With my mouth tasting like road kill and my brown hair sticking out like I’d been dragged through a bush backwards, I climbed the stairs to Marty’s bathroom. After taking a pee, I ran myself a bath. Kicking off my clothes, I strolled into what used to be mine and Marty’s bedroom. His iPod was sitting in the dock that I’d bought him last Christmas. I switched it on and started to listen to Mama Do The Hump by Rizzle Kicks. Swishing my butt to the music, I threw open his wardrobe. Pushing his shirts and trousers to one side, I smiled to myself on seeing that there were a few of my own clothes left hanging from the rail. Ah bless, he hadn’t been able to throw them out. Taking a sweater and a pair of my old jeans from the rail, I jumped backwards. It was the box. It sat there on the top shelf of the wardrobe. It was the shoebox, the one with the letters in it. They were the letters which had ultimately ended mine and Marty’s relationship. I had set fire to them. I had destroyed them in front of Marty to prove that they didn’t mean anything and that I had no idea who the sender had been.
