Author's Notes: Just something I wrote for EE2. Before you all start judging, the girl is not suicidal, a cutter, anorexic or anything else quite so damn predictable. I'm just having a go at this style of writing and seeing where it takes me.


She hasn't moved in awhile and he's getting worried.

She's lying on the bathroom tiles, staring up at the fly spotted ceiling. She's been like this for hours and he'd think she was dead if it wasn't for the rise and fall of her chest. Her limbs ache like she's just laid down after a marathon and her head pounds red. If red was a feeling.

She wonders what feelings colours would be. She thinks green would be that feeling you get when you've got no immediate problems, when everything seems to be working out. Pink would be the colour of a child, all fresh and innocent. Pink would be new love to, because it's so soft and forgiving.

She doesn't know what red is. Red might be passion, but it's also anger. There's red on the tiles now, but that's blood from where she cut her knee.

Her hands are cut up too, and she wonders what happened to her. Her head is still pounding red.

He reaches for her hand and gently finds her pulse; subtly so she doesn't know he's freaking out inside. It flutters against his fingers and he resists the urge to kiss her hand. Love is unnatural, especially with her.

Her body suddenly jerks up, as if he brought her back to life when he touched her wrists. He likes her wrists. They're small and white with little blue veins running through them. She wears one orange rubber bracelet and a wrist full of grungy friendship bracelets around them – he asked about them once, and she said that every time one fell off, she lost a friend.

She pulls herself to her feet and stumbles. They both hear the heel of her shoe crack and she tilts forward, grasping the shower curtain like she's drowning. She twists around and falls into the bath, the shower curtain wrapped around her body like a bed sheet.

She gasps for breath and manages a laugh that chills him to his bones. She doesn't want to tell him, in her eyes, he's gone all grey and blurry around the edges.

He tugs off her shoes; gold stilettos she's far too young for. He's the one that helped her chose them. He's the one that offers her his hand and pulls her up. He's the one that untangles the shower curtain and manages to hang it back up. He pulls her free of her short white dress and turns on the cold water. One act of revenge for what she's become.

She bites her lips as the cold water spills down her body. She doesn't want him to see her like this; she did warn him so many times. But it's different to see the fall than just to hear about it. She shakes her head free of colours and everything becomes clear again.

She remembers tumbling out of the car because her head is spinning. She remembers eating ice out of a cup, it reminds her of hospital and she's spent far more time there than at home. She knows her doctor better than her father, and the nurses better than her mama.

She aches some more and manages to climb out of the shower and wrap herself in a towel. He sees the dark circles under her eyes, so deeply ingrained, it was no eyeliner. The eyeliner makes a mess down her face, like her eyes are bleeding ink. He sees how white she is, and he looks into her eyes. The blood vessels in her eyes have burst.

He remembers finding her crumpled around the toilet, throwing up so much she could hardly breathe. He remembers his own cold words, "I thought you didn't drink," and she shakes her head and her tears mix with her vomit.

She wipes her face with the towel and the make up comes off. She's sick.

"I shouldn't have come tonight," she says softly. "I should've stayed in bed." But when you do make it to school and hear about parties until morning, dancing on the lawn in white and gold, kissing behind the garden shed, she wants that for herself. No more hospitals, and no more drips. No more pounding headaches from throwing up until the blood vessels in her eyes burst open. She doesn't want her eyes to bleed anymore. So, she bought gold shoes and a white dress, and now they're crumpled in a pile and she's in her thin underwear reminding herself she's going to die before he's at university.

He doesn't speak, but watches her as she knots the towel around her and reaches back to undo her necklace. One of her friendship bracelets gets caught and she pulls away too fast and it's torn.

She looks at it sadly and then looks at him.

"I'm still you're friend," he says softly, unhooking the robe on the back of the bathroom door and wrapping it around her thin shoulders. "You should have told me you were sick." Her bright eyes and innocent jokes, her smile and love of the colour yellow, they told him she was just another girl. Not someone who should be tucked in bed because …

…Because she was dying.

She leans on him as he tucks her in bed and she points to her pills and her fluffs her pillows. And she's very white now.

"Are you okay?" he asks, as he hands her a glass of water.

"I lost another bracelet," she replies.

"So? Just because you lost a bracelet, doesn't mean I'm not going to hang with you anymore," he grins. "I gotta go." She nods and before he leaves, she points to a twisted bracelet, worn with time.

"That one is mine," she whispers.

And she won't come back to school. Another sick girl died and she stayed in bed and then in hospital. She took the pills and he visited with cupcakes and comic books. She whispers to him she needs to give him a friendship bracelet because she does it to everyone she loves.

She slides the black rubber one off and onto his wrist. He notices only two of her raggedy friendship bracelets remain. He's not surprised. Her other friends don't want someone who knows the hospital better than her home. Or someone who has to lie down during classes.

And there she is. Her lips are still red and someone crammed her cold, dead corpse into the white dress and the broken gold shoes. Someone shakily smeared make up on her face and slid earrings into her ears. Her hair looks soft but is heavy with gel. And only a single silver bracelet is slid around her wrist. It reminds him of a shackle.

Now, when you walk around the city, you might see a guy from the university. His girlfriend never wears white dresses or gold shoes, and doesn't know how to make bracelets out of string. Her eyes don't bleed and she doesn't picture colours and feelings.

And he has on one rubber bracelet, concealed by his watch. And once a year, he has a cold shower in his clothes and does nothing all day but each cupcakes and read comics.

He didn't love her. She was the new girl at school with the happy face.