Vile Bastards

Dearest Reader … my story is cancelled.

Sharing my words thus far has only put us both in danger. It’s better to just call the whole thing off before somebody gets hurt.

Or maybe, just maybe, you are the one who keeps spilling my secrets. That it? You sold me out? I knew it; I knew I couldn’t trust you.

I can’t even trust my fuckboys, now can I? Sending me a severed p*nis as a gift doesn’t excuse their poor behavior.

Somebody died in that river. Death changed things. I wish it didn’t, but I can’t deny it. After that, nothing was going to be the same. I started questioning everything and everyone. Like, where was Ash when the night first started to go to hell?

Why was there a single gunshot followed by so much eerie quiet? Come to find out later that Widow was supposed to keep me at the track, so why didn’t he?

And since when did Alexei have a secret phone number to contact the mob? He offered up his virginity like a sacrifice and then marched me straight into the pits of hell.

Why didn’t Bohnes just tell me the plan ahead of time? If I’d known, I could’ve made different choices. Maybe I wouldn’t have ended up driving an orange Lamborghini into a river?

The Queen of Prescott High has a tarnished crown.

I trusted you—maybe I still do—but somebody betrayed me. Somebody lied.
If it was you, I suggest you run; I don’t deal well with snitches.

Remember what they get? Nice and easy ‘cause it rhymes: stitches.
Whoever ratted me out better have a fast, fuckin’ car.

Because it’s not just my boys you should be afraid of: it’s me.

XOXO, Scar