Phoenix knows I wrote all my songs in a notebook, and I brought that thing with me everywhere.
Seeing as he already stole one of them, who’s to say he didn’t sneak a peek at it while I was in the bathroom one day?
Marching over, I mentally prepare myself to have my heart annihilated once more…only these aren’t songs.
They’re words. Specifically, letters. Handwritten ones.
Addressed to me.
His penmanship isn’t the neatest, and he spells a lot of words wrong, but I can still make out what he’s written.
Lennon,
It’s been two weeks since I last saw you.
Two weeks since I betrayed you.
Two weeks since I fucking lost you.
I should be happy. We’re in negotiations with Vic Doherty, the other day we met and jammed with Memphis, who’s a killer guitarist, and his brother Josh, who plays bass and the four of us sound awesome together.
It’s all coming together.
But inside I’m unraveling.
Every time I sing the song I want to puke, because they aren’t my words.
They’re yours.
Everything I have is yours.
Including the fucked-up thing in my chest.
I don’t know how I’m supposed to enjoy any of this without you.
I’m still lying here…
In the mess I made.
Drawing air into my lungs, I quickly turn to the next letter.
Lennon,
It’s been a month since I lost you.
I signed a deal with Vic. Me, Storm, Memphis, and Josh are officially Sharp Objects.
Guess what they want the first single to be?
I want to confess everything. Sometimes the urge is so strong I have to dip out and go to the bathroom so I can get my shit together.
I’m pretty sure Vic thinks I’m on drugs.
Hell, maybe I should be.
I want to spill everything, but today Vic told me that even though I have a phenomenal voice and the look he wants—whatever the fuck that means. It was my words—your words—that tipped the needle and made him decide to sign me.
And it’s not just my dream on the line anymore. It’s Storm’s and the other guys.
They come from nothing, just like me. We’re all rejects with parents who didn’t want us…but we’re still alive today because of music.
This is the only shot any of us will ever have, Groupie.
I won’t just fuck up my life, I’ll fuck up theirs.
I know it doesn’t excuse what I did, and I know you’ll never forgive me.
I just hope someday you’ll no longer hate me.
Because I’m supposed to be the cutter…
But you’re the one who cut me.
My throat goes tight as I read another one.
Lennon,
It’s been two months since I lost you.
Every night before bed I pick up the phone and dial your number…only to stop myself from calling you at the last second.
We finished recording your song last week, and it sounds great.
It’s nothing compared to the way you sing it, though.
Because they’re your words. Not mine.
The other night, Vic invited us to a party. He wanted us to socialize and network. There was a girl there.
In the past, she would have been everything I’d want for a night.
But I got up and walked away.
I’m pretty sure Memphis, Josh, and a few other people think I’m gay now.
But if I fucked her, then you’d no longer be the last girl I slept with and right now, at least I still have that.
I want you to call me, but I don’t think you will.
Because you think I fucked Sabrina.
But I didn’t.
What I did to you is worse.
Jagged and broken
Dull and washed out.
Yeah, sounds about right.
My vision blurs as I pick up the next one.
Lennon,
It’s been four months since I lost you.
A couple days ago, the song came out on the radio, YouTube, and, well, everywhere.
I know you heard it.
I also know from this point on there’s no going back and what’s done can never be undone.
I’m sorry, Groupie.
So fucking sorry.
Everywhere I turn…
I breathe you in and bleed you out.
My tears fall faster as I flip to the next one.
Lennon,
It’s been six months since I lost you.
Our album is out, and it’s doing really well.
But I can’t enjoy it.
The fucking irony. I have everything I’ve ever wanted…except you.
Fuck the memories I’ll never have.
Fuck the pain of your knife.
Fuck these feelings you left me with.
My tears fall so fast they smear the ink on the page.