Does anyone else talk to themselves? ):

I feel like writing an emo story. :DDDDDDDDD Ironically, there's tuition tomorrow, which is COOL.

She wept insanely, tears running down the cheeks he used to laugh at for perpetually being a shade of pink, no matter what she was doing. Her petite size seemed to shrink smaller as she tried to catch her breath in between the sobs that seemed to snatch her breath away from her. Till his last breath he still insisted on thinking of her. Guilt washed over her as she tried to take back everything she had said to him that day.
"Oh get lost, you don't mean it," She snapped at him. The raindrops splattered rhythmically onto the ground around the bus stop they were currently under. She claimed that he had ratted her out. He was the only person who knew about her dirty habit, anyway, and he was always against it. "Square block," she used to tease him.
He was always concerned about her. She had many horrible habits and constantly threw tantrums, but he didn't mind. Everything she ever said or did to him simply washed over him, and he always managed to return her sunny smile, no matter what mood he was in. "That smile of yours in contagious," he used to say, grinning as he thought of her smile, lighting up her face. But that only happened when she was in a good mood. Her emotions crashed down when she thought of things that made her stressed, like studying. She didn't believe much in herself, and hung out with bad company. Soon she took up drinking. Ever since she always carried a bottle of alcohol with her if she was in a foul mood. He tried to stop her plenty of times, saying it could cause her trouble one day, but it only served to annoy her further.
She knew it was a horrible habit. She knew she had to stop. She knew it wasn't going to help her situation. She grew up in a single-parent home, but her mother never seemed to care about her much, being an alcoholic herself. She reasoned that since her only parent was doing it, it didn't seem as if drinking was that bad an idea, but he convinced her. She then realised the bottle of alcohol she took back every day was killing her. She knew all that but she couldn't stop, and when she wanted to stop and failed, it just got on her nerves even more, and he was constantly her sand-bag.
He wanted to do something to help the girl. She was a nice person when she was normal, and he missed the smile that was on her face every day. Ever since she fell into bad company, that smile was a rare occurrence. They used to laugh about songs with stupid names, or heard someone say a phrase started singing a song with that phrase in it. That happened quite often, and people used to tell them to join a competition. Not only were their actions hilarious, but they had great voices, too. When people passed without looking, they assumed that the deeper voice was the guy's voice, but they were quite often wrong. When they were singing, he always had the higher voice. People said he was gay, but it sounded nice and that's all they really cared about. He missed those days and didn't mind even if he had to get laughed at for being gay three hundred and eighty-seven times repeatedly if he could see that smile everyday again.
She knew it was time to stop, and on that day she decided to tell him about her decision, she was caught by some teachers, who gave her a huge lecture about drinking, and their source was an anonymous student, who didn't like her drinking. She made the connection between the anonymous student and him, and rained accusatory invectives on him. He on the other hand failed to convince her it wasn't him, though he was proud to know she wanted to quit.
He, hearing what she had to say and realising that he could never make his point, walked out of the bus stop. It rained harder. The raindrops fell ruthlessly, pelting onto his back. There were a few reasons that he walked out, and the main reason was that he didn't want to let her see him, pathetically letting his tears fall out of his eyes. I'm a guy, he reasoned, and I'm trying over a stupid accusatory comment that isn't true. How embarrassing. But deep inside he knew she wouldn't mind him weeping all over the front of his shirt, but he didn't want her to know that she was wrong. He wanted her to think that it was him who did it, if it could make her feel better, if it could stop her from trying to find out who did it, if it could keep her out of trouble. He walked on, not expecting what would come next.
She folded her arms, knowing that she was right. Who else would keep her from drinking? Who else knew? Suddenly, her classmate tapped her on her shoulder, wanting to say hi. When she saw her furious face, she asked if she had already found out that her class chairperson had ratted her out for drinking. Shocked, she turned to her classmate. It turned out that the chairperson had smelt alcohol on her, and worried, went to report it to the teachers, hoping it would help her. She decided to take revenge on her chairperson later, and look for him now. He hadn't gone very long, and she decided that if she ran, she could keep up with him. Anyway, she was one of the top five runners in track and he wasn't much of a runner.
She was right; he hadn't gone far. She spotted him crossing the road, and she waved frantically to him, but he wasn't looking. She ran towards him, although the light was blinking. He stopped in shock as the light turned red and a car zoomed straight at her. He pushed her out of the way to the other side, both of them landing in a heap on the floor, completely unharmed except for a few bruises. He stood up and swept the dirt off his shirt, asking what was up. She pushed him in a playful way, and asked him why he didn't tell her it wasn't his fault. He grinned and they continued to cross the zebra crossing.
She saw it first. The red car which hit him and sent him flying then zoomed down the road. Passers-by gasped in shock, and some frantically whipped out hand phones or paper to get the details of the car down. She was crying now, her tears falling onto his arm. She knelt beside him, as he looked at her, saying something slowly; something important. She couldn't quite make out the words, but as she tried hard, she heard words she would never forget in her life.
"Tell... Tell my mom this isn't your fault. This isn't... your fault. Remember... It’s... It’s not your fault."

Whoa. 1181 words. OO:
I am neither emo nor sad, I just felt like writing an emo story. YES IT'S HORRIBLE, I'M SORRY. But I'm no Su, so you can't expect much from me.