Dear Craig,

Usually, I'm a pretty quiet person. But it's time I told you what I've been thinking for the last fifteen years. Despite everything you've put me through, despite everything you've done to me, you deserve to know. You deserve the misery that I hope will follow you after reading this.

I don't know if you remember how we met, but it was in second grade. Cartman and Clyde had just beaten you up for flipping them off, and I helped you up. I don't think I'll ever forget your smile that day when we first became friends, even all these years later - that was when I first felt a connection.

From then, though, we never really got the hang of people. They were too different from us. They weren't important. I didn't get then why we were so different from them. We had a much more…intimate relationship than any of the other guys. But we didn't know what love was back then.

You kept to yourself, and blended right in, just like me. We never made any enemies, or even any real friends; it had just been you and me for all of elementary school - so, in middle school, neither of us understood why anyone gave a damn about us when we started dating.

But give a damn they did.

I'd never thought you'd ever give into peer pressure, that you'd ever care what other people thought of you. That was why I fell in love with you. You were smart, sweet, nice, and confident - not like me. But I was sure you loved me back. You were the only one who could stop my constant shaking with a kiss.

That year, I was happy. For the first time in my life I didn't dream about the gnomes. I didn't shake, and I wasn't afraid. It was perfect - but I was oblivious to your side of the story. I didn't know about the guys hating you. And I sure didn't know they hated you because of me - and I'm sorry for it, now. But even if I had known, I wouldn't have known what to do about it.

As they say, 'ignorance is bliss'.

But I was stupid. I should've realized what was going to happen when you finally told me; about everyone making fun of us, everyone hating you and beating you up. At the time, I didn't understand why you'd tell me that - you'd always gone out of your way to make sure I wasn't under too much pressure. Your face went red, and a few tears leaked from your eyes, and you told me we had to talk. And that was when you broke my heart - for the first time. No matter what bull you fed me, I knew it was 'cause you only cared about what people thought, and what they said.

I didn't want to believe it, 'cause after seven years of knowing you, I'd thought you were stronger.

Life went on. We went to high school - which only made things harder. Now, on top of all my problems, I had a new school, teachers, grades and a thousand more people to worry about. For a kid like me, starting high school was terror. I hated it, and I certainly had a seizure or two due to the stress. I was fucking terrified, and it was hard. If you were still with me, though, I bet it would have been much easier. I would have had a friend to comfort me.

But then, you joined them. You fucking joined the very people that forced you to break up with me. It made no sense. It made me forget how to breathe the first time I saw you laughing and hanging out with those assholes. You can only imagine my intense confusion when you joined them in making my life living fucking hell, too. I didn't think you even knew how to be that horrible. I'd thought you were my friend at the very least. I didn't think that breaking up also meant breaking apart our friendship indefinitely. I just didn't understand.

You were my best friend – and then you hated me. You made fun of me, beat me up, pitted others against me and drove me to the very edge of my sanity. You made me afraid to go to school each morning. Everyday I would beg and plead my parents not to make me go – but they wouldn't listen. I was terrified. And I still fucking loved you. I didn't think I could've, but I did. That was one of the few periods in my life where I actually cried myself to sleep. You turned against me.

I wasn't over you, not by a long shot. I couldn't help but stare at you everyday, and from the way you stared back when Token and Clyde and them weren't looking, I was pretty sure you weren't over me, either. At least, I hoped. I got through the day of their torture and bullying by trying to convince myself that you were only trying to fit in, after going out with me. I was bullied, hated and flamed, but it's all just a pointless blur today. But the misery you caused me stands out.

I had no one. I didn't know what on Earth to do.

So, I tried to get us to be friends. I tried to get you back into my life, because I knew if I did, you'd stop hating me. The depression was unbearable without you on my side. I couldn't stand life without you, even if you were stuck up about it. I tried to get you to except who you were - I tried to help you. But you didn't want to be helped - you said you already had 'friends', but you couldn't see what they were doing to you. I don't think you even saw what they did to me.

Then, you changed. You didn't terrorize me anymore. I didn't know what your angle was – only that you sure suckered me into your act.

I should've seen through you when you finally started to be my friend again. A whole year later. After a whole year of despair, you came back. I remember that day perfectly - it was at my parents' coffee shop, in the bathroom. You broke down, crying, apologizing as though you'd just killed me, and I comforted you. I should have known you were just stoned and trying to get in my pants.

But it was partly my fault for letting you.

It was almost as bad as not having you around, then - it wasn't really you. Token, Clyde and Kenny had made you into a junkie slut who was too drunk all the time to care about anyone. I didn't know you anymore, but I was just thankful you'd stopped hating me. But a good time with you had turned from hanging out and laughing to laying around throwing up. I didn't say anything though. I wish you'd been yourself so you could realize how hard it was for me to love you so completely, and have to sit there and watch you snort god knows what without stopping you.

You probably hate me for that now. But I just couldn't stop you - because I wouldn't be able to stand you hating on me again, if I'd tried. I was afraid of losing my best friend, even though you weren't ever really there.

At least my pain was gone. From then until junior year, it was numb, instead. Not exactly painful, but certainly not happy. Which was still better - I thought. I didn't think about the gnomes anymore. I was too busy thinking about what I was doing to you. I'd never really been one to cry much before, but the way you looked at me, eyes red with black beneath them from lack of sleep, face pale and expressionless, made me cry. If not from anything else, it was from the guilt of having helped to do that to you.

But it got better. I was so glad that you outgrew all that stuff in twelfth grade. I wasn't sure how it'd happened, but suddenly, you were normal. We were normal. My nightmares finally went away. I felt alive again. For once in four years, I was happy. I loved being around you after that. You started to care about things again - school, your friends, your life, and, I thought, you'd cared about me. It was just like those days back in middle school where you just let loose and had fun. It was like you'd never left, never destroyed me.

Then, for the first time in my life, you told me you loved me.

Just like all the horrific and amazing moments in my life, that day stood out, too. It was pretty random - we were studying at your house, I think. I was helping you cram for a math exam, and when I tried explaining calculus to you for the fifth time, you simply kissed me. My mind seemed to stop. It seemed to last for hours, almost like our first kiss had, until you pulled away and just looked at me, and stammered the three words that drove me to write this letter today.

A lot of firsts came up that day. First blowjob, first fuck, but overall, it was the first time I'd felt loved. Truly and completely loved by you. The words you repeated every change you got that night rang through my head for the longest time. I thought nothing sinister of it when we had sex that night. I didn't even stop to consider the possibility that you'd lied to me for it.

You know the saying, 'love is blind'? I'd never known what it'd meant until then. I didn't care what I was doing, as long as you loved me. I didn't care that we slept together (perhaps more than we should've as high school students), as long as you loved me. I didn't care that I was lying to my parents, risking STDs or losing everyone else around me, as long as you loved me.

So naturally, I tried not to care that you were cheating on me, as long as you loved me.

And you were good at it. I didn't find out about Clyde, Stan, Kenny and all the others for a good six months. You were a good liar, but them? Not so much. I didn't say anything about it for a good two months more. Just like everything else in the past, I'd hoped it would go away. The bullying did. The torturing did. So did the nightmares, the drugs and the pain. But after we graduated, I found that the real world wasn't so forgiving.

I went numb again.

Of course, the day I couldn't deny it anymore is the most vivid memory in my mind. I went to your apartment after work at the coffee shop, to find you asleep next to Bebe. I stood there for a good half hour, unable to process it. My mind shut down, and the pain returned. I tried to force myself to except it, but it just made it worse, so I tried to ignore it. I tried forgetting what I saw. I tried therapy. Do you remember that day you found me passed out in the car? I wasn't drunk, like I'd told you. I was overdosed on anxiety drugs. You never knew, but I'd even tried to kill myself, just to get away. When it didn't work, I didn't know what else to do.

So I tried doing the only thing left that I could think of: I tried to run.

Four years at an out-of-state university would have made me forget everything. It wasn't like I didn't have the marks for it, or even the money. But in the back of my mind, I still couldn't bring myself to leave you. I still couldn't bring myself to accept what you'd done to me. You broke me again.

So I told you. When I saw your face, saw your dark eyes widen in realization, I knew I could never leave you like you'd done so many damn times to me. So you did it again, you broke down at my feet and muttered apologies. I knew you were sorry. You showed me real emotion. You poured your soul out to me. But at the same time, I knew you'd do it again, it was just something about you. I just wish I'd known what, if anything, I could've done to make you faithful to me.

But I stayed. I moved in, and we lived together for months, trying to live relatively normal. I continued trying desperately to ignore the crack on your dresser, the semen on the floor that was neither yours or mine and the scents of my former classmates lingering on you everyday.

It became a part of us. And I hated it.

You made me feel worthless. I never learned what to do about these kinds of things, so I figured I deserved to be cheated on. "It must have been something I did," I'd tell myself. I thought it impossible that you'd mean to do something like this to me without having a good reason.

No matter how many times you told me you loved me from then, I knew it was all a lie. If you really loved me, it would've be me you woke up next to. Every time.

It all seemed so…wrong. I couldn't stand it. You used to talk me to sleep. We'd just be laying there, so tired I could've slept for years, and you'd still find the energy to talk. After that, though, I'd drag my ass home and collapse on the couch, and you'd be nowhere in sight. I felt so alone. But I also knew there was nothing I could do.

I started to understand why you'd taken up drugs after you left me the first time. They make you forget your misery for a few hours. They make you feel a bit better about yourself. But I wasn't going to be a total hypocrite: I didn't want to be like you'd been. I still remember your sad face every time you were passed out on my bedroom floor. So, I started smoking. They didn't get me high, or anything, just, eased the pain a bit. I broke my parents' hearts, and right after telling them I was gay, and that I wasn't going to college.

I was pretty sure they hated me.

Soon, you drifted away from me. We weren't the same people we'd been at school. I had a job, and money. You had forty different whores and some coke. But one day, you seemed different. You looked depressed, but when you were around me, you smiled – a genuine smile that I hadn't seen in weeks. At the time, I didn't understand why that night of all nights you seemed to actually care about me, like you weren't just trying to get me in bed. I liked it.

And that night, you didn't fuck me. You didn't do, screw, nail, sex or sleep with me. We made love. But the next morning when I found your car gone and a sticky note on the door, I realized you just wanted to leave without me noticing. I hated it – I hated you.

When you left, you changed me. You made me pathetic. I couldn't stand sleeping on your bed – it still had your scent lingering on it. So I slept on the couch. I was afraid again, just like when I was a kid. I'd just shake and convulse, eyes twitching constantly. I even had a cigarette burn on my hand from dropping it clumsily while I was thinking of you.

Pretty sad, isn't it?

Before you left, I drank maybe a bottle of something or other every few days. I smoked a pack and a half a day. Now, just to get my mind off of you, I had to have that tripled. I'm not stupid – I know you're not supposed to drink alone and all that shit - but who was I to do it with? I had no one. I only ever had you. I used to be strong, but you broke me down.

It's been, what, four months, since then? I haven't talked to anyone but my parents in four months. I haven't gone to work in four months. I haven't lived in four months.

No matter what you did to me, I still can't live without you. You were horrible to me, but I still love you. Fuck, I love you. It's pathetic. I'll never get over you, Craig. I need you, no matter how shitty you treated me.

I just hope someday you'll come back. Then I can tell you in person how much I hate you. And then I can tell you how much I love you. How much I god damn need you. But I wouldn't hold my breath on you. I know I'll never trust you again.

I was just a tool to you. You never really cared about me; you just broke my heart and fucked me. I never meant anything to you, and you broke my heart again and again. After everything I'd done for you, it was all just meaningless to you. All those nights in high school we spent making out I could've spent studying, and I could've made something out of myself. But I didn't. 'Cause I did all I could to make you happy.

I don't want to think about you. I don't want to face myself with the possibility that maybe all this was my fault. Maybe I should have stopped you from doing drugs. Maybe I should have run off to university. Maybe I should have left you. But I didn't. And now I hate myself.

I hope you're okay. I hope you can live with yourself after reading this letter and understanding, hopefully, what you've put me through. I've never hated anyone like I hate you.

But I've also never loved anyone like I love you.

Sincerely,

Tweek.


A/N: Love it? Hate it? Please review and lemme know it you think I should make it a series or not... :)