Chapter Fifty-Four
Hey Fuck Face,
So you finally found someone else foolish enough to fall in love with you? How the fuck did you manage that?
But I did want to make you sob like a baby with at least one P.S.
I Love You style letter (still not forgiven you for making me watch that, by the way), and so I decided the best time to surprise you and fuck you up a bit would be when you finally fall in love with someone else.
I know it will happen. How could it not?
Have you seen your arse in a pair of jeans?
I don't know who they'll be but I know they'll be fucken awesome. At least, I hope they are and if they're not I'll get to haunting them pretty fucken quickly so they get the message and clear that space for someone else who is worthy.
Because you deserve to have someone, Marty.
And not just anyone. You deserve someone who wakes up every day and knows how fecking lucky they are to have you.
You deserve someone who would step up and look after you the way you stepped up and looked after me.
You deserve someone who matches your razor-sharp banter, your insatiable appetite for sex, and your filthy, filthy sense of humour.
You deserve someone who knows when you need a hug more than a shag, even when, or maybe especially when you don't. You deserve someone who makes you laugh half as much as you make me laugh, so you can experience what it's like to have far too many laughter lines at a young age.
I hope I don't need to say this because we talked about it enough, dickhead, and I'd like to think you remember some of the things I tell you, but I give you my blessing.
I give you bucketloads of the stuff. In fact, I command it.
The only thing that makes me smile on my darkest days is the knowledge that you will keep on living and loving.
This world is a better place because it has you doing that, Aiden O'Martin.
I'm not sure where I'll end up. I like your theory of coming back as a gay penguin or a fly in Harry Styles’ house so I can listen to his conversations with Louis, but I'm not sure I'll be that lucky and it's important you know why.
Because the thing is, I feel like I've cashed in my own share of luck during my time on Earth, mostly thanks to you.
I know everyone feels sorry for me dying so young.
I feel sorry for me sometimes too - it's fucking shite!
- but really, there is nothing sad or pitiable about my short life.
I had the best friend in the world growing up, and then I fell in love with him.
And after some gentle persuasion that night we watched Pirates of the Caribbean and I experimented with eyeliner (Jesus, that night, Marty.
Do you remember how amazing that night was?) we travelled the world and he fell in love with me too.
My God, your love is a hurricane of good things.
I knew it would be, but even you exceeded my expectations, because you're you and you do things in the extremes, even love.
So that's why it's no tragedy I'm dying young.
I'd rather have that and die at twenty-one with abs and taut asscheeks then die at one hundred with saggy balls and never loving or being loved by you, Marty.
And now I'm fucking crying, which is only fair I guess as I bet I've made you cry a few times since I've been gone.
Yeah, I really am sorry about dying. It was a dick move.
I hope whoever you love now sticks around longer.
I hope whoever you love is there to put an arm around you when you need to cry.
I hope whoever loves you now takes great care of you.
I hope whoever it is, that they are prepared to take risks for you, be brave for you, show up when you need them to, just like I know you will.
And thank you for loving me so good. I'll love you forever, you fuck face fantastic man.
Arnie x
P.S. Keep looking for me in the sunset, I promise you if I can be anywhere, it will be there.