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To; the trash can by my desk,

This would normally be the time where I'd consult Vox, or talk to how about how I feel, but if I can't even trust him anymore, I can't trust anyone.

So I'm writing to you, because once I'm done writing this, I'll toss it aside as if it meant nothing.

Just like how Vox did with my feelings.

I don't know what I was thinking, being so vulnerable and acting so fragile. I was just begging to be ripped in half.

But I guess that's what Hell does to people, right?

I thought Vox and I were together...or were we? I'm not even sure anymore.
Or care.

I went in to see him a few weeks ago while he was with his friends, only for me to encounter Valentino's tongue jammed down Vox's throat.

And he was letting it happen, too.

Did he ever care about me?

Off to bleach my eyes and throw up, now.

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