I don't know why I knew it was him. I guess the first thing that came to my mind when I saw it on the news was, whoever did this had to be out of their fucking mind. And I only knew one person who had recently lost their fucking mind.

"At least you didn't have to take your test, right?" he said with a frail laugh when I went to see him today, about a week after the bomb threat. He looked pale. Shaky. Scared out of his mind.

How could Toby have become this, right under my nose, for months and months, without me ever noticing? If I had thought, after Rick died, that I couldn't possibly hate myself more than I already did… I was wrong.

I can't believe I ever thought I could save the world, when all I seem to do is ruin things. Toby did nothing to deserve this awful life, this black hole, this icy abyss. He did the right thing. He was always a good friend. It's my fault. I'm the one who killed Rick. I'm the one who turned Toby into a monster. He did nothing but love me, but me, selfish bitch, empty shell, I couldn't love him back.

Rick may as well have shot me, because I don't deserve to live.

Yesterday, I stole one hundred and forty dollars from my mom's purse.

Today, I took fourteen oxycodone.

I drank two beers.

To say the least, I've got a decent buzz going.

I stare down, through the warm water, at the distorted view of my naked body in the bathtub. White flesh against white ceramic. I never want to leave this bath. I never want to see the world again. I just don't know how to live with myself any more. My tears splatter onto the surface of the bathwater as I lay submerged, trying to wash away this filth that never leaves my skin. I'm just so fucking tired of looking at myself. Every day when I glance at the mirror, those guilty eyes are staring back at me. I don't want to be Emma any more. I've tried, chasing the highs for all these months, and I just can't seem to fit right in my skin any more.

I reach for the razor blade and bring its sharp edge to my wet, raw flesh. As teardrops echo in the bathroom, the razor slices through the skin I hate so much, opening my veins. The speed at which rivers of crimson pour out of me is astonishing. Pure white gives way to harsh red. Blood, the life-force, emptying out of me. There I go. There goes Emma, or what was left of her. The drugs are kind, because I can barely even feel the pain.

There's nothing left to do but wait. I'm just finishing the job Rick should have finished over seven months ago.

Bang.