Chapter 1: Unlucky thirteenth

You cannot believe how many times I have replayed that last conversation. How many times I have dissected it finding all the points where I went wrong. The hints that I missed. All leading to the girl I failed to save. I know, I didn't force her to take those pills, I wasn't the one to make that final choice, but believe me, her blood is on my hands. She came to me for help and I failed her. She told me that she wanted everything to stop, she told me. And I let her walk out of that room without a backwards glace. I didn't listen to her, I didn't hear her, I didn't catch her. For the rest of my life that girls blood is going to be on my hands. Even without anyone helping, that isn't something I will ever forget. I could have saved her. And I let her walk away.

When I opened that shoebox sized package, I had no idea what I was expecting. I had no idea how much my life would be turned upside down. I opened it without thinking, I do a lot of things without thinking now. Ever since her death my mind has been completely pre-occupied by what I failed to do. So those audio tapes falling out was something I hadn't expected, for a start nobody plays tapes anymore. But I have to admit, I was intrigued. Seven tapes? Someone obviously had something they wanted to say. Something they wanted me to hear. It didn't take long to drag my old player out of the attic and slot the tape marked as the first in. But when I hit play I nearly went through the roof.

Hello, boys and girls. Hannah Baker here. Live and in stereo.

I'll admit I nearly broke my neck in my haste to reach that stop button. With my heart jumping I just sat and stared in complete shock at the old machine in front of me. It couldn't be. Hannah is dead. This had to be some sort of sick practical joke by someone with a really warped sense of humour. It had to be. But the sweat on my hands and forehead, the shiver running through my entire body, the way my heart is racing tells me what I don't want to hear. This was no joke. This was for real. This was Hannah. I know the voice. How could I forget it. The shiver becomes a full on tremble, I'm shaking like a leaf. I can barely hit the button to start the tapes back up again.

I'm about to tell you the story of my life. More specifically, the story of why my life ended. And if you are listening to these tapes, you're one of the reasons why.

I can't help myself. I collapse into the chair behind me head in hands, simply shaking as Hannah's voice washes over me. Nobody else had blamed me. Everyone had been so understanding. Even when I'd tried to hand in my resignation, our headmaster refused to take it. He said I couldn't take what had happened personally. That no one could have seen the signs. I knew how false that was of course, I'd had her in my office. But it was still comforting to hear those words. Nobody objected to me taking that week off. I couldn't believe it; nobody blamed me. Except for me. And clearly one other person. Hannah herself.

The tape was still playing as my thoughts raced through my brain. My chest ached with a sudden tightness that I couldn't explain. But I couldn't turn off the tape. I couldn't not hear the words spilling out into the empty room around me. I couldn't not listen. There was no way I could stop the flow of words seeping into my brain. I couldn't stop it. How could I?

And you, lucky number thirteen, you can take the tapes straight to hell. Depending on your religion, maybe I'll see you there.

There's this sudden desperate urge to find out where I belong on these tapes. But somehow, deep in the pit of my roiling stomach, I know. I was the last person Hannah reached out to and I let her walk away. I know exactly where I am on these tapes. I desperately hope I'm wrong, that it's some mistake. But much like the day I stood staring out at my class, looking at that empty seat, I know I'm not. That day when Hannah didn't turn up and I heard the whispers in the corridor, that day when I was staring at her desk praying I was wrong. Knowing I wasn't. Then I simply walked out of the class. Now? That isn't an option. This isn't some group of students I'm meant to be teaching. This is the voice of a dead girl talking to me. Blaming me. A girl I already failed once. I can't fail her again.

I know what you're all thinking. Hannah Baker is a slut.

My head leaps out of my arms. I actually can't believe what I've just heard. She had spoken of rumours; is this was she meant? I joked about it. I laughed it off. I saw her as over-reacting to a simple problem. I didn't see the pain. I can hear it now. I can hear the anger in her voice, the sheer rage. I can hear her. In my office she came across as nervous. I didn't realise how close to the end she was. I didn't see how desperate she was. But I can hear it now. I can hear it in the tremble of her voice, the tears that are hidden behind the anger.

Wrong. Hannah Baker is not, and never was a slut. Which begs the question, What have you heard?

I simply wanted a kiss. I was a freshmen girl who had never been kissed. Never.

My head sinks back into my arms. I'm shaking so hard I can barely breathe. The innocence and broken trust in that single line is heart-breaking. But what Justin did wasn't any more than thousands of teenagers have done before. He egged the pudding, pretended for the sake of his ego that she'd gone further than she had. It wasn't right, but is it worth this?

This can't be real. This can't be happening. The dead do not speak. For the voice of the dead girl is relentless, pounding against me like a tsunami, crushing me in their grip. I am listening to what is essentially a train wreck in progress, and worse still, I am a part of it. I know how this story ends. The tape rolls to an end and I can't move. I'm sat shell-shocked. I know I need to turn the tape over but I can't. I can't move.