Oh my god. Fuck. My. LIFE.

Unfortunately, Miles couldn't hear that scream from my brain as we walked into one of the most cliche high school parties I've ever seen. Larger than life house, drunk teens stumbling upstairs to spread their herpes, that one little corner of sane people talking and having a blast, a relatively nice house trashed by over fifty teenagers drinking and tossing a football. It made me sick to my stomach. But of course I didn't tell Miles. His eyes brightened when he saw a certain silver-eyed cheerleader near the sane group of people. He tore his eyes away from the girl and gave me one of his charmingly happy grins. He told me to walk around and enjoy myself, already inching towards the cheerleader before I could answer. He only stayed to hear my objection. Which there was none. Instead, I pulled on a painfully bright smile and slapped his shoulder. He didn't notice the lack of strength in my slap. I told him to enjoy himself as well and to stay out of trouble in my quiet voice. He grinned and nodded, patting my shoulder and trotting off to join his new group of friends. The place where he touched me still burned with guilt as he left. I was going to hell for lying to him. I was gonna go to hell for a lot of things actually. But this was another Twilight book to add to the burning pile.

I wish hell would take me already. Maybe then the physical pain could smother the ache in my heart. Shit where is a razor when you need one?

I sighed and moved from blocking the door. Should I grab some beer to drown my depression? Depressed? Oh nonono I'm not depressed.. I can't be depressed... That would just make trouble for Miles.. He'd flip a bitch if I was depressed...and then he'd blow off everything just to help me like the stupid, adorable big brother he is...He'd probably blow off that cheerleader too and I know he's head over heels for her... No. I'm not depressed. I'm just...sad. Yeah. Sad. Good god I need a cigarette. I abandoned my search for a mind numbing beer in favor of dodging the grinding audience around me, heading for the back door. I glanced around as my outstretched hand touched the cool glass of the back door. Then froze.

She was here.

That familiar (studied down to every folicle) violet hair and blonde bangs. The breath-taking smile that lit up my world on my darkest days. Those beautiful chocolate brown eyes with their unique lighter brown pupils(Her gi-fuckin-normous boobs that I always pretend not to stare at). God she was so pretty...The only thing ugly about her was the hand occupying hers. The very masculine hand in hers. Oh, did I forget to mention I fell for a straight girl? No? Well shit. Sorry for keeping you out of the loop of my depr- sadness. Sadness. Her name is Bekkah Winston. She apparently transferred from Russia to my high school in freshman year. I've only been here for about a month or two. Probably longer. I don't bother to keep time anymore. I don't see the point.

I didn't realize I was staring until a couple behind me growled at me to move. Apparently I was blocking the way. So instead of turning and snapping at them like I wanted too (oh god did I want to scream), I quietly opened the door and let them pass. I spent another minute watching Bekkah talk and laugh with her boyfriend before the constricting feeling in my chest became too much to bear. The glass door slammed shut behind me as I frantically reached for my cigarettes, grabbing one out of the box with shaking fingers. I stumbled out of sight in the overly large backyard, slumping against the far wall and sliding down with a shuddering gasp. The constricting pain only loosened a bit. I lit the fag with a pathetic wisp of flame and took a long drag. The backyard was totally silent except for the muffled music from the house and the quiet chatter near the back door. I was alone, smoking my 'healthy' cigarette in the shadow of two trees, sitting with my back against the wall. Bekkah's happy face haunted my mind. Taunted more like it. I wished I could gain enough self confidence to talk to her and be done with these anxious feelings.. But apparently with Miles' personality, it's either people talk to me or I don't talk at ALL. I haven't said more than three words in my whole two or so months at my new high school. Is this what is was like for him? If I knew it was this difficult to speak, i never would have encouraged him to speak at school. Just the strain of talking to someone is enough to pull my hair out because I Know it's not that hard! But my personality (Miles' personality) is what is making it difficult for me to speak! I can talk to myself and my brother just fine, but when it comes to Miles' friends, my words die as soon as they form in my brain. IT'S SO FUCKING FRUSTRATING I WANT TO SHOOT MYSELF!

The music from the party didn't reach my ears anymore, nor did the chatter near the glass door. Silence murdered my ears. I felt sick. I dropped my unfinished cigarette and gripped my head between my hands, squeezing just to see if I could hear my skull crack beneath my fingertips. I needed to hear something. Anything. Darkness closed around me and started to strangle me. Panic flash through my dark gray eyes. I couldn't breathe.

"Hey, are you okay?"

Everything rushed back to me. Sound, sight, touch.. Touch.. there's a hand on my shoulder. My eyes met chocolate brown irises with lighter brown pupils. I forgot how to breathe. Bekkah frowned at me worriedly. I realized I was staring at her spacedly and I snapped my gaze to my lap, nodding silently to her question. My 'thank you' died in my throat like every other sentence I tried to say. She gave me a gentle smile that made my heart jump into my throat.

"Alright.. I'm glad you're okay. You looked like you were in pain.."

I gritted my teeth, fighting back frustrated tears as yet another sentence dug it's grave. I simply nodded, refusing to meet her eyes. I heard her sigh quietly and her hand left my shoulder. I wanted to cry at the loss of contact. Her footsteps faded into the distance. I stood up slowly a few minutes later, turned and punched the brick wall behind me hard enough for part of the wall to cave in. I ignored the blood pouring into the gravel from my ripped knuckles.

I really needed that razor now.