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Guess what? There was a bridge. James was right. After walking for thirty minutes in the woods, there it was. I winded around different trees, a river shadowing it below. It was the most beautiful thing I had seen in my life.

"Told you I wasn't going to murder you," said James.

I stepped onto the bridge, and started walking. You couldn't walk three steps without there being a sharp turn around a tree. I loved it.

"You sure nobody else knows about this?" I asked.

"Not that I know of," said James as he sat down on the railing, his flashlight facing the space just in front of me.

"Should we even call this a bridge?" I asked him. Usually a bridge went the opposite direction the water was running, but this bridge followed the water. I wondered what its purpose was.

"Guess so," he said. "What else would we call it?"

Just then, I heard chirping above me. There were two birds chasing each other, flying around trees. One bird fooled the other, and at the last second, it dived around a tree and the one following it flew into some branches. I laughed as leaves came falling down on me.

Ruining the moment, James asked, "Are you still scared of me?"

Was I? Should I have been? James was older than me, but only by one year. And what fifteen year old would want to murder someone? Suddenly, I had a flashback of watching TV with my aunt. We were watching ID, and there was a show about a twelve year old, a twelve year old, murdering people with her bare hands. She was mental. Was James mental?

I took a good look at him. His blue eyes. His wavy hair growing every which way. His stained hoodie. No, he was not mental. He was just a young, stupid boy looking for fun. And I was ruining it.

"I'm not scared of you," I said, smirking. "Are you scared of me?"

"A little," he said. We both laughed.

After that, everything was back to normal. We walked the whole length of the bridge, talking about anything that came to our mind. The stoplight came to his.

"I can't say how sorry I am. I could've killed you. I'm really sorry."

At the end of the bridge, there was a tree. I leaned against it and looked at him. "If I died, it would've been okay. Maybe not for you. But it would have been okay for me."

James had a look of concern on his face. "You want to die?"

I wasn't surprised when he asked that. Did I want to die right then? No. Were there many, many times where I had wanted to die before. Oh, yes. I could remember all of the times like they were yesterday. My dad screaming at me, telling me I was being over-dramatic. Me in the bathroom. Crying. Knife in hand. Cutting away at my wrist. Liking the way it felt when it stung. Only focusing on cutting, cutting. Nothing else in the world. Just me and the knife. Cutting, cutting...

James' voice brought me back to the present. "You okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, and I don't want to die." Then I remembered. My medicine.

"Take it twice daily," I heard my doctor saying. "Or bad things will happen. Very bad things."

"Birdie!"

"Oh, sorry, what?" I asked, still in a daze.

"Are you sure you're okay? It looked like you just realized something, or remembered something."

"I did. My medicine."

"Oh," was all he said.

"You want to know what it's for, don't you?"

James held up his hands. "You don't have to tell me-"

"It's okay," I interrupted. "I have depression. I have to take medicine. If I don't take it, my doctor said bad things could happen. When the medicine wears off, it really wears off. I don't know how I'm going to act now."

James just stood there, taking it all in. "I had a feeling."

"You did?"

"Yeah. You act the same way my mom did. Just the little things, though. She had depression."

"Oh."

"We can go back to the house, and you can sneak-"

"No, definitely not. If my dad's awake, everything will be ruined. I'll be fine. I promise."

James winced, and then nodded. "Okay."

I gave him a huge smile, and it was real. For some reason, I felt that this trip would help with everything regarding how I felt. Maybe I wasn't depressed. Maybe I was just lonely.

Before long, I found myself laughing as we walked the long journey back to the car.

When we finally reached it, James opened the door for me, and then stopped. He had his eyes on something in the distance.

"What is it?" I asked.

"I'll be right back," he said, and jogged away.

"James!"

He came back only about ten seconds later, and held out something to me. "I have no idea what kind of flower this is, but I thought you might like it."

I took it in my hands, and in fact, I had no idea either. It was amazing, though. It was a solid cream color. Simple, but elegant.

I looked at James, smiled, and said, "Thank you."

At that moment, when he gave me the flower, I knew I could trust him. He jumped in the driver's seat, and said, "Okay, you think we can make it to West Virginia by dawn?" 

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