He had to die. There was no way around it. I told him everything, and all I got was lies and deceit.

I’m talking about my ex, Christian. He may not have looked like much, as lanky as he was, but that boy knew how to use the language. He could win an argument hands-down, or even curse you, and you’d never be able to stop him. Even if you tried, you would be buried in the language of arguing. He had no mercy and took no prisoners. Language was his passion, his deity, per se. He had never lost a debate, never won at losing, until he met me.

The only reason I went out with him in the first place was because he black mailed me(Stupid, no-good, sarcastic liar). I had some pictures of different people, not in any way related, stuffed into my backpack. He had gotten a hold of them and threatened to pass them all around the school as “Raylyne’s Photography”. Big mistake. But over time, because he wouldn’t let me go, I started to like him. I even started to trust the stupid boy. I started to tell him things not even my best friend knew.

But, as I had clearly forgotten, he was a traitor and a liar.

He, after hearing my life story, had started telling people. There was an ever-growing story of me going around the school. And the more it grew, the more stupid things became.

It ended up a story of a misfit wanna-be mean girl. And apparently, she was bi and a druggy too.

He told of a young woman who was shunned when she was younger. Much, much younger. From first all the way to sixth grade. How she wouldn’t talk to anyone, except for the freaks who had also been shunned, until her freshman year of high school.

He told of how mean and loud this girl is now, and that she uses that persona as a shield. Her personal shield to keep people out. And she never holds nasty comments back from her peers.

“You see,” he would say, “she is soft underneath it all. She’s like a turtle. If you take the shell off, There’s nothing left except for putty.”

They would always ask who this girl was. Christian would simply smile and walk away. He always did love to keep people guessing.

But people started figuring it out.
First my best friend, Lindsey, figured it out. She was the first because I told her the entire story after the rumors started going around. I thought it would be best to tell her the truth.

“That’s really you everyone’s been talking about?” she had asked me in a whisper.

“Of course it is. Don’t tell anyone though. Okay?”

She agreed, but the next day I had ten people asking me about the rumors and one shrugging friend.
They asked me if they were true. And if it was really me that the rumors were about. Or if I had some part in the rumors. If I had started them in the first place.

I denied all these assumptions, saying they had the wrong girl, but it spread with my name anyway.

Nobody’s seen Christian for over a month. It’s June now, and neither he, nor they, are getting any warmer.

The police say he’s gone missing, kidnapped maybe. After all, he’s only been gone a month.

His posters have been all but taken down. They’ve been torn, painted on, stapled papers have been put on top of them, even.
Nobody really liked him, so his disappearance wasn’t all that surprising to anyone. And since I denied all those rumors were about me, no one ever truly suspected me.

Rumors bled throughout the school about how he died, because no one thinks he’s still alive, screaming his lungs out in some hole. There weren’t any that were true in the least.
But none of the stories were as fake as his last words in sanity.

“I always loved you, Raylyne. Always.”