Rach,



It's been three days since we last spoke. I believe my last words to you were something along the lines of "Hit me, i know you want to! Just fucking hit me!" and "You're pathetic, Rachael!". You know that I immediately regretted it. I tried, in the only way I knew how, to contact you: via Facebook message. It was long and rambling but I didn't know what else to do or say. I realized, I think, just how bad I fucked up. I lost my temper and I shouldn't have. But I got scared and desperate at the idea of losing you. I should have just left this whole thing alone, let you come back to me if that's what you wanted. I'm not even mad about the drugs you did while we were together or the fact that you fucked Marina or kissed Sarah. Maybe I should have joined you, rather than trying to get you to stop the drugs. I realize it all now, no doubt, too late for any of it too matter.



This morning, I woke up in a panic realizing that the dream I had (you came to the apartment with your new boyfriend and he kept talking about how he had to fuck you with a condom on so that he didn't get ES...whatever the fuck that means. Then you came up to me, kissed me passionately, and told me everything was going to be okay. Then I woke up.) wasn't even close to real. 



Even little things, like laundry, remind me of you. I washed the two sweatshirts you brought back over (I couldn't stand to wear something the smelled like you. Just looking at them is hard enough.) and I checked the pockets and found your flash drive. I threw it into my computer, my imagination running wild at the thought of possible explanations or...anything really being on it. I think you just washed it and forgot about it though. It didn't work. 



I guess you're talking to Kate, she said you're doing okay. I'd rather hear this from you, but I won't push it. Not now. It's now what you need. I hope you can one day forgive me. 



Yours always,
Lor