"But wait... You tell me that you're sorry, Didn't think I'd turn around and say.., that's it's too late to apologize." Timbaland feat, One Republic ~ Apologize,

Michael Urie plays Ryan

I think it's now that I should begin playing the villain, not the victim. Well, not quite the villain just yet. Maybe in a few more letters.

Ready, Ryan?

Before we start back down the path of memories, I have to say this: I'm sorry.

So now I'm regretting everything I've ever done and you popped into my head. Ryan...

Have you ever felt like you had to choose? I mean, not like "What ice cream will it be?" but choosing over something serious?

I handed Quinn the knife. There I said it. I remember the crystal clear image in my head. You wanted to know why I choose him over you. I've been thinking for a while now, and I think I finally have the answer.

To clear things up, we were fighting over...

Well, it's safe to say that I should start from the top.

~

I wish my life would get better after my 16th birthday. Sadly, it didn't.

Before spring break, I never knew you or Quinn. Afterwards...I wish I didn't. It's a shame that the last day before spring break, we were put together, all three of us. Of course, the damn English project required us meeting up.

It started off as it always should: Awkward silence, throat clearing and nervous glances. Of course, after spending a few hours at Starbucks, we eventually warmed up and knew a little bit more about each other.

Then, we started on our project, which was to make our own play based on two scenes from a fictional book. Of course, it had to be something school appropriate.

We decided on "The Fault In Our Stars" by John Green one of the only books all three of us actually read. We decided on the part where Hazel (Me), Isaac (Quinn) and Augustus (You) attend Augustus's fake funeral and the other scene where Isaac threw eggs at Monica's house.

The boys chose that scene because they thought it would be funny to egg the classroom. Of course, Quinn would be the one chucking the eggs and you would guide where to hit. I would just be the bystander.

You see, the thing about Ms. Walsh's classroom is that she claims "one cannot interrupt the performer(s) when they are presenting." She strictly enforces these rules, and makes sure she follows these rules as well. Therefore, she would not be able to stop Quinn from the egg throwing.

So the day came where we had to perform, and after giving a very vague explanation of our play, Ms. Walsh helped us with the props.

Now, the day came where we had to perform in the classroom.

The thing about Ms. Walsh's classroom is that it used to be the old art classroom, until the old art teacher moved her room to the third floor because on the third floor, there were windows that faced "beautiful landscape."

In that sense, Ms. Walsh's classroom was twice as large. The second half, was reserved for the "stage".

Shockingly, Ms. Walsh didn't tell us to not curse and each time someone cursed (they had great pleasure doing that), she would flush red, but keep quiet.

It came to our turn and we quickly went on, right Ryan?

I took my cart and planted myself in the middle.

When it came for me to act lovestruck and sad, I pored in the emotion I had been holding back for a long time into the performance.

When I was finished and the first scene was over, I saw Ms. Walsh wipe away a tear, touched.

She wouldn't be like that next scene.

I took a deep breath and delivered my act.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Ms. Walsh's face begin to whitten. She was fearing what was going to happen.

"Who cares where she is? This is not about her. This is about you." When you finished that line, I gulped and quickly ducked in the makeshift car, not caring if I was supposed to "open" the window or not.

Then, Quinn began chucking the eggs. He was throwing it at the wall, and some kids began to snicker. Somehow, he may or may not have, accidently hit you.

Ryan, you are known for having a short temper and you completely lost it, attacking him.

So, the rest of you knows what happens, right?

A few stray eggs landing into the audience, and that's when hell broke loose. Five minutes later, when the principal barges in with some other male teachers, the classroom was filled with eggs, as well as egg stained objects as well as students. There was also an egg stained Ms. Walsh unconscious.

The verdict was detention, and whatever you and Quinn got must of been terrible. Sadly, the sentence was never delivered as you gathered Quinn and I in the parking lot after school.

After the Harvey incident, I had a hobby of carrying around a knife.

Ryan, you told Quinn and I your punishment. It was a three week suspension, which would ruin his chances of a full ride scholarship.

Quinn then put in that he had six weeks of suspension plus thirteen hours of community service.

Finger pointing occurred afterwards and insults were thrown.

Soon, the it was a full out fisticuffs.

All the while I tried to slip out unnoticed and Ryan, you grabbed my wrist to keep me there.

I froze and whipped out my knife from my bra and suddenly, you guys stopped.

"Natalie, give it to me."

"Natalie, give it to me."

You guys said it at the same time, and I was still frozen, tears streaming down my face.

Quinn and you put out your hands. One worn out over the years and one smooth and chubby.

When I pressed down the knife into his hands, I didn't regret.

So maybe now you're at your house, reading this letter, with no pity that I have died, and that's alright. I mean, anyone who indirectly gives you four knife wounds wouldn't exactly be your friend.

So much nights I've lied awake, pondering why I handed him the knife.

I had to write it down because the more I think about it, sometimes you were the one wielding the knife. Memories come and fade, leaving behind false parts.

Sometimes, I was. It was more of a reflex, and Quinn ways more of the nicer boys to me. Ryan, you should wear those scars proudly, wear it brilliantly. You are a survivor, and I suppose the scars do show how strong you are.

Everytime I think of that shameful act, I feel so much emotions, guilt and hatred for myself. 

You may not give two shits about me, but I do care about you.

The girl who did not hand you the knife,

Natalie Palmer.  

So, I've finally changed my cover. It was really hard, trying to decided which one was better so I decided to give this new one a try. 

Goodbye, old cover: