Every day I saw him, the boy in the back of my math class. I didn't know who he was. No one did, really. He was always alone. He never talked to anyone, he always kept his head down, and he always dressed in long, dark clothes, even when it was practically 90 degrees out. The boy was a mystery, and I was determined to figure him out.

 One day, at the end of class, I walked towards the corner of the room where he sat. I had never said a word to this boy, but I didn't care.

"Hello," I said to him as I approached his desk. He looked up at me briefly, and for the first time ever, I saw his eyes. They were the most gorgeous shade of blue I had ever seen. They were such a contrast to his dark black hair.

"Hi," he said, as he looked back down at his paper. He was drawing something, but I couldn't tell what it was.

"I realized I've never actually talked to you before, my name's Taylor," I said as I stuck my hand out.

He shook it tentatively and said "Jason."

Just then, the bell rang. "Nice to meet you, Jason," I said as I walked away. 

Throughout the next week, I went to see him every day, at the end of math class. He was always drawing. He was a fantastic artist, but he never said much. It took me 3 days to get him to give me his number. I texted him that night, and we talked about small things, like school and art. I texted him every night after that, just to talk about random things. We started becoming closer friends, and I learned things about him. He didn't really have any other friends, his parents fought all the time, and he loved music, even more than art. The last part was something we had in common. 

About a month and a half after I met Jason, he invited me over to his house to study with him. When I got there, he was home alone. He didn't know where his parents were, or when they would get back. He said this was normal for them. We sat on his bed and studied math for a while. At one point, the sleeve on his shirt slid up just a little, and I finally understood why he always dressed the way he did. I gasped lightly, and grabbed his wrist. He tried to pull away.

"It's nothing," he said, "just let me go." I felt tears in my eyes, and I looked up and saw his face had gone expressionless, almost like a mask.

"Jason..." I said, as I pulled him into a hug.

"I'm sorry," he said as he tentatively wrapped his arms around me.

We stayed that way for what felt like forever, me supporting him while he silently let out all of the pent-up emotions he'd been keeping to himself. Eventually he pulled back.

"Please talk to me," I begged. And he did. He told me about his family, and how 'always fighting' was no exaggeration. His parents were alcoholics with anger issues. He literally had no friends. He had just moved from Chicago, where he was bullied constantly. Here, he was just ignored, which can sometimes be worse than the bullying, according to him. At least there, people knew he existed. I felt terrible for him. I didn't know what to say, so I settled for hugs. Hugs and a promise.

"Jason," I said. He looked up at me. "Swear to me you won't do this anymore," I said, gently grabbing his wrist. "Talk to me instead. Tell me what's bothering you, instead of resorting to this. I'll make you a promise, too. I promise I'll always be here for you."

He closed his eyes for a moment. "I promise," he said. 

Jason and I hung out all the time. We became best friends. We were practically inseparable. Still, though, no one else would really talk to him a lot. It didn't bother him as much, anymore. He kept his promise. He started wearing short sleeves, after the scars healed up and disappeared. He started seeming happier. His life seemed better. And I was happier. This lasted a about 7 months. Then, it all went downhill. 

I still don't know exactly how it happened. It wasn't sudden. He didn't just randomly pull out of my life one day. No, it was a slow and gradual process. I barely noticed it at first. It started with him not texting me as much each night. Then he began not texting me for entire days at a time. He canceled a few of our study sessions. It seemed like he just had less to say to me. He was slowly shutting me out. The biggest clue that he was reverting back to his old ways was when he showed up to school in a long sleeve shirt, and it was 80 degrees out. My heart broke. I wanted to talk to him, badly. It had been three days since he'd returned one of my texts when I figured I should try talking to him. I started to walk over to his corner in math when one of my friends grabbed my arm and pulled me into her group to join their conversation. The bell rang, and I never got to talk to him. I decided that enough was enough, and I needed to find out what was wrong. I planned to go over to his house later that night. 

I stood in front of Jason's front door. I knocked, and waited for about a minute before he opened the door. "Hey," I said.

"Hi," he said.

"Are your parents home tonight?" I asked him. He shook his head and pulled open the door all the way so I could walk in. We stopped just behind the door, and stood there staring at each other.

"What's going on?" I asked him finally.

He looked down and replied "Nothing."

 "Don't lie to me," I said, "I know something is wrong. You've stopped talking to me. We used to hang out nonstop, and now I can barely get you to answer my texts. So what's going on?"

 He looked up at me, his eyes glassy and distant looking. "Nothing's going on, everything's fine. Don't worry about me," he said.

"No, everything's not fine. And I am worried about you, because you've started doing this again," I said as I grabbed his wrist. I didn't look down. I didn't need to. I knew what I'd find.

 He pulled away. "I need to get out of here," he said slowly and carefully, as if he was measuring his words. "I need to leave. I can't stand this place anymore. I need to get away from everyone and everything here. I'm leaving tonight."

I looked at him, shocked. I didn't want him to leave. I wanted him to stay and be my best friend again. I wanted to help him work through his problems. But I could see that those weren't options anymore. He was set on getting out. "Alright," I said, a tear rolling down my face. "I'm gonna miss you so much."

He pulled me into a hug, and said "Thank you for being here for me these past few months. You don't know how much that meant to me. Always remember that I love you."

I cried a little more. "I love you, too," I whispered into his shoulder.

He pulled back. "You should go now. I'm leaving soon," he said. I wiped the tears from my face and smiled.

"Write me letters from wherever you're going."

He looked down. "I don't think..." He trailed off. "Alright, I will," he said quietly. He looked pained. I felt terrible as he opened the front door again, and I walked out.

"Goodbye, Jason."

 "Goodbye, Taylor," he said as he leaned forward and kissed my cheek. I turned around and started to walk away. I glanced over my shoulder for one last look at him. 

That was the last time I ever saw him. That was the last time anyone ever saw him. When a story came on the news the next night about a teenage boy from our school who'd committed suicide, I didn't put it together at first. I figured Jason would be long gone, cities away by that point. Apparently, I’d misinterpreted what he meant when he said he was "leaving", and he "needed to get away". The news hit me hard. I stared at the TV in shock for a minute, then fell to my knees and began sobbing uncontrollably. I couldn't believe it. He was gone, for real. I was the last one who ever saw him. 

But then again, I was the only one who ever really saw him to begin with.