Her hands trembled as they struggled to rip the envelope open, wanting to desperately know the sender of that specific letter.
'They say it is only when a man falls in love that he experiences real pain,' Scarlet softly shrieked before running to her bedroom.
"Scar? Honey, is everything okay?"
"Y-Yeah, it's, it's from an old friend," she assured him, locking the door behind her.
'Whoever said that must've been through what you've enjoyed putting me through.
Usually, when people receive letters from their old friends, the letters hold sincerity, apologies and thank you's, but not this one, no.
I write with my absorbed mind.
I write with my hateful heart.
I write with my pained soul.
I write with my pitied,
uncared for being.
This letter holds nothing but grudges and hate, hate towards you.
You say you love being loved, but that's something only a lonely person
would say.
Tell me, does he know that you don't like to talk about your father?
Does he know that when you laugh, you laugh because you're trying to stop yourself from crying?
Does he know that when you smile, you smile because you know you have a person wrapped around your finger?
Does he know that you don't like to be called "Scar"?
Does he know that you can't love?
I'm not going to thank you, you know.
Although I met you in my most vulnerable state, you know you could've fixed
me, but you simply chose not to.
Don't worry, there aren't any other letters, for I can no longer write.
You didn't teach me how to love, you only taught me how to never stop hating and blaming myself.
You made me live, but you also made me ache.
For the continuous warmth, I thank you.
For accepting my love, I thank you.
For killing me, I thank you.
For never lifting me up, I blame you.
Goodbye, scarlet.