Why am I here? In the last two days I've been here, I've been asked that over 100 times.
I was never close to my so-called family. The closest thing I had was my best friend Liam. He was bright, lively and happy. I knew him more that I knew myself. I knew that he scratches his neck when he was lying, and he played with his hands when he was nervous.
I also knowing what killed him. It was quick, no pain. He was shot by a girl with impulse control disorder. I'm surrounded by more of her people, lunatics, psychos, and I can't wait to get out.
YOU ARE READING
We Are Not Who You Think We Are
Teen FictionBringing awareness to mental health and disorders. Undergoing major reconstruction. Won't take it down while I'm editing. Be patient. Thank you. Treat people with kindness.
