Tittle: Sending Letters From A Shattered Heart
Author: Me *points to face* this girl in the tomato
Rating: PG-13 due to some... err swearing.
Summary: It's been 8 months since their fight. Tyson's moved on(or has he?), Nick hasn't. He writes an upset letter but doesn't send it even though he addresses it to the people.
Main Characters: Nick Wheeler/Tyson Ritter
Disclaimer: This shiz couldn't be any faker unless it was written by barbie herself.
"I Don't Care What You Did..."
To whom it may concern...
It's been 8 months.
8 long, agonizing months since our fight.
Looking back, I don't even remember what we were fighting about.
I think it was something stupid like whether or not the peanut butter should be in the fridge or the cupboard.
But I remember he just walked out after that.
He's probably moved on.
Fucking some other guy.
I don't know.
I just can't seem to let go of the past.
With each passing moment, I find myself growing weaker.
Missing him even more than the last day.
I haven't been this confused since I was 5 and my dad sat me down and said, "Let's talk about sex."
Man, was that weird.
I remember, he was the first person I told about it.
Of course, I didn't tell him until about 20 years later.
But we had a good laugh about it.
I think it was the hardest I had ever laughed in awhile.
Thinking back on it always makes me smile.
But if he can't be here to look back on the memory, what's the point in remembering?
Dude, it's like I don't even know anything anymore.
Please forgive me, dear reader, for saying 'dude' is a habit.
I guess I've taken to writing it too.
I mean, me and Ty, we've got in our fair share of fights before, but over something as stupid as peanut butter?
I would've never thought that a form of food would break us up.
Looking back on it now, I see the fault in it.
"Its always been in the fridge, Nick. We agreed on that!"
"I don't remember agreeing to anything. I remember the peanut butter always sitting in the pantry cupboard, though." I said calmly, my arms folded over my chest.
"Jesus Ch-- Nick, its always been in the fridge. You know that."
"That's not what I recall."
"Why are you so calm about all this?"
"Because I don't see the point in raising my voice over something so stupid. It's just peanut butter."
"Just peanut butter? Just peanut-- Heh, okay. Okay. Just peanut butter. Whatever."
"What's the matter?" I asked, rather annoyed at the fact that he was getting upset over peanut butter.
"You know what, it's nothing."
"I know you too well to know it's not nothing."
"Well, it just pisses me off because you say it's 'just peanut butter' and you wonder why I'm getting so agitated. It's the first thing we've ever bought together as a couple."
How could I forget?
Now I see why the damn peanut butter meant that much to him.
"Oh, shit. Ty, I forgot."
"How could you forget something like that Nick?"
"Tys, I'm sorry."
"No, save it. I don't want your sorry's. If it doesn't mean anything to you, I'm gone."
And that's when he walked out the door.
I can't believe I didn't see the fault in my mistake earlier.
I can't believe what a fool I am.
I remember that day so vividly too.
Tyson wanted a sandwich and we had absolutely nothing in the fridge.
So, we went out to some cheap-ass grocery store (or maybe it was a Wal-Mart, I really don't know or care), and bought a bunch of stuff.
But the peanut butter was something that both our hands grabbed at the same time, and both our hands put in the basket.
As weird or cheesy as it may sound, that was a special jar of peanut butter.
And for some odd reason, it tasted amazing everytime.
Even though it was a jar of peanut butter.
I'm sorry for bringing up the peanut butter everytime, but it's like the main thing in this series of events.
I haven't been able to write anything for awhile.
Not songs, stories, poems, anything.
They all end up being a piece of shit.
So that's why I'm writing this letter and addressing it to you, the people.
Whoever finds and reads this, well congrats.
You now know my side of the story.
Nickolas Don Wheeler.
Dear Studio Audience
"But We Are Two Worlds Apart..."
I've an announcement to make.
So, it's been 8 months since I've talked to him.
Do I forgive him?
I mean come on.
I knew love was blind...
But stupid too?
I mean, I guess it was a pretty pointless fight over a jar of peanut better...
But it still meant something to me.
I guess I'm just a big softy.
Do I still love him?
In all honesty, yes.
Even though I pretend that I've moved on, a part of him will always be with me.
That blond kid I'm always with now, Anthony, he'll never be able to replace my Nicky.
Do you want to know something stupid?
I finally understand 'Straitjacket Feeling.'
Yes, I realize that it's sad and pathetic that I never understood my own song.
I wrote the lyrics for crying out loud.
But can you blame me?
I didn't actually get them until now.
I was just writing down any words that came to mind I suppose.
I get it now.
He was my everything.
Now I have nothing.
I know that I miss him.
But what if he's still pissed at me?
Although, what reason would he have?
I was mad at him, not the other way around.
But he could be beating himself up over it.
I want so bad to just kick his apartment door down and say, "It's not your fault!"
I'd do it too.
If I wasn't so afraid that a neighbor would call the cops for disturbing the peace.
The arrest record would just be the icing on the cake to an already shitty life.
My face plastered in magazines everywhere.
That'd be pretty awesome.
God, I just want to put my head in my hands and scream.
I hate this.
I hate this.
And I don't hate much.
But I know that I really fucking hate this.
It's tearing me apart.
So readers, I want you to know that I'm sending a letter from a shattered heart.
I started this.
I need to make it right.
It's not going to be an easy thing.
But it's something I know I need to do.
For some odd reason, I keep thinking that Nick is mad at me.
I know that I didn't do anything wrong...
Can we say 'denial'?
I gave him the ass-chewing of a lifetime because of food.
Glad that makes sense.
I want this to work out with him, I really do.
But maybe it's too late to save it.
So reader of this letter, I hope you're having a better life than I am.
Don't let it go to the pits like I have.
Right now, I'm in need of a personality transplant and some intelligence pills.
If I could rewind time, I probably would.
But I can't, so I've gotta fix this.
I'm probably going to call Anthony.
I don't know yet.
He's not the greatest guy ever.
I suspect him of cheating.
But he's sweet.
And he somewhat cares.
Congratulations to you.
You now know my side.
Tyson Jay Ritter