Dear Lex,

So, this is for you.

I am tired of waiting, and I am tired of wanting. Waiting for you to come back from college, and wanting the love that you refuse to give me. I may be two years younger and naive as hell, but you have no right to treat me in such a way.

The blood dripped on the page as Sara managed a smirk in self-satisfaction. Lex would come running at this.

I want to end my life without you. You have made me everything I am.

Do you remember Rhoslyn? I know you're halfway across the country, but surely you remember who Rhoslyn is. Small, dark hair, wide blue eyes perpetually lined with too much eyeliner. She asked me the other day what was the best feeling in the world. Just for kicks.

She could remember that conversation. It hadn't been for kicks; it had been because she was crying her eyes out and needed some cheering up.

I told her unrestrained happiness. Because that's what I feel when I talk to you, and I can't imagine any better feeling than that.

Sara put the pen down and laid back on her bed, gauze now wrapped in the place where she had made a second cut. If these were to scar...

As smug as she had been just a few minutes ago, there were just some things her ex-girlfriend, now-something needed to know.

She needed to know that Sara had been prepared to kill herself since eighth grade. She needed to know that Sara was terrified of death, and she was even more terrified of dying before she had ever been kissed, as silly as it sounded.

Alexandra Greisman needed to know that her ex-girlfriend - the romantic, the writer, the terrible singer, the giggler, the laughing girl - was going to die.

And Sara wanted to get this letter off to her before that happened.

I've relapsed. Burkitt's lymphoma. Stage IV, this time, instead of just stage I. Mom didn't notice it. Neither did Dad.

And evidently I'm just too stupid to care.

Before I die

She crossed that out.

When I die, I want you to come to the funeral. I want my parents to know that you loved me. Even if you didn't.

Please. I'm dying in agony here. All I'm asking is this: that you come to the funeral. That you let Claire and Becky know. And that you tell my parents that you're sorry. And that I was something special. I'm not, but that doesn't matter.

It will make them feel better.

A door slammed downstairs and she winced; noises had been making her head spin lately. "Sara, Cathy's here for you! She's heading up! Are you decent, Sara?"

She pulled the gauze a little tighter; if asked - which it would be, inevitably - she could say she had cut it on her - on the wood project from middle school, that still stood in the corner. Cathy would sigh and say, "Oh, Sara." But it would be worth it.

Lex - I know that you know I love you.

But I don't think I ever got the chance to tell you that I'm in love with you.

All my love, for the rest of your life and mine,

Sara