My father burst through the office doors, with Ms.Moore right behind him, "Jayda! Are you okay?"

"I'm fine" I stand up from the chair, grabbing my book bag off the floor. I'm so ready to go.

He looks me up and down. "Do you want to go to the ho--"

I cut him off before he can finish his sentence. "No. I just want to go home." The last thing I need right now is to sit in the hospital; I know he's only asking me this because he thinks I'm going to try to kill myself.

"Okay." He digs into his pocket and then pulls out his keys.

"Go ahead to the car. I have to sign you out." I take the keys out of his hand and walk out of the office.

"I'll see you tomorrow Jayda." Ms. Moore says before I walk out.

Classes have started now, so there is no one in the hallways. I keep my head down and walk out the main doors. It's sunny today. The sun hits my face soon as I step outside.

As I walk down the stairs. I hear the doors open again. I know it's not my father. I don't know how, but I know it's not him.

"Jayda!" Ryder calls. I had a gut feeling it was him.

"Jayda." He calls again. I continue walking to the car. I don't stop; I don't turn around; I need to get away from him as fast as possible. My father's black SUV is across the lot; I press the button on the keys to unlock the door. It clicks open. As soon as I open the door, it is immediately slammed back.

I can feel his heavy breathing on the back of my neck. His hand is above my head on the car door, keeping it closed. He's so close. I can feel the heat projecting off his body on mine.

"Turn around!" He commands me. I don't. I rest my head against the car, trying to steady my breathing. Whenever I am around him, my heart rate instantly rises and not in a good way.

"Look at me!" He commands again, yelling a little louder; it makes me jump. Both of his arms grab me and turn me around, forcing me to look at him. I jerk away from out of his grasp. Surprisingly he releases.

"I'm sorry, okay. I didn't know she was going to tell people." He runs his finger through his black hair.

"You're only sorry because I found out!"

"That's not true." he snarls.

"Yes, it is. If I never found out, you were never going to say anything. I just...I just don't understand why you and everyone else do this to me. What did I ever do to deserve all these lies and rumors?" I'm crying now. I don't even try to hold them back. I don't care if he sees me crying anymore.

"Fuck!" He slams his hand against the car. "You didn't do anything; it's just something that we do because... because--"

"Because I'm below you." I refer to what he said a few days ago.

"You're not below me." He says sternly.

"Right, I forgot I was rich. So is it because I'm not popular? Is it because I'm not a rich, popular self-centered bitch?"

"I don't want you to be any of those things. You can be yourself."

"I can't be myself because you and everyone here have made an image of me, and I never had the opportunity to--"

He cuts me off. "No, that's your fucking fault. 9th grade, you were in everything; you did everything. You played volleyball. You came to games. You were at parties. You were in plays. You stopped doing all those things. You were fine, and then you just stopped. So what were people supposed to think?"

I press my lips together in anger before speaking. "People can think whatever they wanna think. But when everyone starts acting like those things are true, and when people start lying, trying to turn their lies into realities. That's what makes it wrong. "

He doesn't say anything. He just looks at me.

"And I wasn't okay. I was doing all of those things, but I was hurting." I explain. "Nobody knew, but I did. The girl that everyone thought was fine and the girl you saw involved in everything was really the girl that went home every day and cut herself because she felt like no one saw her, she felt like no one cared about her." I have revealed more to him than I have to my therapist, to anyone. I spot my dad walking down the steps. "You need to go," I tell him.

"What about the project?" he asks. I reach into my bag and grab the chapters I wrote. I hand it to him, and he slowly takes them out of my hand.

"I know you won't accept it because you don't believe I mean it, but I'm sorry. I really am." he turns away and walks off.

I open the car door and pull myself into the large SUV. I look into the rearview mirror and see my dad and him exchange words. A few minutes later, the car door opens.

"What was he doing over here?" My dad asks. "Was he talking to you? I told you to stay away from him."

"We have a project together. He was asking for the assignment that is due today." I rest my head against the car window. It's cold now that he has turned the AC on.

"Whose class?"

"Brooks."

"We will have to get that changed. I don't want you around him."

"Alright." I agree with him. I don't want to work with Ryder anymore. This will never work. It's too complicated. He's an added stress in my life that I don't want. I know Mr. Brooks won't give me a new partner if I asked. But my dad has a way of making people do things. I'll probably have to do the project by myself because we have an even number of kids in class. There isn't anyone else to work with, and people have already started on their stories. It would be unfair for them to have to start over with someone new.

"I'll call Ver-- I mean Ms.Moore tomorrow." He says.

Veronica. He was about to call her Veronica, that is her first name. But it's rather personal for him to call her by her first name. They do know each other personally; he did give donations to the school to keep them quiet.

"I canceled your appointment with Rachel," he informs me.

"Okay." I'm happy he did. I don't feel like talking to anyone. I think I've done enough talking for today.

...

I'm in my room, staring at my ceiling, writing my thoughts. My mom is on her way back; she went into the office. But she is rushing back because poor old Jayda had a panic attack, and now I need both of my parents here for support.

I know that's what they're thinking. That's what Dale told them when they came for family therapy at the facility. I don't need their support. I can do this on my own. I will get through it myself; I always do.

Maybe I don't have to fight. I'm so tired of everything. I think this is the worst I've felt since I've been home from the facility. I'm so tired. I'm tired of everything and everyone. I could end it all; I could stop this feeling right now.

I rise from my bed and walk into my bathroom. I grab the razor from my draw. Instead of sitting on the floor, I step into my tub and sit as I rest my neck against the back of the tub, my body shivers from the cold contact.

One cut, and I'll be at peace. All this could be over, with just one cut. I lay the razor against my arm, right on the scar the doctors had to stitch together. I'll do it in the same place, just deeper. I take deep breaths.

I'm selfish; I'll die selfish. I'll die committing a selfish act.

I close my eyes and press the tip of the razor into my skin. I don't fight the pain; I accept it. Maybe Ryder was right. I did this to myself. I'm the reason my life is the way it is. It's my fault. I press the razor into my skin a little harder.

Blood starts to appear. I take a deep breath. All I have to do is slide it over, and I can end this. I close my eyes—I'm about to commit my last selfish act. I will bring death upon myself.

The doorbell rings, startling me, and I drop the razor into the tub. It's my mother.

"Jayda, come down here." My dad yells. I jump out of the tub and wipe the blood off my wrist with my towel and rush down the stairs. I expect to see my mother, but it's not her as I get closer, my stomach drops when I see who it is.

"Hey," he says.

It's Caleb.