Why doesn't he look at me like he looks at the other girls? Why doesn't he look at me at all? Why does he look through me, like I'm not worthy of existing? Why does he allow his friends to abuse me, and does nothing but look away?

Why doesn't he love me like I love him?

I put myself through the torture so that maybe he would one day say something to me. I know that I don't look like the other girls. I know that I'm beyond ugly, but would it hurt to just let me be on the other end of that charming smile. That smile he always bestows on pretty girls that pass him.

Do I sicken him that much?

When that blade touches my skin, and the pain, fills my entire body, I think of him and smile. Him, with his glorious shaggy brown hair and ocean blue eyes. Him and the gentle smile he shows when he's around his younger sister. Or rather that laugh, he lets out when he is genuinely happy.

Why couldn't I be the cause of such a laugh?

But if it's the last thing I have to do, it is to get his attention.

My body is filled with excitement as I go over the plan in my head. It was perfect and had all I needed to make sure he noticed me. I took out and put on the scarlet dress I got from my mother for my eighteenth birthday and the matching shoes.

Today was the day that everyone would see the scars I had to carry and he especially would see them all. I grabbed the matching purse and left the house quietly, making sure my step-father hadn't heard my departure.

Everywhere I went people stared. My nerves were on end. I couldn't believe that I was actually going to do this. However, it was for the best and the deed would do its job perfectly. I got to school and walked through the hallways that have known me for the past four years. My eyes sought out that familiar head of shaggy brown hair and there he was with his usual posse. He would never know what it cost me to do this.

But I convinced myself, it was worth it.

All around me, persons whispered. Their eyes focused on my appearance. The usual plain, wallflower, girl in anything other than a black long-sleeve turtleneck and black jeans, stunned them. They saw the many bruises on my arms and on my neck and they knew that there were more hidden under the material of the dress.

I walked up to him and at first; he didn't know I was there. When he did look up, he was shocked. I could tell because he had to look again. He mouthed my name and I saw the guilt in his eyes, as he looked at all the bruises that were visible.

The entire hallway was silent as they waited for what was to transpire.

I pulled out the black revolver and immediately screams erupted. He started to look fearful, but his eyes were still transfixed on me.

"This is for you, "I whispered as tears pricked my eyes.

The blast echoed throughout the hallway.

Then there was pain.

Then nothing.

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