The wind whipped through her light hair, as she stared at the city of New York. The place that she hated. A place where her "friends" had shunned her. The place where she had gotten a bloody nose, a swirly, and a stuffed-into-locker treatment. She sat on top of the apartment complex, her pale fingers grasping the edge of the building. She had written a letter to her mother and father, maybe they'd care. Maybe.

Those two knew about what had happened to her in school. It wasn't just physical punishment, but mental abuse too. About the way she would lean over the toilet bowl with two fingers in her mouth. And what was that for?

For nothing. For people she didn't like. She bought the fashionable outfits, but then threw them out because it made her feel like them. Struggling to fit in, crying over other peoples opinions. She always thought those people were weak. But now she kind of understood them.

Her parents had asked her what it was. Why she was spiraling into a path that most are too afraid to take. But the answer was complex. It was everything. The way she looked, her "Friends", school. Nothing was right anymore.

Apparently, she had been a happy child. She would dance around the yard with her blonde hair flowing down her back. What had happened? She didn't know, but knew that she wanted to be an ignorant child once more.

She began to losen her grip, but stopped. Continued to inch her way towards the very edge, where she would surely fall to her impending doom.

Stop. she told herself.

She didn't have to do this, but what else could she do? Her wrists were stained with red liquid, her stomach was full of substances that she couldn't name.

A train wreck on two feet. That's what she was.

She pushed her self away from the edge, hugging her knees. She had no clue. It was simple, a small leap. But what would happen then? Who would care? Would she have a funeral? Someone would surely care... Right?

She pulled away from the edge, and went back to the elavator. She pressed the button for the 10th floor. Not tonight. She was hanging onto the belief that someone actually cared. And she was right. But she didn't know, how many people would care.