I had never given death much thought until my best friend died. Instances like that make you step back and look at your life again. It makes you be thankful for the love and support that you earn from your family and friends. I was thankful to be alive. I was upset for my friend's death, but I was definitely glad to be alive
When Alex had died, she'd been in pain. All my life, she'd been the rock between her, my other best friend, and I. Through fights and arguments, she'd been there for us. It had been our turn to support her and be there for us after her struggle. She hadn't wanted any meds to soothe her pain. She'd wanted to die as herself.
After Alex's funeral, Maggie and I had tried to stay friends, but without Alex, we began to drift apart. We said hello whenever we passed in the halls, traded texts every once in awhile, but each of us had gone and found new friends. She became a cheerleader and had a ton of friends. Oh, I had a lot of friend, just not good friends. There was one good girl in our group. She didn't swear, smoke, or drink. Then, she moved away.
I fell into the habit of going out each night and all weekend. I'd show up to school a zombie, if I even went at all. My grades were bad and to the point that my mom found out my assignments and did them for me just so I would pass and graduate. That was when my parents had gotten divorced.
My dad had been having an affair with a twenty-year-old Barbie. She was only three years older than me. HE was forty-nine. After my parents divorce was final, they had a beach wedding in the Bahamas, I hadn't been invited, and moved out to California.
My name is Juliet Moore and this is one of those stupid, messed up, love stories.