Chapter 1
“Holly?” I stop dead in my tracks. I know that voice. No; it can’t be him. I continue to walk, slower this time. “Holly,” the voice says again. I pause. I’m sure of it. It’s him for sure. Still, I can’t bring myself to turn around. I can’t face the past. I had just gotten over- a hand touches my shoulder and I automatically turn. Yep, that’s him for sure. He’s looking at me with those brilliant emerald eyes that I’ve always adored. “Holly, I’ve been trying to catch up to since the bell rang! Did you hear me? Are you…mad…about…?” “But- how- wh-what are you doing here?”, I finally manage to stutter. “Oh, um, well…” “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude, I thought you still went to the trade school…you don’t have to explain I ju-“ “No, it’s ok. You deserve an explanation. More than one actually.” There was an awkward pause and I wasn’t sure how to respond. “Well, uh, I kind of have to get to class. My algebra teacher makes us stay after to wash the boards if we’re late and my class is across the school so I really should be goi-” “Let me walk you there then. If he has an issue then he can take it up with me.” “You really don’t have to do that…” “I know, Holly. I want to.” Another extended silence. “That is,” he continued, “if you want me to.” “Sure,” I replied, not exactly certain of how I felt or what I should say. We began the walk to the math wing of the building when all of a sudden, he grabbed my hand. Out of instinct, I pulled away.
Chapter 2
Bryen. For the rest of the day he was all I could think about. I thought I was finally over him, but hearing his voice and seeing his face, I don’t think I will ever get over him. I can’t blame him for what happened, but he certainly didn’t help anything. Our history together is, well, complicated. I’m not sure I could explain it, and even if I tried, I don’t think I could do it justice. I’ll try to explain simply. I have been in love with him for over 5 years. From the first moment I saw him, at the end of sixth grade, I knew I was meant to be his. You probably think I’m crazy for that, or that I don’t know what love is, but I know how I feel. I may not grasp the full reality of love, but maybe that’s because I didn’t grow up with a lot of it. But I’m getting ahead of myself. Anyway, he and I had an off-again-on-again relationship for about a year after we met. We were each others’ first kiss and it’s something that will always be with me. And then he told me he loved me, but he dated my best friend, Cindy, for nearly a year after he dumped me. She eventually dumped him because he was “too clingy”. I didn’t understand because he barely hung out with me when we went out. Well, we kind of dated a bit again for maybe a month, but by then we were graduating middle school and we were going to different high schools. We promised to keep and touch and remain friends, because, after all, we had been together through so much, and I thought neither of us could survive without the other. I guess I was wrong. He’s still doing fine. And me? Well, a lot has changed in my life during my two full years of high school. I should be a senior now, but I missed too much school last year, so I have to repeat junior year. Why did I miss so much school? Because I had to go to the clinic.
Chapter 3
The clinic. I hate calling it that. “This is a clinic Holly. Please stop calling it a mental hospital, because that’s not what this is.” I was told that a lot. Blah blah blah. It was completely bull. It was a mental hospital. Everything was white. The few windows were barred. You were locked in your room at night, but you were always monitored. You couldn’t have anything that could possibly be used to hurt yourself. We weren’t even allowed to have clothing that had zippers. How the heck do I hurt myself with a zipper? I mean, come on, seriously. I despise “the clinic”. My dad sent me there last year after I almost bled to death after slitting my wrists. He wasn’t supposed to be home until later. “If I hadn’t have come home early Holly,” he always reminds me, “…I never thought I’d say this but I’m glad there was a bomb scare in the building. If there wasn’t, I would’ve lost you. Honey, what were you thinking?” Well, dearest father, I was thinking that I was tired of seeing you beat up my mother. I was thinking I was sick of being ignored by the guy I’ve loved for 5 years. I was thinking that if nobody loved me, then I might as well end my life. But, I could never say these things to him. It’s not “Christian” thinking. Then again, I’m pretty sure Christians don’t teach that love is abuse.
