That was it. Hannah was gone. Out of my house, out of society, out of my life. Perhaps it was twisted of me to want her back, to cling to the old times and get her back. I really did love her, as much as a bets friend could, and despite everything she had done, teh wounds she had caused; I knew it was impossible for me to leave her.
That scared me.
My parents rushed home and took me into their arms, of which I was grateful for at least it was some form of normality. They talked to me, comforted me but I grew tired of them. Hannah was the only one I could talk to, no one else would want to be friends with me; the weird girl with a murderer for a best friend.
Involuntarily, I shuddered.