Dearest Stupidhead,

Rage...that's a good word. Close your eyes, those disgustingly big, pale, empty eyes, and say my name and then 'rage' to yourself.

You'll see nothing, everything I've held back from you because I'm a professional. I know that if I tell you to fuck off that'll ruin any chance of us ever being able to work together, and when you're in theater the play comes first. We've starred in shows together twice, each time you staged battles against me constantly. You're such a goody-goody, one 'fuck you' would shut you up forever.

What's wrong with you, anyway? If you don't care, why are you even in theater? Is it your ignorant, uneducated parents? Is it your actor siblings? What the fuck is it, and why can't you control it somehow? Why don't you get the hell out of my face?

I want to give you one good kick in the balls so bad.

But no. I will wait. Someday we'll be in chorus together, and it won't matter if we can't get along. Someday I'll get you. Someday.

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