Finding our way back

Chapter 1

Picture of Alexis

It's the Friday before I start my senior year at Richmond High and I allow my mind to drift to Dylan and that last moment we spent in the woods, before everything I had ever know was torn to pieces. When Dylan left that was by far the worst thing that happened to me at the time but now, 3 years later, the worst thing that ever happened to me was losing him completely. Not having anything left of him.

For a few months after he left, I would call him every day after I got home from school and if I ever put it off until later, he would call me at exactly 3:30. It was as if nothing had changed between us at all, other than the fact that we didn't actually see each other all the time. Everything was going a lot better than I thought it would, until one day he just stopped. He stopped answering my calls and my E-mails. He wouldn't pick up his phone every time I requested to face time with him. It was as if he didn't want anything to do with me anymore. As soon as the phone started to ring, almost immediately it would go to voice mail signifying that he purposefully didn't answer his phone.

I kept trying every day, hoping and praying that is was just a short-term thing. That he was getting held up over there, but when it went on the rest of my freshman year I knew that he made his decision. I cried for probably a month straight, it hurt so much, and I was always checked out at school. I would get picked on more than usual when Kourtney, the girl who has made my life a living hell pretty much since 6th grade, found out about Dylan and told the whole school what happened. Everyone started calling me trash because that's exactly what you do to trash, you throw it away and that's what Dylan did to me.

That went on all the way up until the summer after my sophomore year when I got so pissed about everything, I literally almost killed myself. I had gone to the kitchen when no one was home and taken a cutting knife out of the drawer. I held it up to my chest right above my heart and closed my eyes, taking a deep breath.

When I opened my eyes again, about to plunge the knife in my heart, my eyes caught sight of a familiar face. Hanging on the fringe was a picture of me and Dylan when we were in 3rd grade. He had just won the school spelling bee and I came in second. I had been so mad that he beat me then that I had taken it upon myself to not talk to him for a week. When he realized that I wouldn't talk to him he did the most amazing thing any 9-year old could do. He had gotten a piece of wood from some place and carved the three most amazing word into the light-brown bark. 'I Love You'. When I found it outside my bedroom door I couldn't have been happier. Being so naive and gullible back then I took it in literal senses and later found out he meant it in a friendly way. My heart broke in half just like it did the day he left.

As I starred at the picture, I thought back to the moment we shared in the woods, the most amazing kiss (and only kiss) I'd ever had. That thought alone was enough to bring tears to my eyes. I cried like I never had before. When I realized that I still had the knife to my chest, I lowered it and collapsed to the ground, letting out a strangled cry when I hit the floor. I continued to sob my eyes out until eventually my mom got home from work. As soon as she saw the knife still lying idly on the counter-top, she rushed to me and wrapped me in a tight embrace, which felt so much like the hugs Dylan used to give me. I cried and cried until I had completely emptied out my heart.

After the incident my mom wouldn't let me out of her sight. She e-mailed all my teacher to make sure that I wasn't doing anything I wasn't supposed to and luckily no one who would use the information against me got a hold of it. My mom ended up making me go to therapy once a week and to the group session once a month. The therapist just got on my nerves, making the situation worse when she kept pestering my about writing my feelings down and sharing them at the group session. Why the hell should I have to let people know what I'm feeling about my personal life? There is a reason it's called a 'personal life' and it's because now one else has to know about it.