Hannah

   ​ I tapped my pencil on the side of my desk, impatiently. I refused to look at the clock. I knew I'd just be disappointed. Hannah was in the desk beside me, looking innocent and pretending to listen to the teacher drone on. She was smart, I had to give her that, but that didn't mean she was anywhere near moderately likeable. She was an absolute brat. A selfish, unbearable brat.
​Hannah looked over at me, and scowled. "Are you even paying attention?"
​She was annoying as hell. "Nope, not at all. I don't even know what class I'm in."
​"You're not funny, Benjamin."
​I hated her using my full name, but if she knew that, I could just imagine her following me around repeating it. "Mm." I muttered.
​After what felt like another five hours of knowing Hannah was staring daggers at me, I could feel the class tense. Relieved, I scraped together my books just as the bell rang. The school week was over, and I welcomed a Hannah-free weekend. I've regretted that for the rest of my life.

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​I pushed the door open with my shoulder, and welcomed our hometown's bright, grey skies. It was almost always layered with stratus clouds, and I liked it that way.
​"Hey." I heard a soft voice behind me.
​I turned around to identify the speaker. It was Hannah, looking almost apologetic.
​"What do you want?" I could taste the condescendence of my words, bitter like copper.
​"I wanted to say sorry."
​"Of course you do." I turned away and continued walking the pavement leading to the part of the road where I crossed.
​"I knew this would happen. I try to damn apologize, and you ignore it."
​I looked around at her, and spoke coldly. "You've been a brat to me since we were four, do you really expect me to forgive you now?"
​"And you've put up with me since we were four. I hoped you would. But I can see that won't happen." Hannah stormed past me angrily, holding her bag in her right hand. I felt a bad pain in my stomach. Something was wrong, but a warning was caught in my throat.
​She kept her eyes on the sidewalk as she briskly stepped off the curb. I heard a horn. A screech. And a thud.

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​"Hannah!" I screamed. I ran up to her, ignoring the traffic stopping, and the drivers looking in horror.
​I picked her up and laid her back on the pavement. Her whole face was covered in blood, and I could see a gruesome gash across her forehead. Her leg was bent the wrong way, and she probably had millions of wounds elsewhere. Someone must have called an ambulance. I couldn't hear my own crying over the sirens.
​When they came, men in almost normal looking clothes picked up her limp body and placed it on a stretcher.
​A man emerged from the ambulance and trained his eyes on me. "Are you with her?" He asked.
​"Yeah, yes, I am. She's... my friend." I stammered.
​"Can you come with her? We need a witness."
​"O- of course."
​When Hannah's body was in, I walked up the ramp and sat on a stool beside the stretcher. The paramedics were going through boxes.
​"Hannah?" I said shakily.
​One of the medics looked up at me. From the way she looked from Hannah to me, I could tell she thought we were together. For once, I didn't feel the need to justify to people that we weren't.
​Hannah's eyelids flickered. I felt a painful surge of relief in my heart, and put my face close to hers.
​"Hannah?" I said again.
​She looked up at me, her eyes half open. "Don't hate yourself..." she barely managed to say. "It wasn't your fault. I'm sorry."
​I could tell what she thought. She knew I'd never get over it if she died. "Hannah..." I wanted to tell her I wouldn't let her die. But I knew I couldn't make that promise. I knew exactly what she wanted to hear.
​"I forgive you." I choked. I lowered my head so only she could hear me. "I love you, Hannah." I kissed her forehead, and looked down at her with a sad smile. I would forgive her, I already had. But I would never learn to forgive myself. I could feel her taken from inside me already.
​Minutes later, she was gone.
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