I know I seem pretty chaotic most of the time. And, guess what, that's just what my whole life is like: a terrible mess. Always has been. And it's not gonna change; I understand that now. Which is why I'm going to end all this.

I've been planning my suicide mission like I've never planned anything else in my life, because I want it to be perfect. I've systematically arranged everything – when to do it, how to do it, what to write in the notes for Karma and my parents and Reagon – and now I don't even feel bad anymore. It'll be a completely organized affair; I'll leave nothing behind but a clear white spot, nothing but clarity.

I've told my parents where to bury my body and what to write on my gravestone. Gone by choice; not that it matters.

I also told them not to miss me.

I didn't tell them I was sorry, because I'm not.

It's the only thing I can do, with Karma and Reagon hating me and everybody else rejecting me for who I am. Not because I'm a lesbian; that's not the problem at all. I mean, obviously it is a problem to be in love with your best friend, and when I first noticed I had those feelings for Karma, I just wanted them to go away – but I've also liked being a lesbian, when I was with Reagon.

I'm not going to lie now; my feelings for her weren't the same as for Karma. They were strong, too, but in their own way. In their own I-need-somebody-who-accepts-me-and-cares-about-me way.

I figure that's also the reason why I slept with Liam Booker. To be accepted, and to hurt Karma. Yeah, I can't really say my motives were noble, but who can, anyway?

I've succeeded. In hurting Karma and Reagon, and then it fired all back to me. My best friend vanished from my life, as did my girlfriend.

And I know this is not just a temporary crisis. We've had plenty of those, Karma and I, but this is different. Because Karma loves Liam, and whenever love's involved, things get pretty damn complicated.

I hate love.

It's like a disease with no cure.

It brings out the worst in me, turns me into a monster that hurts other people and causes injuries that are never gonna heal. What happened between Karma and me isn't something you could overcome. It's a gaping wound impossible to stitch.

I've ruined it.

So now I'm standing here, right on the edge of the roof; the roof of Hester High School, which is actually my favorite spot – or has been. I've got the notes in my bag, but I pull them out one last time before I jump, even though I know exactly what I wrote.

The first envelope reads: To Reagon.

I've never been pretending with you. In fact, we've had a great time and I feel miserable for what I've done. I truly hope you'll be happy again, with someone better and braver than me. It's not your fault.

Amy

Pretty classy, I know, but I don't have much experience in writing suicide notes.

My note to Mom is much longer, because it contains all those organizational things she'll have to deal with after my death.

I told her that Lauren can have whatever clothes she wants from my closet and that they should just sell the rest; all of my stuff.

I suggested she could turn my room into a fitness studio, so Lauren would have more room for her workouts and dance sessions.

But most important, I told Mom not to question what I've done – what I'm about to do. It wasn't her fault either; it was mine.

My fault, my decision, my action. No one can be held responsible for this but me.

Then there's Karma's note.

I wanna thank you for so many years we've spent together, it begins. All this time, having you as my best friend, I've considered myself just SO lucky. I am truly sorry for ruining our friendship, and your relationship. But I'm not sorry for this. I wish you the best of luck, Karma. It's not your fault.

Amy

I don't know why I keep telling people it's not their fault. Of course it's not. I am the only person who screwed up.

Okay, enough of that.

It's dark, the moon is barely visible tonight, but I know it must be about midnight. It's time.

Jumping off the roof of our high school isn't exactly the most imperceptible way to die – there's going to be so much drama when the first teachers and students arrive here tomorrow morning, and I've always hated drama. Actually, I've hated being in the center of attention, but for some odd reason, I feel like that's what my death should be like.

It should be noticed. Worshipped. Understood.

People should see.

Everybody is supposed to know there are things going on, always, constantly, without anyone noticing. I wanna tell them to look around, to be open-minded… and to never sleep with your BFF's boyfriend.

So.

I'm already standing on the edge. The notes are back in my bag. There's nothing below me but darkness and hard ground.

I stretch out my arms and close my eyes, taking a deep breath. A warm breeze tickles my face, runs through my hair.

It doesn't feel hard. I just have to lean over, lose my balance, and fall. I just have to forget about everything.

It doesn't feel hard at all.

I almost laugh out loud. Dying is so easy. You can let go of everything and prepare for something new. There's no need to be afraid. I don't even think about the moment when my head is going to hit the pavement; whether it'll hurt, whether I'll be dead right away.

It doesn't matter, because nothing does anymore.

This is the end.

What do you think at the end? What's a good last thought, something to say goodbye to your life?

I was having a good time.

No, that sounds like something you say when you leave a party, and my life was nothing like a party.

Thank you for the gift of life, God.

But is there even some kind of god, someone I owe my life to, someone who's going to hear me when I say thank you?

I don't know if God exists.

Fact is, there's no one else who might hear me, no one down here on earth who's interested in what I'm doing right now. Which is why I'm doing it in the first place.

I breathe again. Don't make it exhausting, I tell myself. It's almost over. Just jump.

So I tense all the muscles in my body and get ready to jump.

And it's not until the very last second that I hear someone's voice cutting through the night, calling my name: "AMY!"

I open my eyes.

I'm still here. Part of me wishes I was already in the air, on my way down. By now, I just want to get it over with.

But another part of me, the part I believed to be long gone, wants to stay here. And it surprises me that there's something inside of me, probably not more than an animalistic survival instinct, that's still clinging to life.

What's going on here?

"Amy", I hear his voice again. "Come down. Please."

I don't understand how he could've possibly known I'm here. Maybe it's just a stupid coincidence. Or maybe it's God's way to tell me he does exist, and obviously he wants me to stay.

It's then that I begin to realize I've been wrong. I've thought there was no one here on earth who cared about me anymore, no one who could save my life. I've thought the mess I've made was irreversible by this point.

But all this time, I have never thought of him, not even once. I've never considered that he might be the one I owe my life to, until now, now that he saved me.

I don't need to turn around to know who's there, waiting for me.

"Oliver?" I say.