I have no idea how to explain how i got here, sitting at the old mahogany desk strategically placed in the most private corner of my room when I was 11. But here I am. I've just woken up, and it's 2am, and I can't stop thinking that a shot of red bull would make remembering lot easier as I try to figure out how I came to be here. My hand brushes against something cold on the desk; a laptop. Yes, of course. I jolt up straight in my leather seat and it squeaks in disapproval as I maneuver it to a position that makes it easier for me to access my laptop. I put my hand on the lid and I hesitate to raise it. Did I really want to continue what I had fallen asleep doing? The only reason I had closed it was because I couldn't take looking at his face. Not after what had happened. Not after what he did. Not after he left my life all at once and was now cruelly coming back to haunt me. The most lonely night of my life began with that damn E-mail, and I could not feel more alone if I was the last person on earth.
