Moments

I grabbed the blade. My eyes still bloodshot red. I pulled up my sleeve. I started to cry again. I slit my wrist. Bright red blood poured out. I deserve it.

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8. How and why?

I didn't finish school that day. I walked home and cried in my bedroom all by myself. I got up from off the bed and wiped my tears. I screamed. I saw all the papers on my desk and threw them to the floor. I kicked my closet for shut. I started to throw things. Make a mess. While screaming and crying.

"It's all my fault!" I screamed.

i cried harder and harder I couldn't breath.

i fell on my bed. "It's all my fault" I said quieter now.

i got up and rummaged through my drawers. I grabbed my pencil box and found a sharpener.

i unraveled the screws and took out the blade. I stared at it. Just thinking. I pulled up my long sleeve shirt. I thought and dropped it. I pulled my hair back out of my face and just stared at it on my bed. I pulled down my sleeve biting my bottom lip.

was it really my fault? Why did he do it? Why? I had never thought about it. Why was it all just too much for him? I don't understand? He had such a good life.

Wouldnt he have told me what happen?

i sat down and put the blade in my drawer. I walked outside and over to Mrs.Andersons house. I guess I should start calling it that now. 

I knocked On the door. She answered the door. She had droopy eyes and they were red. And she still had the same robe on. She tried to smile. But you could tell she was trying to hard.

"Cristina, come in" she said.

i walked in. I sat down but the house looked like a mess. I barely had a place to sit.

"Mrs. Anderson...I have a question" I said.

"Yes" she said.

"I'm apologizing in advance...how did Jay die?" I asked scared that she would break out crying. But she didn't.

"Overdose" her voice was shaky.

i nodded. 

"Oh...do you know why?" I asked.

she began to cry.

"Mrs. Anderson...I'm so sorry.." I said. I sat down next to her and hugged her as she cried.

"I miss him so much!" She cried.

"Me too" I said as my eyes watered.

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