Her room was quiet. The pages of her mystery novel were the only sounds in the room. But a nagging feeling in her gut was telling her something was wrong. Trying to distract herself, she threw down the book and began attempting to braid her hair. But she couldn't focus.
She looked up at her ceiling, which she had long ago plastered with posters to keep the cracks on it from being visible. The posters had finally started to peel of and personally, she wasn't that all surprised when one suddenly fell down. It was an old Greenday poster she had gotten back when her parents first suddenly announced that they were going to move out of their crappy little shack near downtown Toronto and move to a house that was in a good neighborhood, it just happened to be the site of a drug bust and it was run down.
She heard him playing his guitar across the street, just random notes. She closed her eyes, letting tears run down the corners. How many people knew about her real life, the one she hid from everybody on the game show? How many knew what her parents really were like. Not how she had portrayed them on the show. Truth was, they were barely getting by and both her parents were crackheads.
The guitar music stopped and snapped her out of her trance. Moments later, she heard a door slam across the street. The sound of shoes hitting the pavement. Coming towards her house. Gunshot suddenly breaking the silence. She got up and got to the door right as he rang the doorbell.
He looked upset, and was holding a napkin covered in ink. She looked at him, confused and concerned.
"I need you to give that to her…I can't run." He said. She nodded, and pushed past him, breaking into a sprint.
The streetlights passed by quickly. Was she going to be late? Was she going to find her best friend's body in the street, brains blown out, covered in blood?
She had read too many mystery novels. She couldn't think that. No, nobody was going to die that she knew tonight. She broke into an even faster sprint, stumbling but catching herself.
She saw her friend leaning against a brick wall, knees pulled to her chest. Something that she soon recognized as a gun lay on the sidewalk next to her. But she wasn't too late. Finally, something good that day.
She stopped and handed the note over, gasping for breath after having just run a mile. Her friend stood up and took the note, reading it, then falling into the exhausted surfer's arms.
She walked home, too tired to think. As she walked up the steps to her house, she saw him sitting on his porch, playing his guitar. She walked over.
"If Gwen kills herself, and if that note doesn't work, I swear I am gonna bring her back to life and kill her." Bridgette said, walking back to her house.
She collapsed in her room, crying.