Lizzie McDonald had always thought a certain way. She had been raised to never show pity to those that wanted it, to help those that needed it, and to never be like those other girls.
You know the girls I'm talking about, with their fake black hair and eyeliner so thick you can't tell what color their eyes are. The ones who wear skinny jeans and baggy sweaters, even in the summer. The ones who, when in the mood, will place something sharp against their wrist and crave the pain.
Up until she was 14, Lizzie was quite proud to call herself a girly tomboy; or a sporty prep. Either way, she shyed away from the color black and never felt the need to slice her own skin open, thank you very much.
But on her 15th birthday, something went viciously wrong.
Her sister and both of her stepbrothers were riding up to the old house for her party. She could still remember when Edwin went to live with his brother. He had come home from school in a fury, ranting and raving about stupid teachers, spiteful kids, crazy ex-girlfriends and hectic homelife. He had packed his bags that night, before calling Derek to come get him. Lizzie hadn't seen her favourite stepbrother and comrade since.
But, back to a few months ago.
Lizzie had been sitting on the old couch with a party hat on, talking and joking with Marti, while glancing out the window impatiently every few minutes.
Soon, far too soon, she saw lights shining through the window. She rushed outside to see her mom and stepdad talking quietly to a policeman. As she watched, the stranger shook his head, causing Lizzie's mom to shriek with grief, before burrowing her head in her husband's chest. He let out a loud groan, and started to cry silently.
Lizzie ran over to her mom as quick as she could in the high heels and slinky green dress that Casey had given her as an early birthday present.
She turned to the policeman and demanded to know what was going on.
"How old are you?" He asked, to which she replied her brand new age. The man looked sombre.
"There's been...an accident."
As he contuinued his explanation of what had taken place, Lizzie felt her brain shut down completely. Before the man had even finished talking, she had turned and fled back into the house and up the stairs, ignoring Marti's confused questions, and the voices outside that were calling her name.
She barricaded herself in the Games Closet, which she hadn't entered since she was 13. Looking around, she could tell that this had been Edwin's hideout for the past two years.
There were several drug and cigarette stashes, as well as a box of dirty magazines and a dartboard with Michelle Collin's face on it.
As she slowly stroked the dusty boxes of games she used to play, another box fell and the contents spilled onto the floor. Bending down to see what was in it, she drew in a sharp, surprised breath.
She picked up one of the many shiny blades imbedded into the carpet, and examined it with a mix of curiosity and fear.
It was at that point her mind rudely reminded her that Edwin was no longer with her.
Staggered by the thought, Lizzie lowered the blade to her exposed wrist tentatively, and simply pressed down.
Suddenly, all her grief-stricken thoughts were replaced by pain, amazing, glorius, lifesaving pain.
But that was quite a few months ago.
Now, her hair has been dyed black, and she wears eyeliner so thick you can't tell her eyes are blue. She wears skinny jeans and baggy sweaters - even in the summer. And when that irritating voice in the back of her head reminds her of what happened on her birthday that year, she locks herself in the Games Closet, places something sharp against her wrist, and craves the pain.