It's nice to walk alone sometimes; walking helps me think, it even relaxes my mind for a little bit. When I'm walking, I like pretending that I don't have a destination and that I'm just walking until I reach the end.

The end of what?

I don't know,  just the end of everything, just until everything stops.

It's getting so hard to pretend like everything's okay when it's not. I can't help but picture the smile my mother had on her face when she said I had friends. She was happy, and she honestly feels like I'm doing better.

I'm happy that I'm making them happy.

The more progress I make, the closer their relationship will become. Just today, their cheekbones were high in the air as they smiled, seeing my 'friends'. My father's strong arms wrapped around my mother's curvy waist. I saw the look they both had in their eyes. Towards me, they looked pleased. Towards each other, they looked...hopeful.

Even though they seem to be at a good place now, they're not where I need them to be yet. I need to be fully convinced that they can survive without me before I go.

If I kill myself now, I know their marriage will be destroyed; they won't make it. They will blame each other for my death, pinning it on one another. They will separate and never want to see each other again because now they hate each other, thinking that one of them played a role in my demise.

Part of the grieving process is anger; there are three stages.

First, they will be angry at themselves; they will ask themselves what they could have done to save me. They will think I killed myself because of something that they did.

Second, their anger will move towards the child. They will ask themselves, why didn't I just come to them? Why didn't I explain to them how I felt? Why did I take my life when in their eyes, my life was good? They won't be able to understand why I did what I did. And that's okay.

Finally, there's the third stage, they will eventually feel bad for being angry at me, and then they will turn their anger towards one another. They'll blame each other for their mistakes; they will fuss and yell about how the other could have done something differently.

When you're in pain, it is easy to blame the person closest to you, and if this... no, when this happens, my parents will separate, which will lead to a divorce, and then they'll never speak again. I can't have that.

I know I will always be a part of them; they will remember me, always—there nothing I could do about that. If I could, I would wipe myself from their minds and hearts. But I can't. I know that.

The first couple of months without me will be hard for them. Everything will remind them of me; they will need to lean on each other for support —to get through this, to get past my death. Knowing my parents, they will probably even go to counseling for support. I don't care what they have to do, as long as they are doing it together.

I don't want them to be at a standstill in life. I hope...I need them to continue on their journey without me.

The sound of a car door startles me, and another car slams on the breaks right in front of me. My chest moves up and down as I try to catch my breath. I walked out into the street at a red light. The driver looks at me, also startled; I move backward back on the sidewalk. The car continues down the street.

"Jayda." A familiar voice yells it's Ryder. He's walking across the street towards me, with rage cleary on his face,

My face feels cold; I reach my hand up to touch my brown face; it's wet. Was I crying?

"What the hell is wrong with you?" He shouts and tries to grab me.

I move back. "Don't touch me,"

His eyes search mine. "You realized you just walked through three red lights." I look past him down the street. All the cars are jammed up. I don't remember looking at the lights to see if it was green for me to walk; I just was waking—consumed by my thoughts.

"What's wrong?" He asks.

"Why do you care? You don't care about anybody but yourself." I spit out the truth. "I will never tell you anything about me because you'll go back and tell everyone else" I throw my hands in the air. "You switch up my words and somehow make it seem like I'm the bad guy." I'm crying hysterically now. I can't hold back the tears. I'm embarrassed to be crying in front of him again, but I don't care. Even if I wanted to stop crying, I couldn't.

"Jayd--"

I cut him off. "No, Ryder, you knew Caleb was going to take me home. You knew I wasn't going back to his house. But yet you went back and told everyone I was with him, your part of the reason-"

"Reason for what?" He yells back at me, even more enraged than before.

"Reason for everything!"

"So I'm the reason that you're out here fucking all these guys, I'm the reason you went away cause you were--"

"Just stop. You don't know anything about... you don't..."  I can't even formulate my words correctly; my thoughts are all jumbled up. "Everything you assume about me, you heard, I never once came out and confirmed anything."

He snaps, "And you never denied it either." narrowing his eyes.

He's right; I have never denied anything people have said about me. "You never asked," I pause. "You never asked," I repeat weakly. It's getting harder for me to breathe. My throat hurts from all of the yelling, and my eyes burn from the crying. "You lied. Your friends lied."

"No, I didn't. I only said what they told me," he denies. "They swore you fucked them."

"Well, they lied." I don't even know why I am explaining myself; he will never believe me over them.

"Why would they lie?"

"Why did you?" The same reason he lied on me is most likely the reason they lied. "Maybe you need to ask them. People like you are the reason rumors continue to go around." I tell him. He watches me intensely; his green eyes pierce into mine. "One rumor, one lie, leads to another rumor and another lie," I explain; he doesn't say anything. He continues staring, not saying a word.

I'm standing here, wasting my time; I shake my head and turn around, beginning to walk.

"I'll take you home. You don't have to walk," He says in a low voice; he sounds almost ashamed, defeated.

"No."

"Well, I'm not going to let you walk alone. It's getting dark." Before I know it, he walks up, right beside me.

"Fine." I give in almost too easily.

I need to get home. It's almost seven now, and I still have to go out with Caleb tonight.

I walk past him and over to his car. It's a black two-door Mercedes coupe. I remember my dad telling me that his dad was buying him a new car. I don't know why because this one looks practically new itself.

He opens the car door for me. I wish I could see this as a kind gesture, but I don't. He feels sorry for me; I know he does.

I showed him a vulnerable side of me. A side I don't show most people, and now he's treating me like I'm broken or damaged. He closes the door, then walks to the other side and slips in. I put my seat belt on, and so does he.

...

He turns onto my street, my phone buzzes. It's my mom.

*hey, your dad and I are at dinner. We decided to go out, don't be out too late. I'll try to stall your dad...lol. -mom

"Who is that?" Ryder says.

"Really!" I say sarcastically. "Obviously, minding your business isn't something you've been taught." It wasn't meant to be a joke. But he smiles at my words.

Not his usual sneaky...cunning smile, but a genuine one; it looks good on him. I've never seen him smile before.

He pulls up in front of my house. I clear my throat and put my hand on the door handle."Wait," he says. I look back at him. "I'm... I'm sorry." It almost sounded like it hurt for him to say that.

I can't tell if it's a genuine apology or a forced one. "For what?" I ask, trying to decipher what type of apology it is.

"I honestly don't know. I'm just... I'm just sorry. I just needed to say it. I've never said it before."

It doesn't surprise me that he's never said sorry before. His ego is bigger than him. "Ryder, you never said 'I'm sorry' because you never felt like you were in the wrong... you never felt like you did anything wrong," I explain. "That's just as bad as saying sorry and not knowing what you're sorry for." I turn my head away from him and open the car door. I expect him to get out and follow me, but he doesn't. He drives off, fast.

That's my problem; why do I still expect things from him? I shouldn't expect anything from him at all. I don't expect anything from anyone. I walk up to my house door and pull out my phone; I click on Caleb's contact.

*hey, something came up. Raincheck?

I can't go out with him; I turn my phone off and get the key from under the mat. I open the door to an empty house.

The house is quiet, a sound I am too familiar with. Things feel exactly how they felt six months ago. I feel exactly how I felt six months ago. I walk up the stairs to my room and fall back on my bed, staring again at the familiar ceiling.

I write my thoughts on the wall. To others, it may seem like a plain white ceiling, but through my eyes, it's so much more.

(Do you guys except Ryder's apology, or do you agree with Jayda? COMMENT AND VOTE!!!!)