It's been a year since Evie disappeared.

I'm still turning to self-destruction in the face of loss. There's less pot, less booze and less cigs. But over nearly twelve months – eleven months, two hundred and thirty seven days to be exact, because I'm really fucking anal over little things like that – the scars have multiplied like rabbits.

When Evie was here, she cared about the wounds.

I think.

She knew I was suffering.

I think.

But Evie's gone now, so I can't pretend she cares. I don't have that illusion to protect me anymore.

She must be across the country by now, if not halfway around the world. She was always the more free-spirited of the two of us. If not for Evie and her magnetic influence, I wouldn't be a total basket case right now. I'd still be good girl Tracy Freeland, drug free, scar free and a decent student.

But I can't blame my problems on her.

No matter how far apart Evie and I are, she's still my girl.

And it doesn't matter how many times she abandons me, how many times she totally fucks me over –

I will always love Evie Zamora.

She may never love me in return. She probably won't come home; by the time she does show up here again, I'll most likely be dead from slicing a vein.

But it doesn't matter.

I'd rather hurt myself on the outside, making cut after cut, than try to cope with the pain inside.

I'm not strong enough to face the agony brought on by unrequited affection.

I'm too weak for this, too much of a pussy to face the truth: I may love Evie with every last piece of my aching heart – but she will never love me.

Evie is many things - smart in her own way, sexy, confident, and adventurous.

The one thing she'll never be is a lover, and certainly not my lover.

I know this will kill me in the end, for who can live without love from the one person they truly adore?