Here's the second chapter, Jo's side of the story, and her past.

"That's right, be a good girl for me." He cooed in my ears wrapping his rough arms around my waist, I tried not to squirm too much to his touch. His breath leaked out beer as he began placing open wet kisses down my neck; I flinched every time he did this. "Relax babe, you'll enjoy it."

But I didn't. I tried to numb myself as he undress us and thrust quickly into me, his breathing quickened and just as it started it finished. He fell to the side next to me on the bed; I did this. Letting guys use my body as long as they could make me feel okay, but it never did. Tears rolled down my cheeks, he gave attention to me as I cried myself to sleep.

"Jo? Wake up." A stern voice said breaking me out of my dream of last night, looking up I saw my English teacher Mr. Simpson giving me a suspicious look. "Hope you had a nice dream about English." Everyone giggled and looked at me. I ignored them.

Last night was like any other of my nights, using sex to release the pain killing what left of my heart. Trying to erase what I little I have left of him. Thinking of him made it worse but I still do it, a part of me blames myself for his death. My boyfriend or dead-boyfriend; Jett Stetson. We would have been dating for three years now; I met him in my freshmen year here at South California High School. He was a sophomore at the time, he was my first everything; first date, first kiss, first boyfriend, and my first time having sex; my first love.

I was in love with him, so was he; everyone said that they'd never see the day when Jett Stetson fell in love. But we proved them wrong. We always talked about our future together, getting married, me being a dancer and him an actor, and later on having kids.

Then that day happened. That one day that'll haunt me for the rest of my life. Jett was riding on his motorbike on a busy road on his way to my place; of course I had to call him. Just as he answered and said hello it happened. He was hit. He didn't look up long enough to see a car coming straight at him, killing him off the side of the road. That was the last time I ever spoke to him, that one word killed him. I always blamed myself from his death, because if I haven't called he would still be here, holding me and telling me how much he loved me.

Since then after his funeral I started to hurt myself. Cut myself. Every time I blamed myself I would cut. Soon that wasn't enough, then I one day at a party my friends dragged me to a guy took me to a room and said that he could make me feel okay. Sex. I started that when I noticed it smoothened some of the pain, but it didn't go away. So they let me cry while they listened and tried to sooth me.

I still cut sometimes, my friends; Camille Sanders, Lucy Stone, and Mercedes Griffin knew about my depression with Jett's death but they didn't know my problems. But I knew all theirs. Camille sometimes hears voices in her head since the death of her parents know she lives in a foster home. Lucy used to be Bulimic and is still working on it, sometimes she has urges to binge and purge but we all talk her through it. Mercedes is sometimes suicidal since her father died in the Army, and her mom is an alcoholic who blames Mercedes for his death. We all met had a mental group class my mom made me go to when I went into depression.

"Hey, guys did you hear?" Camille ran up to our table at lunch, her brown hair bouncing in loose curls. We were all used to her usual peppy spirit; Lucy looked up from chewing her salad to see what the brunette wanted to say. "Hear what?" I asked taking a bite out of my ham sandwich; Mercedes didn't even bother to stop eating her burrito to listen.

"So I called out of class to Mr. Waterhouse's office, and he told me that we are being transferred to a different school." We all dropped our foods and stared at the perky girl.

"Excuse me?" Mercedes gritted through mouth of burrito. "Explain." Lucy ordered her.

"He said four girls from that school were being transferred here for a program; and in exchanged we are going there for a 'special program'." She held up quotations and circled to signal as us.

"Yeah by special program they mean some Mental Help class." Mercedes sneered sarcastically. "They can't just move us." I snapped in. "Actually they can because the program they have can help us," the brunette argued, Lucy began flicking out small tomatoes.

The betrayal I was known feeling made its way to back to me. "Where is this school?" Lucy asked stuffing her fork with lettuce. "Um, it's in Minnesota, could you hand me that napkin?" Did she just say Minnesota?

"Did you say Minnesota? How they the fuck do they except us to just get up and move there!" Exclaimed Mercedes who looked more pissed off then me. "I know, it's some school called St. Paul Minnesota High school, it must be snowing everyday up there! How am I going to survive without my California sun," cried Camille, she was fanning herself, I had to chuckle at that.

"He said that he talked to our parents and they all like it so their moving with us, we leave this weekend." She stated popping a grape in her glossed mouth. "Good luck with that." I heard Mercedes mutter, since her mother is now an alcoholic. "I'm sure you could live with either me or Lucy, but Camille's is packed."

"Well, I think my fosters parents would probably give some of the kids to a different family for the move." She mumbled. "Sure." Mercedes looked in between us. Camille gripped my wrist lightly; I flinched at the pressure from my cuts. She heard me hiss," You okay?" "Yeah, it's nothing just shaken up, ya know." I mocked humor and covered my cut wrists which were hidden under my bracelets and armbands. They all looked at me with curious eyes, but soon shrugged it off as I giggled nervously.

I bit my lip and stared at my wrists, knowing the hidden truth behind the bracelets.

Hope it was good, I'm writing to the third chapter, review!