Prologue
You think you're the best. You think you're good enough. I've begged for hours, days, months, years....and damn! I'm tired. So so tired. It's over with. Everything. Over.
I found the note in Kate's cupboard. I'm not sure who wrote the note. But I need to know. Because you see, I need to take this person down. I re-read the note over and over again. I'm so unsure of what to do. I keep the note back in the cupboard where I found it. I sigh and close my eyes. It's so hard unravelling mysteries. So hard. Detectives do deserve prizes. I walk up and down and I'm absolutely confused on what to do. I take deep breaths in and out. I run over the facts in my head:
Kate died on a Friday.
She was found on the roadside.
She had a note by her side. It read:
The wait is over.
Kate's my best friend. I remember when some girls were making fun on my green jacket and she walked up to me and talked to them and they fled. I was shocked. I started rolling with her. It was interesting. She loved to read during lunch breaks. So did I. We checked out new books every weekend from our school library. When I got home, Mother was there to hug and kiss my forehead. Father didn't come until late at night and when he did, I would hear screams and things breaking from my parents room. I remember once creeping up to the room, knocking, eager to find out what was wrong. As soon as they heard my soft voice crying, the shouts stopped. Mother opened the door slightly. She tried to smile but I wasn't having it. The smile was so fake. Her red lips were smiling but her eyes weren't. And her right cheek was swollen.
"What's wrong darling?" she asked.
What's wrong? I wanted to scream. Everything was wrong. I touched her cheek.
"Did Father hurt you?" I whispered. Damn. I wanted to do something to someone. I wanted to punch Father's face over and over again till he bled.
"No, I tripped over something," she said.
But I knew she was lying. I pushed the door wider to see Father. He was sitting on the bed, his head in his hands. I hated that my hair was brown, like his. I also hated that my nose was crooked like his. I hated that I had to be related to him. I loved being alone with Mother. It was perfect. Father was great at ruining things because despite the fact he came late every night, he made Mother scream and cry. He made me cry too, because when Mother cried, I cried. I didn't need to know why she was crying. Just the sound of something breaking my Mother's heart so troubled me. If there was one thing I knew since I was eleven, it was that I hated Father.
