Quick note!

This story is a part of a series with several parts. Here are the parts listed in chronological order (not the order they were published in).

Heart Of A Child (one-shot; complete)

Reflections/Wonderwall (are companions, can be read in either order. Multi-chapter; complete)

Better Than Me (one-shot; complete)

Invincible (multi-chapter; incomplete)

Happy reading, my beloveds!

I felt slightly exhausted from driving all day but I was determined to reach my destination. Though, why I was determined to reach Amity Park, I couldn't quite tell you. Perhaps it was because I was sick of the inside of my car, and even Amity Park was preferable to spending another hour driving. Yet, as I took the road toward the town, I was starting rethink that statement.

I had thought that I would be able to distance myself from what had occurred here. I thought that I could be the dutiful daughter – for once in my life, anyhow – and return home for the month of August to see my parents. After all, I would be heading to university in a matter of weeks and, though my high school experience was less than great (to say the least), the fact of the matter was that I am a very nostalgic person and the whole 'it's a new chapter' line actually got to me. I thought a lot of things as I packed up my life in New Orleans and prepared to return to Amity.

As it turned out, none of those things were true.

In New Orleans, I had a life. I had friends. I finally had the life that I had often envied. I hadn't been completely able to forget what had happened in Amity Park, but I had come close. There had been moments, right as I woke from sleep but before I opened my eyes, I had completely forgotten. I forgot that my heart was broken; I forgot that for months now, every breath had ached and I didn't anticipate it stopping any time soon. I forgot that wonderful night – the only one in my life where I had felt truly loved, truly safe – followed by the most horrible one I had ever experienced.

And, considering my experiences, I was truly saying something.

I shook my head. I was not in Amity to dwell – though I knew myself well enough to be aware that was exactly what I would end up doing – I was in Amity to reconnect with my parents and bridge the gap I had created between us just over a year ago. It was hard – despite the fact that I was their offspring, I couldn't be more different from the two of them – but we were doing better. Before I had returned to New Orleans several months ago, my mother and I had a functioning relationship and my father and I had found a mutual understanding.

I took the road that skirted the town rather than the road that cut through it. Though the drive through Amity was faster, it also passed by Fenton Works. I wasn't quite ready to throw myself face to face with that particular memory – having it on constant repeat in my head was enough pain, thank you very much.

And suddenly, I was looking at my house. I parked my car and was seized by the urge to run inside and wrap my arms around my parents. I often took on a mature role, and though I liked to think of myself as able to handle things, the fact of the matter was that I had just turned 18. I was still young; still a child. And I could be 110 years of age – that didn't make me any less of a child to them; didn't make me any less their child.

I had just opened my car door when my mother appeared at the front door. She looked like she always did: her blonde hair was perfectly styled, piled on her head in a classic look; her make-up was perfectly applied (she'd been wearing the same red lipstick since I was a child – I couldn't imagine her without it); and a bright skirt suit, topped off with high heels.

"Sammy!" She shrieked. "Sammy, baby."

I was so happy to see her again that I was willing to overlook the fact that she had called me Sammy.

"Mother," I breathed, hurtling out of the car and into her open arms.

It's funny. You don't realize how much you miss someone until they're right in front of you. I had texted, called, e-mailed, video chatted, and used almost every other means of electronic communication to talk to her while I was gone and I hadn't thought I'd missed her. But there is nothing in this world that can replace a mother's arms around you; the smell of the perfume you grew up with; even the annoying childhood nicknames that still make you frustrated.

"I missed you, baby," she cooed, rocking me back and forth.

"I missed you, too."

I looked up from over Mother's shoulders as I heard approaching footsteps. Dad was looking at me, holding his arms open slightly. I swallowed. My father and I hadn't had the best relationship before I moved to New Orleans but, somehow, we were managing to patch things up. I felt like my father was finally accepting me for the person I was, and not for the person he had always thought of me as being.

"Hi, Sam, welcome home," Dad greeted.

"Dad," I replied, giving him a swift hug.

Mother wrapped her arm around my shoulders. "I know it's late, baby, but I was wondering if you were hungry."

"Yeah, a little," I nodded. "I didn't really want to stop for anything."

"Car keys," Dad prompted before Mother could say anything else, "I'll get your bags."

I dropped my keys into his palm.

Mother resumed speaking, "Well I made up some wraps for you, anticipating such a thing. I even put extra mushrooms on them – just the way you like it!"

"Thanks," I murmured, suppressing a yawn.

"It was my pleasure," Mother beamed and steered me into the kitchen.

(-.-)

I stared up at the ceiling of my old bedroom. I tried not to think about who I had last been with in this room; who else had lain beside me in this bed, chilled arms cuddling and holding me close. It, however, was proving impossible to keep my thoughts from steering in that direction.

I closed my eyes and his face immediately appeared to me. Snow white hair; gleaming green eyes; gloved hands pulling me toward him; pale lips that spoke 'I love you' which turned out to be nothing but empty words. And with that, the face changed. Black hair; blue eyes of ice; hands wrapped around the waist of a beauty queen; pale lips that hurled insults at me like daggers.

Two faces; one person.

I still couldn't wrap my head around it but I couldn't deny the truth, or the pain, of Daniel Fenton's dual lives.

I reached for my cell phone, bringing up a new message.

Me: Hey, are you up?

I didn't have to wait long for Tucker's reply.

Tucker: No rest for the wicked I'm afraid.

Me: wicked hmm? Am I interrupting something? ;)

Tucker: Gross! No!

Me: why is that gross?

Tucker: …cause

Me: I'm missing something

Tucker: cause of who I'm with. I don't swing that way

Me: Fair enough

Tucker: so why are you up at nearly 2 in the morning?

Me: No rest for the wicked

Tucker: Touché

Me: but really, it's so weird being here again

Tucker: oh. Are you back now?

Me: uh yeah. Got here like 2 hours ago.

Tucker: oooh yeah I bet it's weird

Me: totally

Tucker: can I ask u something?

Me: you just did

Tucker: can I do so without you getting mad?

Me: should I be worried?

Tucker: it's a free country

Me: just ask

Tucker: …..I have never asked you about Danny.

My heart caught in my throat as I stared at my phone. No, Tucker had never asked me about Fenton/Phantom. I'd thought it was because Tucker understood that I didn't want to talk about it; that just thinking about him (though I never could free my mind from him) hurt. I thought Tucker understood that I was in pain and that's why he never asked. But I couldn't blame him for being curious; he and Fenton were best friends. I had no doubt that Tucker knew Fenton's side. And, if I were to talk to anyone about this, it would have to be Tucker – there was no one else in this world that would know what I was talking about.

And besides, talking was supposed to make it better, right?

Me: that's not a question

Tucker: do you hate him?

Me: Yes

Tucker: harsh

Me: he deserves it

Tucker: not arguing there. He's an ass

Me: amen

Tucker: will you ever forgive him?

Something clicked right there. When I had first texted Tucker, he wouldn't tell me who he was with. And now, after months of talking, he suddenly wanted to discuss my feelings toward Fenton? I was suspicious.

Me: are you with him?

Tucker: yes

Me: k

Tucker: that doesn't mean we can't text if you want to.

Me: no. I should go to bed.

Tucker: if you ever want to talk I will listen

Me: I really don't. I just want to forget he exists.

Tucker: I don't blame you.

I turned off my phone, placing it on my bedside table. My heart was hammering in my chest, like I had just decided to run a marathon. That was the closest I had been to talking to Fenton in months. I didn't want him to have any kind of effect on me, but I couldn't deny that he did. He probably always would.

I punched my pillow in a fit of rage. I was angry. How dare he still be able to play on my emotions? How dare even his name make me flinch? And how dare he ask (because I knew with certainty those questions weren't coming directly from Tucker) if I would ever forgive him?

He didn't deserve forgiveness. He never would.

You can't forgive the first person to shatter your heart.

I'd been hurt before. There was no way in hell that I could deny being hurt before. When I had first met Phantom (or, you know, Fenton in disguise) my heart had been cracked and wounded in certain places, but I hadn't been broken. I had hit rock bottom and had, somehow, managed to pick myself back up. I had been to the breaking point and had been able to back myself away from the cliff. I had been healing and then he had the audacity to promise he loved me; to promise he would be there for me.

I guess I had the audacity to believe him.

And then he tore it away. He turned around – his soft green eyes that I adored – flipping to a terrible shade of blue. The shade of blue that belong to Daniel Fenton, who had been tearing me down since I had met him; Daniel Fenton, golden boy of Casper school and superstar boyfriend of Paullina Sanchez – my main female tormentor at that school. Together, with their entourage, they had made my life at Casper miserable. I hated Fenton and he hated me in return.

But it turned out the Phantom who loved me and the Fenton who tortured me were the same person.

And after that had been revealed, I hadn't been the same.

I took my comforter from my bed and went out onto my balcony. I wrapped the blanket around me and settled back against the wall of my house. I stared at the night sky and let my mind wander. I went back to a year ago, just as we were moving into this house. I had been ready for my new beginning; ready to keep my head down and invisible as I finished my last year of high school and moved onto the rest of my life.

I posed this question to myself: if I had known what was coming – who was lying in wait for me – would I still have gone into Casper High?

It was a question I didn't want to answer.

Oh! And if someone wonderful would like to draw a pic for this story, I would be extremely grateful. Maybe Sam's silhouette or something?

I don't own anything recognizable. Thanks to my betas: forever sky.

~TLL~