The guy was waiting on him. Sitting at the desk. He always comes every Wednesday and was here by now. There was a clock hanging on the wall. It was 2:30. He was here between 1:30 and 2. But yet he still haven't came. He waited for him to come. It was now 4 and he still didn't came. The guy got out his journal.

He lied. He said he'll come back. He always comes between 1:30 and 2 but he didn't today. Did he forget about him? Like everyone else? I wanted out of here. It wasn't my fault. It wasn't. Was it? I made mistakes but he shouldn't of got in the way that day. Then maybe, just maybe the events wouldn't happened. And I wouldn't be here. So, techinally it was his fault. He shouldn't of got in the way. It was his fault. Not mine. HIS.

The guy stopped writting. He needed to escape. Somehow. Someway. He put his journal back in the drawer and sat down on the bed. He was going to get out of here. One way or another.

"Why do you go back on visiting him every week?" Someone asked.

"Cause he has no one else." He said.

"You aren't even friends." They said.

"I know. But he needs someone." He said.

"We used to be friends. What happened to our friendship?" They said.

"I don't Dak. Why did you even come on this road trip?" He said.

"Because me and Wally became good friends." Dak said. "And I miss our friendship."

Wally walked over. "Okay. Tomorrow we're heading back. So make sure you guys enjoy the last night of the road trip.

"Okay." Dak said.

Three Days Later

He found the address he was looking for and knocked on the door. There was no answer. He sighed and tried again. Still no answer. He decided he'll try again another day. Maybe tomorrow. But as he was walking away, someone was looking at out the window, watching him go.

"Did he answered?" Dak asked.

"No. Maybe he wasn't home." He said.

"Or maybe it was the wrong address." Wally said.

"It's not the wrong address." Dak said. "Why did you want his address anyway?"

"I want to know what exactly happened that night." He said.

It was Wednesday again. He went in his room.

"Hi. Sorry I didn't come last week, I got caught up." He said. The guy handed him a piece of paper, but was still facing the wall. The paper read: You said you'll be back next week and never showed up.

"I know and I'm sorry." He said.

The guy handed him another piece of paper. You lied.

"I'm sorry. I just had something to do. But I'll be back next week. I promise." He said.

The guy nodded his head.

"They said I could give you this." He said and put it at the corner of the desk. "I should get going. But I promise I'll be back next week." He said and left the room.

The guy turned around and looked at the book he gave him. At least he has something else to do. The book didn't had a title though. He opened the book and found pictures. Pictures of himself. He looked through the pictures and for the first time in a while, tears was streaming down his face. He hot his journal out again.

I'm so stupid. It wasn't his fault. It was mine. ALL mine. I regret what I did. I wished I could take it back. I wish for things to be different. I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everyone that I hurt. I regret it. Big Time. If only I could take it back.

The page was fillled with drops of tears. The guy placed the photo in the journal and closed the journal. And looked back at the rest of the pictures.

He knocked on the door. There was no answer once again. He peeked. in the window and saw someone in the house. He knocked again, louder.

"I know you're in there! Open up!" He yelled.

A few seconds later, the door opened.

"What do you want?" A guy asked, wearing a sweatshirt.

"I wanna talk. About that night." He said.

"Why?"

"Because, I wanna know what exactly happened." He said.

"Why don't you ask him for yourself."

"He won't talk to me." He said.

"So you visited him?"

"Every week. Maybe you could go visit him." He said.

"Visit him? Are you serious?"

"He misses you. You guys are friends."

"Were. Not anymore. And why do you care? You guys wasn't friends."

"I know. But I think you should go visit him." He said.

"No. I'm not going to visit him."

"I know we were never really friends, but I think you should visit him." He said.

"You're right."

"Really?" He said.

"Yeah. We're not friends. And I don't want to see him again. And I'm not going to forgive him."

"Please, James." He said.

"He ruined my face!" James said, putting his hood down, and revealing his left side of his face burnt.

"He didn't mean to." He said.

"Why are you defending him? You weren't there. You didn't saw his eyes. His eyes was dark. It was like he was a stranger." James said. "You need to go."

"But "

"Now!" James yelled.

He sighed and left James house.

James watched outside the window and then closed the blinds. He haven't left this house since the day the guy ruin his life.

Hoped u liked it. Who is the guy? What do you guys think happened that night? And who was talking to James? I'll upload the next chapter sometime this week.