The next day I spend my day holed in my room, ignoring the numerous amount of phone calls and texts I get from my 'friends'. They didn't seem to care at the party, so why do they suddenly care now? I shove headphones in my ears and force myself to listen to happy music, droning out all the bad memories. I've done it once, so I can do it again.
A few minutes later, my Mum knocks on my door. She creaks it open, and I notice she has a pile of envelopes. Of course, it's my Birthday tomorrow, so it must be cards arriving early.
"These are for you," Mum says, placing them beside me on the bed, "Are you alright?"
"Yeah, I'm fine," I reply, waiting until she leaves before I rake a hand through my hair, sighing. It's so hard trying to act fine around her, but at least it causes me to want to be happy, instead of dwelling over what's happened.
Taking out my headphones, I turn over the first envelope. Ripping it open, I notice the handwriting as soon as I read the first word - Granny Jo. I slip out the money, skim the message and move onto the next one. Normally I enjoy reading through the kind messages, taking time to smile and imagine their grins in return. But not when I'm in this mood.
Card after card, I do the same. I know Mum intended me to open them tomorrow on the actual day of my Birthday, but somehow I don't care any more - my Birthday's already ruined. However the last one seems different when I look at it. The shiny paper and unrecognisable handwriting causes me to open it warily. Once I've put the envelope to the side, I notice that it isn't a card. In fact, it's a letter. Summoning up the courage, I flick it open, and begin to read.
Before I say anything, please let me explain. It's me.
I immediately turn my face away from the page, tears already stinging my eyes. No way is he trying to regain my trust. No way will I ever forgive him for what he's done to me. I look back, cautiously.
I just want to say that I've changed. I know what I did in the past was wrong and I'm eternally grateful that you never told on me. Seriously, I couldn't thank you enough. I did what you asked me to that night, that night you told me to fix myself before you had a reason to report me. And I listened. I have fixed myself.
'But I didn't tell you to come back,' I think.
I know I shouldn't have acted like a stranger to you. I knew as soon as you felt a part of me, you'd realise. Somehow, that didn't stop me from wanting to be close to you again, but I can't help that. I'm physically and mentally drawn to you, Becca. It's as if we're meant to be together and you're my soulmate. I know I took advantage of you, and I know I was stupid enough to think it was right, but please forgive me. I'm different now. Trust the new me.
I rest my head in my arms, taking long, deep breaths. I feel myself rising, rising up until I grab the letter and tear it right in half, tears flooding from my poisoned eyes. He can't expect my forgiveness, when he shouldn't have hurt me in the first place, when he shouldn't have lied about us being strangers. He can't make me forget. Nothing will make me forget. Because I'm stained. I'm stained and marked and scarred and it'll always be there, like any other organ in my body.
Looking down at my feet, I feel myself shrinking, my body slowly falling like a feather through the air to the ground. Pain stains my face through the drops of sizzling lava climbing their way down an erupting volcano, disintegrating into the ground as if there was never any trace of them. Like there's never any trace of me.
I stare down at the crumpled letter, the page torn down the middle from where my anger took control first. The cursive writing has now blurred into the page from my tears and the words that left me broken, no longer visible.
Why did you do this to me?
Hands shaking, I feel my body physically heaving in pain, vibrating through my deafening cries. My sobs shatter the windows, causing the house to crumble, my mind blowing out of proportion in what seems like power, but is only anger. Nothing leaves my mouth.
Screaming for help I feel myself falling apart, brick after brick of a house ripped out from it's structure, like my emotions are torn out of me. Your words shatter me as if a drill is trying to repair my damaged bricks, my unrecognisable emotions. But there's no way to build back a broken house.
There's no way to build back me.