Dammnit, why did I care so much about what he thought of me? He was just some stupid boy—wasn’t he? And believe me, I had met plenty of stupid boys, yet somehow none of them had this effect on me. Why did it have to be Jace? And why did he have to ignore me?
“Hey hun, it’s me,” I said into the phone quietly, discouragement already gripping me.
“Um, I just wanted to see what was up. Like, you didn’t really talk to me today, and I...” God, now I just sounded needy. “Well, just...yea.” I suddenly felt awkward and unsure of myself. “Call me,” I fumbled before quickly snapping my phone shut. I didn’t know what to think anymore. Granted, Jace and I hadn’t know each other long—just since the summer or so. But back then, he had been the one that told me how awesome I was, and how I was one of the coolest girls he had ever met. And even when school had started back up again, we’d continued our friendship.
Until now.
I tapped my fingers anxiously against the table. Why wasn’t he talking to me? I hated to be needy, and I even more I hated to nag, but Jace forced me to do both those things. Didn’t he? Or was I just that horrible? It was true—over the last year or so I had lost so many friends, through fights or drifting apart. It had to be my fault right? Right? I was so unsure of myself. So afraid that I was turning into a person that couldn’t be accepted. Afraid that that had become a concern for me. And while I was left alone, all of those lost friends had new friends, and they were happy. They had a crowd. I was suddenly a loner, forgotten, a black and white television in a Sharper Image world. But I was almost okay with that, because somehow I had managed to maintain my friendship with Jace. But not anymore. What had I done? I just wanted to know so that I could never, ever make that mistake again.
With a sudden self-directed rage, I rushed toward the edge of my bed, reaching beneath it the small green and white striped bag I kept there. Having grasped it, I glanced up at the door, checking to make sure it was locked, before slipping the stainless steel knife I had stolen out of the kitchen one night out of it, along with a small bottle of rubbing-alcohol.
God, why did I have to be so damn replaceable?
Because this isn't true. Really? Still working on the plot line to the new story, but this is going in there somewhere.
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