Sitting on the blue carpet of her bedroom, I watch her straighten her curly brown hair, paying no attention to me whatsoever. She used to ask me for my advice and my opinion. She use to take them, listen and appreciate them too. Now all she does is talk to her “friends” who don’t know what’s best, to the worthless guys who take advantage and don’t really care. (I assume, without meaning to they control her life when it should be she that is controlling it.) “Oh hook-up with that guy, he’s so hot,” they say. Or, “Try this pill; it’s freakin’ mind blowing, trust us.” I don’t know why she thinks they are worth it.

This lifestyle isn’t good; I yell at her to stop, but she won’t let my voice in her head. I think all of the ugly, useless piercings and barbells in her ears stop the common sense from hitting whatever brain cells she still has left. But what do I know? There is nothing I can do. I just stand alone, and yet am always beside her. I try to protect her, but she just looks right past and doesn’t see me; she doesn’t even try.

These people, these guys, none of them ever cared for her. Maybe only a handful liked her for who she really is, the girl that I know best. She told me she was scared of being hurt again and again… and again. It’s happened too many times to count so she just pushed the good ones away, afraid of accepting them.

She is the girl who is supposed to be wild, crazy, and outgoing. She stands tall and on her own; a leader, not a follower. She is not supposed to care what people think of her, if she is the most fashionable or if she has enough boy “options” and “experience”. And yet the girl I see here, well, her only concern is if her hair comes out perfectly straight.

I look into her deep brown eyes, trying to get her attention. I can feel what pain she feels and when someone breaks her heart, mine crumbles into pieces and falls apart too. We cry the same tears.

A little clear tear droplet starts to form in the corners of her eyes; I can feel them running down my cheek. I notice something different, something that was gone but I guess it came back. I think she sees and actually remembers that I’m here and never even left. Her tear drop falls into the hot metal of the flat iron, making a little sizzling sound that is almost as quiet as a falling pin.

I watch her and she watches me. She looks to the mirror and directly into my eyes. While I see the tears flow gently down her face, I know she is ready to listen.