Another one of my moods breeds another angsty one-shot. Actually, I kind of like how this turned out. It also happens to be the shortest thing I've ever written, so…yay?

Disclaimer: The Bartimaeus Trilogy is Jonathan Stroud's. I'm just borrowing his characters for a few pages.

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Where to Begin?

I suppose the first thing I should say is that I have no idea why I'm even doing this, or what purpose it'll serve. In actual fact, I'd enjoy saying these things to your face rather than writing it here, but because that's not really a possibility (I happen to be in hiding, after all) this seems the only option. Of course, I'm not sending this to you, either, so the whole thing is about as pointless as it's possible to be.

Still, maybe once I've vented a little I'll be able to get some sleep. It's been days and I have yet to stay unconscious for more than two hours in a row, and who knows, maybe it's exhaustion that's prompting me to do this. So, then, John Mandrake, where should I start?

Maybe by pointing out that I have every reason to hate you. You've succeeded in turning my parents against me, lying to me, and even attacking me, although you didn't accomplish much there. Mouler residue has never looked so wonderful as it did all over your suit, by the way. Although I guess it doesn't matter – you've probably bought a new suit just like it by now, haven't you?

Those trousers really were ridiculously tight.

I saw you in a coffee shop yesterday. Druid's, in fact. You didn't realize I was there, although I admit to panicking a little bit, thinking you might recognize me and arrest me on the spot. I mean, all I wanted was some coffee, for crying out loud.

But you didn't see me. I don't know if that's because of your overall idiocy or because of the girl that was with you.

I can't say she made a very good impression on me: she seemed to adore you, for one thing, which obviously means she's a bloody imbecile.

And the way she kept simpering at everything you said was absolutely sickening.

And when she wasn't making eyes at you, she was looking down her nose at every commoner who came into her line of vision.

I'm sure you two are just perfect for each other.

I have to say I've never been so tempted to go and throw a cup full of hot coffee over a couple in my life as I was at that moment, I was so angry. And you know, I thought it was a little strange, how mad I was getting. I don't know why the sight of you and that girl together was so…infuriating.

No, I take that back. I know why. It's because you were just sitting there flirting with a pretty girl without a care in the world, completely ignoring the fact that if it wasn't for me, you wouldn't have even been alive to be drinking your stupid cappuccino.

You great git.

Which brings me to something else: do you ever think about how much you owe me? Does it ever cross your mind when you sit in your huge house full of expensive things that if I hadn't had what was most likely a momentary lapse of sanity and saved you, all of your possessions would probably be someone else's by now?

Well, does it?

I don't know why I did it, you know. I don't know what I thought I owed you.

After all, you'd just used one of my old friends as bait and betrayed me on top of everything else. You certainly haven't contributed much to my overall happiness.

I think about this often, even more so since seeing you in Druid's. I mean, obviously you don't give a flying hoot about me, or what I did. You didn't deserve to be saved, to live. So why did I stop the golem?

Once an answer actually occurred to me, but it wasn't the one I wanted.

Because the answer I got was that I care about you.

Which I obviously don't.

So it can't be correct.

And besides, out of all the things you aren't worthy of, my affections are what you really don't deserve.

Because you haven't done one good thing for me, John Mandrake.

I have every reason to hate you, you know. Every single damn reason there is.

I just wish I actually could.