"Ellie" is one of those girls that saw too many movies about the ingenue who hangs out with a group of boys, gets them all to fall in love with her and then proceeds to wreck their friendship without remorse because it's just her fate to be that girl. Well, "Ellie" decided it was her fate to be "that girl." Because, duh, "Ellie" is a sociopath. Here is an email Ellie wrote "John" the morning after she cheated with him on her boyfriend of ten months, John's friend Allen, and deciding to move in with their other, slightly more ridiculous friend, an American Apparel Deep-V-wearing poet named Will. Welcome back to "Crap Email From A Dude," wherein we occasionally recognize that girls are evil, too.
I am later than I should be, writing this. I didn't like it when you kissed my cheek, and that had nothing to do with the fact that your emails had become the central events of my family vacation days.
I wanted to come see you at twelve thirty on a weekend night because I wanted to converse—it is a black mark on my character, I guess, that there are not more people in the city with whom I can have an honest conversation, post-midnight.
And then, I'm a wimp. I certainly adore your emails and, goodness, do I want us to publish our correspondence, but I felt sad, actually, that what said correspondence came down to was kisses.
I was otherwise commited, but that had very little to do with it, I suppose. But I am infuriated. It's hard, Alex, and also grotesquely lucky, that I can both be a writer and an embodier of things that are alluring. In my intellectual dialogue to you I exploited both of those selves.
I really would like it if we could just talk about books, the world, and people who are less intelligent without, I don't know, my bare thighs in your bed. But then it turned out we couldn't. This is my fault more than yours. There is no romantic future for us.
I want us to keep writing letters. I don't think I've ever written better than I have written to you.