After
The technicolored wall has been ripped grey. The chair has splintered across the floor. There are scratch marks on the door and the blood from my fingernails from running my nails to the bone gives me a stinging sensation. The tear stains on my cheeks run in a continuous stream.
He was gone.
He was never coming back.
At least, that's what I thought.
There is no hope for me.
I am gone.
YOU ARE READING
Maybe
Teen FictionMaybe it was the look you always had in your eye when you were in class that made me hate you. Maybe it was the way I watched her run from you with fear. Maybe I should've taken your advice, layered in sticky notes which decorated my locker. Maybe...
