The worst way to miss someone is to be sitting right next to them knowing you can’t have them. Especially when he is your best friend, sitting at the desk next to you, making out with his girlfriend. I attempt one more look, my eyes taking in everything but giving out nothing. She is sitting on his desk, arms around his neck, jamming her tongue down his throat. Disgusting.

Her name is Scarlett. Scarlett Summers. Long, silky blonde hair, blue eyes, and tan legs. Always wearing the shortest shorts she can find and skanky top. I admit that she’s pretty, but I can’t, won’t understand why Taylor likes her. My best friend, Taylor, the one who has been through everything with me, falling for the famous Scarlett Summers. The perfect Scarlett Summers.

My name is Patience. Patience Mercy. Thick black hair, ice blue eyes, and if I do say myself, killer legs. Since it’s always warm in Phoenix Arizona, I usually wear a black tank top and shorts, only not as short as Scarlett’s.

Mrs. Davies walks into the room, flustered. She drops a pile of papers onto her desk, and plops into her seat with a huff. Her eyes are searching around the room frantically, her fingers tapping the papers. “Where did I leave the attendance sheet...” she mutters. She looks at me and I offer a small wave. Her face breaks into a smile, and she waves me over for a hug.

“Patience, honey, how are you?”

“I’m doing alright.” I say, “How are you?”

“Great, I’m great.” She says. Then she looks back at Taylor and Scarlett. “Cut it out you two. Save it for after class.” Giving one last convincing kiss, Scarlett walks back to her seat, leaving Taylor breathless. Now everyone is looking at Mrs. Davies and I. “I’ll talk to you soon, sweetheart.” She whispers to me. I nod and walk back to my seat.

A couple of years ago, I went through some bad stuff with my mother being murdered in a drive by and people bullying me at school. It wasn’t something I liked to think about. Mrs. Davies helped me get out of the hole I was stuck in. She had been better than any overly-sympathetic therapist could ever be. And of course, Taylor had been there for me too.

Just the thought of those couple years brought stinging tears to my eyes. I quickly tried to blink them away and pay attention to the class. But the feeling of being alone kept creeping back, like a reoccurring nightmare. It had been creeping back for months now, and my dad had been threatening to send my back to my therapist. Honestly, I was scared myself that the depression was coming back. Looking around, I knew I wasn’t by myself, there were kids everywhere, but I had never felt so alone.

*

*

*

I pick up the phone and dial Taylor’s familiar cell phone number. My clock reads 12:03am. I had just woken up from a terrible dream, one that I used to have right after my mother died. I usually had woken up right after the shot rang out, but tonight I really understood what the dream meant.

...I had been walking alone on the streets of Phoenix, carrying only a black leather purse. I was wearing a short red dress and tall black heels. I felt confident, sexy even. I knew I was going to meet my friend for her bachelorette party, but I had to park far away from the building and walk to it because there had been nowhere else to park.

There was no one else on the deserted street. I started to walk faster; the night was getting cold and I didn’t want to be late.

All of a sudden, a black car drove by. It screeched to a stop on the sidewalk next to me, and two drunk, laughing men got out of the car. One pulled out a gun and my heart started beating a mile a minute. The other yanked my purse off my arm. For some reason I couldn’t scream.

The shot of a gun rang out. This was where my dream had usually ended...

Then, an excruciating pain was in my chest, like my heart had exploded. I collapsed to the ground with a moan. Then I started to float, well, my spirit started to float. Out of my body. I looked down on myself, but I didn’t see what I expected. The women lying dead in the street was not myself as I had thought, but my mother.

That’s when I had woken up, sobs choking out of my throat. I stuffed as much of my pillow as I could into my mouth and screamed. Now the phone is ringing in my ear, calling the only person who could make me feel better right now.

I listen closely. The ringing stops and I heard Taylor’s muffled voice. “Hold on, Scar, its Patience.” Scar? Since when did he call her Scar?

“Well if she’s so patient, she can wait.” Scarlett snaps.

“Just give me one second.” His breath is rough as he speaks into the phone. “Patience? Hey, can I call you back?”

I stop crying momentarily to speak. “I had the dream again. It wasn’t me who got shot, it was my mom. I was my mom.”

“What?” He says. “You’re not making any sense...can I call you back?”

“No.” I say. “Don’t bother.”

And then I hang up.
*

*

*

I wake up in the tub in my bathroom, bloody water surrounding me. The fuzzy memories of last night seep into my mind: the knife, carving ‘alone’ into my own stomach. The pain. The pain that felt so good...no, not good...just better than what I had been feeling.

My iPod is playing my favorite Mayday Parade album: A Lesson in Romantics. When I Get Home Your So Dead is playing. So pull the trigger, it never gets closer, you want to start over, but never start over.

From the light outside the window it looks around five o’clock. Shivering, I get up and drain the water. Then I turn the shower on and rinse off, soap burning in the open cuts in my stomach. I pull on my pajama shorts and tank top from last night, suddenly determined. I grab a small metal object from the draw under the sink; something my father always keeps just in case. Pulling on my worn out black converse, I storm out of the house. My dad is already at work; he’s a police officer and works an early shift. I leave him a small note on the fridge: I’m sorry.-P.

I walk the familiar two streets down to Taylor’s house. I hope he’s home. Without bothering to knock, I barge in. “Hi Mandy! It’s Patience, I’m going upstairs!” I call to his mom in the kitchen as I pass it. She shouts back a quick ‘hello, okay!’

I open Taylor’s door, to find him and Scarlett kissing. My mouth turns into a perfect O, not expecting this.

She sits up, anger flashing in her eyes. “Don’t you know how to knock?” She yells. I take a slow step back. Taylor is staring at me, worried yet also angry. “No one wants you here, freak.” She spits.

Suddenly another surge of courage hits me. “I need to talk to Taylor.” I say strongly.

“Just give me a second...” Taylor mutters to Scarlett.

“But babe, I’m nowhere close to done with you.” She gives him a seductive look and kisses him intensely on the lips. His hand slides down her back, but he pulls his lips away.

“I’ll be right back.” He says, and smacks her butt on the way to the door. She squeals. I swallow back barf.

He walks into the laundry room, where we always used to huddle up and talk in when we were kids. “So?” He asks after a couple seconds of quiet.

What I have to tell him is not in words.

I lift up my shirt, exposing my stomach, and his eyes bug out as he sees the word ‘alone’ carved into me.

“Lord have mercy...” he mutters.

“There is no mercy.” I say. “Close your eyes.” He looks at me, puzzled, but then does as I ask.

I put the object from the bathroom drawer to my head, and pull the trigger.

So pull the trigger, it never gets closer, you want to start over, but never start over.

The last thing I hear is Scarlett’s scream.