The Diary of an Emo Girl: Chapter Three.

Almost all of the adults I have met before my mother became an addict say that I resemble her. I despise this. If I look at one of my mother's pictures, my mother's sane pictures, I see an older version of me. The same heart-shaped face, the thick, straight brown hair, and those haunting almond shaped eyes. It terrifies me that, what if, one day, I slip into the ghostly world my mom has already fallen into...1

Everyday, I scourge the apartment, looking for old pictures of my dad, which there are little of, and try to make me look more like him. Funny, calm, perfect Dad. I didn't even know him. And I try to make myself be more like an unknown person. An outsider, like myself. I feel so close to the man I never got to meet.2

I scowl at myself as I look at the fresh wounds on my arms. I try to abide to Hans's wish, but I cannot stop inflicting pain on myself. I need him, but what I do to myself has made him feel guilty in some way that even I cannot understand. 3

I pull my long sleeves over the scars in haste as I see Hans walking down the hall toward me. I smile a very well practiced smile, but he's not convinced. Without looking away from my face, he takes my arm and slowly pulls up the thin sleeve. His already sad face falls in a sorrowful state. I am instantly regretful. How could I have done this to him?4

We walk hand-in-hand to our next classes. We stop at mine and he hugs me close to his iron chest. He releases me and leans down to kiss me on the forehead sweetly. I am in some kind of trance. I just stand there, like a moron, gazing in his eyes, my own filled with wonder. He walks away and I turn to my class and open the door, receiving yet another hour of torment...5

~Meanwhile~6

I stare unseeing at the blank piece of paper in front of me. Chloe's scars seem to race through my head like racehorses, cutting their way through my mind. I still can't understand just how and why she does this to herself. How can she take a razor blade and drive it deep down her skin...7

"Mr. Diaz," I hear a firm voice insisting that I start on the essay that is due promptly at the end of the hour. I could care less. All I want to know is that Chloe will keep herself safe. I need her. She's more beautiful than she knows. She's smart and lovely, she doesn't seem to understand the beauty within herself. And she seems to be the only one who knows how to care about me. Sometimes it all seems like a lost cause...8

It is the end of the day and I trudge slowly down the halls of the school, not really seeing anything at all. I see a flash of Chloe's black and gray jacket and speed up after her. She opens the door and her jacket is caught between it. She receives laughs and stares. I feel anger boiling up inside of me. She shouldn't have to put up with this crap. I take her hand softly and pull her away from the crowds of kids. 9

After walking awhile down the sidewalk, she slows down, squeezing my hand. I know something is wrong. I sigh and ask, "Chloe, what's the matter?" She shrugs and I am yet again stunned by her ability to act like nothings wrong when the whole world seems to be streaming down your neck. She never opens up. She's been locked up inside. Somehow, in some way, I need to find that key to her heart...10