AN: No, I don't know what was going through my head when I wrote this. But, once an idea gets into my head, I write it.

Trigger Warning-Suicide and mentions of cutting.


Dear Friends, Family, and everyone who found it in their hearts to care about me,

You know that moment when everything's going great, everything's finally returned to normal, and you just feel on top of the world? And then, suddenly, everything starts to crumble around you, and it's like nothing ever changed. You're back in that same hole you worked so hard to climb out of, and, no matter what you try, you seem to be stuck there. Nothing goes right, and it seems like nothing ever will. You start to stop hanging out with friends, you become secluded, whether it's your choice or not. Whether you're trying to protect them from you, or they outgrow you. Then, you have no one to turn to. You're stuck facing this on your own, and while, in some ways, it may be better, in others, it's so, so much worse. You're alone facing your inner demons, and the demons of the world around you. Sure, you won't bring them down with you, and there are less people that will hurt when you finally get pushed over the edge. But you don't have to go over the edge. You can pretend like everything's all right, even when everything you ever loved, everything you ever wanted, it all just crumbles away, into nothingness, until you're left alone, scared, and depressed. But you put on a mask. You pretend like you're on top of the world, like the turmoil surrounding your everything is but a paper cut on your skin. You may be dying inside, but no one has to know that. You can take your sadness, your pent up emotions, you can take them and throw it into an activity, something you love. Swimming, painting, bowling, singing, dancing, anything. All you can do is try your hardest, and pray that it's enough. That you can overcome this mess just by focusing on the one thing you love, the one thing you're good at, the one thing that makes you feel like you're actually worth something. But things around you keep getting worse, the tiny things that somehow managed to give you hope, even on your weakest days, are suddenly no longer there. You feel worthless; you tell yourself you are worthless. At first, it was just a saying. But now, you mean it, and it hurts just as much as the bits and pieces of your life crumbling away. Now, you no longer feel comfortable inside your own skin, inside your own mind. You throw your everything into that one activity that has kept you going, clutching it like a lifeline, barely clinging to the one thing that's keeping you from going over the edge, because, to be honest, you're on the edge of a cliff, and one small misstep can send you spiraling into a dark abyss. An abyss that will hold you, clutch you, and never release you. Something you won't get out of alive. But the thing that scares you the most is that you've stopped caring. You barely feel alive anymore. That activity that kept you alive is no longer enough. So you do the one thing you swore you'd never do. You haven't fallen off the edge yet, but you're now holding on with your pinkies, and your grip is slipping. So you cut. You bleed. It keeps you alive, yes, but the scars hurt just as much as the things that made you cut in the first place. You swear it's just a onetime thing, but you know in your heart it isn't. You know that, once you started, you can't stop. It's like an addiction—an addiction to pain. People mock it, people laugh at it, but you bleed, and you know that, without the stab of pain of the blade cutting flesh, you wouldn't be here. You would've let go of the ledge, you would've fallen into that deep abyss of no return. Days pass, and the bleeding continues, keeping you alive while nothing else can. But still no one knows your pain. You hide it so well, no one would ever guess. And then, slowly, you find yourself slipping away, and you find yourself one night with a noose around your neck, and you find you're ready to let go of the ledge, that it's not worth the pain. And so you jump, and, like that, it's over. It's all over. You've lost your life, but you've escaped the pain. And, while it may be selfish…it was worth it.

So, friends, family, everyone who's reading this…I'm sorry. It wasn't your fault, so please don't blame yourself. If I see any of you wherever I end up, I will not be happy. Enjoy your lives, but don't forget me. Thanks for trying or even pretending to try. Maybe it couldn't save me, but maybe it can save someone else. Please, continue on with your lives, and make all your dreams come true. Because YOU are worth it. Just because I wasn't doesn't mean you aren't.

A final goodbye,

Danny Abbot.

Spencer stared, aghast, at the body of one of his closest friends. He couldn't move, he couldn't breathe. Merril broke down in a sob, throwing herself into Spencer's arms and burying her head into his shoulder, soaking the fabric of his shirt with tears. Without realizing it, he let a few tears fall from his own eyes, soaking Merril's curly hair.

Justin continued staring at the letter, barely comprehending it, rereading it over and over, confused, distraught, hurt, and shocked. A new set of footsteps approached, and Justin turned to see Wes hurrily approaching, with David and the Windsor gang close behind him.

Wes skidded to a stop, gasping, as he laid eyes on his close friend's body. Without a word, he sank to the floor and buried his head in his hands. David sank to the floor next to him, placing a hand on his shoulder in an attempt to comfort him.

From wherever he was, Danny peered at them, at his body, at his friends. He felt relieved, albeit saddened to see his friends so hurt. But he knew, without a doubt, it had been the right time to let go.