It was the rope that took her from me, the rope and her own mind. I could have helped, somehow. If only she had talked to me about it, if only. She didn't though; she wasn't that type of girl.
    I was the one who found her, hanging, still twitching. I had frozen. I couldn't move, to make that one movement to get her down. She was gone by the time I did move.
    Seconds later the door behind me was slamming open and her mother was standing next to me, her hands over her mouth and tears already forming in her eyes. She fell to her knees.
                                    ***
    The doorbell rang and I was sent to get it, her mother still couldn't move. We had gotten her down from the cross beam, and she was laying on the floor, her head in her mother's lap, tears pooling on her lifeless face from her mother's tears slowly dripping onto her.
    The police were at the door, ready to ask questions, yet neither her mom nor I were ready to answer any. They pushed into the apartment. They walked into her room. They didn't falter, or even stop to pay respects; they didn't acknowledge her on the floor.
   The next five hours were a blur of questions, none of which I could answer, and all of which they got upset at me for not being able to answer. Eventually, I was sent home, I was "allowed" to grieve, and be alone. This was a mistake.
    It was the rope that took me from this world; it gave me the chance to be with her again. It was that last little piece left hanging, the one that they couldn't remove, that will forever remind this world of me.