Margaret Thorman. The girl with the unusual attitude towards life. Unlike her, I haven't been so pessimistic throughout these years. Y'know, the years of our triumph as twins in the world of high school. She has always been the reckless, edgy girl. The girl who wouldn't mind spending the night in the guys' dorm, smoking tobacco with her buddies. But boy, was I wrong.

Naturally a brunette with glimmering grey eyes (with traces of green gems), she looked just like me. Except, she dyed her hair black and always tried to look different by wearing (black) distinctive clothes and (black) accessories.

I guess you could call her a punk if you're into stereotypes. She never displayed much emotion aside of being high and honestly, I did not bother that much.

But she isn't that girl at all. I have figured it out and I think today, tomorrow or this week is the time she should figure it out too. She just isn't cut out for these things.

I remember walking in on her in the bathroom. Thankfully she was wearing all of her clothes. Unthankfully she was lying on the floor, seemingly broken. She hadn't noticed me in the bathroom with her.

And I saw the other side of her. Her arms were bleeding; the mirror in the room was shattered. Her body was tucked up as if it protected her like a shell protects a snail; unwittingly ineffective.

Her whimpers echoed in the depth of the bathroom, sounding like a whale's cries in the deep ocean. She sounded like she needed the pain to stop and I didn't know how to stop it.

"Margo?" I whispered.

When she heard my talking she stopped crying. Everything in the room was silent, aside from my heavy breathing. She slowly turned her head around and glanced at me. Her eyes were so cold, her skin so pale, her hair unbrushed for days.

"What do you want?" She half-shouted with gritted teeth.

Speechless, I shook my head and walked out the room backwards. Now standing at the entrance of the door I told her, "I want you to stop pretending." I mumbled. Surprised, she got up from the floor and casually walked to the sink. She turned on the tap water and splashed her face with ice-cold water. She kept on doing just that.

"Are you okay?" I asked her. I couldn't stand watching her like this. She gazed at me menacingly and looked at herself in the mirror. Right away her eyes widened and began to wipe her face with water as if she was cleaning a heavy, dirty surface. Then she stopped.

"Yes." She mumbled. I realised that that was the only answer I was going to get for today.

"Please talk to me." She wasn't usually like this. Actually, she was never like this and that exhibition of her weakness made me rethink of the way humans function. Peoples' lives are way more intricate than people think at first glimpse or first meeting.

Margaret turned to me and approached me, reaching half a meter distance from me. At first, I thought that she was going to hug me, but she walked away. She was so close.

In order to solve a problem, one must face it with their greatest embrace, instead of a bitter, stressful avoidance.

Rolling my eyes, I decided to stop pressuring her and rather let her open up by herself. "Well then. I'm going to a friend's house. Hope you don't mind being alone for a couple of hours."

No answer.

Frustrated, I clutched my coat and put on my backpack. Just before stepping out the doorway I muttered an, as always, sour, "goodbye". 

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Hello, guys and thanks for reading yet another chapter! (Honestly, I didn't expect you to)

Please leave a comment criticising my work or praising my work, idk whatever you want to do. 

I tolerate hate because it inspires me to prove people wrong so if you really want to hate, then hate, it honestly helps a lot. 

Thank you for your support xx