13 Days

I know that out there, people are feeling like I do now. Maybe worse. But at least for them, they weren't the ones who caused their own misery.

That's always the worst thing. It's not knowing that you could kill someone -- anyone could, really -- it's that you have to live knowing that it's your fault, and you can't help it.

I wasn't stupid enough to stay home from school -- it'd only make that girl all the more curious. I did ignore her. The one time she'd tried to talk to me, I had become just plain rude and cold.

Most students told the girl that I'm always like this, as she became increasingly upset

Not that I cared.

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Fifteen - the best and one of the worst years of my life. It was the absolute happiest I had been since I had "accidentally killed" my mother.

I thought that I was in love, and still I didn't recognize the morbid defense my body held. I chased after the girl, blinded with infatuation. The worst part of this was that the girl, Isabella, liked me enough that we'd hooked up.

I remember the first time she touched me so well.

She brushed my hand as I walked past her.

Flashes of pictures she'd imagined, of me and her, blinded me for a moment.

Intimate, passionate moments between us.

What she'd imagined she'd do, her plan, left me utterly confused.

In my head popped up the last step, the one where I'd be alone while she got back with her ex, leaving me in the dust.

I shook my head, quietly said that my imagination was playing tricks on me again, putting more trust in her than I should've.

Yet still, in the back of my head was that voice, that little nagging voice, that told me to leave her. Leave her for both my safety and hers.

What was I to do? Listen to the voice (but didn't that mean I'd be crazy?) or ignore it?

I ended up ignoring it.

The next thing that scared me had come in a couple of weeks -- though admittedly, the flashes I got still spooked me -- and I'd reacted badly.

No, I didn't yell at her, but as I kissed her, the thoughts rushing into my head startled me, and I sucked in a surprised gasp. The air I breathed in was from Isabella's lungs.

Her gray eyes opened wide, and she pulled back, smacking my chest. You know, one of those smacks that girls expect to hurt, but really, they don't. "What the hell was that, Seth?" Isabella demanded.

I shrugged, and lied, "I thought I saw my mum and sister. False alarm." I swept my dark brown hair out of my eyes, and added, "Sorry."

Her eyes softened and she laughed. "I'd freak out if I saw my mum too."

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That wasn't the worst part. It was never the worst part, probably the best to be honest. No -- the worst part was the pain.