Seventeen-year-old Rachel Adams had it all. Wealth, popularity, brains, beauty, the school's hottest boyfriend, everlasting friends and loving parents. Sadly, one tragic incident on the 1st September of 2017 turned her whole world upside down. The s...
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RACHEL
The next day, I found Elliot waiting for me in the library. Books and sheets were spread out on the table before him and he skimmed through a sheet in his lap while running a hand through his dark brown hair.
Yesterday was really bad. Not that Elliot was a bad teacher. He was actually very good at teaching. However, after 4 months of no studying and not even touching a single book, studying was hard. Too hard.
"Great, you're here. I've got awesome news for you," he said, smiling somewhat mischievously and excitingly.
"Unless the news is that you don't have to tutor me anymore, I actually don't care," I replied, before plopping down on the couch across from him.
"We are going to interview each other to get to know each other better," he informed, cheerfully.
I arched an eyebrow at him. "Become friends?"
"Yep." He grinned leading his eyes to wrinkle in an annoyingly cute way while I fought the urge to squish his smooth cheekbones really hard.
"Forget it. There's no way we are," I begun, but he rapidly cut me off. I genuinely hated it when he did that. Always cutting me off when I tried to protest.
"Your aunt Bella's orders. Let's start with the interview," he said, extending his hand to offer me a sheet filled with questions.
Aunt Bella. She really wouldn't leave me alone. She knew perfectly well that I didn't want to live anymore. I wanted to be dead. That was my one and only wish.
And what was she doing? Ordering a hot shithead to befriend me.
Why was humanity so stubborn? Why couldn't humans let other humans do what they most desire? I wanted to die. Why couldn't they just let me die?
Humanity had no right to choose whether a person wanted to live or not. And I Rachel Adams, believed she had no right to live. And nobody could change that.
I should've been dead.
I needed to be dead.
I had to be dead.
Elliot fished out my blue pen from the pocket of his dark blue hoodie before gently tossing it to me. Cut out of my thoughts, I caught it in my hand before gazing at my hands covered with drawings of moons, stars, and suns.
Before the pen was even able to come in contact with my skin, Elliot's strict voice stopped me.
