Prologue

She holds for dear life to the ends of the sleeves in her hands,

Covering up lies that she wrote with a razor-sharp pen,

Mara sat in the comfort of her bedroom, holding the small pocketknife in her hands. She looked at the various scars on her left and right hands and fore arms. Some looked faded, but there were a lot that were fresh. And as she touched each one with the tip of the knife, she could remember exactly why she made each one.

She touched the knife to the one directly on the back of her wrist. As usual, she remembered exactly why she'd made that one.

She had applied to get into a prestigious English academy, and so had her ex-boyfriend. But, as fate would have it, she didn't get in, and he did. But she prepared more than him, and she did everything right, so why did she not get in? The minute she had gotten home, she'd taken the trusty knife from its place in her drawer and made that deep cut. It had bled throughout the night, but she really hadn't cared.

She then touched the tip of the knife to the plentiful scars on her fingers. Those had been a result of her messed up family.

Mara came home one day, and she'd had a tiring day at work. She worked to support her family, because her parents were too lazy to try to earn money. The first thing she noticed was the air in the house smelled different. Grabbing her emergency gas mask from the bookshelf, she put it on and ventured warily into the kitchen. There, she saw her mother holding a piece of rolled up paper, with what looked like green leaves inside. The end of the paper was lit, and her mother was taking deep puffs of whatever it was.

Shaking her head, she retreated and headed up to her room, where she took off the mask and collapsed on her bed in relief. But she was still worried: where was her dad? She checked the time, and it was quarter past eight.

Suddenly, her door blew open, and in walked her father. He looked pretty drunk, and that he held a half-empty bottle of beer only drew her to the 'drunk' conclusion. He shut the door and locked it, looking at her like a lion would look at his prey. Very soon, all his clothes were off, and he proceeded for hers.

She screamed at him to stop, but he paid no attention to her. After he finished, he left the room, leaving her shivering naked in bed. Crying hard, she took the knife from her drawer and cut each one of her fingers. They hurt, but she didn't care.

And the sting of the blade is no match for the pain of the loneliness she's going through

From that day on, she knew that she was alone in life. Her dad had raped her, and no one would ever do anything to stop him. Her mother was smoking a strange substance, and no one would care. Her brothers and sisters had all left the house, leaving her alone with her parents. And she had no boyfriend because they'd argued. She felt truly alone.


You can still see the mark on his hand where there once was a ring

Jerome touched the bottom of his ring finger, and felt the part that had once carried a promise ring from his ex-girlfriend. He really hadn't understood why they had broken up. It had been because of an argument, yes, but what else? Was it that he had gotten into the English academy that had fueled her anger? But it wasn't really his fault that he had gotten it. It had probably meant the examiners preferred him to her. And, truly, it had always been his ambition to beat her at just one thing. She beat him at most things, but he had taken it lightly, and he had never threatened to leave her.

He watched decades of history dissolve when she wanted to leave

They had been relaxing at his house, when the results for their exams came in. They had decided to open them at the same time. His read, "We are pleased to tell you…" while hers read, "We regret to tell you…" That had done it. She had blown up, screaming that life was unfair and that she deserved to go, not him.

Then, she had thrown the promise ring he had given her and stormed out the door. Something told him to go after her, but he ignored it. If she wanted to leave, she should do just that.

And the hole that it left there inside of his chest

Is a canyon: a thousand miles deep

But it didn't change that she had meant everything to him. She had been his, and he had been hers. He couldn't hide the fact that he still remembered every little detail about her. The way she flipped her hair when she was nervous, the way she bit the inside of her cheek when she was lying, the way her chocolate-brown eyes lit up when she was excited. It would take a lifetime to forget her.