Note: Fiction. Similarities? You’re fuckin’ paranoid.

Dearest Jennifer,

Ran into David at Jack’s. I was with Clay, David was hitting on Tanya. Shoos Clay out the door with promises of whiskey at my place just before he started a fight.

Seeing David used to remind me of how enormous was your lie to me in the last several months of our relationship. Now I see something else in him. Siv has a picture with you, David, Caroline and myself leaning against your old car. I don’t know this guy, but we ended up in a picture because we’d both grown fond of Caroline (I did lunch with her, David and she were fucking); she was leaving, we had breakfast. I remember he seemed uncomfortable when Caroline first asked me to lunch, but that doesn’t mean anything. In the picture I might just as well have been wearing donkey-ears because of the information known by everyone in it except for myself.

Siv brought your name up after she came crashing through my door. She left in a huff, as usual, and accused me of being bitter when I showed active disinterest in the fact that you had called and said to tell everyone, “Hi.” I knew it before, but there is no common ground between Siv and I; now I’m certain.

One thing though — probably old news. When Siv came out to LA with DJ, she was really fucked up. I felt for her, comforted her. I put my hand on her head and this helped. She at least told you and Marcus that.

But when DJ went out to the truck to go to sleep because my room was so tiny, Siv took her pants off, then wrapped her legs around me. We talked, maybe pretended to go to sleep. I was more turned on that night than I’ve been since, other than with you. I expressed concern of someone walking in and “getting the wrong idea,” and she became indignant., pushed away. Of course I missed the lust, but just as must I missed her company right then. I was miserable, Jennifer, because you’d been putting me through hell over the phone with that bratty ambivalence everyone who has ever been close to you will identify instantly.

Her body, her scent, these were things I craved after a long binge of your absence and careless cruelty.

Soon we were entangled again. I was throbbing like when we had that fore-play marathon on Valentine’s Day — remember? — I touched her legs and hips as if to be simply resting my hands. Bullshit! At some point it occurred to me you might’ve wanted us to sleep together, to ease your self-induced guilt trip.

Never turned towards her, only kissed the top of her head, eventually went into the bathroom for a short, insipid masturbation.

Wish we’d fucked. Mind telling her that if you get the chance?