A/N: Okay, so almost every chapter here on out is going to have a trigger warning. Sorry frens! :( Also note that some of Tyler's feelings about God and religion in this chapter aren't exact reflections of my personal beliefs. Happy Fourth of July!

Jenna

I check the time on my phone, tapping my foot against wood floor of our foyer. 7:25. I decide to call Tyler.

"Hello?" my boyfriend groggily asks on the fourth ring.

"Hey, Ty, are you coming to school today?" I ask.

"Crap," Tyler mutters from the other end of the line. "I completely forgot about school. I'm sorry, Jen."

"No, no, it's fine," I reassure him. "You need your rest and probably a mental health day after what happened this weekend. I'll just see if I can catch a ride with Josh."

"Okay," he says. "Have a good day, Babe."

I fight back a smile, despite the fact that Tyler isn't even present to see it. "Right back at ya. Bye." We hang up, and I dial Josh's number.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Josh, have you left yet?"

"I'm pulling out of my driveway right now."

"Okay. Well, I hate to ask, but could you perhaps pick me up for school? Tyler is taking a mental health day."

"Oh yeah, of course. I just hope you don't mind being stuck in the same vehicle with one of my crazy sisters."

"Josh!" Ashley's voice yells from the other end of the line. Josh and I both laugh.

"We'll see you in a few minutes, Jenna. Hang tight."

"Okay." I hang up and wait for Josh, checking my face in the hall mirror. I lick my fingers to lay down a stray strand of hair sticking up from my messy bun. Then, I hear a honk outside. I grab my bag from the floor and lock the door as I leave.

"Hey, Josh," I greet, running toward his car. I open the back door and climb in. "Thanks for picking me up."

"Anything for a friend," he says. "And I'll even be nice enough to take you home, too."

I laugh. "I think that was part of the deal when you said you would pick me up." Josh and Ashley laugh.

"How do you put up with him and Tyler all the time?" Ashley teases, laughing.

I shrug. "I'm just as weird as them, so I guess the three of us just naturally click."

"So why couldn't Tyler pick you up?" she asks, the joking mood in the cab subsiding like a wave being pulled back to the ocean after hitting a beach.

Josh meets my eyes in the rearview mirror. I bite my lip. "Well...he's taking a mental health day."

"I don't blame him. School can be tough, and I'm just a sophomore."

"Yeah," Josh agrees. The car falls silent the rest of the ride to school.

"See ya, Ashley!" I call as she walks off to her friend group when we approach the school building. She nods her head, acknowledging that she heard me. Josh and I find Mark over by our usual corner.

"Where's Tyler?" he asks as we drop our bags at our feet with muffled thumps. (A/N: I feel bad that I haven't mentioned Mark much in this fanfiction. Oops.)

"Mental health day," Josh replies.

"Ah."

The bell rings, cutting off the remaining conversation. I sigh and turn toward the building. Days without Tyler always seem harder. I wonder if it's like that for him when I'm not around.

Tyler

I lay quietly in bed, hands clasped together at my chest, staring blankly at the ceiling. It almost seems as if I am dead. Dead people lay like this, right? Except they usually have flowers in their hands. No one will probably put flowers in my cold, dead hands when I die. Will anyone even miss me when I'm gone? Will they even remember me?

Death is a funny thing. It can come at any time and place and just snap its fingers and say, "It's your time to go." It can be silent and painless or loud and painful and everything in between. Everyone seems to be afraid of it. Not me. Death inspires me like a dog inspires a rabbit.

They say fear can come from ignorance. Maybe people are afraid of death because they don't know what will happen afterward. Does our energy just fade out of existence? Do we become ghosts or spirits? Do we go to Heaven...or Hell?

Maybe you should try it and see.

I roll my eyes. Not you.

Oh yes, me. You didn't think I magically went away, did you?

I speak out loud since nobody is around to hear me. "No."

I don't go away as easy as your radio, treehouse, or notebook.

I sit up quickly, anger shooting through my veins. "Do not. Cross. That line."

Or what? There's nothing you can do about it."

Crawling out of bed, I walk over and sit at my desk, rummaging through drawers for a paper and pencil.

What are you doing?

"None of your business," I mutter. I chew on the eraser, searching for ideas. Josh said music would help. I hope it does.

I'm a faithful person, but sometimes it seems like God doesn't care enough about me. That He doesn't seem to hear my cries and pleas for help. I feel wrong for thinking that, but that's how I feel sometimes. What if a write a song related to that?

Forget it. You don't have that stupid notebook to write it down in.

"I don't care," I reply. "That notebook wasn't the only thing in the world that I could write on." Words start to stream through my mind. My pencil scratches frantically across the paper.

Where'd you go? Huh, they all think I know. It's so hard to motivate me to devote a single inch of me to something I can't see. I don't mean to pry, but why would you even make the eyes? I don't believe my ears and I'm scared of my own head. I will deny you for years, and I'll make you raise me from the dead. And if I said that I would live for you for nothing in return, well, I'm sorry, Mr. Gullible, but lying's all I've learned so be concerned.

I stop and put down my pencil, panting as if I just ran a marathon. Where'd all of these words come from???

Throw them away. The song sucks. All of them suck.

"No it doesn't," I retort. "Someone will like it and listen to it."

Oh, sure. I'm just trying to help by saying that you should quit the whole idea of being in a band. You'll never make it that far.

I roll my eyes and reread the words I've written. It needs more.

I am disappearing inside my bird's eye theories. I tried to say goodbye, defy, and deny what it is I'm fearing. Clearly I am dying, dearly I am writing, merely testifying that a test to fly requires I pass the test with colors flying.

I don't believe you most of the time. I'm lying cause I say I am fine. You are the pearl; I am the swine, so break my life and take this rhyme. I'm so sorry but I do believe that all my bridges I have burned, and I've earned a policy of no-return, so be concerned. So be concerned. So be concerned.

So be concerned.

I put down my pencil again, satisfaction flowing through me. It can still use some improvements, but I like it so far. My head whips up when my phone chimes from my nightstand. Jenna had better not be texting in class, or else she's gonna hear from me later. Standing up, I walk over to my bed and plop down on it while grabbing my phone.

(515) 808-2362: One of your songs that I don't care to remember the name of gave me inspiration to burn your treehouse. You're welcome. :)

So it was Brendon. Rage shoots through me as a wave of tears comes. What does he want from me!? Did he do all of this just because he was jealous of Jenna and me? I'm not sure how much more I can handle from him.

I delete the text and take a deep breath. The Old Tyler would be in the bathroom cutting already, but not the New Tyler. New Tyler would be playing music to calm himself down.

I decide to go upstairs to the family piano. I pull out the bench and sit, my hands poised over the keys. I finally decide to play Addict with a Pen.

"Hello, we haven't talked in quite some time..."

After Addict With a Pen, I play through Trees, but the urge to cut still lingers. I remember Josh saying something about squeezing ice cubes. Maybe I should try that.

I stand up and walk into the kitchen, pulling two ice cubes out of the freezer. I squeeze them until my hands go numb. Small puddles of water form on the floor. However, they didn't really affect me since I cut on my stomach. Realizing that I never put a shirt on after getting up this morning, I get an idea. I pack a bag full of ice then lay down with it on the couch, the bag on my stomach.

The ice chills my skin and sends shivers down my spine. Maybe this will work.

Yeah right.

"I didn't ask for your opinion."
Too bad, you got it anyway.

I pull my phone out of my pocket and listen to music. I haven't listened to it enough since my radio was stolen. I miss it.

I finally decide to take the bag off of me when my stomach goes completely numb. Setting the half-melted bag back in the freezer, I go back downstairs and play MarioKart for a bit. It's not as fun without Josh.

After placing different ranks in five races, I walk over to where my ukulele case sits by my closet. I think Josh put that there when he came over on Saturday. I open it and pull out the hollow, wooden instrument. Messing with a few different chords, I settle on a C major. Then, I switch to an E minor, then an A minor. I start to sing Can't Help Falling in Love. I smile as I remember singing this in Jenna's backyard to ask her out. I was so nervous that day. If Josh hadn't come with me to do that, well, I don't think Jenna and I would be together today.

I sigh and stop playing, my nostalgic mood slipping. She honestly deserves better. She needs someone that doesn't have a messed up life or mind. But it seems like sometimes the only way she'd leave me is if I die.

Do it. You've got nothing to lose. She won't care if you die. She'll move on.

"What about Josh and Mark?" I mutter.

They'll get over it.

I put my head in my hands. "I don't even know how I would kill myself."

I'm sure you'll figure out something. It's not that difficult.

I glare into space. "You need to shut up now."

No-Can-Do. You know, I think suicide would be a good option. You're too much of a disappointment to live. And you have no purpose after losing that song notebook, right?

This hits me hard. I really don't have any purpose now that my notebook got burned. I scare myself because I'm actually agreeing with this annoying voice. "I guess I don't have much purpose," I murmur.

Why are you still alive, then?

"Because I made a promise. A promise to God that I would try my best. A promise to Jenna that I would stick around. A promise to Josh to not cut anymore. A promise to my family that I would get better. A promise to my coaches and teachers that I would give it my best effort. A promise to myself that I can stay alive."

Promises, promises, promises. Who even keeps promises anymore? Promises are for the weak. They're just words and excuses made to do something or keep someone around. They don't really mean anything.

"They mean something to me," I reply bitterly.

Are you sure about that?

I stand up. "I'm really getting tired of you."

I'm getting tired of you, too. And you know the only way to get rid of me is cutting or killing.

I sigh. "I guess you gotta do what you gotta do." I feel my stomach-which has warmed up by now-as I walk toward my bathroom. I'm not sure how much more I can take of this. So many promises are going to be broken by a piece of metal.

I grab the razor from a drawer and hold the blade over my skin.

You're such a disappointment. A disappointment to God.

Cut.

A disappointment to your family.

Cut.

A disappointment to your teachers.

Cut.

A disappointment to your coaches.

Cut.

A disappointment to Josh.

Cut.

A disappointment to Jenna.

Cut.

A disappointment to yourself.

Cut.

A disappointment to me.

Cut.

Basically, you're a disappointment to everyone.

I make one last cut before looking down at my stomach, the blood from the nine lines turning my skin a shade of crimson. I rinse off the blade and put it back in the drawer, then completely break down crying.

I decide to take a cold shower to rinse off all of the blood before any of it drips onto the bathroom floor. My warm tears mix with the cold water as I sit down in the tub and wrap my arms around my knees. I really am a disappointment, aren't I? Why am I even alive?