A/N: Haven't written anything in a while... Hope this is something new. Thank you for gentle words! :)

She continued to flip through the pictures as the cool evening breeze gently caressed her cheeks and blew upon her hair, making her long, dark locks flow in the late night air.

Each picture showed a different memory. Each one told a different story. Once she was done listening to one, she would move on to the next, and it would remind her of each and every person she helped, she made happy, and she supported because they were going through some very tough times. Once she was done, she threw the photograph behind her, hoping that they would all just scatter, and, with the help of the wind, move as far away from her as she could because she was tired of picking them up. In fact, she was just plain tired. Tired of waiting. Tired of hoping. Tired of loving. And just plain tired of being tired.

Was it too much to ask? None of them ever looked at her and asked if the smile she wore was hiding pains. They would never believe her when she told them she missed them. None of them ever realized that while they pushed her away, she stayed there and took care of them, although from a reasonable distance. They never asked if she was ever hurt, because she never said so – and they wondered what she did to keep so happy. In fact, she wasn't happy at all. Not entirely, anyway. Her best friend accused her of not being there, when in fact, she was the only one who was. Her family keeps telling her to be this and that, to do this and that, when they all already know that the one thing she hates is being told what to do and who to be. Her mother, whom she had always loved so much, is now becoming the reason for a lot of heartache. And those closest friends of hers, who swore they'd be there for her, are never there when she truly needed them: like now, for instance.

Everything she blinded herself with... they all began fading away.

She helped without expecting anything in return – at least, it began that way. But they began making promises. They began telling her lies. The swore to be the "Virgil through the Inferno", because it was 'the least they could do'. They would thank her and act as though she was important to them, and she really thought she was. But she should have known when their backs would be turned, when she would never be informed, and when there were those moments that if her voice dropped in a conversation, it didn't matter anymore.

Her hands trembled upon the last picture. It told her that they gathered – without her, as usual, and she wasn't told either – and had fun. They grinned, as though to mock her, and they had their arms around each other like how friends should. Because that's what friends are for, right?

As she let go of the that final photograph, it was carried by the wind for a moment, before a light zephyr allowed it to drop from the edge of the platform she stood upon. It was more than twenty stories down, and she watched the photograph dance down for a moment, having it's limelight, before it disappeared into the darkness of the world below, where it meant nothing to the world once more.

For a moment, she looked down at her grim choices. Then, with tears threatening to fall, she pulled her mobile phone from her pocket and called the only person she knew who got her out of a mess like that before.

"... Anna?"

For a moment, she was at a loss for words, "S-Smith?"

"Anna, do you know what time it is?" he sounded a little upset, and irritated.

She didn't know how to get it out, "I still like you." That was the only way.

"... We've talked about this, Anna. I don't have time for that right now."

She was silent for a while. Sudden noises from the world below her feet erupted – traffic seems to have gotten worse: rush hour had begun. Whatever it was, Smith must have heard it because his tone changed and she could hear at least the slightest hint of worry in his voice, "Anna? Where are you?"

She didn't reply. This time, she couldn't hold it in anymore. Tears were falling down faster than she could wipe them off.

"Anna? Where the hell are you?" he repeated, probably getting annoyed at how she wasn't answering.

"It doesn't matter," she replied to him, snuffling a bit.

"Anna, what's wrong?"

Her heart skipped a beat, "Everything,"

"Anna, wherever you are, don't do anything stupid-" She wasn't listening to this, "-I'm going to go get you, or get someone to get you. Just... Don't. I don't know what to do, but let's talk, okay? I'm sure there's a logical solution for whatever you're feeling-" Screw logic, "-so let's just talk it over first, okay? Anna? Anna?"

He didn't know that the mobile phone lay alone on the surface of the balcony.


I'm sorry if the story's a little... Depressing. I just... I'm annoyed at how people are treating me like shit lately – especially since these are the people I treated like diamonds. It's just not fair. I never get that kind of treatment, I have NEVER been treated that way. And, well, how come it's okay for me to treat them well and not okay for me to be treated just as well?

I need another cup of coffee.