Dear Diary,
Aunt Brooke said at the wake that one in every five people get assulted or raped, there were thirty-thousand aggravated assults in our state alone last year, seven thousand robberies, three thousand murders, six hundred rapes. It's official. Life sucks, and then you die.
How can our family, our friends, fall into those numbers?
When Uncle Lucas took his last breath, I died a little. When Quentin's body stopped working, I died a little more.
I am not James Lucas Scott. I am a shadow, a physical memory of someone people used to know. A physical memory of someone people used to love.
Love died on that day, too.
Kayla Davis-Scott laid on her bed for the eleventh morning in a row that day. Her mother had been surrounding herself in work to get her mind off the death but she knew that didn't work for her. No matter how hard you try to stop thinking you can't. You can't forget those you love. You can't forget them being killed infront of you.
"Mathew!" Lucas shouted from behind him, holding his hands in the air. Mathew turned his heels and pointed the gun towards her father. She gripped onto Jamie's elbow hard enough for it to break. "Don't do this Mathew."
"Oh look." Mathew started carresing the trigger. "It's the coach who didn't let me join the team because of my insignificant grades. What an ultimatium we have." He pointed the gun back to Jamie. "The teacher's son," He pointed the gun back towards Lucas. "The teacher's best friend," He lifted it so it pointed upwards, with a evil smile planted across his face. "Or the teacher herself."
"Don't you dare!" Kayla put on a brave face.
Mathew turned to her and smiled, walking towards her. "Or maybe the teacher's neice."
Jamie stood infront of Kayla protecting her with his body. "No." He sternly said.
"Alright then." Mathew cocked the gun and held it on Jamie's forehead. "Goodbye."
Kayla's phone bought her from her thoughts. She looked at the caller I.D. and reluctantly picked it up.
"Hi."
"Hey." Lily sighed on the other end of the phone. Kayla knew this was about Jamie again. "You need to talk to him, Kay. He's dragging himself further under."
"That's not my fault." She replied, almost defensively.
"No, it's not," Lily spoke with sincerity. "But if you don't do anything about it, it might as well be."
Kayla could have laughed. She didn't. Her throat felt constricted. She hadn't laughed in eleven days. "I don't need to talk to him. He lost nothing."
"That is so untrue, Kayla!" Lily snapped. "Lucas—" She stopped. She could hear her voice crack a little at her brother's name, so she started again. "You know he was everything to him. Jamie didn't just lose Lucas, Kayla. He lost his Uncle, his friend, and now he's lost you."
Kayla pursed her lips together to keep them from saying things Lily didn't want to hear. "Look, I'm coming to school tomorrow, okay? Goodbye, Lily."
Kayla snapped the phone shut and looked at it for a long moment. Then she chucked it to the other side of the room and watched it shatter to pieces. The shattered phone lie motionless on the ground, and it reminded her of her heart.
She sat back on the bed and cried. And for the first time in eleven days, she felt a sudden emptiness in her heart, and she realized. It was where Jamie used to be.
"No!" Lucas shouted, bringing Mathew's attention back to him. "Why are you doing this Mathew? This can't all because of your grades."
"It's not!" Mathew held his temple and pointed the gun towards Lucas again.
"Have you heard of Jimmy Edwards, Mathew? He did exactly what your doing now, and now he is dead. Do you really want that for yourself?"
"Is that suppose to be a trick question?" He slowly walked closer to Lucas, gun steadily in his hand. Lucas gulped, and Kayla froze some more. "I'll let Jamie decide who will die."
She heard her mother's car pull up in the driveway. She watched from the window as her mother ran a shaky hand through her messy hair, bent over the steering wheel and broke down into hysterical sobs. This was a new tradition. Come home, cry, enter the house, cry, make dinner, and cry. Kayla's routine was somewhat the same. Wake up, cry, sleep some more, cry, take a shower and cry.
This time she didn't sob. This time, she didn't break down in hysterics. A single tear rolled down her cheek.
Her fingers outlined a photo of herself and Jamie, taken at a recent basketball game. She didn't want to look at her cousin. The cousin who let her father die. So she looked at his eyes. So pure and innocent. How must it feel to have an innocent mans blood on your hands? A father. A brother. A friend. A good man.
She took the photo out of the frame and, bit by bit, ripped it to pieces. She saw the look of pure joy on her face.
She ripped that, too.
Jamie walked into his house. There was no yelling tonight, only distant sobbing and murmuring. He walked into the living room and dropped his bag off his shoulder.
"A seventeen-year-old boy identified as Matthew Jones entered Tree Hill High early last week with a stolen gun. Lucas Davis-Scott and Quentin Fields, both basketball coaches were shot and killed, while three others were injured. Fields died shortly after he was hit, though Scott died on impact. His daughter and nephew were in the room when the horrific murder—"
Haley abruptly turned the TV off and wiped her eyes, standing up from the couch and heading towards the kitchen. She stopped when she saw Jamie, eleven days worth of tears falling freely down his face.
"It's not fair," he muttered. "I should have done something!"
Swiftly she walked towards her son. "Baby, don't—"
"No, Mom!" He was shouting now. He raised his hands and turned his back on her. "I killed two people. It is my fault." Jamie paused for a moment and let the words sink in before heading up the stairs.
I killed two people.
Haley slumped herself down on the stool and cried. She cried for Quentin, she cried for Lucas, and she cried for Kayla. She cried for everyone who was hurt that day.
"You know he's right." Nathan was standing rigidly between the doors which led to their backyard. "It is his fault."
Haley looked at her husband with disgust. "How could you say that about your own son?"
Nathan shoved his hands in his pockets. "You know it too Hales. You know he could of saved him."
She shook her head and held her temple with her hand. "Your a dick. You know what he had to do!"
Nathan shrugged. "Mathew wouldn't of done it, anyway." He said walkking out of the room.
"What?" Jamie asked bewildered. "Me? Decide? Decide what?!"
"Foolish boy." Mathew muttered. "To think you're supposed to be getting straight As. But then again...that's probably because of your Mom." He stopped and sighed. "Okay, let me explain this to you Scott. It's you, or your Uncle."
"I..." Jamie looked at Lucas, who was looking at Kayla with fear in his eyes. He would stay strong for her, he would stay strong for him. Jamie looked at Kayla who was crying furiously.
"Tick tock, Mr. Scott."
"I can't do that! You can't just lay that on me!"
"Wrong answer." He smiled and kneeled down on the ground. "Lets let the gun decide." He put the gun on the ground and let it spin across the tiles.
Then, Jamie took his shot.
