My Marjorie,

Clarisse patted the empty space next to her, "You see, my story is a little different from everyone else's."

She rubbed her neck again, she could almost feel the thick rope scratching aand tightening around her throat. "In high school I wasn't a very popular kid. I was the loner French girl. But there was this girl who was French too, her name was Marjorie."

Clarisse stopped for a moment and let her gaze settle on the floor, "She became my best friend. But she had these friends, the classic cliche jocks and sluts, of course." She licked her lips nervously, "I thought that Marjorie and I had something special. But one day when we were in the field behind the school, I discovered I was wrong. I was supposed to meet up with her so we could head to my house, so I could introduce her to my family, so I could tell them how I felt about her.

"She was there, but so were her friends. They cornered me," her voice cracked and she could feel tears well up in her eyes, "And they hit me over and over again. Marjorie was there, laughing with them, calling me a faggot. I managed to run home and lock myself in the closet where I did this," she motioned to the scars and bruises on her neck.