Taylor's POV

{2 Months Later...}

"Are you sure you wanna do this?" Veronica, my girlfriend, asked, her brown eyes studying mine. I nodded as I heaved a sigh.

"Yeah," I said with a nod, trying reassure myself that I wanted to this. I got out of the car and studied Hayley's house, memories already flooding my mind. I swallowed the lump in my throat, not sure if it were from sadness or some unknown fear. I pushed it aside as I started to take cardboard boxes out of the car, Veronica helping me.

After Hayley's death, I forced myself to do the impossible. Move on. With knowing someone like Hayley, it was just that to complete such a task. Impossible. I met Veronica about a month after Hayley's passing, trying to force her out of my head. She was dead. She was never coming back. But Veronica reminded me of Hayley, slightly in looks. She had fair skin like the woman I fell in love with, her hair was dyed red, but was longer than Hayley's original short bob cut. The only things that were different about them was their personalities and sense of style. While Hayley was a renegade, Veronica found her hobbies in building things; Hayley always wore a t-shirt with a leather jacket. Veronica wore a lot of flowery shirts with thin cardigans, it matching with its most dominate color.

I couldn't say I loved Veronica. Because, in a way, I didn't. I loved Hayley. I still did.

"So, an old friend, right?" Veronica asked as we walked into Hayley's house, flat boxes under our arms. I nodded.

"Yeah," I said again.

"A chick friend?"

"Yeah. I've known her for... quite a while."

"How long?"

"Since middle school."

"Wow," Veronica huffed. Her ordinary brown eyes widened a little. "So she was a great deal to you, huh?"

"Yeah," I managed to say, feeling tears prick at my eyes again. "One of my best friends."

"What was her name?" I studied Veronica, not sure how to answer her question. I didn't want to say Hayley's name in vain. It was sacred. It was sacred to me.

"H," I said plainly. Veronica rose a brow, puzzled by the title.

"Like... the letter?" I nodded. "Is it short for something?"

"Yeah," I said. "She went by H."

I tore my stare from Veronica and examined the house I was so familiar with. My eyes hitched to the hallway, the space between her bedroom and bathroom. The space where Hayley died. A small cry caught in my throat. I forced it down and covered it with a sigh. I forced my eyes back to Veronica.

"I'll take her bedroom," I said. "You can do the living room or the kitchen. Either one, it doesn't matter."

"Alright," she agreed. "You sure you'll be okay with... her room?" I could see worry in her plain brown eyes, but I also saw a small spark of jealousy in them too. I nodded.

"Yeah, I'll be fine," I said, forcing a smile. Without anymore words, I went into Hayley's room, nostalgia aready messing with me, physically, emotionally, and mentally. I started at her closet and folded her clothes as I put them in the box I had set up. Her familiar scent wafted its way to my nose, the unforgettable scent of cigarettes, whiskey, and vanilla, it all combining in a great smell in its own way.

As I finished with the last of her clothes, I found a pink journal with a red electric guitar printed on the front with spunky, grunge symbols around and on it. I picked it up and tossed it towards her bed, missing it by a few inches. I looked back at the book after it fell to the wooden floor, noticing a folded piece of paper that slipped out of it. It had my last name written on it. York. Only one person had permission to call me by that title; it was Hayley. I squinted at the paper that was still on the floor, recognizing the handwriting. It was Hayley's.

A gasp hitched in my throat. I could feel my heart pounding its way out of my chest, it almost hurt. I picked up the note and unfolded it, my hands shaking. I wasn't sure if it was fear, hope, or adrenaline... but it was a foreign feeling as I began to read the note.

Dear York,

If you're reading this, I'm probably already dead by now. Good. That was the plan.

I love you so much, and you know that. I'm sorry I couldn't live on by your side. And I'm sure you would want to know why, knowing a curious guy like you. Well, I'll answer it. But you'll have to read it, because I can't tell you. (I'm dead, remember? Haha!) There's a lot of things I never got to tell you, in person. Things I've wanted to say and never wanted to say. Also, explaining why I wasn't happy. So, to answer all those questions, I want you to read my journals. Start with the pink one that you found this note in. It's where it all begins. I started writing in that one when I was sixteen. So, I think it's a fair start, noting you know what happened and why I moved to Nashville, et cetera. The others are in a small box in my closet. There's ten journals, counting the pink one.

I have to go, York. But please do remember that I have always loved you. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me. I swear it.

Hayley

I managed to blow a shaky sigh as I folded the note back up. I went into her closet and found the small box she had mentioned in the note. I picked it up and looked inside, finding nine more journals with different designs. It was an ordinary shoe box that held an extraordinary person's life.

"Taylor," I heard Veronica call from the living room. I quickly put the lid back on the box. "Ready to go?"

"Uhh," I stammered, looking at the door, then the box, then the door again. "Yeah!"

"I'll be in the car!"

"Uhh, coming!" I rushed towards Veronica, finding her by the front door. She looked over at the box in my hands.

"What's that?" she asked, nodding towards it. I looked down at it.

"Oh," I huffed. "Just... some small things, like pictures and whatnot."

"You didn't take the clothes?"

"I'm not sure yet," I said. Veronica tilted her head at me, puzzled. "Taking them and selling them, that is. O-Or whatever the plan was."

"You seem anxious. What's up?"

"N-Nothing," I lied. "Just a lot of... memories, you know?" Veronica nodded with a sympathetic smile.

"It'll all be alright," she said as she took my hand, giving it a small squeeze. I managed to give her a small smile before we left towrads the car.