The door slams as I arrive at my house for the first time in four days. Taking a deep breath, I open my door to hear the sounds of my dogs ecstatic barks, leaping up into my lap and pushing her nose into my ear.

"Hiya, Blue." I smile brightly as happiness radiates off of her, squirming excitedly in my arms.

I had found her on the street as a child and hid her in my room until Jeff ratted me out to my parents. I named her Blue because her eyes were the color of the ocean, her fur charcoal grey with brown patches and white splotches on her paws and chest.

My parents thought she was a show dog who needed to be returned, until a veterinarian told us she had been abused before in her life, which convinced my family to take her in.

Blue loved Hannah, since she always gave her treats and kisses, mostly because her parents wouldn't let her have a dog.

My heart breaks when I see Blue missing her, I've walked in on her tiny paws gently kneading at the jacket that Hannah left behind, which I never got the chance to return.

She would never know why she left.

I look up from stroking Blue's soft, fluffy ears to see the fragile outline of my mother sitting solemnly on the couch. Her eyes are bright with tears and her face is swollen as she turns to me with a gasp of shock.

"Mija!" she sighs, running up to greet and envelope me in a hug.

Sugar yelps and barks at us as we rock back and forth, wrapped together with tears pouring down her eyes. I got a few of my genes from her, with our identical brown eyes and petite bodies, both standing at 5" 1' tall.

My Dad fell in love with my mother when he met her in Mexico on vacation, they instantly fell in love, and learnt each other's languages so they could marry. His parents, being a dominantly white family from the deep South, did not approve of him marrying my mother. We had moved to California after they had kicked my Dad out of their house.

My parents had Jeff two years later, who almost exactly like a male version of our mother, he got her beautiful tan skin and our father's height, clearly winning the gene pool. I had obtained everything from our father when they had me a year after him, with my spattered freckles and light complexion. The red hair that I've grown to hate came from my grandmother, even though I never met her. My mother was always so naturally beautiful, but the only DNA that I shared with her was our deep brown eyes and tiny bodies.

I pull away and hold her shoulders to look at her teary eyes. "I'm so sorry for being late, mamá, what's wrong?" I ask carefully, worried she is going to yell at me for not coming home.

She slaps me lightly on the back of the head with a choked sob. "The news, mija, where have you been?" Her voice is urgent and scared, which makes my heart rapidly pick up and beat with apprehension.

I shake my head and she grabs my hand, patting it in a calming way that she's done since I was four. She leads me to the kitchen where the smells of the warming, familiar food wafts into my nose.

A glance at my Dad's shaking hands confirms the urgency of the situation, and this is where I start to feel real panic.

A phone is shoved into my hands and I recoil from the suddenness of it. The bright screen hurts my eyes and I squint to read the words, emboldened in a glaring headline across the phone in red letters.

I read the article quickly, dread overcoming me with each word.

NBC Los Angeles has received multiple reports that last night at approximately 10:30 p.m., a teenager involved in the controversial Hannah Baker lawsuit against Liberty High School has attempted suicide.

He has been identified by several credible sources as Alex Standall, who we're told was very close with Hannah Baker. He is set to go to court to testify during her lawsuit in two months. Our sources tell us that Alex used his father's gun in his attempt. His father is none other than Deputy Bill Standall, who refused to comment. Alex Standall is currently in critical condition at Evergreen County Hospital.

This tragic event comes right before the Hannah Baker trials are set to begin. Many students have come forward and talked openly about how they feel the school board has not done enough to help the pressing issue of mental health.

"One stupid poster isn't going to stop someone from killing themselves," an anonymous Liberty High student told us. "No one's going to be ready to kill themselves and just change their mind cause a stock photo of a cartoon duck told them not to."

In the light of this tragedy, many parents have pulled their children out of Liberty High School and are demanding change. We are watching the situation closely and urge anyone with any leads or information to contact us at the following hotline.

My vision lingers on the last words, unable to process anything I've read or move my eyes as the sheer weight of what has happened slaps me.

The Standall's and my family had been close friends for as long as I could remember, we had vacationed together and grew up together. Alex and I never talked in school or anywhere outside of our families, but I still saw him as a brother that I hasn't lost.

A hand touches the bottom of my chin and lifts my head up to meet my mothers eyes as I come out of my trance. Her manicured fingers pull themselves away from my face as she takes in my shocked expression.

"¿Estás bien?" she asks me carefully, not used to seeing me like this.

I've always kept up the act of being the strong one in my family, and served as the rock for my parents when Jeff died. Every time I feel upset or out of control, I disappear until I can come back home without breaking down. My parents don't need the added burden of dealing with my emotions on top of everything else.

Her expression turns from a cautious examination to a worried gaze when I do not respond, unable to push any words out of my mouth.

She snaps her fingers at Dad hurriedly. "Aquí, Jim, come here."

Jolting out of his trance at the sound of his name, he jogs over to me and furrows his grey eyebrows at my sad expression. "Belle?" The way he pronounces my name in his drawling Southern accent soothes me.

Each person in my life calls me by something different, it's comforting but also unsettling with each new name.

I shake my head and blink away my tears at the concerned faces of my parents, determined to keep acting strong. Clearing my throat, I retract my head away to hide my face.

"We weren't that close, and he survived so it's all okay. I'm gonna go to bed now. See you in the morning."

I try to smile but it looks more like a grimace. My parents share a worried glance and I shake it off, brushing past them to run up the stairs.

"Belle, talk to us, please." The sound of my mother's voice is high and scared, and I take a deep breath before turning to flash her with a convincing smile.

Her eyes flicker over my face, examining my deep brown eyes and tight lips. "There's nothing to talk about. Everything's fine." My voice sounds foreign and distant, and I turn to run into my room before my parents can say anything else.

I slam the door behind me and crash onto my bed, the rest of the room feeling abstract and weirdly bigger than I remember it.

The night is slowly falling from my pearly white window, with the moon basking the various plants and fairy lights twinkling from the ceiling in a shining silver light. Stars spread a soft glimmer into each corner of the cozy room and reach the dark wood floors, traveling up the stone grey walls.

Pulling off my jeans, I change into athletic shorts and a white sweater, intricately hanging Clay's grey hoodie into my organized closet. After going through my skincare routine, I let my long hair loose and curl up into a ball underneath the fluffy white blankets.

I refuse to let my thoughts consume me and clutch the teddy bear I've had since I was a child, waiting for me on my wood dresser.

The night has fallen completely around me, and exhaustion fills my body as I drift into a comforting sleep, finally sleeping in my bed for the first time in four days.