Every Rose Has Its Thornes

Chapter 1

Every Rose Has Its Thorne

By Divvy13 and I <3 <3 <3 ;3

CHAPTER 1

I step up onto the stage, praying I won't trip. The spotlight reflects right into my eyes as I go to the microphone. I squint out to the audience, wondering what I am doing here, and how I'm going to pull this off. I see him in the front row, grinning at me. We make eye contact and he winks. I know he has her with him, and that shes with me right now as much as she was in the hard, happy, excited, and nervous times before. You're probably confused. To explain all this, I'll have to start at the beginning.

It was summer, 2010. My best friend Clara was walking down the street with her ex boyfriend Greg. A dark blue SUV drove by them. That SUV changed our lives forever. Greg heard a sound, and ducked down. Clara didn't hear a thing. That is how she died. Shot, by the man in the SUV.

The police called it Gang Violence.

We all called it a drive by.

Greg called it all his fault.

It's 3 years later, and my life is still broken. The kids I've known since kindergarten call me "emo": Like dressing in all black makes you that! Some call me "goth", and that seems like a little more accurate and little less insulting name. But the correct term would be "mourning", because that's what I've been doing for 2 years of middle school. Ever since Clara didn't reply to my text on that August afternoon. I knew she was with her stupid ex, and that they had wound up in a bad neighborhood. I knew something was up, because Clara would have responded in 5 seconds flat if it was an excuse not to listen to Greg begging her to get back together with him. And here I am taking all this hate for mourning my best and only friend's murder. Why don't I just kill myself?

Well, we all know the answer to that question, don't we? First of all, it would only be proving those people at school, who are too ignorant to do anything but stick their noses into other people's business and make them miserable in every way possible, that they had power and could use it. And that was something I was determined NOT to do. Second, my mom, let alone Clara's parents, didn't want another death. A close to home death. Third, Daniel, Clara's brother...he would fall apart again..at least I think he would, as he's been bugging me since 6th grade, saying "Hey Thorne" every time he sees me in the hallway. And I can't count on my 2 hands and 2 feet how many times he has checked me out when I wear my darker version of the stupid school uniform. I thought schools were against short skirts and form-fitting shirts on girl students! Not to mention he stares at my legs every freaking day. What a pervert! Fourth, Clara. She would never let me hear the end of it, in heaven or hell or wherever you go after you die. I didn't want to piss her off like that. Especially since we would both be ghosts, or whatever you become when you die. And you could count on one hand how many days it would be before Daniel committed suicide too.

So, obviously, killing myself isn't an option. So how would I deal with the pain? I wouldn't start cutting, because then the "emo" comments would go on and on, not to mention my mom would sign me up for counseling again, and that never helped. I only wasted our money, in my opinion. Therapists freak me out. I couldn't talk to them, random people who came into the room, gave me a coloring page and told me to spill out my deepest secrets. I wasn't 6 years old, gullible, or stupid. They don't know me! I take everything seriously, I fall for no tricks, and I don't like to color princesses. I much rather prefer the puppy dog sheets, just saying. One could never outgrow the fun of coloring in, out, and around lines. Anyways, the shrinks never solved anything. They just wasted my time. I'd have more time to sit in my room writing song lyrics, alone. No interruptions. No complications. Just me, the keyboard, the guitar, and the music. The only thing that made me leave that room was school, the bathroom, and my mom saying I had to eat at the table or in the living room. And the constant phone calls from Daniel. EVERY FREAKING AFTERNOON. When the phone said "Firrgo, Daniel", you knew it was 5:30 pm on the dot. And he always left messages like "Hey Black Rose, I liked your shoes today!" or "Black Rose, the movie version of that vampire book I saw you reading is in theaters, wanna go see it this Saturday?" or even "Thorne, please just talk to me. Clara is probably rolling in her grave right now. Don't ignore me, because I know you are standing in front of the receiver listening to this." And I was, believe it or not. And that message, which he likes to leave a lot, makes me think. And cry. And then think some more. About if it was true, if Clara was rolling in her grave, wishing I would answer Daniel. About what I could do differently here to make her happy, wherever she was. But enough about that.