucked it at her. oh how good that felt, watching the paper bounce off her stupid ugly face, it filled my head with serotonin. normally, i'm a pretty level headed person, it comes naturally along with the random numbness. so for me, i really never understood why he loved her, why he felt she was the one. no matter how hard i try, she never becomes interesting to me. she doesn't make me curious, and i'm no creep so i wouldn't touch her to find out if it would help.

why does this have to be so goddamn frustrating! it would be a lot easier to just mail him the body, or have the police find my prints and lock me up. but i would feel empty if I didn't explain to the only person who's ever shown me.. happiness? i mean, my dad left when i was ten, and my moms a workaholic with a abusive taste in gross men. i mean, i'm not all alone. my mom did remarry when i turned thirteen, to this guy named chris.

chris is american, so he teaches me a lot of things. chris couldn't give a damn unless you handed him a pack of cigarettes, and an icy cold beer. so, love to me has only been materialistic. before my dad walked out, my parents weren't exactly sparingly on their hatred for each other. they only got married so my mom could rebel against her parents. who, spoiler alert, find me the spawn of satan.

i decided maybe i need a cold one, its not like chris will know anyways. i walk out of my room, to see the normal, a two year old note on the fridge that says "i'll be back at five, dinners in the fridge. - mom." not surprised, nobodies moved it. she doesn't come back at five, more like three or four am, and i always make dinner so, the notes quite incorrect.

my gaze drifts over to the middle aged man, with a large stomach and skinny legs draped across the couch, beer in hand, cigarette in mouth. for most people, the sight of an old man asleep on the couch watching some anti liberal conservative bullshit is a bit, unnerving. for me, its comforting. because this piece of shit is the only thing i can call dad. he has certainly been to more graduations than my actual parents have.

so, chris, i feel i should say sorry to you too. just in any case i ruin your life, or kill you as well; i guess i'm just in that mood. i open the fridge, theres some rotting vegetables, a random pan, and the jackpot. two and a half six packs of beer. i pull one out of the half empty barrel, and go to my room, for closure. i mean, the house does smell like a pack of marlboro lights. and my room smells like 'a gay guys closet' according to chris.

apparently essential oils are gay, but after all the scent of lemon poisons my brain, it reminds me of this one time, the night oikawa lost his virginity. weird enough, i was there. one minute eating a lemon popsicles, the next watching my best friend get fucked with it. weird, right??

i let out a snort, before realizing there was a dead girl on my floor. oh shit.. THERES A FUCKING DEAD GIRL ON MY FLOOR.