Chapter 1

Well, this year turned out well. My best friend hates me, my boyfriend left me, and I have been in far too many accidents than I would care to be in. So, all in all, an excellent year. Oh, and my head is currently down the toilet, yakking up the beer that I had.

You see, when my boyfriend, Edward, left me I had my best friend, Jacob, to lean on and cry my tears on his shoulder. He was how I had coped through the dreadful times of my grief. I slowly got back on my feet and went around Jacobs' house more because I just wanted to see him. Things were going well, until he went off to Sam Uley and his steroid filled gang. I had no one to cry on. I was alone.

I just decided that I didn't care about my health anymore. If my sun was gone then my whole world was meaningless. I would rather die than live an empty life. I have tried to contact Jacob, but he just slams the phone down or his dad answers and tells me the lie that he is not in. I've known Billy all my life and my dad is the chief of police; I can tell a lie when I hear one.

So, I resulted to trying to drink myself to death. It hasn't worked out so far. Just a lot of chocking on my own sick was the best case of dying I could muster up. I was hopeless at suicide attempts, was there anything that I was good at? I do well in science and trig, and I'm one of the best chess players around, so my opponents say. I just am a failure; of a friend, girlfriend, lab partner, team player. The list is endless.

I thought that I could manage a beer, its smell weird so it was a challenge for me to down. It tasted vile, try mixing stale apples with ethanol you make in class and there you have a cheap alcohol. It wasn't the best decision I had to make in my life, and I assure you it won't happen again. It was a temporary distraction; it was avoiding the inevitable. It was that time of day again. The time of the day where I attempt to call Jacob.

I reluctantly got up off the bathroom floor and washed my hands in the sink. I thoroughly disliked the combinations of bathroom attire that my mom and dad had chosen over sixteen odd years ago. Everything mismatched; the bath tub was green, the sink white, the floor blue, and the shelves were bright pink. It annoyed a perfectionist like me to hell and back. I left the bathroom behind and stormed down the stairs. He will pick up the phone. He doesn't have a choice in the matter. I will tell him my mind and he will listen. He would hopefully see reason and come knocking on my door, apologizing his head off, saying how sorry he was for deserting me and how he wishes that I could take him back in my small book of friends and things would be as they were.

If only the imaginary tale could come true.

I picked up the phone off the wall and dialed the number that I knew better than my own. The phone rang.

And rang

And rang some more.

The phone was ringing. What would I say?