13 Reasons why // The 14th Reason

// 23 //

The last lesson of the day was always the worst. I stared down at my page and allowed my eyes to become unfocused as I remembered Hannah's speech from Ryan's tape.

Her first poetry reading was a big deal. Such a big deal that I turned up to the group. I was a couple of minutes late and ended up stuck at the bag next to the same lady as last time who kept casting strange glances. Hannah looked at me from the podium and I winked with a grin.
"Today I am wearing lacy black underwear, for the sole purpose of knowing I am wearing them.
And underneath that, I am absolutely naked.
And I've got skin, miles and miles of skin.
I've got skin to cover all my thoughts like Saran Wrap, that you can see through to what leftovers are inside from the night before.
And despite what you might think, my skin is soft, and smooth, and easily scarred.
But that doesn't matter right? You don't care about how soft my skin is.
You just want to hear about what my fingers do in the dark, but what if all they do is crack open windows so I can see lightning through the clouds?
What if all they crave is a jungle gym to climb for a taste of fresher air?
As Hannah finished the audience was left in stunned silence until they began to clap. I stood up, beaming and cheered also. I received a few stares but ignored them as Hannah walked over to me.
"You're so embarrassing." She said, hitting my arm.
"What're sisters for?" I replied cheekily.

I should have known then that something was wrong. That poem. I sighed. How could I be so stupid, the poem was her cry for help. Or at least one of them.
I started as the bell rang out, signalling the end of lesson. I rushed out of the door, slinging my bag over my shoulder and racing out onto the street where the sun shone brightly and birds tweeted gently. Behind me students chattered carefree while I fought to stop the tears.

*.         *.         *.

But is that why you really did it? Do you could touch just one person? I doubt it, people like you don't make selfless moves. You knew the shit I shared was personal. You knew where it came from and that it would get people talking. I realise now I was desperate for someone to listen... and you listened. And then you turned around and made my most private thoughts a public spectacle. So you open your heart to one person and everyone ends up laughing.

*.           *.           *.

As I walked down the blisteringly hot sidewalk, feeling the sun heating up my back because of my black jacket I remembered the day that Ryan published Hannah's private poem. I slapped him so hard that he had a hand mark for almost the whole lunch break. And I scolded my 'friends' who scoffed at the poem. However I didn't do enough... evidently.
What confused me was that Hannah didn't seem to know what I'd done for her, leading me to worry about what else she didn't know. Along that course of thinking I found the question, what else was there that I didn't know?

*. *. *.

Hannah confronted Ryan while he sat in his He corner of the cafe.
"What the hell Ryan?"
"Hannah, what's so secret you couldn't speak to me at school?"
"How could you do that to me?"
"You're a beautiful poet and your work deserves to be heard." That was his excuse.
"It's my life Ryan, not yours! Get your own!" Hannah had yelled before storming away, leaving him slightly bemused.

*. *.         *.  

I hadn't seen Clay since lunch when we listened to more of the tape and I needed someone to talk to. As I got to the end of the school road I made a quick decision to turn left instead of right. The loud chattering of school kids died away as I continued up the hill.
By the time I reached my destination the sun had disappeared by the mourning grey clouds. I pushed open the gates to the cemetery on the top of the hill, cringing as they shrieked loudly, disturbing the peacefulness of the graveyard.
I headed towards the back row of graves, to the grave without a tombstone. I knelt down in front of Hannah and stared at the small square of card that announced her name. We didn't have time to get her a proper tombstone. Or the money for a proper burial service. I placed my bag on the floor and took out a small envelope, placing it inside a small tin pot next to the grave. It floated down to land with the other envelopes.
"Is that a letter?" I started surprisedly, whipping round to see a young blonde girl behind me.
I managed to catch myself with my hands thrown out as I toppled forwards. The girl giggled, a contrast to the otherwise silent graveyard.
"Sorry. My name's Addie. I write letters to my brother. Mom said it would help and I didn't believe her at first. It works though." She said, her gaze drifting to the trees at the bottom of the hill.
"M-Melanie. And no... uh, they're drawings actually." The bright eyed girl looked at me confusedly.
"The paper." I said, pointing to the tin as I stood up.
"Oh right." She nodded absentmindedly. An awkward silence hung in the air.
"I've never seen you here before." She spoke.
"Uh, Yeah. I don't usually come in the daytime."
I thought back to the nights in the rain.