[High school romance]
Bad boy x bad girl
Stella Max is a bad girl. She doesn't have hope anymore after her mom left her, commiting suicide.
Michael Henson is a bad boy. He's father is busy, rich, famous attorney and he wants Michael to become one. B...
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I always wondered why. Why she did it? Why would she leave me alone? Why? Why? Why? So many why-s. But none of them have the answer. I never got the answer. She isn't there to tell me the truth. The reason. She died. So how am I gonna find out the reason? I'm not going to. 'Till the end of my life, I won't know the reason. I won't know why my mom killed herself.
I remember that day pretty clear. It was a sunny, warm day. I was 14. It was a weekend and my mom and I were making a cake. We were laughing, listening to music, singing. I was so stupid. How I didn't see her struggle? How I didn't see the sadness in her green eyes and the pain behind her smile? I was stupid, I didn't pay attention. They say there's always a sign. So, how I didn't see the fucking sign?
We run out of chocolate, so my mom sent me to the store. She told me to go to one which was far away. Really far away. She said that the chocolate in that one was better and she begged me to go. So, again, how I didn't notice? But, how I could say no when she begged me?
She sent me far, so she had time to do it. To make sure I don't come back before... before she's dead. To make sure she didn't make out alive.
I was stupid. I went to the fucking store, humming happily. I haven't had an idea that my mom would kill herself. I didn't notice. I was so stupid.
When I came back, I didn't know what I was about to see. Yet.
What I saw made my heart to break. My mouth to shout. My eyes to cry. My hands to shake. And my life to break. Again and again.
There was blood everywhere. A lot of blood. Her blood. My mom's blood. I still see that blood everywhere. My hands were covered in those crimson stains. And sometimes I still see them on my hands. I get nightmares in which she's dying again and again. I can't stop her. There was no dream in which I stopped her. And I think it will never be.
It was late. She was already dead when I had called 911. But I still had hope. I was crying, screaming at her, begging her, and tried to stop the bleeding. But it was late. I didn't know that. I thought that she was going to make it and we would live happily ever after. I was stupid. I was only 14.
That was the last day I had hope. My mom's suicide took hope away. Broke hope. Broke my life. Me. Broke me.
But she wasn't thinking like that. She didn't see it like that. Just like I hadn't seen her struggle. We both were so blind. We were only thinking 'bout ourselves. We were selfish. She was selfish. I became.
Do I hate her? I don't know. Sometimes I do, sometimes I hate myself for hating her. Do I miss her? Yes, every single day. Do I despise myself for not seeing her pain? Definitely. Do I see it as my fault? Yes. Because it is. It is my fault. I could have stopped it. But I haven't. So, yes it is my fault. I know it. My mom killed herself because of me. My mom died because of me. And no one will ever make me think otherwise.
