The ending of Sarah and Harry's story, will they or won't they?
It has been five years since Harry and Sarah have seen each other. Sarah is now 29 and she is happily living in New York and pursuing her career. Harry is now 30 and he is living in Ho...
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Clair's P.O.V The final days of high school.
My head is pounding, that's all I can really gather as I try and get out of bed. The girls will be here to pick me up at any moment, and I'm not ready in the slightest. Last night felt like the last straw, that maybe being so close to the end is a warning, but now as I'm awake all I can seem to think about is when the next high will be.
Today is the triumphant last day of high school classes, and tonight is the prom. My dress hangs perfectly in the corner of my room, pure and white. My grandmother said it had looked beautiful on my skin, that I'd looked like an "angel." It truly made me laugh, how in reality I have been anything but an angel these past seven months.
My brown hair that used to be soft is now brittle, my yellow nails now having to be disguised by a new nail polish every week. Ben hasn't noticed anything on my breath while kissing me, and grandma hasn't noticed how scattered I've become behind closed doors.
I've given up a long time ago, and now I'm just waiting to chase the last high, to see which one it will be. Some nights the dosage is stronger than others, and in the day time, I'm always on a light--but soothing--buzz.
I lost hope when the guidance counselor didn't do anything to Zach or Bruiser after that horrid night. They told me they'd had no proof, no reason to believe that I could've been sober when the guys told the guidance counselor we were all regrettably on something strong that night. I had been completely sober, but no one heard me scream it.
And now--now when it's too late and I've already ruined my life--I'm not sober. It started with light antidepressants, something that could help me get through having to still see Zach and Bruiser in the halls. All they did was smirk at me, a triumphant look of two rapists.
Over the months I've started experiencing with stronger medications, ones that could numb me for days on end. If anyone wants to try and help me now, I'll just ask them why they didn't do it then. They placed the blame on me, didn't even give me a chance to recover from it all. I felt ashamed; they made me feel ashamed and worthless.
I shuffle out of bed, my mouth dry and bitter. My teeth feel brittle as I run my tongue across them, the taste of last night still present on them. I walk over a mess of dirty clothes and school books, the bottom of my feet sensitive as I walk around.
In the bathroom--my bathroom--empty makeup containers filled with pills litter the countertops. Everything is a mess, but it's my mess and I don't think I can ever begin to clean it up.
I get ready fairly quickly, putting product in my hair to disguise roughness and makeup in my face to cover the sunken in circles under my eyes. Any signs of falling apart have to be covered, or else someone may actually try and save me. I don't need saving; I'm not worth it.
I throw on a sundress and some flats, an outfit that I would've happily worn seven months ago. Now it makes me feel self-conscious, nervous of what guys could be saying behind my back. I know that Ben doesn't let them get away with it, but then I'm secretly wondering what he's thinking when he sees me showing some extra skin.
