Dead Heroines

“Sometimes, I think I want to die.”

We were playing truth or dare when Spella told me that for the first time. It's easily remembered as the most terrifying secret I've ever been told. Those words had just spilled from my best friend's lips in complete calmness, as if she was okay with it. Like she had accepted it, almost. Like it was normal.

But maybe it was. I don't know because my mindset wasn't so dark back then. Now I can look at that moment in time and space, close my eyes, and understand it. Of course she wanted to die. We all did. And those of us who didn't needed to take a good look at Spella. A perfect girl who seemed to have it all wanted to end it. Wanted to have nothing. You're insane if you don't want out of this hell hole of a place. I know back then I didn't, but that wasn't hell quite yet. Hell came later. Hell came with maturity and growth.

Hell started that night.

It was three in the morning – maybe closer to four and we were fueled on Saturday morning energy and two empty tubs of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream. My room was dark apart from the strings of Christmas lights stapled to my ceiling for hipster appeal. The walls glowed rainbow. I was on the floor, striped-pajama legs swinging wildly as I laid on my back, air-bicycling. Spella was on my bed, doing heaven knows what on my iPod. Probably hacking my Facebook again because that's just what best friends do.

“Spells,” I mumbled, legs giving up and billowing down to my uncomfortable furry carpet.

“Yeah, Cappie?” She looked down at me over the ledge of my towering bed, green eyes sparkling in the fluorescent lights. Her red hair was all tied up in the messiest bun I'd ever seen and it still made me jealous. She looked horribly perfect with no makeup on, all natural when half the world was passed out in deep sleep. We were on two different ends of the spectrum. She was topping things off with unbelievable good looks and I was down there on my floor, in all my Hello Kitty tank top and smeared makeup glory.

“I'm bored.”

Spella gave me one of her looks – one of her, ”No, really?” looks – and snorted. “Never would've guessed.” She snapped, putting my iPod down and tumbling off my bed, down next to me.”I'm sorry I'm not more entertaining, Cap.”

I shook my head at her and shrugged. “Not your fault. I'm pretty sure any sensible person is bored at three AM if they aren't high as hell on lack of sleep, babes.” I mused. Her silence alerted an unspoken agreement.

“Just means we're normal, I guess.”

The twitch I gave was way over animated as I sat up, propping my chin on one hand. Spella glanced up and laughed at my expression; cocked eyebrow, crooked grin.

“Us?” I asked. “Normal?” My voice was dripping in some type of sarcasm that made Spella grip her gut in violent laughter. Once she caught her breath, she was redder than her hair, biting her lip to keep from exploding into a fit again. It was really quite entertaining watching her lose oxygen but it was true. We were so far from the usual definition of 'normal'.

“You're right,” she wheezed, “I'm sorry, I'm sorry. You're right.”

“I know I am.” I said proudly, blowing my charcoal hair out of my eyes. “You don't need to tell me twice. But really, we need something to do before my eyes fall out.”

I wasn't over exaggerating. That's how unbearably bored I was and I think Spella could see it.

“Okay, let's play truth or dare.”

The idea of such an old, middle school esquire game made me blink in surprise. Of all things, that. But I was okay with it. As long as we had something to do, happiness was present.

“You start though, since I just came up with the idea.” Spella spindled, her wicked little smirk torturing, knowing how bad I was with coming up with things. “'Cause this game's boring beyond belief if we don't both play.”

“I hate it when you're right,” I complained, fixing myself into a Indian position. It was too late to be laying down if I didn't want to pass out.

“Truth or dare?” I challenged, and she puffed out her chest; “Truth.”

We sat there for a few minutes, intently staring at each other. Maybe she'd give up on me because the rattling in my head was getting annoying. I couldn't think. Truth or dare was such a complicated game.

“It's only complicated if you make it complicated.” Spella guided, as if she knew what I was thinking when my face scrunched up. “Stop trying so hard. It should be simple.”

“Fine,” I spat, more irritated with myself than her because really, could I not come up with one easy question?

“What's your deepest, darkest secret?”

God, I sounded like I was in fourth grade with that one. But her answer was anything but fourth grade material.

Spella shrugged, then, gazing straight ahead at whatever it was that was in front of her. It couldn't have been very interesting. And that's when she said it. That's when both of our lives changed, obviously for the worst.

“Sometimes, I think I want to die.”