Chapter one: Astrid

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12 a.m-
Ever since Caiden moved to New York I have never been put into so much pain. Caiden isn't like any other guy or what they call a "fuckboy." We've known each other since we were ten. We are now sixteen. It has been six months since he has moved and we barely talk, but man I do think about him everyday. Video chats turned into phone calls and phone calls turned into text messages and text messages turned into a few snapchats here and there. I just don't bother anymore.

I keep having dreams about him. I can't sleep anymore without waking up feeling even more broken. I can't eat properly and I can't even focus in school. Caiden never knew my love for him. His father never approved of me because he was scared I'd take Caiden away, so the day I was going to have the balls to tell him how I felt he was gone. His house was empty with a "for sale" sign in the lawn. I remember that tragic day like the back of my hand. Well I guess I should go to sleep now I have therapy tomorrow.

8 a.m-
Yet another shitty dream about him. I got up and threw on some clothes. Black shirt, Black pants, and Black shoes. I'd usually wear eyeliner but what's the point when I'd just cry it off. My mom was waiting in the kitchen. "Let's go shithead you're gonna be late for your crazy people meeting thing." You can easily tell my mom and I aren't on good terms. Ever since my mental breakdown and dad leaving her she hasn't exactly been mommy material.

I got into the car as she finished her cigarette. While she drives me to my therapist you can hear her loudly sighing. My mom and I may not be in the best place, but I know she worries about me. She almost lived every parents is worse nightmare if she didn't walk in on me trying to cut my veins open five months ago

When I arrived at my therapist. She gave me a concern look and unlocked the door. I stepped out and a gust of wind hit me with a familiar smell. A smell I only encountered with Caiden. I looked around as I walked towards the building and there he was. I froze.

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