My hands clutch at my teddy bear, pulling it close to me as if it would disappear if I would ever dare to let go. I don't want to ever let go, not even bothering to try and halt the tears dropping occasionally from my tired brown eyes.

The betrayal of my fathers smoking still hits me like a punch in the gut. The last time that I caught him, I had cried and cried for hours on end, talking endlessly about how much it had hurt me that he would endanger himself like this. All I had ever heard since the second grade was how terrible for a person it was to smoke.

It had broken me when I found out he was doing it, and he had promised to never do it again. He gave me his word. But he didn't care about his word. I've convinced myself that to him, I was a child and had no ability to tell him what he could or could not do, and I was stupid for thinking I had the right to.

But still, I can't get the broken-hearted glint in his watery blue eyes out of my head. He didn't care about my feelings, so why should I care about his?

I'm home alone since both of my parents are still at the hospital. They can stay there, for all I care. I think bitterly. Maybe then Dad will actually feel remorse.

I shake my head. No, that's a terrible thing to think. You're an awful human being for thinking that.

Another tear rises to my eye and I clutch my teddy bear closer.

You are a terrible excuse for a person. You should not be trusted around other people. You will break them. Just like Hannah, and just like your Dad.

My hands are beginning to shake and I launch myself out of bed, still clutching my teddy bear as I rush to my mirror, staring into my reflection with no real purpose. As I stare into the glass, the familiar buzz of my phone shifts my attention away and I lunge for it, desperate for a distraction.

Maybe I am a terrible person, I think to myself as I immediately began to type back.

There was a brief pause where I could see the little bubble of text flickering on and off before Max finally responded.

A few letters shine on the screen; the beginning of the sentence, "I'm okay," but then I pause, frozen with my thumb suspended over the phone screen.

What do I say to this? I'm not okay, I shouldn't lie, but this is Max we're talking about. Should I trust him?

My mind briefly thinks about Clay, that I should be confiding in him, but I'm overpowered by the image of the blonde, more athletic boy. How infuriatingly gorgeous he is, with his soft, straw-colored hair and athletic build. Collarbones and a frustratingly sharp jawline. I hate myself for seeing his confusing mix of green and blue in his eyes instead of Clay's icy gaze.

If I were to hook up with Max, would it really be all that bad? Sure, there would be drama, but when was there not drama?

Besides, Clay should have expected this from me. I'm a terrible person, remember?

I feel nothing but intense, raging love when I picture Clay's eyes, so strong that it sometimes scares me. Then I remember how I hurt my father by being angry with him, how I will never deserve a boy like Clay, and maybe stupidly hot Max will prove that.

I picture the curvature of Max's jaw, the confusing swirl of color in his eyes, and find myself typing.

Clay doesn't deserve this. He's so bright and selfless, he would give me the world if I asked for it, carve the moon out of the sky and hand it to me if I ever dared to ask him to.

He doesn't deserve a terrible person like me. He's worth so much more. I am worth so much less.

If I'm already such a terrible human being for being angry with my father, then this is just further proof that I'm exactly who I thought I was. Unremarkable yet evil, weak yet vindictive, selfless yet also selfish all at once.

Maybe this will prove it to Clay.

Maybe now he can finally start to realize how lowly he should think of me.

How much I deserve to be treated like nothing.