Work Text:
To Romeo
How should I begin this? Well I can't address you normally, as though I were conversing with you. This is a suicide note after all. Typical letters such as these might say shit like "Oh, this wasn't your fault it was mine blah blah blah." I won't waste your time with bullshit like that. I know you don't care.
Perhaps it isn't your fault that I've been driven to this point, but perhaps you were a catalyst in that regard. Don't blame yourself. I know deep down you'll never feel bad.
I guess it started when you were out with her. That party, do you remember? How could you forget. That was when you met her. It was at old Capulet's house. The one we used to egg every Halloween. It was a New Years' Party my family was invited to, you had only come along because then we had been best friends. We did everything together, and this party was no exception.
It was quite the rager. You may not remember, but we snuck like four bottles of liquor into the bathroom, and just sat there, drinking them and confessing secrets. Perhaps it was the last time you truly spoke to me. And sure we've since conversed, but did you speak from the heart?
You walked out, to get another bottle of liquor, when I realized that you were gone for about ten minutes. I looked for you, and saw you talking to old Capulet's granddaughter, Juliet. I waved to you, and said I was going to the porch for a smoke. I hadn't even walked out the door before I saw you go into an empty bedroom with her. Funny how you probably hadn't taken her out to dance.
So you left your best friend to go fuck with some girl, what does it matter? That's what I thought in the beginning, but it turned out to be...not that. I guess you fell in love with her after that. Now she's playing with your head. Or maybe that's not the correct term if you really do love her. But now she's all you think about. Now you can't even talk to me without thinking about her.
I guess an important thing to mention is the fact that I love you. That's gotta count for something at least. I hope you realize that when you're not around I'm writing sonnets about your stupid fucking face. The worst part is that I can't bring myself to hate you.
One night I dreamt that I was on your doorstep, holding flowers. It was raining, so I tried to make this quick. I rang the doorbell and awaited you, but you didn't come. I left the flowers and walked away. As I turned around one last time, I saw you peeking through the window, Juliet behind you. Now it may've seemed like you just got to the door, but somehow I just knew you hadn't. You were waiting for me to leave so you could stay with Juliet.
How do I know this? Because it wasn't a dream. It was reality. Well, I lied. But what does it matter, you do the same fucking thing. I stood in the rain, not in disbelief, but sad that I couldn't have predicted something like this.
Do you remember when we knew each other so well we could finish each other's sentences? It's safe to say you're unrecognizable now. Just like our hair. The beginning of junior year we both bleached our hair. That was so much fun. We binged all of The Hunger Games with alumimum foil in our hair. That summer I think I spent more time at your house than mine. Every few months we'd dye back our roots, but not anymore.
Juliet told you that you looked so much cuter in pictures before we dyed our hair. That weekend you died your hair black, as it was before. Now it didn't seem like it, but I was so hurt. That stupid bitch said one thing and she tore us apart. Not that the hair was the only think keeping us together, but rather the fact that it was something that belonged to us.
I haven't cut my hair since we dyed our roots, so only my ends are blonde. Of course I miss blonde hair, but what's the point if it's not something I get to share with you.
Now I understand how fucking selfish of me this is, but after all the things you've done, this is nothing. You've lied, cheated, done anything you could to blow me off and go with your gorgeous girlfriend.
Of course I am also to blame, for thinking something like this would never happen, but could you blame me for loving you? I guess that's the only thing I have in common with Juliet.
Romeo, after all of your bullshit, can you do one thing for me? Me, your friend who you've repeatedly ignored?
I would like you to not share any of the contents of this letter with anyone. I'm not leaving behind a letter for anyone else, just you, fucker. No one else can read my handwriting. Not that I expect you to give a shit about any of this also. I just think the old, true Romeo should know why his best friend jumped off a bridge. Not you. Dumb fucking whore. I hate you. I hate you so fucking much.
I have a picture of you and Juliet hung up on my wall. You gifted it to me, with a hand decorated frame. Salt in the wound. All of those pictures we have and you chose one with her. Guess that really shows what I mean to you. I wish you knew how long I could possibly stare into that picture and wish that it was me.
So go burn this letter. You may aswell burn every memento I've given you along with it. Go lock this in a box and throw away the key. Go hang out with Juliet, go fuck her like you never even met me, like you didn't ever care about me. Which is what you were going to do regardless. I know deep down you don't care, but it's okay. I'm too tired of your bullshit to care either.
Go live your bestest life. Do whatever you want with yourself because you're young and you're dumb. You're living proof that ignorance is bliss. Don't live with guilt for what you've done with me, because you have a girlfriend who'd do anything for you. Because a girl you met three months ago today meant more to you than I ever did.
Mercutio Escalus