I've been sick for around six weeks now. I'm restraining myself of taking those white pills again. I don't know if I should tell him I've been throwing up twice this day. This hospital wings are starting to look strangely familiar; I don't remember since how long I've been in here. I'm willing so much to get out of this sad place- of these white corridors made of hard concrete.

I can't stand the glances, or the whispering around me. Why he doesn't visit anymore? Did he see it in my face… or did he dig into my heart? That hadn't been my intention. I've wanted to tell him for so many times, but I didn't seem I'd gathered up the courage.

I know he is naive, but maybe for a chance he'd figured out how I really am. I don't think he loves me anymore. Maybe if he comes he notices in my eyes or in my tones that I've been crying, and maybe he gives me a second chance.

But… how? I really put him down, I spat in his face, and he didn't bother in cleaning up my mess. I think that was the first time he was really horrified for figuring me out.

The truth is, I don't remember the night of the accident so clear; I just remember the glow in his beautiful sapphire eyes before it happened. That's what makes me feel much guiltier.

I'd been drinking. I mean, my Yale's solicitude had been just open. I had just realized I didn't have a future- I wasn't going anywhere. So I kept drinking, even though, he warned me not to. He was always so protective. Then I saw the white pills on my drawer. Those weren't aspirins, I knew, he didn't. I tried to open up the bottle, but it was so hard. I couldn't.

Suddenly, my door room cracked as he opened it. Light was shed in all directions, his presence there was suddenly so blinding. He looked worried, he had never seen me so down. I guess he was also feeling gloom. The vibe he produced was amazingly calm. He looked gorgeous, more than he had ever looked before; His black hair was thrown in all directions, the black shirt he was wearing, made his skin looked whiter, he was an epitome of perfection.

He sat next to me; he put his hands around my neck, and suddenly kissed me on the cheek. How genuine he was! As for me, dumb will do. I tore him away; I didn't like when I appear to him so diaphanous. A tear slipped from his eye, I noticed it, even if I pretended not to. He washed it away quickly, he didn't like being vulnerable. Does anyone? He stood up, and he admired the room for around three minutes. Silence had begun to look awkward. I grabbed the wine; he took it away from me in such a careless way that I almost cried. I didn't deserve someone like him; he was too much. I hit his arm; I knew that was the place that hurt him the most. He trembled a bit, but he didn't release the bottle. So I grabbed the scissors, and started lacerating myself, as I used to do, before I'd promised him I would stop with that. Another tear escaped, this time he didn't wash it-- he wanted me to see how I was hurting him. I think that's why I tried to open my wrist. He ran towards me, he intended to drag the scissors away from me. He couldn't because I opened a little wound across his neck. He looked at me horrified, afraid, and disappointed. That wasn't the girl he had loved-- the one he met two years ago. He came near again; this time he succeeded in taking away my weapon… but he wasn't sweet this time, he was kind of hurtful.

I started crying, a long, silent cry I thought that maybe if I did he would see weak I was. He stood there, looking at me… I looked back at him, then I smiled and said I was sorry. He came near, and sat next to me on the floor. He hugged me, and for a moment I stopped feeling fragile. His arms fitted perfectly in mine. I had always wondered if I loved him… at that moment I knew I did.

I told him to pass me the bottle of white pills, and he asked what those were. He was always so smart, much more than I. "Aspirins", I name my lie. Sedatives were my truth. I really needed one, for stopped me from remembering how I had become a shame for him. I didn't count with the fact of his innocence; after all, he was naïve. He took one, for his headache he said. I would have tried to stop him, but he would have found me out. I let him took it! How selfish had I'd become? Or should I blame the alcohol that had been permeating through my veins? I took one, also. Alcohol and sedatives don't bring so positive effects. I fainted, while he looked me into the eyes. How beautiful his eyes were! Will I ever going to see them again?

That was all I remember from the night of the accident, or shall I say, from the night of my mistake?

I knew after that, by him, that he had ended on the hospital also. That they tried on him many things, but they didn't know what was wrong with him. The only thing wrong with him was me, I thought. How sad the truth it is sometimes.

They thought he was onto drugs, and as a consequence for that they kicked him out of his volleyball team. How bad I felt! Volleyball was the only thing he could have loved more than me. That was the last time he visited-- the last time I saw his shining eyes. Those eyes that would never look at me in the same way they once did.

Now I'm here, pretending he'll come back, pretending I haven't lost him, that my mistakes weren't enough to tear away his love. Sometimes I dream of him--of his way of playing the drums, of the scent he produced, of how perfect he was. But I know it's just that, a dream… he is gone. I'm left here with nothing; just these white pills that pretended to be something they're not, maybe we are not so different. Could you see the similitude? These white pills near my drawer, the same that tore my love apart, the same that made me sick, the same one that will kill me if I take them, the same white pills I'm going to take tonight…