Izzy strokes my back to comfort me. When she got back from a photoshoot in London, she witnessed me falling apart, crying about my breakup with Gunner.

What if these are goodbye letters and he wants to be friends? Or telling me we were a big mistake?

“I can’t read these,” I blurt out.

“I’ll read them for you,” Izzy says. She snatches the letter from my hand, then reads it, and her cheeks turn redder than a red apple. “Ah, Gigi. You should read them. This one was not for my eyes to see.”

I snatch it back and read it.

Rainbow,

I’m not a romance type of guy, so I’m going to write it, but I miss being balls deep in your pussy.

Okay, I’m done being romantic.

While I’m stuck here, my sponsor told me to write to the people I care about. I’m not a writer, but if I’m going to write to someone it will be you.

The first day was awful as fuck. I suffered from major withdrawal; I was sweating really bad, had fucking headaches out of this goddamn world, tremors, and chills. I wanted to tear my skin off my body and rip my hair out of my skull. It was so bad I forgot where I was, and then I’d start hating you for breaking up with me, for making me realize what I was doing.

But when I remembered why you broke up with me I’d start loving you again.

The food is horrible here, so horrible I’d rather eat drywall. I miss your cooking and your cookies and cupcakes. Do you know what else I miss? I miss you, the scent of your pussy, the scent of your hair. You smell like hope, life, and passion.

Love, Gunner.

P.S. This is the first and the most shitty love letter I ever wrote. Read the next one, I promise it will get better.

So I do. I read all ninety of them. He filled me in on his days, how he made some friends, and how much he can’t wait to leave. He tried to write me a poem. It was crappy, but it was the best one I ever read. If that makes sense. Every time I read a new letter my heart beats rapidly and butterflies swim in my stomach as tears trickle down my cheeks. Then I get to the last letter.

Gia,