I was lying on my bed staring at the painted ceiling. "Amelia" yelled Mum up the stairs. I ignored your rude reply and turned my head to watch you. You were crouched over your diary with your back to me. You had not spoken to me today and did not even help with our usual baking we did each morning now. "AMELIA get down here now!" you sighed and dropped your diary onto the bed. You turned to me and said sharply "if I find out you touched my diary, your dead." I just looked blankly at you as you slouched down the hallway. Since our parents had started this law suite, I had been mostly worried about you. The press had been following us around and your diary had become your new friend. Men with cameras and microphones had been harassing our family but especially you for some reason. Although they wanted to know about me, they couldn't ask me. I just presumed I was too young for all their interviews, but I was angry that you were upset. You wouldn't tell me anything. I looked at your diary; temptation was boiling up inside me.

I had heard you in the bathroom each morning being sick. I hadn't mentioned anything to mum but I had been working out a way o talk to you about it. Earlier that week I had made up my mind to ask you, I knew you had been in the bathroom for a while, I presumed doing your make up or something. The door wasn't locked so I just walked in, I did see the cuts on your leg. I know you think I didn't but I did. I didn't say anything again, but it completely proved my suspicions that you are not ok. Yet as I saw the blade pierce your skin you had been smiling, you almost looked relieved your eyes bright and alive. It had made me think, just maybe, it was source of relief for you. If it worked for you, would it work for me?

After we had eaten our dinner you went and slouched in your usual spot on the blue cotton sofa, engaged in some pop idol TV show. I helped Mum clean up the dishes and went upstairs. I settled down on the edge of my bed wincing as I twisted my leg the wrong way. I noticed your diary, still exactly where you had left it. I glanced round the room and closed the door soundlessly. I edged towards you bed, all my focus on the shiny cover of your well-used, lined journal. I flinched as my little finger brushed the binding. I peered down the corridor through the crack in the door just to check and picked up the book.

I only read a few entries, the past three days, it was like stepping into your mind and it scared me. Like seeing through your eyes by reading your scruffy handwriting. I couldn't red any more. I felt bad and dishonest however, I did learn one thing. You kept the razor hidden in the back of the bathroom cabinet.