The House


Walking into Kylie’s home everything looks exactly the same. there is no loud commotion, no yelling, in fact I have never heard it so quiet. There’s something about walking into the home of your dead best friend that makes you feel ill. It sounds harsh doesn’t it? The word dead, however, it is what it is, it’s what she is.



There was a moment in which Kylie and I used to say was the moment we became best friends, it was at that same pool party where truth or dare took place. As we sat in the hot tub talking and getting to know each other we over hear one of the boys trying to console a little boy no older than twelve. The little boy’s name I do not remember. I remember him reminding me so much of my younger brother Jake. He was a tall scrawny kid who stood quite awkwardly. There was a group of preteen girls standing in the pool laughing and it didn't take long to put together what was going on. Ky, Mandy, and I called over the group of three girls. When asked what was going on one girl stepped forward and spoke on behalf of the group insisting that she was the queen bee of the little clique that had formed. She told us that the little boy had been flipping them off, which had been out of character for the boy. Mandy had whispered to me then that this girl was a cheerleader and at that moment I knew exactly what was going on in her mind. Looking over at the boy who was still crying at a party where he should be laughing and having fun at sparked something in me. I had been a cheerleader almost my whole life and because of this I know what I was thinking at her age. I knew how almost all cheerleaders acted, including me, bitchy. Ky and I were in the hot tub staring at this girl, judging her. I can’t help but laugh now thinking about how stupid this was, but at the time i thought this was a grand idea. I changed my tone of voice that I used to speak to the girl that would none other than classify me as a b****, I looked back at Kylie basically giving her a look that said, I am really sorry you’re about to see this side of me, then I turned to the young girl who stood in front of me with her arms crossed and her eyes constantly rolling as if I was making her stand there and listen to me lecture her. It didn’t take long before the words just spilled out, “Just because you’re a cheerleader doesn’t mean you can be cruel to other people.” The girls face went blank as she just started at me almost giving me the same look I had just given her moments ago. Her defense was simple and short. “We weren’t being mean.” After she finished her very defensive statement I heard a voice from behind me speak up “Yeah you were” and when i turned my head I saw Kylie looking very pleased with herself. My face tried so hard to smile even though I was doing everything I could to keep a straight a face. This girl who I had known for like two days participated in the worlds most pointless fight, but it was that moment that we both realized this was going to be a beautiful friendship.


Kylie’s Mother must have noticed my sudden paleness rush over my face because she quickly offered me a glass of water. Even though I so desperately needed it, I declined. Ky’s stepfather sits in the same place he has sat everyday before, the only difference is that the television is turned off and his laptop shut. Kylie’s mother leads me into their family room where Kylie folded the entire families laundry. All the clothes had been folded perfectly. All of the clothes lay on the floor, waiting to be carried upstairs and distributed. When Ky’s mother and I sit down I want to ask so many questions, but all I can think to do in that moment is reach in my pocket and pull out the letter Kylie sent me. I stare at it for a moment before I agree with myself to slip it into the cold shaking hands of Kylie’s mom. She begins to read the black words printed on the paper that lays in her printer. I know she has reached the end of the letter when her hand reaches up to cover her mouth. It looks as if it takes every ounce of energy she has left to lift her arm. It’s then that I look away. Staring is a bad habit I picked up from Ky and at this moment I hated her for it.

My parents hated Kylie. They thought not that she was a bad person, but that she was bad for me. So there was a time in our friendship where secrecy was the middle man as we orchestrated times to meet, usually at the mexican resturant next to where I worked. That restaurant is where our friendship really began to build off the stories we would tell each other. Ky and I would talk about anything and everything. Sometimes I think if people had been listening to our conversations they would think different of us. Nothing was ever off limits. Our conversations were like the one you see in racy teen movies, drugs, sex, lack of sex, the inability to be completely satisfied. Those were the topics that made us giggle like little girls and the conversations that made people look over at us a judge, but we really didn’t care we were too much in to our own little world to really care. Sometimes, however, our talks would take a dark turn. She fed me stories of abuse. Her father, an alcoholic, used to hurt her. I could relate to an extent. Mostly I just tried to understand and listen. I remember her telling me about the first time her father had hit her. It was the first time that kind of started it all.
Kylie was five years old. She had spilled spagetti o’s in her lunch box. When she got home that day from school she put the lunch box by the sink thinking that someone would wash it when it was time to do the dishes that night after dinner. She told me how remembers thinking this was such a minor thing, but it turned out to be the opposite and turned into a situation that no five year old should have been put in. When Kylie’s father got home and saw the lunch box with her lunch spilled all throughout the lunch box, her father got upset. Kylie’s father spanked her. Most kids have gotten spanked at some point in their life, but not every kid got spanked over spilled spaghetti o’s. Her dad made five year Kylie stand on a stool and do all the dishes that night. Her mother sat at the kitchen table next to Ky’s dad yelling, asking why he was doing this, but Ky’s dad just yelled over her, yelling at Kylie telling her she was doing it right. She didn’t understand what had happened to the dad she looked up to and adored so much. All Ky ever wanted to do was impress her father she had once been so close with. The dad she knew growing up in a little yellow house, there, she told me, things were ok. Before that night, Ky used to go to class with her father, as he was still in college. On the weekends Kylie told me her and her parents would go camping. As time went on the camping trips became more about the adults wanting to party. Ky would watch through a window as the adults would try to jump over the fire and climb trees barefoot. As Ky’s fathers drinking got worse so did the camping trips. Her mom and dad took her out canoeing one trip and as her parents began to fight a storm was approaching. As the yelling got louder the canoe tipped over. Kylie was a good swimmer, but she couldn’t swim against the current which was pulling her farther and farther out. She did her best to flip over the canoe, but she was just trying to stay afloat, trying to stay alive. Kylie used to tell me that was a representation of her life with her father, he was always tipping the canoe and Ky just did her best to stay afloat.

As I watched Kylie’s mother cry over the letter that held her daughters last thoughts, I thought about leaving right then, without even saying a word, but instead I impose even more on a grieving mother and ask to see Kylie’s room. Without saying anything Kylie’s mom stood handed me back the letter, which i slid back into my pocket, and started walking towards Ky’s room.
Kylie’s bedroom had become a place of safety for me. My whole life I have felt like nothing was guaranteed, nothing in my life was stable, but in her room is where I felt happy and content. NIghts are where my demons seem to creep up on me, and Ky would sit up with me and hold me if I needed her too. She would cry with me if it came to that. This room is where she gave me hope and most important she was real. Kylie could relate, she could look at me and instantly know what was wrong. Her room was a place where I felt love even if she never really said it, but now I walk in and feel cold and bitter. Once Kylie told me that I was the only one she could be her complete self around and for the first time in our lives we found someone who would walk through hell with us and hold our hands as we walked back. Now that she was gone so was her room. Not only did i lose the person who I used to open up to, but now the place where I could be completely honest was taken with Kylie.
I look around Kylie’s room, all the lights are on. I try my hardest to breathe as I circle the room, not looking at just one thing. All my body wants to do at this point is cry, but I won't let it. I am not ready. Once the first tear is shed, it becomes real, and then once its real, she is gone and no one can bring her back. So I swallow my pain and stop in front of her bedroom wall which i covered in Teen Vogue cut outs. Ky wanted to be a fashion designer. She could have been great. As I turn ever so slightly to my right her shaky white bookshelf stands perfectly still as I run my fingers over the spines of all the books on display. Scanning the bookshelf I see a box which holds old pictures and letters. I hold the box in my hands contemplating opening it. I almost feel like I am invading Kylie’s privacy, but eventually I decide to open the box and rummage through it. There are pictures of Ky when she was younger. Her smile was so bright and her face was light up. Nobody had any idea what she was hiding from everyone. The little girl in these pictures never really had a chance to be just that, a little girl. She was forced to grow up quickly and without anyone telling her how to do it.

Coming home from one of her families camping trips, they were in her dad’s purple Jeep. The story behind the purple jeep? Her father, drunk, and at night when he couldn’t really tell what color the jeep really was bought a purple jeep which later Kylie nicknamed the jungle gym. She would flip over the bars and for a moment would be the little girl she should have been all along, but one night as Ky, her mother and father drove home in the jungle gym her dad started arguing with Ky’s mom about something that did not need to be fought over. As Kylie’s father drove on a windy mountain road, drunk, he threatened to drive them all straight off a cliff. Kylie sat on the floor in the back seat with a blanket over her head hoping to disappear and praying to stay alive. This became an everyday thing for her, praying to just stay alive that is. Her father constantly making his daughter live in fear of her life when all she should have to be thinking about is playing on her father's jeep which took so much resemblance to a jungle gym to little kylie.

Looking through Kylie’s box of pictures, I see a young girl who had a smile on her face in every picture even though she was covered in bruises on the inside and out. As I rummaged through the box of pictures trying to remember stories that went with some of the memories held in this old box I somehow reach the bottom where all of the old letter I had written her laid. I held each one individually, almost scared that I would drop it, as if it could shatter, or worse disappear. Most of the letters said the about the same thing. I wrote to her how grateful I was to have her in my life and how I couldn’t have made it out of the place I was in without her. I would spoon feed her lyrics that I thought would relate to her, but they never did. Our taste in music was too different to make a difference. As I read over the last letter I had written her, I said something that brought me almost to tears. “If I could take away your pain, if even for just a moment, I would.” I try to take a deep breath as I stand, but my chest is too tight.
I walk around Kylie’s room and see her panda sleeping mask she got for christmas this past year. She told me the mask helped her sleep better, it made things darker, easier for her to fall asleep. Kylie used to tell me about nights where she would be dreamless and how those were the best nights.

Nights that held unknown outcomes for young Kylie and her younger sister seemed to stumble in their lives when Ky’s father took them to this apartment complex at night. She told me she tries not to think about this, for fear that she will remember what really happened. Kylie told me that she would sit on the stiff mattress with the other kids her age. They waited there, sitting, trying to have some sort of normalcy, trying to be the kids they would see at school, but there would be times when Ky would get called into another room and thats where things get fuzzy for a little while and her memory stops. The possibilities of the things that could have happen haunted her. I once asked her if she thought she could have been sexually abused and i’ll never forget the way she looked at me, straight in the eye and said “Yes, definitely. It wouldnt surprise me.”
Those nights Kylie would stand on the stairs with her dad with all of the other people, with loud music playing and the drunk adults shouting and laughing. All through out Kylie's life she has always been outgoing, so as she sat outside with all the adults nothing seemed odd by it, she was not worried or concerned. Her drunken father asked her to turn around and shake her but infront of all these people. When she told me this she told me the story with such ease like it was no big deal.

When I walk around her room and walk into her closet all her clothes hung there, still and untouched. The shoes spread across the floor and a basket full of clothes and she was never sure whether they were clean or dirty. All of her dance costumes were all hanging together. When she danced is when she felt that she was where she was meant to be. You could see it in her eyes its what she loved its who she was, but even that couldn't have saved her from herself.
I suddenly feel a wave of heat rush over me but when I lean on the doorway of her walk in closet my legs give up on trying to hold my body weight and I fall to my knees. After going all day without crying my heart gives up and the cold tears rush down my cold face. The room that used to belong to my best friend spins around me. The pictures on the walls, the books on the shelves, and the dance trophies put on display for all to see blur out of focus and I am stuck on the ground begging for my best friend to come back. My throat burns with the screams that I am trying so hard to silence by cupping my hands over mouth. I try to keep my eyes shut, hoping that if they stay closed that the pain of knowing that my best friend is not dead, but when I open my eyes this become real and she will be gone forever. I try to pray but the screams are too loud for God to hear me. My stomach turns and ties and unties itself in knots. My heart doesn't feel like its beating at all. My pulse is practically nonexistent.
Ky’s mom light footsteps i do not hear as she walks in to her dead daughter's room and kneels down beside me and cries with me. She holds me just as her daughter would.
After what seems like hours of crying, i try my hardest to breathe and slur out the words “How’d she do it?” Kylie’s mother stand up and walks out of the room for just a moment and comes back with a gallon sized plastic bag that has been given to her by the police officers who ruled it a suicide. A bright yellow rotary cutter shined bright with blood stained on the blade. I feel like I might throw up as the image swirls in my head, Ky sitting in the tub, alone, ashamed, and angry. Her wrist bleeding out without any second thought about life. In the process of the day dream, which was more of a nightmare, I ran out of the house not bothering to shut the door behind me. When I snap out of it I am standing in front of my car struggling to find my keys, but as the fire inside me burns I throw my purse on the ground “Dammit!” I cover my face with my hands and punch the window of my car. “Dammit Kylie!” I am out of tears to cry. So I pick up my purse find my keys and get in my car. I sit there for a moment just staring at the steering wheel, my chest tightens along with my throat. The steering wheel is hot so I don’t dare touch it, so for a few more moments I just look out of my windshield and try understand what made Kylie do this.

When Kylie entered high school, she was pretty much on her own. Her mother had fell in love with someone and moved to Nevada, leaving Kylie behind. Living out of her car Ky had no way to make money. So she did what any young Mormon would do, she began to sell drugs. Kylie would tell me stories of how she dealt drugs. She was the middle man, she would explain. The Drug dealer liked Kylie so he would give her a good deal on any drugs she needed and then she would sell them at a higher price, making her a profit, so she could eat. Doing this put her in dangerous situations. Her life just as it was when she was a kid, was in constant danger. Not only was she selling the drugs but she also was indulging in them, numbing the pain of her past. Pushing the thoughts of a childhood anyone would want to forget out of her mind.
Driving high was one story that Ky told me many times and even had the story published in a magazine. After smoking weed with some of her friends she needed to drive home. They were smoking behind a movie theater in a small town in Idaho. Walking with her friends she kept repeating over and over again “I just have to turn this corner, I just have to turn this corner.” Trying to walk to the car Ky kept repeating herself over and over again, but they needed to get home so Ky decided to get behind the wheel. As she drove she told me it was one of the hardest and stupidest things she has ever done. Kylie had gotten herself into plenty of situations that would classify as dangerous and for most sixteen year olds scary as hell.
Our favorite movie was spring breakers and oh how we wished that movie was our life. We watched it and laughed and compared ourselves to two of the main characters. Kylie told me there was a time when she was the middle man selling drugs, trying to feed herself, where she felt unsafe, where she no longer wanted to keep going on this dark road.
How Kylie got started on that twisted and wicked road is one she never tells details about, not because she never wanted me to know or because she was embarrassed, but simply because she tried so hard to forget that time in her life. There was a group of boys in the next town over who called themselves “SWAGG”, which stood for “Smoke Weed and Get Gucci”. The boys were intelligent and good businessmen, even if there business was selling drugs and getting girls. Kylie went on a date with one of the boys whose name I can not recall, but after the date, this man whose name is so irrelevant to my life, introduced her to a lifestyle that would not be respected in todays society let alone the LDS community that she had grown up in. Most people, if they knew her upbringing, would expect nothing less than her to be involved in such activities, but she needed money to survive after the abandonment of her mother. Kylie always acted like it never really affected her, but I know it did, everyone knew, except for her mother of course. All of those events lead her to the next town over, which she always described to me as one simple word, sketchy. Ky was put in situations where she would be at someone's apartment where there would be a party or where a deal would be going on and Ky knew she didn’t belong. She felt her body wanting to leave. She wanted to escape the hell she was living, she wanted to disappear and never have to remember the feelings of discomfort she was feeling, but the pressures kept her there. The words spoken form the unnamed boy kept her legs there, unable to move. She acted tough, she acted as if she had done it so many times before, like it was natural for her to be there. Her heart would race as the deals were being made. Her palms would sweat as the mans face would get inches away from hers and speak words that sent shivers up young Kylies spine. She would stand on the side of the road where to cold winter air of Idaho would hit her face and relax her. Kylie was never scared of what could happen to her in those situations, she had been through worse, much worse. Ky was more afraid of the consequences that may have been a result of being at that apartment or making those deals. When the night was over she would go home to her young women's leaders home where she would try and sleep afraid of what tomorrow might hold.

The drive home from Kylie's house was a long one. It took me a while to even get out of her neighborhood, but as I got going I turned on my Ipod and put it on shuffle. A song creeped through my speakers and entered my ears one not at a time. The lyrics almost being displayed right in front of my eyes, blocking my vision of the road ahead of me. “Under the autumn tree/ The chair where you would swing/ A yard so full of leaves/ Hum the song that comforts me” My eyes have no more tears left to shed. All that is left is the silent screams and the panicked breathing that exits my mouth and it only worsens as the song continues to play. “I wait but you're gone/ Mind tells the heart to linger on/ Is this my old shape, my mind is away,/ How long have you been gone/ The cold winter aged the soft of your face/ And I can't move on” She is gone, i say to myself. I hit my steering wheel. My horn goes off and the car in front of me flips me off, but I just return the gesture and keep driving. I try to think to myself why she would do this. Why wasn't I good enough for her to stay, a selfish thought, I know, but the thought enters my mind so quickly I can’t stop it. I can not turn off my mind which is running through all the ways I could have helped her, but didn’t.
The image of Ky sitting on her bed with the blade in her hand.
“No.” I whisper to myself.
The image of Ky watching her own blood flow out of her.
“No.” My head shakes as my voice grows,
The image Ky as she neglects to give a shit about watching herself bleed out and not telling a soul.
“NO!” My hands leave the steering wheel and cover my ears, hoping to silence to screams of Kylie in pain, in the process of ending her own life.
The image of Kylie watching herself die, having that out of body experience.
“NO, NO, NO!” I scream as my car swerves and I hit the median and my car tumbles.

Kylie started to self harm when she was thirteen. It was a battle that would last up until the day she died. I understood the reasoning for it though. The feeling that you were tired of living, but afraid of dying. The feeling that you were so numb you would do anything to feel.
The first time she cut was because her mom wouldn’t let her she her boyfriend at the time. That was the reason that was at the surface, but below that was a developing eating disorder and self loathing. The first cut she ever made was with a knife. It still amazes me the amount of pain we have to be in to want to inflict pain on ourselves, but its what she felt was necessary at the time. That one cut however cause an addiction more dangerous than the drugs she had seen before her, or the alcohol she watched her father drink. At thirteen Kylie was having miserable morning and never ending nights.

When I wake up I am lying under fluorescent lights which seem to be flickering. I feel the panic rush over me and my body sits up at the first sight at the IV in my arm. My dad stand and grabs my shoulders telling me to relax and telling me that I am at the hospital. That doesn't make any sense. How did I end up in the hospital? I look around and my eyes feel like they haven’t been open for days. My body feels as cold as Kylie’s probably does. My pulse is racing however. At least I am alive. I want to ask questions, but I just close my eyes and try to dream, but it’s just useless because every dream is a nightmare and the nightmare is my best friend is dead, and that is real life. I am just living a nightmare that I can’t wake myself up from. Maybe if I just go too then I would have to deal with this pain anymore. The feeling of an elephant sitting on my chest would disappear along with overwhelming sense of pain that seems to radiate from my bones would all just slip away as I floated up to join Ky. I wonder if she made it to heaven? I would finally know if it was real. How was judgment day? Was it scary? What do the gates look like? Ky and I used to talk about what heaven was like, if it was full of trampolines and peonies. Kylie used to tell me she thought heaven was full of people that were happy with themselves. It would be a place, we fantasized, where no one would struggle. No wonder she wanted to leave here and go there. It sounds so much better.
Kylie always told me that death never bothered her. She envied the dead. Thats just the kind of person she was and I wanted so much to be like her in that way.

Sitting in the cold hospital bed the doctors tell me I have PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder). I hope Ky is happy now, she has added to the long list of mental health issues I currently have. They should just pronounce me clinically insane and admit me, but instead they will refer me to a therapist and an over paid physiatrist who will perscribe me medicine that will make my heart slow and my brain stop thinking its own thoughts. I will be a vegetable, which doesn’t sound too bad right now.
I hear a knock at the edge of my room, but I have no desire to speak to anyone. So I just stare out of my window and pretend I have become deaf and ignore the sound coming from the door. I can tell whoever it is knocking walks in by the sound of heels hitting the floor. I assume its a doctor but as the footsteps get closer and I hear what I assume is another get well soon card is set on the tiny book shelf each hospital room has, I look over and see Kylie’s mother sit on the small soffa built into the wall. She doesn't speak to me immediately she just sits there staring at the IV in my arm. I assume angry that I am still here and not her daughter. It doesn’t take long before I try to speak to her, but I the words can’t seem to form and my throat burns from the words in the back of my throat, So I close my mouth and just stare at the ceiling and wait for the tears to silently run down my face. Ky’s mother grabs my hand not speaking any words or making eye contact. I know what she wants to say, but like me can’t seem to form the words. We both sat there for a while just crying silent tears. I can’t speak for her, but as I sat there I remembered all of the adventures me and Kylie had. All of the late nights we sat up talking, all of the times we held each other trying to tell each other things would be ok, even if we knew they wouldn't be. We would give each other false hope and promises that could never be kept, but thats what kept us going, it’s what kept us alive.
When Ky’s mother let go of my hand I assumed she was getting up and leaving, but instead she began to speak words. She spoke many and she spoke them quickly. I only took away one or two sentences, one of them asking if I could speak at Kylies memorial service. For some reason I agreed even though that is not something I want to do or have any interest in doing, but I agreed and so in a few days if I would be standing in front of people who will pretend that they knew Ky and cared about her. Her mother also told me that the funeral would be this upcoming monday. She was to be buried in her hometown on Rexburg, Idaho a place her and I were supposed to go this spring break. I guess I will still get to go. Most people would have been headed off to california where its warm, but not us, we were too cool and were headed to a place where you still needed a winter coat in April.
The day I was discharged from the hospital I remember riding home in the front seat of my dads car. There was silence. I don’t think my dad trusted me to be alone. I don’t think he trusted me to leave the house. I don’t think he trusted me with my own thoughts, but as I watched the imported palm trees sway in the wind, my thoughts took over and there was nothing anyone could do.

If there was one thing me and Ky had in common it was that we had an incredible ability to shut everyone out and bottle things up until they eventually exploded. The thing was I told Kylie everything, but I always knew there were things she hid from me, but after one time when I got drunk and started dropping truth bombs on my best friend she decided to do the same, the difference was she was sober and she would remember what she said, I on the other hand wouldn’t remember a single thing I said to her. I began to tell her things that I would never want her to hear. I didn’t hide many things from her, but one thing I did have locked away from her came out that night. I told her I felt like she did not love or care about me. I don’t remember if she said anything back and I think its best that it stay that way. That night is when Ky told me the one thing that I had been waiting for her to tell me for some time. She told me that she had been making herself throw up. I told her I didn’t believe her. I figured Ky had watched me struggle with anorexia and bulimia for some time and then she had gone and done it to herself. All the times she yelled at me for looking at pro-ana websites or give me a dirty look after every time I threw up, I kind of felt like there was some sort of double standard, but those thoughts didn’t last to long before I then realized she has had an eating disorder her whole life. Her dad used to tell her that she was fat all the time and still did until she was sixteen years old. Ky told me she remembered learning about eating disorder in health class and while learning about all the bad things about this disease she thought to herself that doesn’t seem too hard. She would look in the mirror and pull her skin back making her body into something that wasn't hers. She never saw what the world saw. She only saw what her eating disorder wanted her to seem which of course is fat. Her self image issues never stopped there. I think one of the reasons she would cut so much is because she hated herself so much. She felt so desperate to be perfect all the time, that when that goal was never reached she would become frustrated and angry of trying to achieve this goal that was simply unachievable. Kylie’s entire life she grew up thinking the most important thing was to be skinny and if she wasn’t skinny she was not beautiful and it wasn’t just the media telling her that, it was her family. The people that were supposed to be lifting her up, making her feel worthy of something, worthy of life, were tearing her down, giving her scars that you could never see, but always seemed to be showing somehow. You could look into Kylie’s eyes and see the pain that was in the. She was tired, exhausted even of dealing with the same problem day after day, never knowing how to solve any of them.
Living became a chore as soon as food became the enemy. Ky hid her disorder so well. Making sure only to throw up when no one was around. Using all the tricks. She deceived everyone around her into thinking she was fine, she had been doing that her whole life though, this skill was nothing new, she had just applied it to something new. Ky would tell me she would only force herself to throw up as a last resort, if she felt so full she felt sick, but I wasn’t buying it, even though I think she was telling the truth. I never could tell if she was about to go throw up which always made trying to help her very difficult. She was secretive about the whole thing it was almost like I was trying to get to know this different person hiding under the skin of my best friend.
People never knew because Kylie’s bones never sat up against her skin for the world to see. Her teeth were never yellowed and her diet never really changing except for the occasional binge. Living with this disorder, as much as she would argue, took a toll on her life. She told me it wasn't a big deal, but it was, it always is.

Getting home from the Hospital I walk into the bathroom and turn on the shower. I turn the water all the way up. My bathroom fills with steam in a matter of seconds and I know soon it will become hard for me to breath, but I didn’t really feel like breathing right now anyway.
I turn my music all the way up and listen to Sia’s Breathe Me blare through my small speakers. I look at the foggy mirror and wipe away the condensation and look at my face. Its red and blotchy from crying, my checks are a bit sunken in from the fact I haven't eaten in days, it’s not to hard to explain why you don't wanna eat hospital food to everybody. “I’ll eat when I get home” I would say. I guess I am quite the liar myself. I look down at the scale that sits in front of me and as I step on I breathe in all of the steam and let it out. I can feel myself begin to drip of sweat, but it doesn't bother me. The scale reads a number that I wish didn’t exist and i step off the scale and into the shower.
The water burns my skin, but I don't dare turn in down. I am tough. I am strong. My tears blend in with the scalding water. The screams are masked by the running water hitting my aching body. The past few days are replaying in my mind over and over again and I can’t do anything to stop them, so they just play. I lean against the tiled walls. The wall is cold up against my body. I throw my hand backwards and hit my fist up against the wall. I get not instant satisfaction so I begin to punch the wall over and over again until my body turns to face the fall and I am full on punching the wall. It isn’t until my knuckles begin to bleed that I throw my last punch and scream my last scream, that I stop and turn of the water and step out of the shower.
As soon as I open the door leading to my bedroom all of the steam rushes out until I am left standing in the cold. I wrap a towel around my body and step on to the carpeted floors. I hate the feeling of my wet feet stepping on the dry carpet as I walk towards my bed where I sit and try to catch my breath of the steaming shower I took. I figure I would start to write my speech for the memorial service while the wound Ky has left me with is still fresh.
I grabbed a pen and a blank piece of lined paper and began to write the words that I never wanted to share with anyone. The speech became almost a goodbye to Kylie.

Understanding Kylie was never something I was really good at. She was very unpredictable and you never really knew what you were gonna get with her. I knew she was depressed, I knew she had an eating disorder, but never did she really show it, so when I say she was unpredictable I do not mean with her moods, no it’s more complex than that, she was more complex than that. The way she carried herself was what confused me. It is hard to explain I guess. I suppose if I were to put it into words it would no longer be something that just I noticed about here, maybe I am just not ready to share what it is that made her so special. Most of our friendship consisted of just us. We didn’t really like other people. We liked to stay home and watch youtube videos and listen to music. If by chance you gave us a redbull and our hearts would race ever so slightly we could manage to get up and go socialize with other human beings.
Ky and I both grew up in the country where bonfires were the party of choice and I remember there was one time where we had felt like doing something with our lives and we went to some kids bonfire. When we got there however, we soon realized that these kids had no idea how to have a bonfire. They had just taken palettes, poured gas on them, and then set them on fire. Naturally, Ky and I went to the highest hill and continued to judge everyone that was there, because we were in fact better than them.

As I am writing the speech that was to be given in four days, I start to wonder who will come. Will the people that bullied her so bad she left school come and join the festivities? Or maybe the boy that was both our ex boyfriend, who used her to get to me? The thought that all these people that were horrible to her could all be sitting in one place, crying on each others shoulders infuriates me. I set my pen down on my bed and get up and try to force myself to put on clothes, something other than sweat pants this time. All the clothes in my closet seem to be non existent except Ky’s old dance hoodie and her oversized sweat pants. I put both on and get in to bed where I want to fall asleep and possibly never wake up, but as I pull the cover over my head to block out the sunlight my dad opens the door and asks if I am ok. I tell him I am fine and not to worry. He says alright hesitantly, but leaves and lets me be. So, I shut my eyes, wrap myself in my warm quilt, and drift off to the sound of silence that echos throughout my room.


When I wake up its dark outside. I assume I have been asleep for weeks, completely missing Kylie’s memorial service, but in fact no such thing happened. I look at the clock and it reads three am. I’d get up, but why would I do that, when I could lay here looking at the dollar tree glow in the dark stars that are stuck to my ceiling. I count all of them, there are thirty in all. I wonder if I make a wish on them if its the same as wishing on a real star, like the ones that are outside of my window right now. I try and think what I would wish for. If people would make the wish for me I think they would wish Kylie back for me, but I would never wish Kylie to come back to this earth. I bet shes happy up there. I bet she is smiling as she jumps from star to star making wishes for all of us stuck down here. I would imagine she is sitting on a cloud, with her feet dangling off the edge just listening to the sounds of heaven. I wonder if she feels like she is home cause I know she never felt at home here.
It doesn’t take long for me to drift off to sleep again, but I am not asleep long before my dad shakes me awake. I have sweat dripping from my face. I am shivering while curled up in a ball. My dad tells me I was screaming, but I felt peaceful. He holds me close to him as if I am the one who is dead, He tells me he is sorry I have to go through this. I try to understand why he feels sorry. I am fine. I am ok. I am happy. The lies I try to tell myself as my father comforts me. When he leaves I get out of bed and look through old pictures of us. I didn’t know Kylie my whole life like most best friends, in fact I knew her less than a year. I smile as I flip through them. My smile doesn’t stay long. before I start really crying. The realization that she is infact gone begins to set in. I feel it in my bones and running my blood. My room becomes cold and empty. My walls turn white and then there is just me sitting in the middle of the floor, nothing else surrounding me. It’s just me and the pictures of Ky and I scattered everywhere. I try and run, but there is no exit. Just white walls wherever I turn. I pace back and forth trying to figure out what to do, but after a while I give up and sit down. I sit very still, not making a sound, making sure to keep my eyes closed. I wish I had ruby slippers on right about now.
I awoke to a scream coming from my little sisters room. I jumped up and ran to her room. When I got there I realized it was just her playing tiger with my dad. I let out a deep breath. My dad for the hundredth time asked me if I was ok, and for the hundredth time I told him I was. I held my little sister and looked at her for a while. For the first time my little sister sat very still and let me just hold her for a moment. I couldn’t help but kissing her forehead. She is so little and has so much to learn. I can only pray that she will not struggle the way Ky and I have in our short lives, Ky’s even shorter than mine.
Kylies and I always used to play this fun game called depression. Over the summer it got really bad. Every day it seemed like one of us would have new cuts to show. Not realizing it at the time we were triggering each other. I even starting using the same type of blade she used. Ky used to tell me that cutting kept her alive. She never felt them, then again neither did I. All I really know is that together we bonded over scars and pain. we later realized our friendship can’t be built on such things, but it’s what brought us together and unfortunately it’s what tore us apart.

Later that day I went to help set up for Kylie’s memorial service which was to be held that night.
Ky’s favorite flower were spread around the auditorium. I stopped and smelt the pink peonies, they remind me so much of her.
As I walk up to the stage where later tonight I will be giving a speech that is not done yet, I see Ky’s mother waving to me. “I am so happy you are here!” I wraps her arms around me and pull me in so tight I struggle to breathe. Clearly her daughters passing has not interfered with her gym time, I ask her if she needs help with anything and she says not really. I kind of looked at her stunned considering she asked me to be here to set up. I can’t help being frustrated with her not telling me she had it under control, but I try to remind myself that she has a lot going on right now.
I walk out of my car where my car is parked outside of Kylie’s high school. I decide to take a walk instead of going home and dealing with my family.
There is a little league game being played at the baseball field. I go and watch the game being held. There are parents yelling at their kids about a game that won't matter by the time they are my age. A little boy hits the ball being thrown at him. The ball flies high in the sky moving far into the outfield. for a moment I think it just might be a homerun. The little boy watches the ball as he runs to first base not watching what is going on down at his feet and in a matter of seconds the young boy, no older than ten, trips on his own two feet and falls face first into the dirt. He doesn’t dare cry, for fear that his team mates will see a sign of weakness in him. I feel the same way. I feel as if I am trying my hardest not to show weakness for fear that the people surrounding me will see and I will once again be put in a hospital where they feed me medicines and try to fix me just as they did before. I am supposed to stand tall, smile, and pretend like Ky is not dead. Like nothing ever happened, because nothing happened. Her death will just be another tragic story about a pretty girl who couldn’t take it anymore. Thats wrong. It’s all wrong. I want to be strong, but i’m not. I never have been. That was always Kylie’s thing. She could hold it together like no one else could. Her tears that she would want to cry would stay in her blue eyes. Ky never really talked to me about how she felt from day to day. I could count the number of times she cried in front of me on one hand. She may have been good at being strong, but sharing was not her forte.
As time came closer to Kylies memorial speech, I stood in front of the mirror trying to decide what to wear. I plan to save my black dress for the funeral, if I even go. I decide on a black dress anyway, it is the only color that seems appropriate.
I read the speech I have written in front of my mirror and try to tell myself to look up everyone in a while, but it wont happen when it comes time to actually deliver the speech. I don't want to see anyone and I want to pretend that no one can see me. I want to be invisible, translucent, and undetectable. I wish I could snap my fingers and be in my room, away from all of the questions people will ask me and trying to hug me. I don't want to be touched right now, but I will go. I will go and I will stand at the podium and give a speech on my best friend. I will tell everyone how they should have known her. I will speak on her behalf and as she lay silenced in some doctors room I will tell everyone how beautiful of a person she was. I will convey false truths and tell them how she saved me from my own suicide attempt. Then, and only then will people look around at each other with questioning looks in their eyes, no one actually speaking words, and ask themselves “why couldn't she help her?” The answer to that question I don't know myself.
When I get to the high school, home of the gators, the halls are filled with Kylie’s peers and their concerned parents. The sound of everybody talking makes me feel sick and I try to make my way to the aditourom. Before I even get there, tears start to drip from my eyes. My eyes are so sore and swollen that crying is now a painful thing.
I find my seat on stage next to Ky’s parents. I look down at my shoes as a slideshow of pictures of Ky play. Pictures of when she was a child all the way until about a month ago when her and I went to watch our friends band play at a local bar. The song “Hear You me” by Jimmy Eat World. The lyrics of the song find there way into my ears even though I don't want them. “You gave us some place to go./
I never said thank you for that.” The words seep into my brain and before I know it my head starts to pound as the song continues, “I never said thank you for that,/now I'll never have a chance./May angels lead you in.” I lean over and grab my knees, trying to breathe, but I can't seem to catch my breath as the pain in my chest tightens. I want the song to stop. I hate this song. This song is killing me, but no one can hear my thoughts, so the song keeps playing, “And if you were with me tonight,/I'd sing to you just one more time./A song for a heart so big,/god wouldn't let it live.” My body starts to rock back and forth and I am just about to throw up all over the stage, in front of everyone when Ky’s mother says my name and everyone starts to clap. I tilt my head up and see hundreds of eyes staring at me. I can feel them, they all feel the same. They all feel sorry for me. They’re thinking, oh this poor girl. Why would they feel sorry for me? At least i'm alive. I stand up and walk over the the microphone with my stack of papers in my hand. It looked like I wrote a novel, but really I just made the font really big so I wouldn't stutter when speaking. I look out at everyone. I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. I clear my throat and that seems to work and I start to speak.

“Good evening. My name is Addison Bello for those of you who don’t know me. I don’t know how many of you knew Kylie, I am guessing a lot of you considering you all are here. Kylie was my best friend. We met this past summer through a church activity. She was someone who I always looked up to and admired all throughout our friendship. Ky was always honest and spoke with the intention of always making a point. I envied her passion for her talents that she possessed, such as dance, art, and music. She was equally talented at all of them. Kylie, if you knew her like I did, know that she was never much for being quiet unless she was in a bad mood. Kylie was a beautiful person inside and out. She would sit up with me late at night and hold me and tell me everything was gonna be ok, when I wasn't quite sure it would be. Kylie saved my life on multiple occasions and I never got to tell her thank you. I look at her grieving parents and to you both I say I am so so sorry I couldn't save your daughter. Ky never really spoke much about how she felt. She loved to bottle things up until they blew up, trying to protect herself, but in the end, ending it all. I loved Kylie so much, I really did. I still do and I always will. If you never got the chance to know her on a personal level I am sorry. Ky could make you laugh until you peed yourself all you had to do was ride in the car with her. She had extreme road rage and would yell at the cars in front of her as if they could hear here. For those of us who Kylie blessed our lives, we celebrate her life and the great things that she did. Kylie will always hold a special place in my heart. I don’t think I will ever forgive myself for not seeing this coming. I don’t think I will ever forgive myself for letting this happen. I do know that if Ky were here right now she would tell me to suck it up and get over it, but I wont. Please, all of you know that Kylie went too soon, and she went in a horrible way, but a way she felt necessary. I ask you never speak ill of her. I ask that you respect her name. Lastly, I would like to say this, if you know someone struggling with depression, don't wait until their gone to tell someone. I have regretted not telling someone about Ky everyday since she left us. Thank you all for coming and supporting Kylies friends and family. Have a good rest of your night.”