There was a time when I was alone. But it is not like I was physically alone; there were many people around me but, still, it was not enough. I felt mentally alone, no matter how many people would be at that part. There was something inside me, something so empty, something that kept eating and eating my soul, bit by bit. Every second was getting worse and worse. I couldn't make it stop. I couldn't make it go away. What am I supposed to do? That was the question that got into my mind, but even if I tried my best, there was no answer, there will never be a clear answer...

And this murdering feeling started the summer after my second year of high school. The first day of summer, what could go wrong? At least that’s what I thought. My friend picked me up at my house, we drove on a red car, all the way to the party (that one party that all the typical cool kids want to go to) It was a good 45 min drive. Jamming out songs from the 90s, I and my friend had a good time, by the time we got to the party, many people were already there. The loud music with all those sound waves was the first thing you could feel from miles away. I and my friend got off the car after we parked it at this sketchy place. We approached the door and the first thing I saw was the tons of red cups on top of this long table. I grabbed one and by the time I turned around to grab another one for my friend, she was gone. Probably she found her boyfriend. I thought it was gonna be a long night, by myself at this place which seems crazy but fun party. Many handsome guys and pretty girls, all around dancing. After realizing how much fun they were having, I joined their craziness as well, after all, it was summer.

I could never imagine what was going to happen that night. When I was dancing, I let the music take over my movements, my body, everything. It felt so good but so wrong at the same time. My heels could not let me be, so I slowly got out of the crowd and tried to find my way to a bathroom. I opened every interesting door in that house, there were so many teenagers “having fun” that I couldn't interrupt anything. I started doubting if coming to this party was a good idea, my feet were killing me. I almost fell going upstairs, but this very attractive guy, catch me. I felt embarrassed but after he looked at me with those hazel eyes and laughed when I was holding on his muscular arm, I felt a little less embarrassed. “I finally found someone sober,” I said. He asked where I was going, I told him I tried to look for the bathroom to take a time off because my shoes were killing me. He was very nice and told me where the bathroom was. I gave him a smile, as a thank you. He grabbed my hand and gave me this little paper, I thought it was his phone number and the ‘old trick’ guys use for us, girls to call them. Then, before I could even say anything, it seemed like had seen a ghost, he turned pale, and he left. I did not bother asking for his name, I did not bother opening that tiny paper he had given me. I didn't give importance to what had happened. I ran to the bathroom upstairs. I closed the door, I looked it and while I was taking my heel off my sweaty shoe, I heard a gunshot. One... two... I ran up to one of the windows and the only thing I remember was; that guy. The guy that hold me before I fell down the stairs. Him. He had been shot by this older man with a mask. I felt my heart falling apart, I felt how every single part of my body was in pain; a pain I've never felt before. I still had the little paper he had put in my palm, I unrolled it and with such a poor handwriting the little note read: “the man is here, please.”