Trust Is A Work In Progress (editing)

16*LOOSING HER EDGE

16* LOOSING HER EDGE (THURSDAY)

Dedication to chicksread for winning the last contest! This girl is absolutely the best ever! Go check out her amazing book Free From You! Keep writing girl!! The contest was the following:

There's an "error" in the first chapter/ diaries entry to Avery's forever. The first person to figure it out will get a dedication!

Hint: #

Comment from chicksread:

"You said the yard surrounding the house took four kids and two adults, but there were only three kids and two adults."

My reply and little sneak peak type thing:

"Yep!!! But was it really an error? :) *wiggling eyebrows mysteriously* this will come up in like two chapters or so."

I'll leave you all to try to figure out what it's supposed to mean! :)

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Dear My Forever,

August 13, 2009

I'm remembering her again, ever since that one night. It's his fault, but it will always mine. It's my fault she isn't here. That's the real reason why they all hate me. She must have told him and that's why he thinks I'm a disappointment. He must have always blamed me for the perfect life of theirs to fray to ruins. They started fighting. He changed, and he blamed me. They all hate me. It's my fault, and now I'm starting to remember. It's his fault. What if the memories, the guilt, the voices, won't let me forget this time?

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I knew I should've just had my mom, Lucas, or somebody, anyone else, to give me the ride, but no, I let Kylie. She is stubborn as a bull when it comes to things like this. When it comes to me pushing her even farther away then usually. I'm sure sees the dark bags under my eyes from the two hours of sleep I managed to get last night.

"Why did you leave last night?" Kylie asks leaving her spot at the school parking lot. I sigh at this.

"I needed some space to think," I answer her, "so I went on a run." I answer her looking down at my hand studying my torn fingernail. I give her a glance and she has a look of concentration. Maybe she's figured something out over the past four years.

"Is it bad this year," she asks. I bite my lip feeling the stress it causes me to keep everything hidden. What is she getting at?

"Is what bad," I say trying to see if she knows what she's talking about.

"Your family, especially yourself, always seems off this time of year. Whatever it is that y'all are hiding, is it worse for you this year?" She doesn't offer me any comfort or sympathy. She knows that that'll ruin even the slightest chance of me talking. With comfort comes attachments and commitments. I debate this, but I know already. It's never been this bad.

"Yes," I whisper looking out the window.

"What happened last night. How did you end up with him?" She says changing the subject to more open subject.

"Like I said I went for a run. I ended up all the way over to the bridge. He found me there. I ended up falling into the river, and he pulled me out. He took me home and made sure I was okay. Neither one of us had a car, and he said I was to tired to walk back to your house. That's why he ended up calling you of my whereabouts." I say this making it sound like not such a big deal. I shrug, "I'm fine, and I just totally forgot about the whole clean up."