Of Jacey RobertsMature

"You know, sometimes I think I'm mad, crazy mad."

You know, sometimes I think I'm mad, crazy mad.

See I'm sitting here and all I can think of is: A) Flowers aren't my choice of a valentines gift. B) Jasey didn't love me anyway. C) Jasey's dead so I can't see him following me.

Because he so totally is. And I'm not just imagining it. I lost my keys this morning and I know, more than anything, that when I lose something Jasey is behind it. My favourite sunglasses, a mug that said: 'world's best sister', a fluffy duster (don't ask). All his fault.

And then, when I turn around he's just staring at me, all painted up red and he won't go away.

I'm okay with it because I'm used to this. My sister's always coming home with a cut on her finger, or her knee, or her arm. I can deal with blood, even this much.

But this is Jacey. He faints. Tragically. And he's just standing there, covered in it. I never even realised how badly it clashed with his hair. Ginger. Orange ginger. He dyed it once but black just looked awful. I don't want to remember that. Ginger and blood, it doesn't mix, shouldn't mix. It's too tacky.

My best friends keep looking at me weird, they think there's something wrong. Of course I'm not about to say Jacey's following me - they don't know just how easy it is to compare him to a puppy. Loyal. You know the type, right?

Ah. Here he is. My new boyfriend. He's called Ben, he's tall and handsome and so totally mine. Me, Jacey and him used to be friends. Like best friends, people always said it would turn out bad.

I guess it's because Ben knows me too well and Jacey just thought he did. Do you know the first thing Ben said to me on Tuesday?

“You killed Jacey Roberts didn't you?”

Guilt's a bitch.

And of course I said yes.

The End

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