She was crying. Pleading at me to go. But why? A moment ago she was happy. I was happy. Why had she flipped out like that? Something wasn't right.
''I'm not leaving, Hannah,'' I said, ''tell me what's wrong.''
Her mouth twisted into a look of complete agony. Then she looked away, and shook her head. ''No,'' she said, her voice tight with pain so raw it made my heart twist, ''go.''
But the instinct inside of me was screaming too loudly. I tried to leave, comply with her wishes, but the instinct wouldn't stop blaring inside of me. And my heart wouldn't, either. My feet wouldn't, couldn't move to the direction of the door.
''Hannah,'' I said, ''tell me. I want to listen, want to know. You can tell me.''
I don't know why my voice sounded so desperate. Sure I hated seeing her upset, but something inside me was… Saying that was more than just the average reason to be upset. Something inside me was saying that if I didn't listen, the effects would be disastrous. The look she gave me next only made that instinct intensify in its shrieks.
She looked at me then, hard. The look she gave me was pure, raw agony, so intense that it scared me. Then her face changed slightly, and tears formed in her eyes. ''You'll only be like the others,'' she whispered, more to herself than to me.
''What others?'' I whispered, ''Hannah you can tell me. What others?''
Automatically, I thought of the rumors. Was it the guys that made her become…that made her do…? I couldn't say the word. In my eyes, the Hannah I met tonight could never be the girl in the rumors.
''Go away, Clay,'' she said, realizing that she had said too much. Her face changed to anger.
But part of me knew it was only a mask, only a small part of a bigger emotion. What was making her like this? I had to know.
''No, I'm not leaving,'' I said, almost shouting.
''Go!'' she was screaming now, almost loud enough to overpass the roaring party noise.
''I can't,'' I said, my voice half- whispering, half- pleading. That instinct was screaming on high alert. I didn't know what, and I didn't know why it was, but it was there. And its intensity was seriously scaring me.
''Go!'' she screamed again, even louder than before.
''No, no, no,'' I said.
And then... she was sobbing again.
''Hannah, what's wrong?'' I asked, pleading as hard as I could ''please tell me what's wrong.''
If she didn't tell me, I would have to leave then and there, I knew. I would be forced to ignore my screeching instincts. I would have no choice.
She started sobbing harder, taking the pillow she was holding and screaming in it once more, shaking her head.
So I did what I knew I had to do- I left, ignoring my inner screams.
And then. ''Don't go,'' she whispered, her voice hoarse from her screams and sobs, ''I can't think of doing this anymore.''
I immediately turned around, and ran to her.
''Can't do what?'' I asked her. A pit formed at the bottom of my stomach. I had a feeling that I wouldn't like the answer.
''This. I can't do this anymore,'' she breathed, ''I can't live...''
I thought she was going to say something else after that but it was broken off by sobs.
I put my arms around her, unsure of what else to do. I can't live. Those words for some reason immediately made me think about suicide for some reason. I think part of me knew that's what she meant, but it took me a while to force myself to believe it then.
I didn't know what to say, and I was afraid that if I said something it was going to be the wrong thing. So I just tightened my grip, trying to silently encourage her to expand on what she said.
''I'm not sure I can live anymore,'' she said, her voice shaky, ''I've thought... I've thought about it...''
I felt the pit in my stomach harden and my blood run cold. That's when it hit me that's exactly what she was talking about.
Oh no.
I thought about walking away. Ask to leave-just for a minute- to grasp what she just said, just leave so I wouldn't have to get sucked into what got to want to....do that.
But I knew almost immediately afterwards that I couldn't do that, though. I loved her too much for that.
''I've thought about giving up,'' she continued, ''about not doing this anymore, about just going...'' She squeezed her eyes shut with pain.
''No,'' I said, ''don't do that, Hannah. Please don't do that.''
''I feel like no one would care if I did,'' she said, ''that no one cares about me. That I'd be the only one to care.''
''That's not true, Hannah,'' I said, ''oh Hannah, that's not true.''
She just looked at me with the most pained look I ever saw in my life.
''That's not true, Hannah,'' I repeated, looking into her eyes for emphasis.
''Then who cares?'' she asked, ''I mean beside my parents.''
I can't believe she didn't see it. I had just met her- just really knew her- but I already knew I cared. I cared so much. And she didn't see it. She seriously thought that nobody cared.
''I care,'' I said, trying to put all of my love and passion for her into that sentence.
''You're lying,'' she said, ''nobody ever cares. They pretend they do but they don't.''
She had to know that wasn't true. She had to know that I loved her, that already I cared, and that I loved and cared about her so much. How couldn't she know that? How couldn't she see? I wasn't lying- I was telling the complete truth. I didn't understand whatsoever why she thought I was lying, or how she even came up with such a crazy idea in the first place.
''What makes you think that?'' I asked, hearing my own confusion play out in my voice.
''Everybody,'' she said, the pain from before in her voice, ''everybody that I ever cared about, or ever trusted lately.''
The pain in her voice made my heart ache. Who could have been stupid or cruel enough to make her think that?
''Who?'' I asked, ''who made you think that? And are they the same people who made- make - you think about giving up?''
She looked away from him and nodded.
''Who Hannah?'' I asked, ''why would they make you want to do that to yourself?''
She shook her head. ''I don't like talking about them.''
''Hannah, please tell me,'' I said, ''tell me so I can help you.''
No response came from her, and I felt myself fill up with hopelessness.
''Hannah, please,'' I said, begging. I couldn't stand seeing her like that.
She closed her eyes slowly in that pained look of hers. Then she nodded.
''Are you sure you really want to hear it?'' she asked.
I nodded, completely sure of it, despite the fact that I had no idea of what she was going to say.
''All right,'' she said, ''there are eight people, eight reasons why that mainly made me want to do it.''
This was just me thinking about writing a what if. This is a what if about Hannah telling Clay... I know it sucked, and Jay Asher was a lot better but... Please review anyway. PS I know it's thirteen reasons that made Hannah kill herself, but I did eight since Clay is technically number 9 on her list.