She

She wouldn't kill herself, couldn't show that kind of weakness.


She was the girl who sat in the corner, hunched over her desk in a way that couldn't possibly be comfortable. But it wasn't about being comfortable, it was about being small. She was the girl in the faded Disney sweater that hung below her knees: baggy enough to hide her shape although there was barely anything left to hide.


In the beginning, she was crazy, happy, wild.


Afterwards, She changed. She didn't smile, she certainly didn't laugh and she seemed to stop caring. Everyone tried to understand her, tried to fix her, but she didn't want to be fixed.


The details don't matter. They never do. No one really wants to hear about how damaged their little girl is. Sure, they encouraged her to talk, see a doctor, see a therapist. Anything she needed, anything she wanted. The only thing she wanted was to go back to how things were.


Maybe if someone had warned her, told her that bad things could happen to good people… Told her that it didn't change who she was, maybe things would have been different. That's what they all tried to tell her when it was all said and done, but it didn't matter anymore. She was far too fragile, too easy to break, one night was all it took.


She wouldn't listen to reason, it didn't matter how many people told her it wasn't her fault, that time would heal her wounds. It was and it wouldn't. Nothing would get better, she didn't know if she even wanted it to be better.


That's why when she disappeared, she was happy.