Winter.

I tease this kid everyday and it's the funniest shit ever. When I reduce him to tears in front of everyone, it makes me feel powerful but..bad. I feel bad for making this boy have his weakest moments in class, in front of people he has to see every day. I'm sure not by choice. I felt the need to apologize to him, but I can never seem to catch him outside of class.

But I think I just found my chance. I just saw him sneak into the boys locker room while in lunch. I should probably wait a few minutes but I suppose my friends saw I was distracted.

"Hey, Nikki, what's up?" Charlie, the boy who sits next to me in Mr. Bordens English class, asks.

"Oh. I just forgot, I have to go turn a paper into Mr. Vincent." I make up an excuse. Mr. Vincent is my first period gym teacher. "He gave me some stupid make-up work bullshit in first. He said I gotta turn it back in during lunch."

"But none of the gym teachers are even in the locker room right now. It's their lunch too..?" Charlie says.

Damn it, Charlie, just shut the fuck up for once. "He's in there. See ya." I get up, leaving my friends behind, and make my way to the locker room. But what am I supposed to say? 'Oh, yeah, hey winter, sorry for making your school life a living hell for three years.' I'm sure that'll fly.

I come to the large, brown, door and, with sweaty palms, I open the door. Walking in, I see no one. I hear no one. But I do hear showers running. Which is weird, because no one takes showers in gym anymore. "Um. Winter?" I ask, scanning everywhere. No answer. I walk over to the shower area, and the one that's on is hidden from my view.

Unfortunately, the water I see hitting the floor, isn't water at all. It's blood. A lot of blood, mixing with the water to dull the terrible color. I feel a wave of nausea as I smell the strong copper coming from it. "Winter?" Nothing. I step closer, my shoes squeaking on the awkward flooring tiles.

Then he comes into view. His body on the floor, his clothes soaking wet. His hair matted and stained red from the wrist that is resting just by his cheek. But his eyes are open. And he's breathing. I'm afraid to get to close to him, but I caused this. I know that, for a fact.

"Winter?" I whisper, getting close enough to see the pain and helplessness in his eyes. The blue specs jump to me. He says nothing, and looks back at the floor. I sit against the wall and gather him in my arms. I'm sure if he had the strength, I would have fought me off and continued his plan. He grunts as I tear off my hoodie and grab the blade from his hand.

I don't want to look at him. I don't want to think about what is happening right now. This is all my fault. All those tears he cried in class. Every time he went home and never spoke a word of this to his parents. Every time he just sat there and took it, never speaking a word. Never defending himself. The names I called him. The time I saw him in the back of the school, kicked him in the ribs and stole the money he had.

I cut the sleeves off of my, very expensive, very new, hoodie and tie them around one of his wrists. I let go, his arm dropping back weakly into his lap. I begin to tie the second, seeing a hint of pain in his face. I get the second tied and rest him back on the floor. I try to steady my shaking body enough to stand and run for help. He grabs my shirt just as I go to stand.

"It's okay. I'm not leaving. I promise. I'm just going to get the nurse." I tell him. He lets go, his arm dropping to the floor like a weight. I turn to the doors, racing as fast as I can.

Aren't I a lucky one? I see two girls standing there. "Please," I tell them. "Get a nurse. A boy tried to commit suicide. Hurry, God, please?"

I may have seemed calm, but on the inside, I feel like I'm going to throw up or explode. What is this? Are these feelings? Ha, yeah right.

I make it back to Winter, seeing his eyes half closed, seeing him slowly losing energy. His cheek lay on the floor again. His fingers touch his lips. His fingers slip past his lips. "Winter, the nurse is coming. Everything is going to be okay, okay? You never had to do this. A-and I'm sorry. I'm sorry I was such a dick. Just-"

And he throws up. Nothing comes out except pills of all different shapes and sizes and colors. So many more then necessary to kill a human being. He coughs and chokes and sputters as the deadly little things are rejected from his body. He doesn't lift his head off the floor to show that he's okay. He just lays there, his hair being clumped in vomit.

The large, dark, doors to the locker room are thrown open loudly. What sounds like a lot of people rush through the doors.

"Over here!" I shout, kneeling back by Winters side, only to be thrown away from him. As if his suicide was a disease that could be spread to me. I was next. But I'm not, I just want to help.

As the nurse kneels by Winters side, Assistant Principal Mr. Reeves, pulls me away and out to the filled hallway. Everyone kept asking what happened. Some people were surprised I wasn't the one laying on the floor, dying. Someone asked who it was. I ignore there questions, and continue following Mr. Reeves down the hall, across the cafeteria, into the main office. I plant myself where I've been countless times, in the ugly green chair in front of his desk.

He places himself in front of me, his arms crossed across his chest. He looks me dead in the eye for any signs of guilt. Then it begins. The countless questions of, "Why were you in the locker room?" and "What exactly happened?"

So, I told him what happened. Exactly what happened. I told him I wanted to apologize for the way I treated Winter all the time. I told him I found Winter nearly dead. I told him how I felt absolutely terrible, like it was my fault that such a thing like this could happen. I also told him that I would like to go home. And that I'm going to visit Winter in the hospital as soon as I can.

He seemed satisfied with my answers and, after answering the same questions for Officer O'Malley, I was allowed to go home.

Walking through the parking lot, taking a breath of air, hoping that Winter is doing the same, my thoughts haunt me. The ambulances roar by as I unlock my car, a 2012, orange, mustang. I try to block out the things going on around me as I take a seat and throw my keys down. The fire trucks, the news reporters, the parents picking up there 'traumatized' kids.

I lay my head against the steering wheel. Why had that happened? Why did that have to happen here? Now? Why was I involved? Why did I have to be the one to find him that way, in such a terrible state?

The blood everywhere. In his hair, on his clothes, on my clothes. His hope vanishing along with his life. His desperate attempt, with his last ounce of strength, to rid the killer drugs from his body. The slowly fading life in his eyes.

I analyze everything that had happened, forwards and backwards. The only thing I can manage to gather from my thoughts is how he grabbed my shirt, and only let go when I promised return. He didn't want to die. Not alone, at least. All he wanted was someone to stay. I had promised I would stay, and Lee's don't break promises.