Stay strong, fake a smile, move on.

.. . .*.. .*.

Run your fingers through your hair. Flatten it down, make it straight. Lip gloss and makeup run across your eyes. Pull your sleeves down, for the scars cannot be seen. Pull your hair back; let your face be seen. Or drop the strands, and let them cover everything. Jeans are tight, and heels that make you wobble. Dishwasher blonde turned to bright blonde, sunny surfer girl blonde, instead of dark and dirty. Straighten your shirt, pull down the selves, never let them see, how much the words burn like Heaven's wrath. Out the colored contacts, in the eyes they are, boring brown disappear; leave in place a pretty blue. Look in the mirror on your bedroom walls, walls that are pink, and black, and white, but not what you desire the walls to be. The walls be captured in photos that are not real. Feel the smiles of smiles they are not. See the razor tucked under the mattress, the swathe and Band-Aids too. Powder the face one more time. Fix the hair, straighten the clothes. Pull down the selves. And get ready to leave for another day in Hell.

See the other pretty girls. Very pretty, prettier than you. Smile a smile that was not real, send to everyone you see. Straighten the clothes. Fix the hair. Pull down the sleeves. Put on the lip gloss for all to see, that you are pretty too. Walk to the lockers, now your head it down, see the green and blue tile all around. See the red lockers that look as if spray painted. Open the locker and forget the jeers of slut and whore all around. Forget the ass grabbing, fake the smile and move on.

Hide in the stall, the bathroom stall and cry, many, many tears. For how could you ever forget all the jeers? Since thirteen to seventeen and words always appear. And never disappear.

"Why, why do let them hurt you? Why do you cry so, so many tears? I am here. And will never disappear."

Hear that voice, inside your head, quiet but here, you know.

"What's your name?" You whisper.

"Whatever you want it to be, my dear."

You think and sit. "Zach. I always liked the name." Yes, yes, it sat well on the tongue.

"Name of the little boy down the lane."

You feel your face harden. "Yes. That fire . . ."

"Only eight you were, and so was he. You watched from the window of your living room. Watched the flames lick and leap."

"Are you him?"

"I am you. I can be anyone if you wish. But he, no, I am not truly he. But I could be a blindfold and pretend to be. For I am you, and you are me. You can be anyone you wish to be."

"You will be him. Because I miss him so much."

"As you dream."

She did not respond and neither did he.

.. ..*.. .*..

"Tell me Zach, what's your favorite color now?"

"Black."

"Why black?"

"It's what you wish of me. Do you not? Do you not believe his favorite color of this time would not be black?"

"No, but don't answer like that. Be real, please."

"I am not real, darling."

"But I want you to be."

"I am you, but he you choose for me to be is not me. Not real."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't cry my dear. Beautiful you are, don't let anything make those tears."

"Thank you," you whisper in the dark bedroom of night to no one but yourself.

.. .*.. .*..

"Zach, I love you."

"Do not lie, my dear. For I am you and you do not love yourself."

"But I love Zach, aren't you him?"

"I am but an illusion of him."

"Why can't he be real? Save me from this life?"

"The only person, who can save you, darling, is yourself."

"What about you? Aren't you saving me?"

"I am you. Made up by you. If I save you, you are saving yourself."

"Why doesn't anyone else want to save me?"

"No one else knows you're drowning, my dear."

"Mom and dad are happy. They think they have a perfect life. I don't want to mess that up." You took in a breath. "My friends aren't my friends, Zach, I'm alone."

He didn't answer back.

. .. * . * . . .

"Don't."

"But I like this shade of red on my skin. Do you not, Zach?"

"Cammie! Stop it right now!"

"What are you going to do about it Zach?" Run your finger across the sharp edge of a razor hidden under your bed, the swathe and Band-Aids too. "Nothing at all. You'll do nothing at all but talk. And it was words that got me here. You know that." You pause and think, "Better than anyone."

"Don't do this Cammie."

"It's all become too much." Do you see? The red? All the red from your wrist? Drip, drip, drip on the white carpet?

"Don't be a monster Cammie."

Pause. Another swipe. "To who?"

"Yourself."

"I don't know what you are talking about."

"Look in the mirror. What do you see?"

"A monster that was me. A monster that is me."

"Yes, yes, exactly, you can save yourself! You see me! You see you!"

"I don't care!" And swipe again you do my dear. "Ahh, it hurts."

"Stop the blood. Stop and see. See the blood and everything."

Feel so tired after all the lost. Just want to lay and sleep. Feel defeated and stop the blood. "I'm so tired. I just want to cry and sleep and never wake up."

"Morbid thoughts only bring morbid dreams."

"I hate you. Just-Just, just shut up and leave me alone! I can't be strong enough anymore, Zach. I'm so tired."

"Please. Fight for me. And you will see all the dreams."

"I'm fighting for no one but myself. I'm alone. I too tired to fight, too tired to want to die. I'm too tired for life and death and me and you." Look in the mirror and see someone else. "Why won't you just let me die? Why can't you just let me be?" Pick up a frame and let it fly. In the air as it goes and hits the stranger in the nose. And crack, and crumble goes the mirror's face.

"I promised to never leave."

"To who? Promised to who?"

"You."

Then you cry. Oh so big. Heaving chest and shaking sobs. Frozen screams caught in the lungs.

"Cam, is everything alright? I heard a crash," and open the door your mom does to see a sight no one wished of. "Cammie! Oh my-," then she sees, the Band-Aids and swathe. Hold you tight as a child and cry along with me. "It's going to be alright. It's going to be alright." Is she telling you, or is she telling herself that?

. * . .. * . .

Count the hours for home. Ignore the stares, forget the jeers. Slut! You are not a slut. Whore! You are not a whore. Forget friends who were not friends, but fake flowers in a vase. Remember mother's hand, remember her hand in yours, you won't face it alone anymore. They slammed the books out of your hand, they spray painted your locker too. They laugh when you answer a question wrong, and spread words of untrue. But they will not discourage you, no they will not, for they do not know the secret of the voice. The voice who words ran true. I will be strong. I will be proud. I will not be like them.

"I will try again."

Author's Note: So, what do you think? I'm not sure why, but I really this story, I'm proud of it, and I hope you like it too. On another note, if you have ever read another one of my stories, what was your favorite and least favorite? I'm just plain curious. So, that's all, I hope you enjoyened reading it as much as I enjoyened writing it, stay golden.

P.S. Anyone out there who has read, "Girl Nobody Noticed," well, I think I will do Zach's POV, but as its own story. Thanks.