We've switched seats now. He's sitting on my bed, and I'm sitting at my desk. I texted Violet back, telling her that he was here. She freaked out, of course, and then turned it into something it was not.

I told her I would call when he leaves, which I am now wondering when he will leave?

He's been on his phone this whole time; he hasn't said anything. He's probably thinking that I'm going to do all this work by myself, which I'm not. I would if I knew what to write. This is harder than I expected it to be.

I have read Romeo and Juliet several times, Ive seen all the movies and the remakes to those movies, so I don't know why it's so hard for me to recreate my own story. Well, I do know why I've never been in love, so how can I write about it?

"Have you even read Romeo and Juliet before?" I ask the mute boy sitting on my bed.

"No, but Ive seen the play," he says while still fixated on his phone.

"You? At a play." I tried to suppress the laugh that's building my stomach.

"I was there against my will," he explains, that makes more sense. "I hate plays."

"Well, I love them," I say back, defending the beautiful masterpiece ones before us put on for entertainment.

"Good to know." he rolls his eyes and looks back at his phone.

"So, what did you get from it?" I ask him. Was he paying attention to the play he claims to have seen? Just because he was there against his will doesn't mean he was paying attention.

I wonder if it was Ashely who forced him to go. She is in the drama club.

"Nothing." He scoffs."It was the stupidest thing Ive ever seen. Again, what boy in their right mind would kill themselves over a bitch?" he continues.

I scrunch my face at his remark. " Well bitch is a female dog; I'm positive Juliet wasn't a dog," I say sarcastically. "I'm sure Romeo didn't view her like that. So your right. He didn't kill himself over a bitch; he killed himself over someone he loved." I correct his derogatory statement. "He loved her, so obviously she wasn't a bitch in his eyes." I fire back. Thats not what you call someone you love.

He put his phone to the side and narrows his eyes at me. "And what do you know about love?" he asks, challenging me. He has the sneakiest smirk on his face.

I don't know anything about love. I only know what Ive seen in movies and from what I have read in some books. Im sure none of the things I have retained about love from fictional things is accurate.

From what Ive seen in real life, love is nothing like the fairytale way they show in movies and books. And love is not the extreme toxic relationship Hollywood loves to display.

"Do you really have no thought on what we should do for the first chapter?" I ignore his question; it's getting late. I don't want to spend more time with him than I have to.

"No, why don't you? Arent you supposed to be a fantastic writer?" He says, emphasizing the word 'writer.'

Who did he hear that from? "Yeah, well, I'm not. And no, I don't know what to write, obviously. If I knew what to write, trust me, I wouldn't be asking you." I roll my eyes and turn around back to the table.

...

"Ok, maybe we have been going about this wrong. We need to make a story without our Romeo and Juliet without our Montagues and Capulets?"

"What?" He says, narrowing his eyes clearly confused.

"We need to figure out our characters, our two sides. I don't want to use Montague and Capulets. We need something different."

"Popular and Unpopular," he suggests.

Thats actually not bad. Its ironic that he chooose that. "Okay, and characters Who will represent each side? Who are the Romeo and Juliet of the story?"

Before he can answer, there's a loud crashing sound coming from down the hall. I know it's my dad.

Ryder looks towards the door. "What was that?"

"Nothing, uh, figure out character names, Ill be right back." I stand up and rush out of the room, down the hall.

I burst through my dad's room door. "Are you okay?" he's sitting up on the side of the bed.

"I'm fine." He says. I walk over to him and pick up the lamp that's on the floor. I place it back on the nightstand.

"Who are you talking to?" he asks. My eyes meet his, I don't want to lie, but I don't want him to know Ryder is here. After he just told me the other day to stay away from him.

"A classmate is here; we have a school assignment to work on together," I say—my subconscious smiles. I didn't lie; that's technically the truth. He's a classmate.

"Who?" He asks.

Crap, what am I supposed to say now. "Ryder." I really dont want to lie to him.

"Ryder Adams?!" He hops up off the bed but stumbles back a little before gaining his balance.

"Dad!"

"No, Jayda, I told you to stay away from him. You let him in my house, while I'm--"

"While you're drunk? While you were passed out on the bed? Since when do you care whos here? You are barely ever here yourself." I yell. "How do you know I have never had him over here before? He wouldn't. You wouldn't because you are never here. You wouldn't even be here right now if mom didn't leave." I regret the words that leave my mouth, but it's true.

"Jayda, you cant have boys over," he says, demanding.

I cut him off. "How are you going to tell me who I can and cannot have over? You trusted me when you left me in the house weeks at a time... months. Now all of a sudden, you care about what I'm doing and who I'm with?"

"I've always cared."

I shake my head, "Yeah, well, you've done a good job at showing it." I turn on my heels and exit his room. I expect him to follow me, but he doesn't; out the corner of my eye, I see him sit back on the bed.

Their tears rolling down my face. I feel bad for what I said, but it was needed. I needed to tell him that. I don't know what came over me; I just couldn't deal with him telling me what to do when he's never here. He hasn't earned the right to tell me what to do.

Now I need relief from what I just did; even though everything I said was true, I feel bad I should've just held it in like I always do.

I forgot Ryder was in my room. He looks straight at me when I walk in. I wipe the tears off my face. "Are you okay?"

Does he really care?

"Can you go?" I try not to look at him. I don't want him to see me cry, not again. He gets off the bed and walks closer to me.

"Tell me what's wrong." His voice is soft but demanding.

"You wouldn't understand." I can't even tell my therapist what's wrong with me; how could I tell him?

"You don't know what I would understand," he says. I can feel his eyes burning into me.

"Please just go. Don't you have a stupid party to go to?" I look up at him. There's irritation in my body, and there's anger in his eyes.

"Fine, forget it." He snaps. He walks past me, bumping into me a little, and exits my room.

The tears are flowing heavily now. I walk over and reach under my bed, pulling out my shoebox. I open it up and grab the little bag of white powder. I need something even stronger than before. I need it to stop.

I don't want to feel anything. As I unravel the bag, I walk to my desk and pour it on the paper. I make the powder into a line, lower my head and sniff.

It stings a little, but the sting is familiar; as soon as I consume it, I already feel relaxed, my mind starts to go blank. The feeling is fantastic, really.

Not feeling anything, not knowing what's going on. I'm happy like this. It's less painful than cutting; its better than cutting.

When I cut, I still feel, but when I get high, I don't feel anything; Im paralyzed, well at least my mind is.

I look down at the paper that I just consumed my drugs off of. It's Ryder handwriting; I know this because my handwriting is way neater than his; it looks rushed.

I can't complain because he wrote down the characters. It's weird, but it'll work.

Ryder & Jayda