They beat her. They beat her, and she cried- cried herself to sleep every night. One night I saw her outside her house as I drove by. Her forehead was bleeding, and she was crying as they both stood at the door screaming, not caring who saw. I wanted to stop, to do something, to help… But we were never close, never friends. She hated me, in fact, and it might have just made everything worse for her- and that was something I would never have wanted.
I tried to be nice to her at school. No one seemed to acknowledge the bruises, the cuts, the tears… Everyone saw the smile she wore and pretended nothing was wrong. Once, a girl spoke up and said that she had read a note of suicide in the girls' bathroom that looked like familiar hand-writing, but no one seemed to care or do anything or speak up. The girl just dropped it and went on.
When I asked around, there were rumors. Rumors that she had turned to drugs and things like that, that she was going to drop out of school and that she had no more dreams…
That was years ago. I was young, and I didn't know that there was anything I could do. I tried, I really did. We both did at one point. She saw I was the only one reaching out, and she wanted help- I could see it in her eyes. But it wasn't ever enough… Sometimes the pressure got to be too much. She cut herself, stopped eating. It was sad. I stopped eating with her, just because it was something I could actually control. It seemed like everything else was spinning out of control…
And here we are now… Standing here, talking about her. I'm telling you about this girl, this beautiful girl, that all she needed was some help, someone to care…
But she can't speak for herself now…