One of Us Is Dead

by Jeneva Rose

I no longer know who I am, because sometimes we become strangers to even ourselves.

“No, don’t say that. You are not responsible for the way other people act, including the ones you love.” Crystal reached across the table and squeezed my hand.

but sometimes you become the person you hate the most.

Life was funny that way. Living in Buckhead was like a roller-coaster ride. You’d wait in line for a very long time, and then finally, you were in. You were on the ride of a lifetime. But this ride wasn’t consistent. It was ever-changing. Sometimes you’d scream. Sometimes you’d be sick to your stomach. Sometimes you’d beg the operator to stop the ride, so you could get off.

We go through life searching for a sense of belonging, of connection, and so often we are disappointed.

I spent my teenage years reading romance novels, believing in a fairy-tale version of love that never quite came to pass for me.

She didn’t need to say the last word to have the last word.

Buckhead was complicated, intricate, like a spider’s web—so beautiful to look at, but so easy to get entangled in. Only the spiders knew how to navigate the web without getting stuck.