Dear Gavin,

Dear Gavin,

I still remember the first time we met.

You were twenty-six and I was fifteen, I was on a field trip to the steamboat museum in Kansas, where you were a guide. You just so happened to be the only one not busy when erratic Miss James showed up, begging you for a tour, her hair a mess and tears close to pouring out of her eyes.
We’d been running late, left school an hour later than we should’ve, and missed what we were supposed to be doing at a different place, further down the street.

You glanced at the class, all fifteen of us, and I saw your lip curl just a little and smirked. You caught my eye and I tugged on the hem of my uniform skirt, holding your gaze the entire time. I saw those huge brown eyes of yours widen just slightly and then glint with mischief. You turned back to the whore of a haggard teacher and nodded briskly, before meeting my eyes once more.

Nate and Delanie were standing next to me, basically dry humping against the wall and Taylor and Brittney were hitting each other and then cracking up so hard they nearly fell over, and Brad and Jason had Kaleb backed up against a wall, Jason’s fist cocked back.

Miss James nearly fell to her knees and started giving thanks right then and there when you agreed.
I kept my eyes focused on you, watching your hips sway as you walked to the desk and grabbed a portable microphone set up, before coming back to the group of unclean, snobby little brats that I called my freshmen classmates.

An hour into the tour, I caught your eye, bit my lip, and asked where the bathroom was. You said you’d show me because you needed to use them too.
I was pushed up against the back wall of the biggest stall, your hand was wrapped around my back, and mine was slid up your shirt when Miss James walked in. You climbed on top of the toilet and I had to fight back laughter; you looked scared to death. I scribbled my number on your hand and then wandered out, blowing a kiss behind my shoulder.

You called a week later and we had the whole off and on, smutty and slightly abusive relationship that every mom warns her daughter about.

*

You may have been eleven years older but holy hell, when we were together it didn’t matter. From when I turned sixteen to the time I turned eighteen, we were either having sex or fighting and the fighting only led to better sex.

I can’t say that sometimes it didn’t mess with me, because eventually it started to wear on me and I wanted something real with you.
I remember you pressing your lips tightly to mine and telling me for the first time that you loved me and my heart almost burst. That day was bliss; one of the first spent without sex and I remember the way your eyes lit like fireworks every time our eyes caught. It was then that were together for the first time and didn’t need sexual contact to prove it.

I didn’t cry when we told my mom and she kicked me out of the house. You were there and that’s all that mattered.

*

We lived together perfectly, as if everything was great, perfect, and absolutely blissful for an entire year before you began resorting back to old ways. Starting fights over nothing, just to prove that you could still get me worked up, night after night, and fuck, it was painful.
There were nights that I’d go to sleep crying and wake up, tucked in your arms, you holding me like you’d never let go and it was just better. Just like that.

I also remember figuring out that you were cheating for the first time six months ago.
I left early in the morning to go to work but really, I went and grabbed a whole bunch of things for a picnic, just for you and me. I crept in the house as quiet as clumsy me could, and inhaled those obvious scents of sweat and sex. The bedroom was a mess, covers strewn on the floor, sheets soaked with sweat. Your used condom was on the side of the trashcan, the top half hidden by the metal. The shower was running and I heard your voice, singing some low melody, not one you’d sing to me. As I left and shut the door as quietly as possible, I heard her giggle.

My sprit died that day and it’s not coming back.
And fuck, Gavin, I can’t take this anymore.
I’m broken and you’re oblivious.
I miss the utopia you, I miss the perfect us, I miss the way it used to be.
And when this is over, I’ll miss you, I swear to God, I will. But this has to be done.

Forever and for always,
Yours.