Sinister Tales

A Girl Named Alaina

A Girl Named Alaina

A story about the death of a friend.

This is different, but bare with me, please.

We started as simple strangers, thrown together in something I guess some people would call fate. The moment she looked at me with her shiny blue eyes and genuine smile, I knew this was going to be the start of a beautiful friendship.

"I'm Alaina," she greeted me with a hand shake, "what's yours?"

"Nicole." I kindly answered back, remembering the gentle way she took my hand, seeming like she was too afraid to squeeze in fear my hand would break.

We instantly hit it off. The normal awkward phase of the friendship I remembered experiencing with all of my friends in the past never showed up. We were already best friends on the first day we met with many things in common.

Both writers with dysfunctional families. But I guess that's a normal thing for people. Crazy was becoming the new normal.

Her parents were facing a troubling storm we could all see coming, but never spoke of it until it got bad enough to where her parents told people they were getting a divorce.

Alaina broke down and I was there to sweep of the crumbling pieces, trying to put them back together. I like to think that she'd never be able to make it through without me. Maybe it was I who would never be able to make it without her.

My mother on the other hand, couldn't find the right guy, there was constant dates and boyfriends coming in and out of our lives. I had faith she would find the right guy.

Our friendship only seemed to grow. We always saw eye to eye on everything, there was never a disagreement in the two years of our friendship.

A lot happened in those two years. We share laughs and tears. There was no such thing as a secret between us. There was a constant change in our lives and that's always made things so much more exciting for the both of us. Our sleepovers would consist of horror movies, junk food, and either one of us would always be changing the color of our hair. I remember by the end of the night one of us would complain about the dye staining our hands through the gloves.

It was impossible to separate us, even on school days we would hang out. Usually I would stay the night at her house even on the weekdays. We would make forts and sleep in them, only to wake up with the blankets collapsed on us.

Nights and mornings with constant laughter for no absolute reason.

We tried things we never knew we would ever do. It wasn't always the smartest of ideas, but we were too high on our friendship (and maybe other things) to even care.

I remember the feeling of envy when she would mention the name of her other friends. On the inside I would cry, wondering if she liked them better than me. On the outside, I would smile and nod. She was my rock, the only person I let in on my darkest of secrets and I lived in fear that everything we built in the years of knowing each other would vanish.

My mom and her parents were close at first, but things changed and there would be the fake friendly encounters when they would run into each other, but evil comments behind each other's backs.

Alaina and I always told each other we wouldn't let that mess up our friendship. And it didn't. We were too strong to break down.

Eventually, somewhere down the line, our parents learned to tolerate each other. I assumed it was for the sake of our friendship.

The first two summers we spent together, we went everywhere with each other and spent the night at each other's houses. Sometimes there would the be occasional sneaking out to go off and do whatever our hearts pleased. It made for memorable times with all the things we would get ourselves into.

Then she went to school while I was homeschooled. I tell myself that something changed in her, but that'd be way too easy for me to throw the blame on someone else, other than taking it for myself.

Alaina moved away. I would go over and visit and one time I spent the night, listening to the screams of a donkey outside while I tried to go to sleep. She spent more time with her friends. It was understandable because I couldn't keep her from doing what made her happy when it made me unhappy. The insecurity was getting to me that she'd find a new best friend, but she assured me that would never happen.

My temper would flare up and I would send texts that I immediately regretted when I hit the send button. She would always reply in a calm and collected way, being more mature than I was even though I was older. I admired that about her, she didn't lose it when I did. But it ticked me off that she would never argue with me. It sounds ridiculous, right? I was mad that own best friend wouldn't yell at me make me feel like a piece of shit. When I would calm down, I would feel guilty, apologizing and always accepting my insecurities with open arms.

She was a good person in my eyes. She was who I wanted to be. Things would knock her down, but not hard enough to where she couldn't get up.

The more and more time she spent with her friends and had them stay over, the less I started to argue. I accepted it. I felt neglected and lonely, but I didn't want to talk to her about it because I knew she would say the right thing and make me feel better and forget about all the sadness I built up. I didn't want to feel better.

Then there came the death.

It took me a while to accept it, but I had it.

She didn't die in a car accident or some illness.

In my mind, she died.

The texts became less until they were nearly nonexistent. There was the occasional Hey, how are you?, but that's as far as it went.

The last time we hung out, she came to my house and it felt like I let a stranger into my home. She was more focused on her phone than talking to me. I couldn't blame her for it. I thought she did it to avoid the awkwardness because she could feel the fall of the friendship, but didn't want to say it. We didn't stay up late like we used to do. It didn't feel like we were friends anymore.

All I was stuck with were the memories.We never saw each other anymore and it killed me inside. I didn't let anyone know of how much it hurt me and I guess it was so I didn't have to accept it.

This was the story about the end of a friendship I wish didn't have to end, but unlike fairy tales, there was no happy ending for this story.

Author's Note: I'm sorry this isn't creepy or scary, but it's something I wanted to write. Don't hate me for it. I will post a creepy story soon.