But there was something about Charlotte. She wasn't like the most prettiest girl in the world, but anyone with heart could tell that she had a beautiful heart. A heart that could easily be broken. A heart that needed to be protected.
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Her pare...
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"You need help," he spat at me. "I'm trying to help!"
I never meant to say those words to Charlotte.
It's true, I'm trying to help. Really, truly.
I just feel so, so bad.
Her parents died and my parents took over their company. It should have been Charlotte's.
Family comes first... right?
I didn't even look at her . I couldn't. I betrayed her. I didn't speak up.
I begged my parents not to take over, but they had said this was their chance.
And here we are. My family is loaded with money, which all should have been Charlotte's.
I moved out with my brother to get away. A drug filled brother was better than deceiving parents.
I receive checks every month. I've been putting most of it into an account for Charlotte.
After all, it is Charlotte's money.
When I saw Charlotte that night, I felt horrible. My brother does drugs and gets them from Bing. We usually have the messengers deliver them at night, and they just go. I don't give a care in the world about them.
Let them ruin their life.
But Charlotte. She was there. We all know that they do it only because they're broke. I felt so guilty. It was my family's fault.
Anyone with eyes and a brain could tell she wasn't eating correctly, sleeping correctly, living correctly. She reeked with the smell of trash, her clothes filthy.
I know I've done things to her, but I still care for her.
We were childhood friends. Friends drift apart.
But there was something about Charlotte. She wasn't like the most prettiest girl in the world, but anyone with heart could tell that she had a beautiful heart. A heart that could easily be broken. A heart that needed to be protected.
I invited her to stay the night, knowing she would sneak out later on.
But I let her.
The next morning, I knew I would come to an empty room. She hadn't even touched the bathroom or the bed.
The truth is, when I saw Charlotte at school, I knew that she wanted to become normal again. That was her motive.
I thought she wouldn't come back after seeing me.
But she did.
She might be in danger, she might be in trouble, but I know Charlotte. I know her motives.
