Everyone took his side. Because Mark’s story added up and mine didn’t. Because he was sane, and I was labeled a sick child. Because Gerard Gibson wouldn’t help me. I couldn’t be sure of a lot in life — I always had trouble distinguishing dreams from reality — but I knew one thing for absolute certain. It wouldn’t matter what I did or said about that night. Nobody was going to take my side. Nobody was going to believe me. They never had and never would. So why bother trying? Why bother caring? Why bother breathing?
I hate it here :'(
