I found her feetle position lying on the bathtub floor; thighs pushed to her chest, arms tangled loosely around her knees, hands sporting a silver knife. Crystal clear shower water running her oozing blood clean. And she was sobbing, with her pale skin bloodshot and blue eyes shimmering like diamonds, black eyeliner running down her cheeks. She peered at me through the misplaced shower curtain, so embarrassed. And it was at that point, I loved her like I never had before. It was when I realized, through widened eyes, she was so casually broken, she could hardly breathe. Her fake smile she carried daily had dissipated. And she analyzed my facial expression, speaking in barely audible whispers, I never wanted you to see me like this. How is it that you can hold your head up so high in a time of utter chaos ? And at that moment, I wanted nothing more than to comfort her and tell her I was broken, as well, merely held together with masking tape. But my limbs were limp and useless, and I couldn't move, I couldn't redirect my gaze from the mess in the bathtub: the dirty girl, blood running copper, and staining the alabaster claw foot tub. And my jaw dropped as I watched the girl who once possessed so much confidence super models would be jealous, fell back, let go, gave up, gave in, hit her head on the back of the once beautiful bathtub and sank into oblivion. And I dropped to my knees, the atmospheric pressure was pressing down on me, and I cried, sobbed, my whimpers barely audible over the sounds of the water beating down onto my best friend's expired and wounded body. Oh, no....

I felt my heart pounding, bound to beat right out of my chest. And I heard the mourning whispers through the crowds of people, "she was so beautiful" and "I thought she was happy" But none of them knew her, really knew her, at least, not like I did. And that angered me, the way they talked of her as if they were her best friend. But they weren't, they couldn't have been, because I was, and always will be. But now she's dead and I have no one: no best friend, no one to share my hopes and dreams, my secrets and regrets with. So thats why I'm trembling in my multi-coloured ensemble at her depressing funeral. She wouldn't have wanted it to be so melancholy; she would have wanted streamers and a celebration. She would have wanted everyone happy and cheery, laughing and smiling, 'Hey ! We're alive !" Because she was happy and free.... for the most part. And why wouldn't she be ? She was gorgeous, I mean, stunning; her smile radiated a glow of perfect pearly whites, and her eyes, as blue as the Gulf of Mexico, lost you like a maze. And she was smart and the sweetest girl you could ever come in contact with; she was confident and quirky and endearing. Why wouldn't she be happy ? She was lost and terrified. Her thoughts were hidden. What was she thinking ? "I have to get out of this rat-hole. How might I best hide my tracks ? Who have I become ? And where am I going ? Why can't I sleep at night ? I don't want her to see me like this...." I only wish I knew. But I didn't, and sadly, I still don't. Thats why I'm trapped in a crowd of black, people who never even spoke to her, might not have even known her name, are mourning her. This isn't right.

The weeks following her suicide felt like an ever-swinging wrecking ball. Masochism. Pain. And an overwhelming sense of loneliness. Life continued on and left me gasping for oxygen; is there any left in the atmosphere ? I spent my days curled up like a ball, leaning on her baby blue wall, taking in where we spent so many hours having bottomless conversations while sipping on our Low-carb Monsters. I felt so empty without her- not just because I hadn't eaten in thirty-six hours. Her walls were covered in photos of us, so happy; her boyfriend, with obvious malice intentions; her family, who genuinely didn't know her or even care- and that's just sad, because she was amazing. Her ideas were generic and, euphoric, even. She was an amateur comedian, with the sickest sense of humour. Perfect, all around. But she had no idea of the dangers of the modern world, the ideas that bloom in everyone's mind. Until one night, today took over, and broke everything inside her. She cut loose. Everything she ever cared for ceased, or at least, she thought. She convinced herself there were no genuine people on Earth, and well, there was no way in hell she would make it to Mars. But she didn't know how I felt for her, how much meaning she gave my life. Now, I'm sobbing in her bedroom, groping the off-white carpet, red faced, 'why me ?', ....'why her ?'

I spent my nights hallucinating- her slender figure appearing translucent white, holding out her hand and smiling "Remember those nights we spent holding each other, so terrified of the thunderstorm that droned on ? We would awake the next morning, what would happen the prior night ?" And I'd follow her, so amazed, out of my bedroom, down the hall, down the dark cherry stained wood floor stairs, through the foyer, unlocking the front door, and out onto the front deck. I'd follow her eery silhouette down the street. We would walk through the neighborhood, the full moon lighting our path, speaking of what happened the day she.... passed away. She stroke a cleaning spree, washed every crack and crevice in the house, until it was literally spotless. Her family was gone, as usual. She ignored everyone's calls and texts. And, most importantly, she smiled throughout it all. Then when she approached the kitchen with the utmost desire to make it sparkle, she came across a shiny silver knife. It drew her in. Her hand reached for it mechanically, slowly. She gripped the handle, brought it inches from her face for close inspection. She took a few steps to the stainless steel sink. ....And tested its sharpness on her wrist. The pain shot up through her arm and to her heart, lungs expanding, the smell of iron as blood dripped into the sink. But she embraced it, the pain. She felt something and thats what she wanted. A sense of revelation coursed through her. Still, she never looked down. She blanked, and the next things she remembers is standing in the bathroom, fiery hot shower water steaming the bathroom, while she quietly undressed herself. Then, she glanced at the counter, there, was the blood stained knife. She dropped her dainty panties, grabbed the knife, looking straight ahead toward the tub, and inched. Her curves moved in slow motion over the wall of the bathtub, sliding down, slipping the white shower curtain in place. She found comfort; the water was burning her skin, but she lay her head back and sighed with relief.

Forefinger vertical to silver knife, tight grip. Bracing herself, biting her lip with a new intensity, scrunching her delicate face up. There, she sliced her right ankle, groaning in depressing approval. She took three deep breaths, then switched hands with the knife. Repeating the brace and cut through all the veins on her left ankle. She belted a high pitch whimper as the blood ran. And she sank further into the tub, so ashamed. Her tears seemed hotter than the water pelting off her skin, was that possible ? Her once perfectly tan body was as red as the blood puddling at her feet. And she was so disappointed in herself, she couldn't stop. She cut what she could and brutally hit what she couldn't. By the time she was done, she was covered in bruises and open wounds. She gazed at what she had done. What caused this ? She was sickly impressed at her ability to destroy what was so beautiful in less than an hour. Now her body had turned to prunes and she allowed the knife to slip through her fingers, this was enough sabotaging for one day. Then, she realized she was dying, it was finally over ....forever. She found herself as beautiful and confident and the truly amazing person she was. That estranged euphoria saved her a place in Heaven regardless of her sin. She felt at ease and shown a genuine smile.

I felt the weight of the world crashing down on me that night as I lay on the white bathroom tile beside my best friend, crying my little broken heart out. I couldn't gather the strength to look at her again in her time of need. I just covered my eyes for hours. Two hours. Four hours. Six hours passed. No more tears made their mark down my cheeks. My eyes were dry. I stumbled up and used the counter as a crutch. Deep breath in, out. My limbs were shaking as I slid the shower curtain out of the way completely. I had full view of my beautiful best friend's dead and naked body, with the exception of the steam. Not taking my eyes of her, I turned the water off. I couldn't help but smile- I loved her so much, I love her so much. The water drained and my smile ceased. Her suicide sank in. I sang in whispers during this: Hush, little baby, don't say a word. Under the sink, I found a pristine white towel, wrapped it around her and picked her up, she was so light. I'm gonna buy you a mockingbird, I carried her into her bedroom and lay her down on her pink comforter. And if that mockingbird won't sing, I'm gonna buy you a diamond ring "Oh, no, no, no; all these cuts will get infected." I said slowly. And if that diamond ring turns brass, I'm gonna buy you a looking glass I rushed back to the bathroom, opened the medicine cabinet and quickly snatched the Neosporin and box of Hello Kitty band aids- she loved Hello Kitty. And if that looking glass gets broke, I'm gonna buy you a billy goat I taped up every open wound I found on her defenseless body. And if that billy goat won't pull, I'm gonna buy you a cart and bull I analyzed all her curves and the long blonde hair which was soaking her bed. And if that cart and bull fall down, I dressed her in the most gorgeous dress I could find, I dried her hair and brushed it, and applied her make up. You'll still be the sweetest little girl in town.... I fixed her comfortably on her bed, then grabbed my cell phone out of my pocket and dialed 911.

After weeks of mourning her death, her parents decided to finally deal with her life as she left it. They separated everything into boxes: keep, give away, trash, and undecided. They convinced themselves her suicide was plotted and there was a letter hidden somewhere in the depths of her perky, teenage room. "I've read about these kinds of things, after all it is my job. Suicides are usually caused by a bug nipping at the ear. Theres always a letter listing the reasons." But I knew my best friend, she had her future planned for the best. She would never do something like this, and certainly not plan it. "She wouldn't write it down," I said. "She hated writing. And.... she wasn't sick. I know her." "Sweetie," I could tell the words tasted sour in her mouth, "obviously, you didn't know her or you would have known she was going to kill herself." Her face showed a faked sympathy, that made my blood rush with hatred for the woman that was supposed to love my best friend, after all she was her mother. And at that moment, I knew exactly why she despised her parents. "You can go through all the boxes that don't say keep, if you find something you want, take it." She said as she left the room, her heels clonking on the hard wood floor. I got up from my spot on the floor, by the door and made my way to the four huge boxes on the bed. Trash. I dug through it to the bottom, there, was her faded purple diary, designed in repeating powder blue fairies. It was locked, but I knew where the key was. I lay on my back and slid under her bedside table, there was the key, scotch taped to the bottom. Hard breath out as I took the key and slid from under the table. I made my way back to the diary, put the key in the hole, and unlocked it. This is it.

The noise the lock made signifying I could now open my dead best friend's diary broke my heart and I was flustered with memories I never want to forget.
It was the middle of April and rain was pounding on the roof furiously. "You're my best friend. You know that, right ?" I say, trembling. "Of course, and I would be nothing without you." She replies. "You know thats a lie." I counter. "I don't lie...." And I knew she didn't, but I still couldn't believe her. We were lying under her covers, facing each other, looking into each other's eyes. Her's were a beautiful blue. She wrapped her arm around me, pulling me closer, and laying her head on my chest. "I love you." She whispered. I pulled her hair out her face, "I love you, too. More than you could ever know...." And we lay there that night, terrified of the storm like we were five again. Her soft hair smelled of vanilla and I held her tighter than ever.
-I opened her diary, flipped quickly through the pages, every page was filled with her neat hand-writing. I read from the beginning: I felt sick and scared and an unusual sense of disgust. I wanted nothing more than to really feel pain. I slammed the diary shut and threw it back in the box labeled Trash. I grabbed my jacket and left.

It was midnight, I couldn't sleep because I couldn't breathe. And in the seconds a bullet can pierce through skin, I remembered the significance of the last page of her diary. The date stated at the top of the page was that of the day she died. I walked the mile to her house, finding comfort in the humid air and the serenity that was created by the soft golden glow of the streetlights that illuminated the streets. In her backyard, I climbed through her ground-level window. I traced my fingers across the wall while my eyes stood on the place in the room where the bed is, though it was pitch black and I couldn't see a thing. I turned the light on and headed toward the box labeled Trash. I found the diary under old school work and photos. The diary wasn't locked. I opened to the back. My feelings are set in stone, but I don't know how to tell her. My hands were shaky and my breathing, uneven. Today, I am telling her I love her. I dropped the diary and fell. I awoke the next morning feeling nausea. My heart was broken. I sat up, my back against the bed and banged my head against the frame. "How the hell did you get in here ?" I heard. It was the infuriated voice of her mother. I was dazed, I just ignored her. "Get out !" "You know, I never understood why she hated you," I said, without looking at the bitch that raised the most amazing girl I've ever met, "Maybe it was because you were never around so I never even really spoke to you. But I understand now...." "What ?" She asked in disbelief. "You don't love her, you don't care about her. You're a heartless, cynical, selfish bitch. You didn't deserve her. You know why she killed herself ? No ! Because you didn't know her. She killed herself because she wanted to kill you. ....And she loved me and I loved her. And now shes gone and it's all your fault. You ruined her life and mine." I charged out of her room, out the door, and as soon as I got outside, I ran. And I cried. And I ran and cried. And I ran and cried all the way home.

But when I got home, it didn't hold the same comfort I needed. So I grabbed my car keys and headed for the most perfect place I could imagine, wherever she was. The graveyard was deserted of people. It was eerie and desolate and smog floated over the ground. Stones with letters guided me. I found her extravagant grave- something she would have hated.
"Madi, I'm sorry. Madi, I....i didn't know. Madi, you're my best friend. Madi, I miss you. Madi, I need you. Madi, I love you. Madi, I'm in love with you." I recited. I told her everything of what happened in the passed few days. I told her of her funeral, which she would have hated. I told her of her mother. I told her of her hideous tombstone. I told her of how I read her diary. I told her I was sorry about that. I told her how I felt. Then, I sat on her grave and cried for hours.
It was far passed dark when I left, I discovered when I got in her car, it was one twenty-three in the morning. And I discovered how fast time passed and I wanted to get back out of my car and tell her that, but I couldn't. I drove home and when I walked in the door, I walked directly to the kitchen. I grabbed the first knife I could and walked to the bathroom with it. I set it on the counter as I undressed. My hands felt every curve of my body. I grabbed the knife and got in the bath tub. Turned the shower to the hottest temperature it would allow. The knife slit horizontal cuts on my ankles, my wrists, and starting between my collar bones, I dragged the knife straight down my torso. My last cut, an incision around my neck. "Madi, I'm sorry. Madi, I....i didn't know. Madi, you're my best friend. Madi, I miss you. Madi, I need you. Madi, I love you. Madi, I'm in love with you. Madi, I'm coming for you. Madi, I'll see you in a little while." And I slid as I let go of every hurt I ever felt. Madi, I'm coming for you....