The outsiders messages

9

January 8th, 2010
GRACE's POV
( tw )

"You're it!" A very excited Dallas Winston yelled, running around the yard. I laugh and chase after him, reaching out to grab his shirt. Dallas was my best friend, his dad and my dad were pretty good friends, so we hung out a lot. We decided a while ago that we would get married when we are older. He's 10 now, a year older, and refers to me as "little girl".
"I'm done, you win little girl" He squeaks, his brown hair was messy from running around so much.
"Now what?" I ask.
"I dunno, whatever you wanna do" he replies.
"Lets race!"
"Why so I can beat you?" He laughs.
"Eat my dust!" I yell and start running down the street. He yells after me, saying how unfair it was. Shortly he catches up to me, he always was faster than me.
He turns while running and flashed a cute smile at me, and picks up the pace. I blush and try to run faster when suddenly I lose footing and trip over my own feet. Dallas slows to a stop and turns toward me, with a look of victory on his face. I start to cry and he looks at my bloody knee. He runs over and crouches down at my side.
"Are you okay?" He asks.
"It really stings" I reply, crying a little harder.
He wipes a tear from my cheek, and helps me up.
"Lets go get a band-aid" he says, and we walk back to my house.
      What happened next was a complete blur. We walk up the stairs, Dallas behind me. I turn the corner, pass my parents room to the bathroom where the band-aids are.
I open the door and look at the water surrounding our feet. I slowly look up to the bathtub, where my cold, lifeless mother was lying.
"Maybe she's sleeping?" Dallas says.
I point to the bottle of pills on the floor,
"Maybe she has a headache" I say.
Dallas and I walk over and try to wake her up. I roll her over towards me and her eyes were wide open.
"Mom?" I say a little loud. She doesn't answer.
Suddenly Dallas begins to realize what's happening, he runs downstairs and outside to find my dad.
"Mom!" I yell, violently shaking her and crying harder.
Dallas comes back shortly and carries me out of the bathroom and downstairs. My head is in my knees and all I hear is my father screaming and crying, and police sirens in the distance.
They said it was suicide, an overdose.
Dallas kept telling me it was going to be okay,
And at 9 years old I knew that it wasn't.
He's going to make a great husband.