Prologue: A Distant Memory

Angel's Point of View:

"Good morning, Angel." Dr. Sanders said as a large smile formed on his face. "How are you this morning?"

The soft tick-tock of the clock grew louder as his question was left unanswered.

Oh please! I haven't spoken to you in nearly a year and a half, yet you still have that misguided belief that you're going to save me…Just give up like all the other therapists did!

Instead of actually saying that, I simply slouched down further in the comfortable red chair and stared blankly at my therapist.

For a man in his mid-30s he wasn't bad looking. He kind of looked like Jude Law...so I don't really hate the guy. Who would? He has dirty blonde hair that he keeps short enough to put in spikes and is pretty fit…for an old guy.

Okay, okay. So 31 isn't super old…he's only 10 years older than me.

Trust me to get stuck with a psychiatrist that is close to my age and have him try to find out why I am 'insane'.

I'm not fucking insane!! I yelled in my head as if he could actually hear me through some magical power.

"So you're still not speaking to me, huh?" Dr. Sanders said with a small sigh as he ran his hand through his hair.

Obviously I'm not…Sherlock. I grumbled to myself. So what new trick do you have up your sleeves today, Doc? How are you going to break me now?

"I'm going to stop begging you to talk, Angel." Dr. Sanders interrupted my inner dialogue. "Instead, I want you to write everything down."

He pulled out a black notebook that had a picture of Jack Skeleton on it and put it on the table in between us. "I heard you like this skeleton guy…so I got it for you. Makes it feel a little more personal, doesn't it?"

I stared at the notebook and did my best to hide my smile. I have to give this man some credit. After nearly a year and a half, Dr. Sanders knew me a lot better than some of my friends here in the city…and I don't even talk to him.

"I know it sounds like a waste of time to you, Angel." Dr. Sanders said slowly. "But I want you to try. I want you to tell me everything you mumble to yourself whenever you stop yourself from talking."

You're good. I mumbled in my head. But I don't know if I can write everything down. What if it hurts too much? What if it makes me remember the small things that I've tried so hard to forget? What if it kills me?

The little timer next to his chair started ringing softly, telling the both of us that today's session was over.

I stood up and pushed a strand of my black hair out of my face before slowly picking up my new diary.

A few hours later, I found myself sitting alone in my living room and staring down at the first blank page of my notebook.

As cruel as this little therapeutic exercise seemed to me, I wanted to give it a try.

I needed to tell someone my story before it became too much. Before the haunting memories of that night overwhelmed so much that I would try to do something I'll regret.

And with that last thought, I picked up a pen and slowly began to write my life down.

Entry 1 September 14, 2011

That night is but a distant memory in me head- a terrible headache. And even the memory causes me trouble. I find it hard to look back to that Friday without feeling it was my entire fault. Everything would have happened so differently if I hadn't been so stubborn. Maybe if I had just spent that May night with him instead of convincing him to let me finish the trip, everything would have turned out differently. Of course, all the therapists tell me that that isn't true. 'It wasn't your fault' seems to be there mantra as they tried to break my depression. Two years later and I still don't believe their crap. But now you're making me write everything down, Dr. Sanders. From the beginning to the cruel end, you want everything…even all the pain and regret I'm hiding.

It's been years…yet it feels like it was just yesterday that everything I loved disappeared. I'm not sure anymore to tell you the truth. Everything seems to be frozen in that time for me. But no matter how much time has passed, that May night will not be easily forgotten.

So, Dr. Sanders, you wanted a story?

Well, here it goes…