It had been a week and we hadn't talked - at all. The one thing I hated about it is that I needed to know how he was. It was driving me insane! I couldn't stand not knowing, even though he wouldn't make the effort to even talk to me.
I picked up the phone, dialed his number, and waited for an answer.
"Hello?" I heard from his brother.
"Hi, is Trevor there?" I managed to squeeze out, shakingly.
"Just a second," and I heard a yell for him.
"What do you want?" Trevor had rudely, arrogantly shouted at me.
"I just wanted to ask you a question... Do you think in a few months or so-"
"No. I will never be in your life again. Now, go away," he had interrupted.
I started crying, thinking of something to say - something to cover it up.
"Can you please at least think about it? I mean, it wouldn't hurt to just do-"
"No, I won't. I will not think about it. I hate you, Carrie. Even hearing your name angers me greatly, and to be honest, I could care less about if you were alive or dead," then I heard a click, and the line went dead. He had hung up.
I tried calling back repeatedly, but no answer. He was ignoring me, and I couldn't stand it. I looked around the room for my fix. Damn it, no weed. Although, I had found a dull pair of safety scissors. I jabbed it into my skin, and dragged. I knew this wasn't the way to solve anything, but what else could I do? I couldn't tell my mom I needed help; I didn't want her to know.
Trevor always kept me from cutting, but he was gone and I had no reason not to. It was my horrible addiction - one that I had been out of for months. I never knew he'd be the one to make me start again, to make me want to die. How could he do this to me?