I hate him for what he did to me.
But I love him for it, too.
He showed me that I could be strong, that I could depend on myself.
He called me so many things, but he meant so many more. I know he loves me. I can feel it.
So why won't he let me know?
* * * *
Casey dropped her pencil to the floor and pressed her face into her hands. Struggling as she was not to cry, a single tear escaped and plopped onto the half-filled page of her "diary", a red spiral notebook with her name stamped on the cover. It was the same "diary" he had given her for her sixteenth birthday four weeks ago.
She wondered what he could be doing now. Maybe he had forgotten her, or maybe he was sitting by the phone, night and day, waiting for her to call as she waited for him. A flicker of hope sprouted inside her heart.
She decided to take a chance and give him a ring. Anything was possible.
But as her fingers reached towards the reciever, she remembered that horrible girl, Anna, the slutty blonde he had picked up a week ago when they went to that movie.
Face it, Casey, she told herself. He's over you.
Then she rested her head on the table and began to cry.