prologue .
the prologue *&
a sunrise that never came
dear jacob black,
please don't assume i'm writing you this letter because i'm thinking about you. i'm merely adressing all of the reasons i hate your stinking, putrid, middle school guts. isabella cullen was never and will never be yours. i saw her first. i hate that you feel the right to just swoop in and try to steal her from me, resting on your stupid hero complex. i don't need you sweeping the only good thing that's come to forks away from me. it sickens me that you feel it's your fucking god-given right to mend her heart, when i've been here all along to do that for her. i understand her. you don't.
i hate the hours you spend in your garage with her, tinkering away with your fucking bikes. do you really think she wants to work on bikes? you don't understand her. it drives me crazy when i see you touch her, staring her face off with that idiotic goo-goo-ga-ga look you have. it's not cute. she doesn't want it. me and her? we work, mesh. it’s as easy as breathing. i won't be sucker-punched in my pride by a kid.
i hate the walks you take with her down at la push, and how hard it is to watch the two of you from way up on the cliffs the stupid way you make her laugh. that should be me. and another thing. ... so what if i don't like gory movies. every person is different, we have our own tastes. if you like blood and guts, more power to you. freak.
i hate you, jacob black. i really do. i also hate the fact i don't have the balls to say this mess to your face.
An aggravated Mike tosses the tattered piece of notebook paper into the fireplace flames moments after he finishes writing it.