A Letter To You

Letter Number 9 - A Dress, Some Heels and a Thong...?

Dear Ollie

Unfortunately it was only that night when your presence seemed to calm my sleep. After that night I found it harder and harder to sleep the whole way through the night. Every time I woke up tossing and turning I expected you to still be there. Normally you weren’t and if you were, you were fast asleep on the blow up mattress, my mum had insisted on buying, on the floor.

For the next few weeks we found ourselves getting into a steady routine. Each week my mum would tell you what shifts she was working. If it was an day shift you’d come to my house as soon as you could after school and stay with me until my mum came home at around seven o’clock and if it was a night shift you’d turn up around six and then cook my mother and I dinner before she had to head off for work. You even came and stayed with me on Friday and Saturday nights if that’s when my mum was working. So many times I insisted that you went out and partied with your friends. But you were adamant on not leaving me on my own.

It was flattering to realise you cared so deeply about me, but I still couldn’t understand how, back then, you could show so much concern and worry for me when no one was around and yet treat me like gum on your shoe when we were a school. It just didn’t make sense to me.

A couple of weeks went by and I felt myself gradually became more comfortable with you touching me (appropriately), and hanging out with you became the best part of my day. However, unsurprisingly, school stayed the same. I still only had one friend (which was Taylor), you still blanked me, and the entire school population still hated me because the ‘it’ couple (you and Courtney) supposedly hated me.

By my birthday I would let you touch me pretty much anywhere (appropriate), but I was still a little skittish when it came to my face. When you touched my face it brought back too many horrific memories of the way my face was beaten and bruised by a hand that was suppose caress and care for me.

Before I knew it was the 7th of February; my birthday.

I remember sitting in bed that Tuesday morning listening to music as the smell of bacon became more and more prominent. Prominent, is that the right word to use? I couldn’t work out why I could smell bacon because my mum couldn’t even make soup without blowing up something, so there was no way she was cooking bacon.

I decided to go and investigate.

That night I’d only had about two hours sleep, so after a lot of inner coaxing I groggily pulled myself out of my bed and down the stairs. When I walked into the kitchen, because I was so tired and groggy I didn’t realise there was a pair of shoes by the kitchen door, so of course me being me, I completely stacked it over them. I think I should just admit it now. I am a complete and utter cluts who can’t do anything with out tripping over something, hurting someone, or breaking things. That literally sums me up in a nutshell.

I heard two people laughing. One was a manly laugh, and the other was a womanly laugh, so I just presumed it was you and my mum. “Ollie, help me up,” I muffled into the floor.

“What was that, stupid?” I heard ETHAN say, with a smirk in his voice.

As soon as I realised it was Ethan and not you, I jumped up quicker then a kangaroo on crack. When I was on my feet I looked round the kitchen and was shocked to see Taylor cooking bacon on the stove, and not so shocked to see Ethan sitting at the kitchen table reading page 3 of the Sun newspaper. I presume you know that’s the page in the newspaper with a rather revealing picture of a women, to put it nicely. Personally I, however, thought page three was vile and dehumanising and something that shouldn’t have been printed in a newspaper.

I walked over to Ethan and snatched the newspaper from him and threw it across the room. “Hey! I was reading that! If you wanted to see some tits you could have just asked,” Ethan said teasingly with a gigantic smirk on his face.