The Diary Of A Broken Teenage Girl

14 (The Morning After)

All I can give you is memories,
Carry them with you and I'll never leave.
I'll lay my head down, when I lay my head down.
Don't let me go, let me in your beating heart.
I won't let go, forever is not enough.
Let me lay my head down, in the shadow by your side.
Don't let me go, let me in your beating heart.
Don't let me go - (TVD OST)

  News sure did spread like wild fire. Everyone had heard the news in school and stared at me, whispering among themselves as I walked to my locker.

  I hated the fact that her locker was next to mine and I had to stare at it. It had been decorated with her pictures pasted all over it and a garland hung in the middle, with a framed picture of her, in the garland. On the floor were a bunch of gifts and flowers and cards and probably letters.

  And I hated all of them.

  I hated the constant reminder that she wasn't here anymore. I didn't have my best friend anymore.

  And I just kept staring at the pictures. The one in the garland had been taken a few weeks back, when she was pretending to be happy. I hated the picture. Hated that the smile was fake. Hated that no one noticed that the smile was fake. Hated that everything looked perfect. I hated everything. And I hated everyone.

  For not seeing what I saw. For not noticing that she smiled and looked away, she bit her lips to keep them from quivering. But most of all, I hated myself. For watching her pretend. Knowing everything that was going on in her life. How crappy her life had become. And not saying anything. That she'd suffered before she died. Maybe I had a hand in my best friend's death. I'd watched her die.

  Hot tears rolled down my cheeks. I was furious. And sad. And heart broken. And guilty. I wonder what all those feelings, combined, is called. Because I have no freaking clue.

  But all I knew was that the next minute, I was crying out loud and ripping all the decorations and pictures on her locker. They were all so stupid and fake. And none of them represented her.

  Everyone was staring at me. Probably thinking that I'm crazy. And maybe I am. I'm someone in crazy pain.

  I just kept ripping them off. And kicking the gifts. And crying.

  They had to see what I saw.

  To feel what I felt.

  Why wouldn't anyone feel it. The pain in my heart. Is this what it felt like to be Chrissy? In pain? Was the pain much more? I couldn't imagine any pain worse than this.

  Then I felt a hand on my shoulder. It was Miss Porter. My History teacher. She pulled me away from her locker. Into an empty classroom. And tried to calm me down. But she couldn't feel it. She didn't know how many times Chrissy had come to me, covered in bruises and I'd help her cover it up. How many times I'd tried to save her from them.

  How it felt realising that Chrissy didn't need to be saved from them. She needed to be saved from herself. And how hard it hurt, knowing that I'd realised this way too late.

  I'd watched my best friend die and if there was any pain worse than that.... I was yet to feel it.