A/N: Some of you wanted to know what was in the journal. So here I'll give you a taste of what it was like for Mo. If you like reading what Mo writes in her journal, tell me in a review and I'll add more. ENJOY! 

~Monique~

I couldn't tell if things had changed. Scott and Shelby seemed to be back together, not that they were ever really apart. When he was with me I could always tell it wasn't how it used to be. Before when he had girlfriends they wouldn't mean have as much to him as I did. Some even left him after claiming that he loved me more than them but now, now I knew that he had found something in her that I could never give. Maybe it was a new life, I was apart of his past, the old Scott and to me he would probably always be the old Scott. I wasn't jealous of her. How could I hate someone that made Scott happy? I looked down at my journal again. I had found it on my bunk, a little soggy but not damaged. It was almost electric when I held it now because Scott now knew what was written between its flimsy cardboard covers, but he didn't know everything. Half of what happened he would never remember. That's how his highs worked. He would do something crazy or harmful and not even remember that he did it. Sometimes I wish I could claim that excuse, of not remembering. It would be easy to make the excuse that what happened that night had never really, maybe then it wouldn't be so painful. I closed my eyes to try and ward off the memory but it was impossible to stop them when they came full force. So I let it and then I wrote it. I wrote what I hadn't been able to write before.

~The Journal~

            I remember it as if I had lived it five minutes ago. Scott, standing there with that crazy, wired, look in his eyes, me, dragging him into my house, and up the stairs. The sad thing was that I was used to it by now. It didn't shock me that he showed up on my doorstep at three o'clock in the morning, high and drunk. Since Elaine moved in he had been coming more and more frequently.  He was lucky my parents were never home because he wouldn't have had anywhere else to go. It was when I got him into the bathroom that he started vomiting, everywhere, all over. I had to turn around and clasp a hand to my mouth to keep my own bile in. Then I cleaned him up a little, dragged him back to bed and rolled him over on his side so at least he wouldn't choke. He kept trying to talk to me through it but he was just moving his lips, no sounds came out. I went into the bathroom and cleaned it up. I walked past the mirror, something I had avoided doing for a long time. My eyes had bags under them and they looked blood shot and tired. My usually perfect hair hung in curly, unruly tendrils. I looked almost as bad as Scott. Sighing I walked back into my room and he was sitting up. I was relieved that I wouldn't have to take him to the emergency room as an OD case but then I wondered how much longer it would be before I did. He continued to mumble inaudibly. I walked over and began to go through the normal ritual of getting him undressed and changed. I began to unbutton his shirt, with my eyes down. I knew that if I looked at him I would start to cry, so I bit my lip and continued. I pulled off his shoes and pants. He sat there in his boxers, while I went to get some clothes. I got out a t-shirt and pair of sweats he had leant me ages ago that were thankfully still around. I went to him to and tried to slip that shirt over his head but he stopped me by wrapping his fingers around my wrist.

            "Mo, I don't want that." He said with his lips close to my ear and whispering into my hair. I didn't pay any attention to him, he was too high, he had no idea what he wanted. I continued and I managed to get the sweats and shirt on.

            "Go to sleep now, Scott. I'll figure out what to do with you.  I do know that I'm going to kick your butt in the morning." I said. He looked different now, determined and it startled me. He grabbed my wrist again and pulled me to him. He took one hand and moved the disheveled hair out of my face and outlined my chin with a finger. Then he kissed me. Not a friendly peck but a full throttle kiss. I tried to back away but he wrapped his arms around my waist and kissed down my neck.

            "Stop…It." I pleaded.

            "Why?" He asked me. I thought he was joking but he was dead serious. I couldn't answer, I either didn't know why or I didn't want to know why. It didn't matter because it was too late then. I guess that night acted like a strange euphoria, a drug sort of, because I was floating for a while, in his arms, feeling our bodies move in rhythm. Then just like a drug, I crashed, falling hard to the earth. Realizing what I had done, what he had done, what we had destroyed and created. I woke that morning next to him, trying to figure out what to do. I knew I would have to skip school again. He was still sleeping, he would sleep for a while, so I got dressed and went downstairs to the kitchen table. Like a robot I instinctively made coffee and sat down with my hands wrapped around the cup, letting the warmth penetrate my skin. I stared into space, my mind blank. I didn't even see Scott when he walked in, dressed in the sweats and shirt, rubbing his sleepy eyes.

            "Morning, Mo." He sounded completely sober. He padded around the kitchen opening the fridge, getting cereal and all the while I watched him. He sat down across from me.

            "Since when do you drink coffee?" He asked, eyeing the cup. I shrugged. I technically didn't drink coffee because I hadn't had one sip. 

            "God, my head is killing me. That must have been some trip."

            "Yeah, some trip." I responded half-heartedly. He began to eat and then stopped, letting the spoon drop to the side of the bowl.

            "You know I had the strangest dream last night," He began. "You and I, we…never mind it was ridiculous. Man my dreams sure are wild. Hey, can you pass the sugar?"

            I almost threw it at him but instead I just got up and walked away. Then I spent the rest of the morning sobbing after he left to do who knows what.  I never told him what happened. I also never told him that for weeks afterwards I couldn't sleep in my own bed, I didn't tell him that I began skipping meals because putting anything in my stomach made me feel guilty. I felt like I should have been punishing myself. Then that night happened, when he said he hated me, that I should mind my own business etc. I couldn't take it anymore, I had to do it. I left a note for his dad, accompanied by some of his drugs and an empty bottle of vodka. All it said was: "Help him, because I can't.-Mo." I thought I could help him by myself and I didn't realize how bad he was until those nights. I could stand him hating me for the rest of his life, as long as he was alive long enough to live it.

~Monique~

I had left this part out of my journal for a reason. I was trying to forget but now I know that in the process of forgetting you have to let it go. So, I'm letting it go. I'm writing down everything that ever happened and I'm giving it to Scott. I spent the rest of the morning writing, I asked Sophie and she said it was alright. I think she understands. Sometimes I would laugh at the crazy stuff we did and sometimes tears would fall in anguish. Other times I would grit my teeth in anger but I always loved him. That was the uniting factor of all the experiences, no matter what I was always there and I never regretted one thing except for that night. I finally finished and I sighed while closing my journal shut. I moved my wrist in an effort to get the cramp out. I picked up my journal, holding it to my chest. I laid it on Scott's bed and walked out to the dock.