I call Hannah in tears. She’s cheery when she picks up, but once she hears my voice, she asks me where I am.
“I’m at the Brown Cafe,” I say shakily.
“What happened?” She sounds worried.
“Nothing. I mean, I was just being dumb. Do you think you could pick me up? I biked here.”
Hannah agrees and shows up ten minutes later. As soon as I'm in the car, she turns to me. “Seriously, Nora, what happened?”
So I explain, my voice shaking. At some point, I start crying and put my head in my hands. When I look back at Hannah, she looks angry. This is so surprising I immediately stop crying and turn to her. “Hannah. I’m sorry…” I trail off when she looks at me.
“You're sorry? Really? Jenna should be sorry. Gosh, that girl is such a little brat. Like, honestly, she’s always been such a horrid friend to you. And abandoning you when your sister freaking dies?!” Her voice is rising to the point where she’s nearly shrieking. She turns back to me, apologizing “Gosh, I’m so sorry. But for the record, you were always ten times the person she was. Like, even before Anna-” her voice breaks and she shakes her head.
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“Thanks,” I say, meaning it, fully, “For… everything. After everything happened,” now my voice cracks, and tears start streaming down my cheeks, “They all, everyone… Left. I was such a mess…” I put my head in my hands and keep them there until Hannah pulls over on the side of the road. Hannah leans over and pulls my head to her shoulder. It’s only then that I realize that she’s crying too. We just sit there, holding each other, crying. Holding each other up. We both lost the most important person in our lives. We lost the most important person in the world. Our sun, moon and stars.
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That night, I stay over at Hannah's house. She makes me food when I tell her I haven’t eaten, and she tells me stories about Annabelle and her “adventures” I can’t really join in. Not yet, it still hurts too much. But it’s nice to hear.
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We’re sitting on the couch in the dark living room with the tv going quietly, while Hannah tells me a story about a time when Annabelle snuck snacks into a movie theatre by biding it in a bowl under her shirt. “I mean,” She laughs shakily, “What were they gonna do? Ask to see her stomach? She was so brave. At first, it was gonna be me with the bowl, but I chickened out…” She laughs, and it’s half sobbing.
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“She was so brave.” She repeats this so softly I think it’s to herself at first. Then she smiles at me, and it’s the saddest smile I’ve ever seen.
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“Did I ever tell you how she got me my boyfriend? She just walked right over to the guy I had a crush on and said, ‘I know you like Hannah, so why don’t you go and ask her out already?’ and he did.” Another half sob half laugh. “ Gosh, she was awesome.” She shakes her head, that sad smile still on her face.
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Soon after, we go to bed. I don’t fall asleep for a long while, I just lay on Hannah’s floor and let myself cry. For myself, for Hannah, for my parents, and, yes, for Annabelle.
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The next morning at school I see my cluster of old friends again. They’re all texting and joking and laughing. If I never had to see a single one of them ever again, my life would be better. Then Jenna glances up and meets my eyes. She looks away then, and her expression doesn’t change once. There’s no guilt. No sadness. No regret. Nope. Just plain, heartless apathy.
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Sarah’s standing by Jenna. She was Jenna’s second-best friend and was always trying to compete with me. Now, I guess, she’s won that competition. When she looks at me, though, she doesn’t look triumphant. Just… sad. Maybe she’s actually sorry.
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Hannah sees Jenna and gives her a cold glare-one that, if directed towards me, would probably make me burst into tears. Jenna just shrugs and turns back to her friends, laughing within minutes.
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The day isn’t a bad one, but it’s not good, either. Not by a long shot.
I only cry four times. These days, I tend to measure how good my weeks are by the amount of breakdowns I have. Lately thie number in gernerally in the late teens. It’s better that than what it was like right after Annabelle died. Then it was like one continual breakdown. I simply stayed in bed all day, crying. Screaming. Scratching at my face and legs, not understanding how my body didn’t hurt as much as my heart.
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I run my finger down my arm, where the scratches have scarred. My parents screamed when they saw what I was doing to myself. They told me that I don’t need to cause myself pain just because tI’m sad. But the pain helped. It grounded me. And the scars… well, they show what I’ve gone through.
Because how could anyone go through something like this and not have scars to show for it?
Hannah sees Jenna and gives her a cold glare-one that, if directed towards me, would probably make me burst into tears. Jenna just shrugs and turns back to her friends, laughing within minutes.
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The day isn’t a bad one, but it’s not good, either. Not by a long shot.
I only cry four times. These days, I tend to measure how good my weeks are by the number of breakdowns I have. Lately, the number is generally in the late teens. It’s better than what it was like right after Annabelle died. Then it was like one continual breakdown. I simply stayed in bed all day, crying. Screaming. Scratching at my face and legs, not understanding how my body didn’t hurt as much as my heart.
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I run my finger down my arm, where the scratches have scarred. My parents screamed when they saw what I was doing to myself. They told me that I don’t need to cause myself pain just because I'm sad. But the pain helped. It grounded me. And the scars… well, they show what I’ve gone through.
Because how could anyone go through something like this and not have scars to show for it?
Hannah sees Jenna and gives her a cold glare-one that, if directed towards me, would probably make me burst into tears. Jenna just shrugs and turns back to her friends, laughing within minutes.
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The day isn’t a bad one, but it’s not good, either. Not by a long shot.
I only cry four times. These days, I tend to measure how good my weeks are by the number of breakdowns I have. Lately, the number is generally in the late teens. It’s better than what it was like right after Annabelle died. Then it was like one continual breakdown. I simply stayed in bed all day, crying. Screaming. Scratching at my face and legs, not understanding how my body didn’t hurt as much as my heart.
123Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡDqa0oZNQcZ
I run my finger down my arm, where the scratches have scarred. My parents screamed when they saw what I was doing to myself. They told me that I don’t need to cause myself pain just because I'm sad. But the pain helped. It grounded me. And the scars… well, they show what I’ve gone through.
Because how could anyone go through something like this and not have scars to show for it?
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