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Addicted 2 U

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Author's note: This was the most challenging problem that I'd ever battled in high school. It really shed some...  Show full author's note »
Author's note: This was the most challenging problem that I'd ever battled in high school. It really shed some light on who to trust and how important friends and family really are, as well as how hard it is to know who to trust and who not to trust.  « Hide author's note
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This Sick Feeling

Despite my expectations, the sun rose the next morning and I went to school as usual. I told my best friend, whose sister was the Blood, the whole story. Though I didn’t see it at the time, she saved my life. She told me that if I did not tell someone, that she would, and then I would be arrested for withholding information. So I went to the guidance counselor against my will, yet it was the smartest move I could have ever made. I was in over my head. By the end of the day, every single one of the schools’ guidance counselors, my parents, the dean of students, the principal and I were all crammed in a small guidance counselor’s office, listening to the story. I repeated the story many times. They were all eager to hear my story. I was embarrassed and scared. It was hard to admit to so many people my guilty secret that had led me into so much trouble. I was taken home early, and told to speak to no one. Who would I talk to? I barely had any friends anymore. The police were called, and Perrin’s school was called and notified. My father also called a high-ranking criminal investigator. The investigator evaluated the situation, and assumed the whole case phony and dismissed us. I was outraged, and demanded action. I pleaded for them to do something. All contact was cut from anyone involved. I sat in my room in hysterics, laughing in depression despite the gravity of the situation.
While I waited, my parents went through all of my emails, in case the police wanted to read them. I waited while they assessed the emails and their senders. Mom called my name from the next room in a quiet yet alarming tone. I went to her, and she looked at me with sad eyes.
“I think Connor and Ian are the same person,” she said gently. Words cannot fitfully describe the sickening feeling that overtook me. My face flushed, and it felt as if all the air in my lungs was sucked out. My throat tightened and my stomach felt knotted and sick. I stood in shock for a moment, and then began rejecting the idea; denying it in every way.
“No they aren’t. That’s impossible. They have messaged me at the same time before! If it were the same person, I wouldn’t get them at the same time. And I know Noah! I know he is real because I went to camp with him, and he knows both Connor and Ian. Well he knows Connor at least…” After a half hour of convincing proof, thanks to identical PCU ID numbers from the emails received, my mom made me realize the truth.
“Think about it, Mary.” Mom added, “Even the names. ‘Connor Meah’ sounds a lot like ‘con me.’ And ‘Ian Troff?’ ‘Troff’ stands for ‘trace off’ or ‘without a trace.’” It suddenly became glaringly obvious, and then it dawned on me that all Connor’s “friends” I had met online were the same person. They were Noah’s creations. Noah had created “Connor Meah,” “Ian Troff,” and other false screen names, false lives, false stories. I was a foolish victim to dramatic lies and psychopathy.
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