9. SUBJECT: I'M AN IDIOT

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to: cassandra.belford@baderu.com

from: weston.maguire@baderu.com

subject: I'm an idiot

sent: February 18, 2017 at 9:03am

Dear Cassie,

I don't know if it would help to hear that I'm sorry. I'm going to say it anyway though, because I'm so so fucking sorry. I'd like to say I'm an idiot, but that's not really a good reason, is it?

I read your email at 5:00am when I was still groggy and my eyes were only half-open. But after I'd read a few lines, I was wide awake.

Without any consideration for my roommates or neighbours, I let out a loud string of 'fucks', 'shits' and 'ah, fucking shits.' I was pissed at myself.

Peter came stumbling into my room, half asleep with ridiculous bed head. We both got our hair cut two weeks ago, but his grows back like mad. Usually, his mom cuts our hair, but we couldn't wait to go home. Lena told us we looked like ragamuffins.

"What's up, are you okay?" He actually sounded really concerned. It's normally me who's always worried about him, so it was a shift in dynamics.

Pete's a good friend.

I was already out of bed before he came into my room, I'd been planning on going to the gym. I sat down my desk chair, spinning around and letting myself get dizzy as a low-key punishment.

"I fucked up, I'm such an ass. Holy shit I'm such an ass."

Peter shrugged, not denying it. He got in my unmade bed, his head propped up by pillows. He has a habit of making himself at home.

"What did you do?" he asked.

"I'm a fucking disaster," I said, not ready to explain everything you and I are doing. We haven't talked about my new job very much.

"Is this about the girl you took to the fundraiser?"

"I didn't take her, we just went together."

Yes, I did find a date to the Valentine's Day thing. Her name is Mel, and she had asked me two days before. She felt weird letting me pay for her ticket, so we went as friends. It was fun.

Mel is on the dance team, so she taught me how to move "like a person rather than the inflatable balloon thing they have outside car dealerships."

She wore a red dress that matched her lipstick (another girl pointed that out, I didn't notice on my own). I asked her if she wanted to go out for real sometime, and she said yes. I miss dating and having a girlfriend. It's nice to feel needed... and girls are so soft. I'm not desperate or anything, but Mel seems pretty great, and I'm excited to see her again tomorrow.

It has to go better than my date with Amanda. I've only had one date that went worse.

It wasn't because of the girl, though. It was my fault.

It was when I was still going out with Rachel. We weren't very serious yet, but she really wanted to go to one of those art studios where you paint mugs.

I knew it was a bad idea. I was quite literally a bull in a china shop. The whole place had wall-to-wall shelving that held white ceramic mugs, flatware, figurines, vases, and whatever else that you could pick to paint.

I chose a bowl and Rachel picked something less functional. She was a smart girl, one of the most brilliant people I know. But what she planned to do with a small statue of a fairy, I have no idea.

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