"Mom, can I go see Aimee?"
She shakes her head. "I don't think so, mija. It's getting late."
I look over at the clock. "It's five thirty."
"And I'm still saying no. Dejalo, Celeste."
"You don't like her do you?"
She's silent.
"I knew it."
"Celeste, just drop it and go back upstairs."
"You don't understand. I need to see her. It's important."
"Well, whatever it is can wait till school tomorrow."
But she didn't understand. She never would. "Can't I just--"
"No. This is exactly what I'm talking about. Aimee is trouble and the more you've been hanging out with her lately, the more and more back talk I've been getting from you. Next thing I know you'll be--"
'I'll be what, Mom??"
"You'll be trouble. Just like her. Now, go upstairs."
"But--"
"Go."
That was the night I realized that Aimee was more than just 'trouble". She was also in trouble. And that was the night I wasn't there to help,
And ever since then I've been wondering if I would ever let myself get over it.
YOU ARE READING
her words.
Teen FictionTRIGGER WARNING: suicide, depression & a hell of a lot of stupid thing like slut shaming bc 15 year old me was an idiot. '"Here.", said her mother as she handed me the notebook. "She wanted you to have this." Without saying another word she wiped...
