She closed her eyes and lay back against the sticky leather of the couch. Focusing her mind on the loud thump of music. On the laughs and conversations happening all around her. The party had been advertised as a kind of wake for the girl. Her name was Abby. Ellie told herself. It's your fault she's not here. The least you can do is use her name. In reality, the party was just that, a party. An excuse to get drunk on a Friday night. No one had mentioned Abby's name. Not once. There were no pictures of her, no memories being shared. Nothing to hint that anyone still remembered her. Nothing to hint that they hadn't already moved on. Nothing to hint that this wasn't just a typical Friday night.
Ellie hadn't moved on. How could she? How could she ever forget about Abby. Ellie had been the one who filmed Abby singing and dancing in her underwear, in the safety and privacy of her own bedroom. Ellie had been the one who uploaded the video to Facebook and sent the link to the entire school in the middle of an assembly. Ellie had been the one who tipped Abby over the edge. Who cared that the rest of the school had been teasing her for years. Who cared that she was a weirdo who had no friends. Who cared that she never fought back. The fact that it was easy to tease her, to pick on her, didn't mean it was right.
How could it have been right?
YOU ARE READING
What Happen's After
Teen FictionA teenager recounts the events that led to the suicide of a peer and the aftermath of their death.
