Dear Diary,
My naivety has come beyond help. I don’t know where I took the wrong turn, or why, but it’s started to mess with my life in the worst way possible. I have no idea how to go forward with everything that’s happened since that stupid school dance.
If only I listened to my gut telling me that Jackson is bad news. Why didn’t I? Really, why didn’t I just throw that drink into his face and walk away? Why do I always have to feel sorry for every single being that steals five minutes of my time.
To hell with everything. I’m sick of my life. No, I’m sick of myself … I’m not sure which part is sadder.
I stare at the message in shock, quickly starting to type, but my fingers are trembling like crazy. No. This won’t do. I can’t do this over texts. I quickly tap on the call button, putti
