Overcomplicated.

Prologue

Without thinking, I grab a nearby pen and take down the number that flashes on the screen. I hold my hand up to the light to make sure the number is clear. As I look back at the TV screen, I stare at the picture of the missing girl. I didn't need to check to know that it was Dariela Jay. Her picture was shown multiple times during this episode of Unsolved Mysteries, but only now, nearing the end, am I willing to study her recent picture. She is perked up against a tree, grinning confidently with her arms folded. Her wavy brown hair sits comfortably on her shoulders, her sea-blue eyes stare softly at the camera. Her head is tilted cheekily to the right, showing sparkly white teeth. She really is stunning.

I immediately feel a stab of anger and grab the TV remote to change the channel. I normally love watching Unsolved Mysteries, but seeing my ex-friend on the missing section is too much. "The past is in the past", Dad loved to remind me, but that didn't stop the dark feelings and secrets from resurfacing. There's only so much you can handle, you know?

After a few seconds of scrolling through the channels, I quickly get bored and set the channel to a kid's show. As the lurid colours and lively characters bounce across the screen, I look down at the number I wrote on my hand. The tip line for anyone with information regarding 'her'. Do it. Call them. Say you have info. In my mind, that information was classed as "insignificant." Nobody would care about her tweet that was 5 months old, or her sudden phone call a few weeks before her disappearance. It just isn't worth it, I convince myself.

My phone buzzes with a new message. It was Via, asking if I saw the latest episode of Unsolved Mysteries. I ignore her message and decide to scroll through Instagram instead. Everyone is tweeting about Dariela, with hashtags such as #RIPDariela and #JusticeforDariela. At this point, I couldn't be anywhere without Dariela Jay haunting me. I feel the anger resurfacing again, but I take a deep breath, put my phone on airplane mode and tuck it behind the pillow on the sofa. I place my hands over my face and allow a few tears to fall. It's her fault. It's all her fault, I try to reassure myself. But...it's also mine. Those words ring in my mind as I lie on the sofa and cry myself to sleep.