Part One

The Mysterious Man with the Deep Voice

The coffee shop five minutes from school was a classic if you were seeking early-morning caffeine, trying to wake yourself up for the day ahead, or even if you just wanted some peace and quiet.

When I opened the door, the bell on top jingled, alerting the employees of a new customer. I instantly became encompassed in the intense smell of coffee beans. The environment warm and welcoming. I stepped up to the counter to order my usual coffee the way I liked it: black.

For some reason, the tradition of getting a simple coffee with nothing added in it had begun last semester during finals week. I had been in a rush one morning to get to my algebra exam, an exam that I had stupidly forgotten to study for until the night of, calling for a much-needed all-nighter. So you could say I desperately needed the caffeine to wake me up to avoid falling asleep during the test. All I had time for was a plain coffee, nothing else. And not to mention, the absence of creamer would give me even more of a caffeine boost. Since then, I had become addicted to the bitter taste of black coffee.

I took a seat at one of the circular tables and pulled out my laptop, set on getting my homework done. We had the entire summer, and knowing me, I had procrastinated until the day before I had to go back to school. It wasn't like I had an excuse for not getting my homework done, like going back home to Maryland to visit my family, because I hadn't done that. I spent the entirety of the summer in Ann Arbor, rarely even leaving school grounds. I spent most of my days lying in bed binging Netflix series rather than doing anything productive with my time.

"Black coffee?" A deep, male voice asked from beside me.

I looked over to identify the person who was so interested in my drink of choice, noticing a man, probably in his early 20's with messy brown hair and a clean-shaven face. His pink-tinted lips were pursed and plump, and he looked like he could have been a model, but he was too unkempt for that.

"You need to spice it up. You always order that," the man said.

"How do you know that?" I asked, trying not to be too skeptical. Although, it mildly freaked me out that this random man knew my order.

"I'm here every Sunday morning, and you always order the same thing," He stated. "It can't even be that good. Black coffee? Talk about bitter." He wrinkled his nose and took a sip of his own drink.

"I'm sorry, but I didn't exactly come here to be judged by some random stalker," I retorted, which made him laugh. "But since you insist on interrupting my morning, how would you suggest I 'spice it up'?"

"Cinnamon latte," the man said, taking a sip and raising his cup of coffee in the air. "It's way better than what you get."

I rolled my eyes. "I doubt it."

The man spoke one last time. "Don't knock it till you try it, stranger." He threw in a seductive wink which took me by surprise, and I felt my heart flutter a bit ... Sheesh. The mysterious man with the deep voice then stood up and left. I couldn't stop myself from watching him as he left the coffee shop, getting in his hideously damaged white sedan and driving away. But the image of the man was still imprinted in my mind: He was likely the most handsome man I had ever seen, close to perfect features and all. I admit that I was oddly attracted to him. I shook my head and brushed off the thought. He was just some random weirdo, anyway. I opened up my laptop, ignoring the sudden urge to get up and order a cinnamon latte.

Over my dead body.

After around 6 hours of finishing homework, I headed back to my school: a boarding school called Arbor Coast High in Michigan, also known as the place my parents sent me from Maryland because they could no longer stand having me around. So why did they send me away, you ask?

Them sending me away had nothing to do with me being troubled (I actually hadn't been troubled in the least bit) and everything to do with the fact that I was depressed. Ever since my brother had killed himself early before my freshman year, I had fallen into a deep abyss where I met a devilish man who shook my hand, telling me that his name was Depression. I was unable to dig myself out of said abyss, being held down by Depression. And let me tell you what I know about my experience: Depression is one persistent son of a bitch. I couldn't fight it, but my parents thought otherwise.

In fact, my parents were convinced that my depression was nothing more than a phase. Even despite my actual diagnosis of clinical depression by an actual doctor, they still didn't believe it. To them, me saying that I was depressed was just an excuse to slack off in school or run off and do drugs. The fact that they thought that only made me turn to drugs even more. But once I got caught getting high with some random druggie in the school alleyway, my parents finally decided they were done dealing with me.So they sent me away to Ann Arbor, Michigan, which had the only boarding school they actually approved of that also offered programs for teens suffering from depression and other mental illnesses. No, it wasn't a school just for the mentally ill teens of the world. It was a normal school with specialized programs to help mentally unstable teens. I had been assigned to one that specially dealt with people who were depressed and needed help coping.

So, packing practically everything I owned up in my car, I moved nearly 800 miles away to Ann Arbor. And I had been here since halfway through my freshman year. And now, I was entering my junior year. Upon being enrolled in Arbor Coast, I was assigned to a school counselor, Mrs. Tate. Other than having bi-weekly appointments with her, I had been taking specific pills for my depression and practicing coping techniques recommended by Mrs. Tate. Although, last year in my second term, I stopped seeing her because things were better. In fact, everything was much better. I found a way to deal with things, and I even started to become more social. Being social, for me, was a rather new breakthrough.

Back in Maryland, it's not like I was that kid, you know? The one who sits alone and ignores every single person because they hate everyone. I just didn't have friends, and that was because I had always focused either my schoolwork or my brother's problems (which he had a lot of, as he was even more clinically depressed than I'd ever been). In fact, it was mostly my brother's problems I turned my attention towards. Whenever he needed someone, I was there. I basically sacrificed my social life for the idea that my brother could live a day longer. And it all seemed like it was worth it until he ended his life. Only then did I realize how much my efforts to make sure he was doing better never really mattered.

He had been a ticking-time-bomb: an incredibly sad guy living off of only borrowed time. And he could only borrow so much before his limit would be reached.

West was the first person to talk to me when I walked into Arbor Coast my first day. Picture this: a 6'1" guy with a fairly nice build (not buff or ripped or anything, but healthy), hair dyed an ombre silver-black to keep up with the latest trends, and eyes the color of the sky. His bubbly personality was beyond infectious. There was no way to be unhappy around West because of his constant high-energy. He was always down for a good time, and practically dragged me along with him in all of his ventures.

Ever since the first day he introduced himself to me, he had been a friendly face around campus. And as time went on, he became a close friend, in fact, my only friend. Throughout freshman and sophomore year, he was the only person there for me (besides Mrs. Tate) who I could talk to about my crippling depression. He would help me and stop me from doing things I would most likely regret later on.

For the most part, life was better. And this year I had mostly conquered the depression, although still taking my meds. But West and I's friendship was exactly what I needed. We focused on the positive things, and we went to parties and had fun like regular teenagers. Fun that I had never experienced before. And that was precisely why I needed him. West was always there for me through all of the highs and lows of my fight against Depression. He would take my mind off of everything that had me down, and endorse anything that made me happy. He was the ultimate friend.

I was there for him too. When he had started dating this college guy, Jason, earlier this year, I was there for him. I would listen to him for hours on end as he walked me through the rollercoaster that was their relationship.

I could come to only one conclusion: Jason was rather confusing. He could be a complete and utter asshole; whether it was blowing up on West, getting in big fights, or just ignoring him for days or even weeks on end. Sometimes he could leave West hanging for weeks, not even bothering to send him a text. Other times, Jason could be a really sweet guy, taking West on dates and saying the nicest things. No matter the scenario, I was there to listen to West ramble on and on about the college guy I'd never met.

It was our pact that we would always be at each other's sides, even if it was hard.West and I had agreed on the fact that this year would be the year of realizing stuff ("In the words of the great Kylie Jenner," West said when we had decided the fact, earning him an incredible eye roll). We had also agreed that this year would be the craziest and best year of our lives.

And I was sure at least one of those statements would be true.

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