I sat in the back seat of my parents’ dark red Denali, my headphones over my ears blasting loud noise into them. I held a magazine in front of my face so that I didn’t have to see the worried looks my parents were giving me. We had been driving for about four hours. The most boring hours of my life.

My parents wouldn’t even let me drive because they thought I’d drive into oncoming traffic and commit suicide. Yeah sure maybe I had tried once… twice… a few times…, and yeah I guess I was starving myself, yeah I guess I’m the reason we’re moving too, but they don’t even trust me anymore.

“Jennifer, why don’t you turn off your music, you’ve got it on really loud,” my mom said. I lowered my magazine and stared at her, a blank look on my skinny face. I had lost about thirty pounds in a month and now weighed about 90 pounds. I lifted my magazine back in front of my face, ignoring my mom. “Jennifer, are you listening?” I sat my magazine down on the seat next to me and picked my pillow up off the floor of the car. I pushed it against the door and settled in to sleep.

I woke several hours later as someone opened the door I was leaning against, causing me to fall out of the car, landing against a strong chest as someone caught me. I clung onto the person’s light blue button up shirt, trying to stop myself from falling.

As soon as I felt secure, as secure as I could feel in some stranger’s arm, I glanced up at the face of whoever it was who caught me. He looked to be about my age, if not a little older. His red brown hair fell into his clear blue eyes as he watched me.

“Hi, I’m Brendan,” the boy said, a small smile forming on his lips.

“Jennifer,” I said as I swung my legs off his arm and started to walk, through the snow, away from him. I stopped several feet away from him and turned to look at him. “And don’t think that we’re going to be friends. Cause we’re not. You wouldn’t want to be friends with me,” I said before I turned and started around the house. I didn’t want to go inside to meet my parents worried expressions and their questions just yet.

As I walked along the side of the white house I started to realize just how big it was. Glancing up I could see that the house had at least three floors, not counting a basement.

“Jennifer!” I heard my dad call from the front yard. Why? Why when I just got back here do you have to call? “Can you come inside for a second.” I sighed before I kept walking along the side of the house, toward the back.

“Tell you what dad, if I can find a door back here then I’ll come in,” I mumbled to myself. It wasn’t that I had any friends back where I used to live. The only friends that I had had, were my ex boyfriend’s friends, and they all left me when he did. Yes, my ex boyfriend is the reason I’ve lost thirty pounds, and had practically gone emo in a month. I know everyone says that you shouldn’t hurt yourself over a boy, but it isn’t me that is hurting me, it’s him. I know it doesn’t make sense, but he started it.

“Jennifer!” both my parents called as large raindrops started to fall from the dark gray sky. Great, rain in the winter. I rolled my eyes and kept walking. I used to hate rain, now… it didn’t bother me. “Jennifer, where are you?” Rolling my dark green eyes as I sped up my pace a little.

I turned around the corner, and what do you know, stairs! Can you tell how enthusiastic I am about them. I started up the stairs slowly and walked across the, snow covered, wooden porch to a door.

“Is that her?” a woman answered as I entered the house, causing me to freeze and look around for the source. A brown haired woman, about the age of my parents sat at the table next to a man with blond hair and Brendan. I stared at them, not moving.

“It’s either her or an anorexic burglar,” my dad said. “I swear you wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.” My parents both came into the room as a small smirk formed on Brendan’s lips.

“Thanks Dad, I feel the love,” I said as I started out of the room, toward the front of the house.

“Well if you weren’t starving yourself then I wouldn’t be able to say that,” my dad said.

“You can’t see it but I’m rolling my eyes at you,” I said, making my dad chuckle softly.

“Jen, we just miss what you were like before him,” my mom said.

“That person’s dead, Mom. I know it, and I know you know it,” I walked the rest of the way out of the room, and right out the front door, once I found it.

“I’m sorry, she hasn’t been the same since, what was his name? Tray? Yes, that was it. Since Tray dumped her she’s been, well, not eating and kind of really suicidal,” my mom said. I rolled my eyes, just like my mom to tell everyone she could about her daughter’s downfall. I closed the front door before I had the chance to say something in response to my mom telling people, she didn’t even know, about me.

I ran out to the car, hoping it was unlocked. To my demise, I found it locked. Figures. I sat down on the snowy ground against the tire on the far side of the car, facing a large pine bush. I was hidden from the view of anyone in the house.

For the first time in almost three weeks I felt tears well up in my eyes. I hated remembering the past, most my resent past involved Tray. The one person I so desperately longed to forget. I rolled up the sleeve of my dark blue sweatshirt, watching the raindrops land on and around the white scars that ran across my arm. I reached into my back pocket and pulled out a small black pocketknife. I slowly opened it before pressing it, lightly against the skin on my arm and running it across the skin on my arm, adding one more cut to the collection I had started on my arm, two for every day I had been without Tray. I held my arm in front of me, watching the blood run off my arm and fall to the ground where it mixed with the snow. My tears fell down on to the cut, making it sting.

I was lifting the pocketknife to add the second cut when a hand closed around my wrist, restricting me from bringing the knife any closer to my wrist. Slowly, I let go of the knife, realizing how stupid I was being. In the course of four weeks I had turned into someone I told myself I would never be. I could feel that I was shaking, visibly. I glance up at Brendan’s face, thinking that I would find an accusing face. In reality his face held a look of concerned determination. His light eyes saying that he wanted to help. He held my eye contact for a long time before glancing down at my shaking fingers.

Brendan let go of my wrist before sitting down next to me. I watched as he picked up the pocketknife and closed it.

“It doesn’t help does it?” Brendan said, making it sound more like a fact then a question, silently telling me that he didn’t want an answer. I stared at the ground, tears free falling, at a rapid pace, from my eyes. “It’s not worth it you know,” Brendan said.

“How would you know?” I questioned. I knew he could tell by the sound of my voice that I was crying. Brendan pulled up the sleeve of his light blue shirt, which was practically soaked, up to his elbow. He held his arm in front of me and I glanced at it, seeing faint white lines across it. I glanced from his arm up to his face, my forehead creased in distress. I searched his eyes, trying to find answers to why I was doing this.

“You should probably eat something,” Brendan stated.

“I’m not hungry,” I answered. Brendan’s forehead wrinkled, worry wrinkles. “Why?”

“Why what? Why aren’t you hungry?” Brendan asked. I nodded. “Because it hurts too much, it makes you feel like you just what to disappear.” I stared up at him wide eyed, he just explained everything I was feeling.

“How…How do…do you know?” I asked softly.

“It’s not important,” Brendan replied. “Come on, let’s go get you something to eat.” Brendan stood up and offered me his hand, I stared at it for a second, hesitating. Slowly I set my hand inside his, realizing how much smaller my hand was compared to his. He pulled me up smoothly and led me toward the house.