People talk about me like I’m a riddle they’re trying to solve. Like if they stare hard enough, they’ll figure out why I don’t fit the stupid arse St. Bernard’s mold. They whisper and stare. It’s pathetic, really.

 

Even more now since everything happened. Ya, okay, my friend killed himself. Can we just move on?

 

It's like all people want to talk about. And it’s getting annoying. I don’t need your pity, your curiosity, or your Catholic-wanna-be concern.  

 

Don’t pray for me. I’m fine.

.

I miss him. But it’s whatever, you know. Anyways. I don’t want to think about it anymore.

 

I have a meeting in a bit with Father Williams. I’m tired of these meetings. It’s always the same questions. And, I know he’s going to ask about Timothy.

 

At least, I guess, it’s not about the fight anymore. I am so bloody exhausted of this place, honestly. I'm so fucking tired.