Text #136.

May 13, 4:57 pm.

I have to admit that some days I just rather wish that you never existed. That all our happy moments were the fruit of my fertile imagination. That there was never Steph and Ty. Sometimes, I lie to myself. And I guess that's the worst kind of lie. I tell myself that I don't crave you anymore. That when you left me, it was your loss. But deep inside, I know it was more mine than yours. I try to convince myself that you were only an illusion. That all things vanish someday, and you were just one of the many things I've lost. Because doing that is easier than having to deal with the pain of your absence.

Text #137.

May 14, 9:04 pm.

Today, Cameron showed up at Bio and sat beside me. During the whole class, he kept looking at me. I mean, it was weird enough that I had kissed him at the party, but he just made things way much worse. When he went to the teacher's desk to ask for help with an assignment, I saw how olive his skin was. It even made me jealous. How the hell did he get so tanned? And his eyes, oh Lord. I'd trade those pair of eyes for mine in a heartbeat. Oh, crap. I need to get over myself. He has the same body frame than you. Skinny, long arms, light brown hair pushed to the side and almost the same voice. I'd be kidding if I said that both of you don't look like brothers. Sometimes I see you in him, and I have to blink a couple more times to get back to reality. Cameron looks like a nice person. And he can sing, which gives him a couple of extra points.

Text #138.

May 15, 9:14 am.

I feel tired today. No, in fact, I feel exhausted. My head is hurting like hell, I feel dizzy and doing this is slowly killing me. I want to scream. To curse. To break things. I know I can't. People in this house are driving me crazy. It's a fight here, a fight there. Bella doesn't get involved in anything. Better saying, she doesn't know about anything. Mom doesn't like her to know that her, dad and me have been fighting nonstop. What about me? I'm the one who has to deal with the putting down, the pressure to be a freaking someone. I'm not wallowing in my own self-pity, I'm stating facts. They don't know how much this affects me. They don't know how many nights I spent awake, thinking that I wasn't good enough and just screaming into my pillow. They don't know how many times I wanted to just lie in my bed and listen to sad music all day. They don't get that. I remember when this happened and when you were still here with me. You'd help me through everything. You'd bring me to this Greek store, where they'd gave us some cheap plates and we'd throw them against the wall to vent out our anger. It always made me feel better. But since you were gone, nothing made sense anymore. No matter how hard I try to deny it, I know it's the truth.