I get out of bed and put the razor back in this not-so-secret house. Has no one ever thought to look under beds and in books? I guess not. People are so stupid. That's why I'm considered clumsy. When the real reason I don't talk much is because people are, like I said before, stupid. I don't like mixing with idiots. But then you could also call me a hypocrite. Because my best friends are all the epitome of idiot. My thoughts begin to wander to the events of yesterday morning. This girl. The one I promised to talk to tried to kill himself. Honey, don't you know you always have to lock the door? She saw me too. She saw me leaning against her apartment complex, the nice brick apartments my mother was going to move into, before she discovered the princess. This is what I call the suicide angel, because I have no idea what his name could be. I bet it's something beautiful, like her. You see, I'm not the most...stable, boy, in this town. I have this thing that I do whenever I like something, or in this case, someone. I have a habit of destroying ...