TOO LATE

I

Everytime I saw her, I did something. Whether it was tripping her or slamming my hand on her books so that they would hit the floor, I always did something. I don't exactly know why. I mean I don't think I liked her that way or even at all. I don't know. I've never been good at feelings. They're just so complicated. When it happened, I was numb for a week. Trying not to give in, but I eventually did. It was the worst thing I have ever felt.
It was in the fall. September 12, 2013. Half way through our junior year. Well some would say it started long before that, but I'm the storyteller here so sit in silence, children.
She was in her bedroom, probably crying her eyes out. Her parents were at work. Brooke Anderson went into her mother's medicine cabinet. Her shaking hands grabbed randomly and got three orange little bottles. Rushing back to her room, she locked her bedroom door and sat on her bed. With unstable hands, she opened the bottles, one by one, and poured all of the pills onto the bed. She started taking them like Tic-Tacs, handfuls at a time.
They were all gone. She put her earbuds in and played some music. Then, she went to sleep. For the first time in a long time, she slept deeply. And then... she never woke up.
Carol and Thomas found her curled up, fetal position, with her earbuds in. They thought she was asleep. Carol reached out to touch Brooke's shoulder. It was cold. Her skin was pale. It was like she was made out of porcelain.
I thought that it would be impossible for me to forgive myself, and that if everyone else found out, they would hate me forever. I was right about some things with this theory. It was all my fault. I did it. If I would have walked away, or even pushed her instead of what I did, she would still be alive. But no... that day. On September 12 of 2013, I, Luke Robert Hemmings told Brooke Anderson to kill herself.