Dying Doesn't Seem So Cruel

The months passed by slowly; I'd hidden the Cd's and bear I'd received from Emmett the day I had returned from the Cullens. My mother had tried to get the story from me, but since I gave no details, she'd soon given up. Instead, she helped me to move the boxes of pictures, scrapbooks, and notes into the attic. My dad didn't question anything, just taken me into his study and shared a bottle of red wine with me. By the time, I'd gone back to my room, I had a really slight buzz and smelled like cigars.

My nights were plagued with insomnia and nightmares - when I actually managed to finally fall asleep. During the time I was awake, I sent all the pictures I'd saved to my computer into the desktop recycle bin. Not deleting them permanently. That would've hurt far too much. I kept my windows locked and curtains drawn; thankfully, they didn't try to visit.

"Sweetie, time for dinner."

"I'm not hungry."

My mom sighed. "You've hardly eaten. You''re losing too much weight."

Indeed, I was. My clothes didn't fit right. I had deep purple shadows under my eyes, and my black curls now hung limp around my face. I was constantly shaking from being cold, and no amount of heat could keep me warm.

"I'll try to eat later.

"Alright."

She left my room, and I closed my eyes against the tears. I glanced down at the diary in my lap before writing hesitanty,

I'm not sure how much longer I can do this.