All I have to say, is that I am so, so sorry. I broke away from this story to do other things (namely school and Edward/Alec slash fics) and started to work with this story on occasion as an original one. I recently felt the urge to continue writing this story as a fanfiction, though, so here we are.I hope you enjoy—and in the event that this story has faded from your mind, the essential makeup of it thus far has been Bella complaining about Americans and being relatively stupid about her life choices while Alice is slowly warming up to her because of their art project together.

I feel obliged to leave a warning here about self-harm, as there is a brief scene with it in this chapter. If you feel like this might trigger you, please send me a PM and I can get this chapter to you without that scene. Alternatively, if you choose to read it, please be kind to yourself.

Chapter Six:

Smells Like Teen Spirit

She was getting closer and closer and at first I wasn't sure what she was doing, but then it crashed down on me like the fucking ceiling had just collapsed and I didn't know what to do.

Was she really about to? We were both girls, something I'd never even thought about before. It just didn't make any sense.

But then why, of everything in my life, is this the only thing that has ever truly made any sense?

It just felt right, and I knew that it was supposed to feel wrong, more wrong than anything I have ever done, including sleeping around and swearing, but I just didn't care.

Why wasn't I moving? She was still giving me that look—complete lust and want and need emanating in waves from her. A rational person in my position would move away, but what was my position? It didn't help that I wasn't known for being the most rational person in the room, either.

Fuck, I was so confused, and she was still getting closer, so close that our noses were touching, her hot breath fanning across my face and her hand slowing inching up the outside of my thigh and to my waist. Fuck.

Her stare was intense, burning into me, too much to bear. I needed out, I needed to get away; I needed to feel her kiss me.

The revelation only made me feel more conflicted. Why did I feel this for her? Why? Why not for Aro or anyone else? Why not for her fucking brother, if anyone on this side of the Atlantic?

She was shifting closer, her other hand weaving into my hair and tugging lightly. I needed to make a decision, now.

The choice was made for me, and it was both a relief and disappointing at the same time.

"Bella!"

I jumped and fell off the bed at the sound of Charlie's voice coming up the stairs. I landed with a loud thud, bringing Alice, my would-be kisser, with me. She landed heavily on top of me, and what air hadn't already been knocked out of my lungs by the initial impact whooshed out of me as her body hit mine.

I disentangled myself from her and was up in an instant, running a hand through my hair and pacing across the room, uttering colorful swears under my breath. Charlie rapped on the door.

"Everything okay in there?" he questioned. The door opened, and he took in my slightly ruffled appearance before looking over at Alice. He turned his gaze back to me, giving me the 'father' look that only Charlie was allowed to implement. "I didn't realize you had a guest."

Fortunately, Alice had righted herself and was sitting neatly on the bed, sketchbook in hand.

"Oh, yeah," I said breathlessly, running a hand through my hair again. "Alice is just over so we can finish an Art assignment. You startled me—I wasn't expecting you home this early—and I fell. No worries."

Charlie nodded. "Uh-huh. So, is Alice staying for dinner? It's getting around that time—I can order pizza."

Before I could utter a word on the matter—not entirely sure whether or not I wanted her to stay—Alice answered.

"That would be lovely," she trilled, smiling that damn charming smile. Charlie blinked, stunned, before muttering that he would get pepperoni and shutting the door. His footsteps echoed down the hall as he walked to the telephone.

"Well," Alice said, picking up my math assignment, "what was the problem again?"

The pizza was disgusting, though Alice and Charlie seemed to enjoy it. I decided that Americans would not know what real pizza was if it smacked them right in the face. Next, they would be asking me if I wanted gelato.

I merely grumbled occasionally as Alice and Charlie conversed as if they were old friends. It was almost as if Alice hadn't tried to kiss me while we were sitting on my bed.

I was really, really trying not to think about that. I was already confused as hell, as it was.

Finally, they finished eating, though I don't think Alice did much of the eating. She must have only taken a few bites, at the most, but who was I to judge?

Charlie stood, collecting our used paper plates and napkins, and throwing them away. His eyes flashed to Alice. "It's getting late, would you like me to give you a ride home?"

Alice stood from her chair and brushed down her front, all smiles. "Oh no, Charlie, my car is out front. Thank you for having me for dinner." Since when did she call him Charlie? I must have missed the transition from "Chief Swan" to "Charlie" at some point during our dinner.

Charlie glanced at me while she shuffled to the door to put on her coat, getting out plastic bags for the left-over pizza.

"Wait," I called after her, standing up to follow her into the hall. She had made it all the way to the front door and had turned around to look at me, ready to turn the handle.

What was I doing? I asked myself as she stared at me expectantly. But, no matter how hard I tried, I honestly couldn't send her away in good conscience to a place that I knew was her living hell. I may not have been known back in Italy for having much of a conscience, evident from my total disregard for rules and my indifferent attitude, but what little I did have would not willingly let me send her back there.

"It's late, why don't you stay the night?" Then, before my brain could stop me, "My bed is big enough for both of us."

I lay there staring at the ceiling, Alice's warm, little body resting beside mine. Her soft sighs permeated the air and I could smell her equally delicate scent on my sheets. My mind was wheeling, trying to make sense of what all this meant, unable to simply quiet my mind and fall asleep.

She had tried to kiss me. There was no denying it or manipulating the action so that it could mean anything else.

Kissing usually meant that two people liked each other. Granted, I rarely kissed anyone because I liked them, but the rest of the world most likely did not kiss people in order to get something from them. What could Alice possibly get from me? The only answer my brain seemed capable of coming up with was nothing. I had nothing to offer her and so she stood to gain nothing from me.

So what did this mean? She liked me? Right? This only presented more problems, though, as I came to this conclusion. More questions, some of which I couldn't answer.

I had never thought much about people who were gay. Aro vehemently opposed anything to do with them, was disgusted by the very thought of them, and worked himself into a tizzy each time he was confronted with even the idea of them. Joking was one thing, but if he saw a couple in public, kissing or holding hands, he would sneer—those finochios—and rant later to anyone who would listen about how unnatural it was.

I honestly didn't see his point. Most people I knew in Europe didn't seem to really give a fuck one way or the other. I didn't know about here, in America, because I only knew one person other than Charlie (and even then, I was clueless as to how he felt about most things), but my general knowledge of the topic was that a lot of people opposed it for reasons that ultimately escaped me.

I didn't think anything was wrong with it. I felt embarrassed every time Aro brought it up, not wanting to say anything. If two people loved each other, something that I didn't have, couldn't have, then I was happy for them in my own private, muted way. It didn't matter to me what gender they were. You couldn't force love, no more than you could resist it.

The thought of me with Alice made my breath catch, made my heart pound and my palms damp. I felt hot lying next to her, and the room was stifling despite the brisk air.

The thought of us, two girls, made me feel normal—two people who wanted to be together, who cared for each other.

But the thought of labeling myself, of being called a lesbian, didn't sit well with me, made me feel uncomfortable. Was that what I was?

Sure, I had been with boys, but it never meant anything and I never really enjoyed it. It was what I did, what I was supposed to do.

Why did I have to worry about all this, about labels? Why couldn't I just mind my own business and everyone else theirs? Why couldn't I just be Bella?

Alice was the first person I had ever connected with, the first person who seemed to really like me, for me. It didn't really matter that she was a girl, but it did matter to me that my identity was changing and I didn't know what to do or how to feel about it.

If Alice tried to kiss me again, I would let her, there was no doubt about that in my mind. I wanted her to, I knew that I must, that was the only explanation for the tightening and flip flopping in my stomach, my inability to concentrate when I looked at her.

It seemed so incredibly simple to me, as we were lying there in my bed, side by side, and I thought that it felt… right. We were two people with a connection and that was all that mattered, but outside of this room, things were so much more complicated. I wasn't sure where we were, what this thing between us was, or where it was going to go, but I wasn't comfortable with other people knowing. What we had (whatever this was, not much for sure), it was for us alone, and I didn't want others to… taint it. With their judgment or their support, it didn't matter because I wanted it to be about us and us alone.

I felt so confused. I felt like something was going to change and that something lifted my heart, that feeling of hope. What for, I wasn't sure, but it was was tangible and if I had to base everything we did and didn't have on that feeling alone, I would.

Alice left early the next morning, dragging me out of bed with her at what felt like the crack of dawn and with what should have been an annoying amount of peppiness. My sleep deprived brain scrambled to keep up with her as she essentially rolled me out of bed and half led, half carried me downstairs to the kitchen. Her makeup was somehow perfectly done, as if she had never went to sleep in the first place, her hair's slight fluffiness the only indication that she had been curled up on one of my pillows during the night, while I probably had a serious case of raccoon eyes and my long hair was definitely piled onto one side of my head.

Charlie was about to disappear for the day and we caught him as he was downing the last of his morning coffee. Alice talked him up while I slouched into one of the mismatched chairs, half-asleep.

Alice probably drunk about half of the coffee pot on her own before Charlie had even left through the front door and she proceeded to drink another two cups as I stared out the window, feeling slightly dead. I was willing to bet that I had been the only one up practically all night spazzing about the beautiful girl lying only a foot away from me, but I started to second guess that assumption as I watched her pour the last of the fresh pot of coffee she had made into the gigantic police academy mug in her hand.

Americans and their disgusting watered-down caffeine addiction. They couldn't even have the common decency to care about drinking something better than this swill.

While I was wishing that a good cup of espresso could be found somewhere within the city limits of Forks, Alice was chatting away, although I found myself paying more attention to how she tucked her hair behind her ear and played with the handle of her mug as she talked than to what she was actually saying. I managed to eventually make some toast for us—my sole contribution to the conversation—and I leaned against the counter to eat it, trying to wake myself up a little more. It seemed to work, as I found myself able to actually track what she was saying as she stood and went over to the sink.

"—we'll have to get together tomorrow to finish the project, what time do you think?"

I just gaped at her, eyes wide, wondering why on Earth she had to leave right this second. Was I really that bad of a host?

My prolonged silence prompted her to look up at me from the dishes she was drying. "Bella?"

"You're leaving?" I asked stupidly, following her out into the hallway.

She shrugged on her coat. "I have to check on a few things," she answered, pulling her keys from her pocket and checking her cellphone. She put the phone away and turned to face me. Her lips quirked up into a half-smile. "So, what time tomorrow?"

She was standing awful close to me, it was distracting. I tried to scrape together an answer. "Ah, well, I don't think I'll be able to—"

A sharp knock on the door cut me off and we both turned to look at it.

"Expecting anyone?"

My brows furrowed. "I don't think so."

I crossed the short distance to the door, Alice following behind me. I opened the door a few inches.

"Hey, Bella?"

A tall, dark-skinned boy, maybe a few years younger than me was on the porch, holding my keys. I didn't think I knew him from anywhere, but his face seemed familiar; his high cheekbones and long black hair were striking.

My confusion must have been evident on my face. "You don't remember me."

"Should I?"

"Probably not," he said, offering a small, dimpled smile. His teeth were blindingly white. "You used to play with my sisters when you visited Charlie—I'm Jacob Black. You bought my Dad's truck."

"Oh," I replied, vague memories of when I was five or six—pre-Giorgio—coming to the forefront of my mind. "Jake." I let the door inch open a little further.

He laughed. "Yeah. Well, I was just bringing by the truck, thought I'd say hello and give you the keys myself—I was so glad when Charlie said that he'd take it off our hands, you know—"

His eyes fell on something behind me. My head turned to Alice as he said, "Sorry, I didn't realize you had company—"

"No, I was just leaving," Alice said, squeezing by me to get through the door, backpack in hand. Her expression was unfathomable. "I'll come by tomorrow to finish up."

Then she was jogging down the stairs and out into the rain to the Volvo. She was gone not even a minute later, her abrupt departure sending my thoughts into a whirlwind.

"Well," Jacob breathed, "I better get going, my friend's waiting for me, but it was great seeing you, you should come out to the reservation some time with Charlie, we could catch up."

I wasn't sure what we'd catch up on, I barely spoke English the last time I saw him, but I just nodded and took the keys from him while trying to keep my face in a somewhat normal expression as he waved goodbye and got into an unfamiliar car parked behind my truck in the driveway.

When I shut the door, I allowed my frown to form. I dropped the keys onto the side table and trudged upstairs, too tired to deal with whatever had just happened with Alice that had basically propelled her out the door.

Sleep. Sleep was a good idea.

I collapsed onto my bed and was immediately surrounded by her light floral scent.

I stared at the business card, fingering the edges as I wondered whether or not I should call. The corners had already started to bend and the lettering was slowly wearing off with each time that I ran my fingers over the golden name embossed in the center. I stuffed it into my wallet and tucked it back into my pocket for what must have been the seventh time that day. I knew I needed to call, but the whole idea of asking someone for help, revealing that secret part of my life, was very unappealing to me. I never asked for help, even when I really needed it. I was strong. I was independent.

Unfortunately, I also didn't have the skill set required to fix my current predicament.

The tank top I was wearing bared my arms, and I looked at my reflection in the bathroom mirror again. The gash on my shoulder was not getting better, as I had hoped, and was now most definitely infected. I was surprised that it hadn't started giving me problems earlier, but now that it was I wasn't happy about it. I needed medication and, while that typically wasn't a huge issue (I usually bribed the local pharmacy into giving it to me), I didn't have that kind of buying power here. I also didn't have that much money and I was not about to ask Charlie to give me any.

I sighed and once again pulled out the business card. He was my only chance, and he seemed nice enough when I met him in the hospital.

This time my cell phone came out as well and I must have typed the number in another seven times before I convinced myself to hit send while taking a deep breath.

I could do this. I could do this.

Fuck, I couldn't do this.

I was just about to hang up when the line was answered. "This is Doctor Carlisle Cullen," he said in a crisp voice and a surge of fear pulsed through my body. "Hello?"

"Uh, yes, hello. This is Bella, uh, Swan?" I stuttered, curling up in the corner of the bathroom, feeling vulnerable.

"Oh, hello, Bella. How is your head feeling? Any pain, nausea, trouble sleeping?"

"Um, no, I feel fine," I answered; letting out the breath I had been holding and staring at the cupboard under the sink.

I heard him take a breath and the slam of a door. "What can I help you with, Bella?"

"Um," I stalled, not wanting to ask but knowing I needed to. "I, well, I need your help," I finally said. "I was wondering if, well, I could come by the hospital and, you know…" I trailed off, not really sure what to say.

"Well, I actually just left the hospital," he started and I sighed, hopelessly, "but you can come by my house. I have an office that I can see you in." Sensing my unease, even over the phone, he added, "No one will be there, if that's what you're worried about, and everything will be confidential. May I ask why you need to see me?"

"I don't want to get into it over the phone. When can I come by?" I asked, my voice turning up almost an octave at the end, and I heard Dr. Cullen sigh again.

"Well, I'll be home soon, so why don't you head over now? It'll take you about twenty minutes or so to get here, and I'll give you directions now if you have a piece of paper handy. Do you have your car back now?" Did everyone in town know I was carless? Luckily for me, the truck looked relatively like it did before the van collided with it. It was kind of hard to tell underneath all the rust, so I wasn't sure.

"Uh, yeah, I got it back this morning. What are the directions?" I asked while opening the bathroom door and walking into my bedroom. I pulled out a pad of paper and a pen from the desk, writing down his instructions.

Holy crap, I thought as I drove down the winding dirt road towards Dr. Cullen's house, could he live any farther out in the middle of nowhere? Probably not, I concluded as I finally came around the last bend. I almost gasped as an enormous farm house came into view. It was nothing like I had ever seen before: big, three stories high with lots of windows and a very distinctive appearance to the structure that seemed very strange to me. I pulled around the house, parking behind the garage like Dr. Cullen had told me to. I turned off the truck and just as I reached the back door, Dr. Cullen opened it for me, his bright blond hair perfectly coifed despite his tired eyes. I stood awkwardly on the doorstep for a moment before entering the house, pushing past him and into the hallway.

The house was just as strange on the inside as it was on the outside. We were in a hallway that obviously connected to the front of the house and several large rooms branched off the main hall. The doors were open and allowed me a glimpse inside, each room decorated very differently from the next. The hall was dark, only illuminated by the light coming in through the other rooms. Forest-themed wallpaper covered the walls, all the way up the spiral staircase behind us, where we had entered from a door that looked more like a cupboard than anything else. It seemed very… old, like a house that would have fit in more during the age before electricity than that of computers.

Dr. Cullen led me up the spiral stairs, stopping on the second floor and showing me to a dark wooden door. He opened it for me and gestured for me to enter ahead of him. I stepped in cautiously, even though I highly doubted Dr. Cullen was capable of harming a fly, let alone me.

The room was magnificent, just like the rest of the house. Bookcases lined the wood paneled walls, only broken by tall, floor to ceiling windows in between. A huge desk and high-backed armchair sat at the end of the room that wasn't filled with rows of books, and Dr. Cullen told me to go sit in one of the matching chairs in front of the desk. "This is my office," he explained as he sat on the edge of the desk. I just stood by the chair he had directed me to, preferring to be at eye-level with him.

"Now," he stated with a tone of finality, "what can I do for you, Bella?"

I took a deep breath, readying myself. "I… injured… myself before leaving Italy. I thought it wasn't a big deal until a few days ago, and I feel, em, uncomfortable going to anyone else."

He nodded. "Alright. Let me take a look." He began to push off the desk, but I backed away and gave him a hard look.

"Before I do that, I need to know that you won't…" Damn, why was it so hard to convey my concern to him?

"Bella," he reassured, "As your doctor, I am bound by law to comply with doctor-patient confidentiality." At my unsure expression, he elaborated, "I am not allowed to disclose your medical history unless I feel you are in danger, endangering others, or you say I can."

I nodded, feeling slightly better about the whole situation, but only slightly. I took a deep breath, steeling myself for what I was about to do. I shrugged off my jacket and took a step toward him, discarding the item on the chair and feeling almost naked. He was at my side almost instantly.

"Bella," he said as he placed his cool hands on my arm and pulled me into the light, "how did this happen?"

"I fell into some glass," I stated evenly, trying not to wince as he examined the nasty gash. He raised an eyebrow, but didn't comment.

"This looks infected, how long ago did this happen, again?"

"A few weeks ago. I didn't think it was that bad."

"Bella, by the look of it, it would have needed stitches and it's re-opened a few times."

I hummed in response and he released me to move to his desk, riffling around in one of the drawers and pulling out a large bag. He came back to me and made me sit on a stool next to one of the chairs. He pulled out a pair of gloves, along with various other tools, and proceeded to poke, prod, and stab me repeatedly with a needle for the next half hour, among other things. I couldn't believe how long he worked on my arm, all the while giving me strange looks.

"So, glass?" He asked once again, and I sighed impatiently. I knew it was a flimsy excuse, but did he seriously have to point it out to me? I knew that he knew something out of the norm was going on back in Italy, but did he seriously think I would admit to it?

"Yeah," I replied, giving him an annoyed glare. "Are you done yet?"

He shook his head, seeming amused by my irritation. "Almost. I'm going to write you a prescription to get rid of the infection and I'll schedule an appointment for you at the hospital to check in and have the stitches removed."

I nodded and eventually he stood, disposing of his gloves and picking up a pad of paper. "Um, how much is this going to cost? Because I can't afford a lot and I don't want to involve Charlie."

Dr. Cullen finished writing out the prescription and surprised me by answering, "I'll take care of all costs that aren't covered by your insurance." I stared at him, about to object, but he held up his hand. "Don't worry. Just keep in mind that you deserve to be treated better than that," he explained, nodding toward my arm. I shifted uncomfortably, grabbing my jacket and shrugging it on carefully, trying not to agitate the stitches.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," I responded, and Dr. Cullen shook his head again, handing me the paper, which I promptly folded and put into my jacket pocket.

He led me back down the stairs into the dark high-ceilinged hallway. We were about to round the back side of the stairs to get to the door I'd entered through when the lock on the front door clicked and it swung open.

Light flooded the room and Dr. Cullen immediately stepped in front of me, before I could even realize that he was trying to block the intruder's view of me. He swept his arm back in order to push me behind him entirely when I didn't move right away and I stood there, letting his much larger body conceal mine. I heard the person's footsteps halt as they entered, presumably startled by the unexpected presence at the foot of the stairs.

"Um, I was just looking for Jasper," the person, obviously male judging by the oddly familiar voice, stuttered. "He said he would meet me here."

"He's not here right now," Dr. Cullen responded, pushing me farther behind him and entirely out of the person's line of vision. His voice wasn't necessarily cold, but it definitely conveyed the idea that the man needed to go now. "You are welcome to wait here for him, but I'm working right now, so you can't stay here."

Dr. Cullen was just tall enough that if I leaned slightly to the side, I could see a sliver of the person in front of him through the space between his arm and chest without revealing myself. I was too curious for my own good, and anyone else would have probably just stayed put, but I recognized that voice from somewhere and I needed to know who it belonged to. I leaned slightly to the left and ducked a little, moving more and more to the side as I scanned the room from my limited vantage point. My eyes widened as I saw the familiar red hair and pale skin of none other than Edward Masen.

What the hell was he doing here? I mean, he was looking for Jasper? Why the hell would he be looking for Jasper here? And, well, I knew that they hung out together, but I had never seen them interact much with each other at school.

Edward interrupted my train of thought as he answered, his voice hesitant as he tried to decide what to do. "Uh, okay, I'll just, you know, wait in the kitchen?" Dr. Cullen must have given him some sort of signal that was the wrong answer, because he hastily added, "Or, um, on second thought, I'll just go upstairs." He then proceeded to flee up to the second level, and then beyond it to the third floor. Neither of us moved until we heard the distant sound of a door slamming.

Dr. Cullen sighed and visibly relaxed, turning to me. "Okay, well, I'll show you to your car. You can get that prescription filled at the drug store in town, and I already wrote a note on it telling them what account to charge it to. Make sure to put Neosporin on it regularly and change the bandage at least three times a day." He guided me to the back door and opened it for me. I was almost to my truck when he called my name.

"Oh, and Bella?" I turned around to face him. "Remember that if you need any help, or someone to talk to, I'm here, as well as my wife."

I nodded, thanking him briefly before getting into the cab and buckling myself in. He closed the door as I backed out from behind the garage and headed toward the highway, my head still reeling with questions. Why was Edward there? Was it possible that Dr. Cullen was helping him when he needed it as well? But then why would he be waiting for Jasper? And what exactly was Jasper's connection to Dr. Cullen?

I knew there was really only one way these questions could be answered without directly confronting them, and with how small this town was, it was very likely I would have them almost completely answered.

"Dad?" I asked as we poked at the breaded fish we were having for dinner. Well, I poked. Charlie shoveled.

"Yeah?" he grumbled, putting down his fork so that he could drink some of his beer.

"What do you know about Dr. Cullen?"

"Why?" He asked, putting down the can and looking me in the eye.

"I was just curious. I ran into him today at the store and he seemed like a nice guy."

"Oh, well," he huffed, "he's nice enough. Probably one of the best doctors in town. He and his wife do a lot of volunteer work in the surrounding towns in their spare time, you know, when they aren't taking care of their kids."

"Oh, yeah, his wife is a social worker, right?" I added nonchalantly, hoping to get more out of him. It worked.

"Yes, very kind people. They've taken in foster kids over the years and adopted some of them, just sent one away to college a few years ago, I think."

I nodded, taking a sip of my water and putting a little food in my mouth. I pretended to chew thoughtfully for a few seconds, before asking, "Do they take in a lot of kids?"

Charlie nodded, taking a large bite of fish before speaking. "Yeah, but they only have one right now. Good people to do what they do. The world needs more like them."

I mumbled my assent, finishing my food quickly and washing my plate before excusing myself and heading upstairs.

Alice never came over the next day. I tried to call her, but it went to voicemail and so I assumed that this was more of the weirdness from yesterday morning. I spent the rest of the day trying to actually do some of the massive amounts of reading I'd been assigned and attempting to not think about her pale green eyes—and mostly failing.

Seeing as I had my truck back, I texted Alice that night to let her know that I wouldn't need a ride the next morning. When I woke up to the foggy grey light filtering into my room, she still hadn't texted back, which I thought was rather strange since she always messaged me in return, even if it was just a smiley face. Granted, I had only had her number for less than a week, but she had messaged me a few times and I felt like we had slipped into a pattern. I tried to shrug it off and ate an apple before I left for school and started the drive along the empty highway.

Once at school, I parked and hurried up to the overhang to get out of the rain, my collar pulled up against the wind. I spotted Alice at her locker and I sidled up next to her, sending a shy smile her way as I opened my locker door.

My mouth almost fell open as she slammed her locker shut and stomped away, but not before sending me a deadly look that clearly said, Don't look at me, don't talk to me, don't even fucking think about me.

What the fuck was this shit? She ate at my house, spent the night in my bed, and nearly kissed me. What the fuck was that?

I stomped after her, forgetting about my textbooks and grabbed her arm. She twisted out of it, pushing me back and getting up in my face. "Don't fucking touch me," she hissed, pushing me again.

"What the fuck?" I replied heatedly, looming over her. Our height difference was quite evident when we were this close. "What the fuck, Alice?"

"What?" she said as she stepped back, apparently not liking that I was starting to get defensive. "What do you want from me, Swan?"

I stepped back, shock and hurt playing across my face quickly before I shoved it away. "So that's how it is, then? So we're going to pretend that you weren't at my house, that you didn't try—"

Alice cut me off with a shove and I felt myself being knocked back into the row of lockers behind me. The kids milling around us scattered, realizing we were about to get into it. "Shut up," she snarled. "Nothing happened. Leave me the fuck alone, Swan."

I looked down at our chests, which were almost touching, and she hastily backed away. "Stay away from me, Swan."

I pushed away from the lockers and clenched my fists angrily. "Fuck you, Alice. Fuck you. I don't know what the fuck your problem is, but leave me the hell out of it."

"Alice?" A new voice interjected, and I turned to glance at him, but Alice's eyes stayed trained on me. Jasper and Edward stood a little ways away, looking at us curiously. Jasper's icy eyes met mine, and there was no mistaking the hostility he felt toward me for anything else. Why the fuck did everyone seem to hate me all the sudden? I looked back at the angry girl only a couple feet from me. "Is there a problem?"

"No," Alice answered, glaring at me. Her darkly rimmed orbs looked especially creepy today, what with the glower she was sending my way. "We're done here." She turned, hitting me with her shoulder as she passed and flipping me the bird. I think I could have killed her in that moment.

I whipped around and headed in the opposite direction, seething. A few stragglers were standing at the end of the hall, and I feigned a lunge at them as I passed, wanting to see something, someone, feel as uncomfortable as I was right then. Their startled jump gave me a brief feeling of satisfaction and they fled down the hall, away from me. I wiped furiously at my eyes, hating myself for crying. I hadn't cried in a long time and not over something so stupid. So stupid.

I banged the door to the bathroom open, leaning against it, and let out a small gasp as my heart clenched painfully. Why? Why did she do this to me?

It was stupid and ridiculous and just plain infuriating. Why was I so upset over some stupid little girl? She didn't matter anyway.

I punched the wall, not even caring that the tile fucking hurt. I needed a distraction.

I reached into my pocket, fingering the knife in it for a while before pulling it out and flipping it open. The silver of the blade flashed under the fluorescent lighting and I sighed.

The first cut was hard, but as I saw the blood well up and bead on my skin the rushing feeling of adrenaline flooded my veins and made the next ones easier. Soon the crimson fluid was more than just a few prickling drops here or there and I relaxed against the door as I felt my frustration fade. I was still upset, but I felt more in control now and I walked over to the sink, washing the blade and drying it before replacing it in my jacket pocket.

I waited until the cuts had clotted before rinsing off my forearm and tapping it dry with a paper towel. I pulled my sleeve back down, taking a deep breath, and opened the bathroom door. The sight of the school school principal met me as I walked out of the bathroom and I cursed internally. Seriously? Couldn't I catch a break? Just one?

"Miss Swan," he greeted, pursing his lips. "What a lovely surprise." His tone indicated that it really wasn't. "Your first period teacher marked you absent. I thought you weren't at school today."

"Yeah, well," I replied sarcastically, "I'm here now, so I'll just be on my way." I tried to duck around him, but his hand clamped on my bad shoulder and I tensed, gritting my teeth. "Don't touch me," I snarled, pulling away and facing him.

"Miss Swan, I think we should go to my office—"

"And I really think I should be on my way."

"Not so fast," he said while stepping in front of me as I tried to move around him. "To my office, now."

Fuck my life.

They had called Charlie at the Police Station and told him his daughter had been caught ditching, which was totally not true. As if they cared. If they listened to my side of the story, it would have been a miracle.

They let me go in time for third period, but the damage was already done. I would probably get a talk from Charlie when he got home and I was not in the fucking mood for that.

I was forced to change for gym, despite the fact that I couldn't participate and I had a note saying that I was not to participate due to medical reasons. I really wanted to punch the teacher, but restrained myself because that would have just been the cherry on top of the shit that happened to be my life today.

I sat down on the bleachers, my sweats covering my wounds and helping to hide my distress from the rest of the world. I really needed a smoke.

It wasn't even five minutes later that Alice pelted me with a tennis ball 'accidently.' I glared, but she didn't seem to notice and I moved farther away from the matches, not feeling like getting hit again. I wanted to sulk in relative peace.

I changed in the bathroom stall afterwards and then went back to my gym locker. Alice found an excuse to bump into me again, and I desperately wanted to slap her, but held back myself back. Instead, I gathered my crap hastily and went to my table in the cafeteria, pulling out my sketch book and opening it, intending to start drawing something angry.

I came face to face with my rendition of Alice. Her ghostly grey-green eyes stared at me, innocent, and I yanked it out of the spiral, ripping it in half and crumpling the pieces. I tossed them onto the table top and stared at them forlornly.

Alice and her posse walked in at that moment and I followed her progress to their normal table, wishing that she would sit next to me, but knowing that she wouldn't.

She laughed at something Jasper said as she sat down and suddenly I couldn't stand the emotions that were swelling in my chest, a different kind of pain than I was used to. I snagged my bag from the chair next to me and left swiftly, shoving the door to the lunch room open and rounding the building, stopping at the place where I usually had my afternoon cigarette.

I pulled out the flattened pack, stuck one in between my lips and struck a match to light it. I inhaled deeply and waved the match out, flicking it away. As the smoke escaped my lungs, I felt a racking sob take hold, and before I knew it I was sitting on the cold concrete, sobbing hysterically, the smoldering cigarette dangling uselessly between my index and middle fingers.

I mean, one day she was trying to kiss me and I was trying to rationalize it all, and the next she was pretending all of that had never happened? What had I possibly done to her? Did our budding friendship really mean that little to her?

I tried to convince myself that it was my own fault for caring in the first place, that I should have known better. I angrily stubbed out the end of my cigarette, using the heel of my palm to wipe away my tears. I took one, two, three deep breaths and then jolted up off the ground. I needed to get it together.

We turned in our art assignments—I used a sketch I'd done awhile back because that was normal—and she sat at the other side of the room.

Days went by and it was like nothing had ever happened. Maybe that was the way it should have been, but I kept catching myself staring in her direction during lunch, when I couldn't distract myself from her existence; my chest would become all tight and I would have to tear myself away and sit down behind the building to have a smoke.

It was another week before I really saw her at all outside of class, excluding the painful lunch sessions where she sat all the way across the room, pretending with Jasper and Edward that she had never spent time with me while they were gone. That we had never had that art project, she had never almost kissed me, and she had never slept over.

And, while I was inhaling through the cancer stick, the inexplicable sadness would start to fade, disappearing for just a little while, and I would start to feel pissed again. I would refuse to subject myself to another of my little crying fests and then fail to pull through on my promise to myself.

I had started to let someone in—I had trusted her—and she had hurt me. I felt like I might not be able to recover from that, even though I knew I should.

Socratic what?

Everyone shuffled around, moving the desks so that a large circle was in the middle of the room and people started setting up chairs within it.

"Alright class, settle down and grab a seat. We are going to start our discussion on King Lear. Any thoughts?"

I groaned internally. Why? Why would the teacher do this to me? It wasn't enough that I had to write a ten page paper on the damn thing, but now I had to talk about it? Couldn't the stupid book just fucking burn already?

It was silent for an agonizingly long thirty seconds, during which I was praying that the teacher wouldn't call on me. Please, no. If there is anyone out there listening, don't do this to me—

"Bella?"

I lurched in my chair, coming out of the slouching position almost painfully fast. Oh, God no. Please, no, don't do this to me. I promise I'll stop swearing, and drinking, and maybe even smoking, so long as I don't have to do this.

The class snickered as I flushed bright red and shifted uncomfortably in my seat. "Uh, yes?" I mumbled, trying to ignore my classmate's chuckles at my accent. My hands fidgeted with the zipper on my jacket. I felt so uncomfortable.

"Why don't you help us start?" It sounded like a question, but the teacher's face told me otherwise.

"Um…" All eyes were on me and I was desperately trying to translate the book from Italian to English in my head and find something to say about the damned thing other than 'it fucking sucked.'

"Ah, there is a definite theme of, ah, betrayal… throughout the book," I began, and the teacher nodded, obviously wanting more. "Lear feels betrayed by Cordelia, Kent, and many other characters throughout the play."

I was about to say more when I was cut off by a smooth, sharp voice. Our eyes met across the room and she glared as she said, "But don't you think Lear had it coming?" All eyes turned to Alice as she challenged me, and I flushed again, not so much embarrassed anymore, but mad. What was she trying to say?

"Well, maybe, but Lear didn't comprehend that actions mean more than words—"

"Yes," she interrupted, "but that doesn't excuse his actions. While he probably couldn't help being a fucking moron—" the teacher tisked, but Alice just kept going "—that doesn't mean that he can't be held accountable for his actions."

The class's collective sets of eyes bounced back and forth between us, as if following an imaginary ping-pong ball. Neither of us ever spoke much in class, and never to each other. "Well, yes, but I feel that Lear was very naïve and did not realize the consequences of his actions."

"Oh, I think he did," Alice interjected, narrowing her eyes at me. "I think he knew exactly what he was doing."

What the hell? Why was she attacking me? What the hell was she trying to say? My eyes widened in realization as it dawned on me what she was implying; the reason why she has so violently rejected me, why everyone was so angry with me. I opened my mouth to—I don't know what. Deny it? It was true. Defend myself? Was there any defense for behavior like that?

I was on the edge of my chair, my hands gripping the sides, but the teacher cut me off, saying loudly and almost a little desperately, "Okay, does someone else want to add anything?"

I slumped back into my chair as some eager little know-it-all started talking and I tried to make eye contact with Alice, but she stubbornly avoided my gaze. At last, she looked at me, eyes accusatory and burning holes into me. I tried to convey to her that I didn't mean to hurt her, that it was before we started to become friends, but her eyes sent a clear message: I hate you.

I bit my lip to stop the angry tears I felt welling behind my eyes from falling.

I skipped lunch, not wanting to face any of them, not just Alice. Now that I knew what caused the three of them to hate me so much and so suddenly, I couldn't stand the idea of them looking at me. What I had done with Edward was shameful, yes, more so because I was forming a friendship with his sister. Jasper had obviously taken their side because he was their friend. The question that made me so livid, though, was why they weren't angry with Edward in the least? I mean, sure, I seduced him, but really. I wasn't the only one to blame here.

I sighed. There was no use in thinking about all this. I just needed to get back to Italy and everything would be okay again. I just had to wait it out.

I leaned against a wall at the back of the school, deciding that now was an excellent time for my afternoon smoke. I had a lighter today, so I pulled it out and lit the cigarette quickly, inhaling deeply and replacing the lighter in my jacket pocket. I let out the smoke slowly, watching the tendrils of grey being ripped apart by the wind. I looked back down at my shoes, continuing to smoke for a little longer. When the first cigarette was finished, I flicked it away and lit a new one, bringing it away from my lips as I exhaled heavily.

"Ya know, smokin' can cause cancer."

I looked up, first seeing the worn cowboy boots and then the holey jeans and flannel shirt of the person who had snuck up on me. I growled as I saw the shaggy, honey colored hair and blue eyes of the speaker.

"Well, you're boyfriend smokes too, does that bother you?" I jibed, hoping to get a rise out of him by insinuating that he was gay. It didn't seem to bother him in the least.

"No, it doesn't. In fact," he stepped closer, causing me to tense and scowl, but he didn't stop. He was almost toe to toe with me, my back against the wall with nowhere to go. He was starting to make me nervous, but I tried not to let it show. "I enjoy the occasional cig." His fingers brushed mine as he took the dangling cigarette from me and brought it to his lips, blowing the smoke at me and lowering his hand. His knees nudged mine and I squirmed underneath his icy stare. "This was how ya seduced Edward, right?

His southern accent was screwing with me and I glared to cover up how much I struggled to understand him. "What the fuck do you want from me, Jasper?"

"Oh, not much," he responded nonchalantly, taking another drag from my cigarette. "Trust me; ya ain't got nothing that I wanna have." His eyes scanned my skinny body. "Nope, not a thang."

I shoved him away from me, moving past him and growling angrily to myself. If he was going to be like that he could just go to hell.

"Bella?" he called after me, his obnoxious accent mangling my name into something that sounded like shit. I whirled around to face him, glaring. "What?" I snapped, gesturing violently at him.

"I have somethin' of yers."

What?

"What?"

"Yeah," he said, shrugging and taking another drag. I tapped my foot impatiently as he blew out the smoke and dug into his back pocket with the hand that wasn't holding the cigarette. "I think this belongs ta ya, seeing as I don't think anyone else would have this on their person."

I darted toward him, reaching for the folded up papers, but he held them high above my head. "Uh-uh, I don't think so, they're mine now." I snarled at him, punching him in the chest. "Ouch, that hurt," he mocked, not lowering the papers within my reach. "Back up or you'll never get ta see 'em." I did as I was told, despite how inferior it made me feel. Why did I have to be so damn curious? But, whatever it was, if it was mine then I didn't want him to have it in his grubby American hands.

He dropped the smoldering cigarette and crushed it with the heel of his boot. I could see the hint of a devious smirk turning the corners of his lips up, and I narrowed my eyes. "Just fucking show me already, or the next time I hit you it will mess up your pretty little face."

"So impatient," he teased, slowly unfolding the well-creased papers and holding them up so that he could look at it one more time. He turned the two pieces around and I gasped, frozen for only a millisecond before I was jumping at him.

"Give that back!" I shouted, lunging for the papers, but he just held them up again, impervious to the blows I landed on him with my fists. "Give it to me!"

Jasper released a low chuckle, waving the objects of my desire over his head. "No, I don't think so," he managed in between guffaws. "I rather like the idea of holdin' on ta these. I mean, I don't like Alice like that, but this does seem like great leverage—"

"What the fuck do you want?!" I spat, giving up and taking a step back. "Sex? Drugs? What?"

"Oh, I've already told ya that ya have nothin' that I want," he smiled, still holding the papers out of my reach. "I do, however, love makin' ya uncomfortable, which I know ya will be so long as I have these." He waved them around for emphasis. "I just thought I would let ya know that I have 'em, seein' as it makes everythin' so much more fun. A little vindictive pleasure, ya know."

I really, really wanted to kick him into next week, but restrained myself, barely. "Fuck you," I muttered angrily. "What do you think you can do with that picture? It means nothing."

"Oh, really?" he asked, looking me in the eye. "Ya see, I think it does mean somethin' ta ya, or else ya wouldn't have ripped it up and thrown it away. Ya wouldn't have been so angry when Alice rejected ya unless ya cared. And, finally, ya wouldn't have slept with Edward if ya didn't care about making Alice like ya, as twisted as that was. So, I have good reason ta think that it would matter to ya, quite a bit, if I were ta, uh, slip, and let this be seen by other people, includin' Alice. It might just encourage her ta dislike ya even more, and we wouldn't want that, would we?"

Oh, I could tell that he would very much like that, but I just glared at him and snarled, "You wouldn't."

"But do ya know that for sure? Keep in mind, I've really enjoyed this little encounter and wouldn't mind havin' another one sometime in the future. I like watchin' ya squirm."

With that, he tucked the papers into his pocket and sauntered away. I could almost see the wide, toothy grin on his face, and it irked me to no end. My life couldn't get any shittier, at this point, it was simply impossible.

I was scampering out of my American Government classroom, having retaken a quiz that I had failed last week. The teacher was pretty understanding once he had realized that all I knew about their government was that George Washington was the first president and that Barrack Obama was the current one, knowledge mostly gained through the over-saturation of American politics in international media.

I was passing the auditorium on my way to the parking lot when I heard it.

Solemn piano notes drifted hypnotically through the air, depressing and heart-wrenching and just beautiful.

Never before in my life had I heard something so perfect. It made me want to cry from its sheer soulfulness.

Unconsciously, I started to drift toward the sound, coming from a small room at the back of the building. When I came to the door, which was propped open, I just stood there for awhile, absorbing the wondrous sounds emanating from the little, forgotten room. I could feel the emotions pouring out of the player, whoever it was. It was bewitching.

I just had to know who was playing. Upon my life, I just had to know. I would surely die if I could not see the face of the musician who played such awe-inspiring notes, such gut-wrenching and soul-feeding music.

I crept to the crack in the door, just wide enough for one eye to peak through.

The figure on the bench was facing away from me, swaying with the music, pale, thin fingers pressing the keys with deliberate slowness and intent.

The hands moved gracefully from one end of the piano to the other, flowing so smoothly that I thought I would weep from the magnificence of it.

And yet, even from here, from this little slit of space between the door and the frame, I knew who it was without a doubt.

Alice's small figure was perched daintily upon the seat, straight and proud, and I wondered just how long she had been playing. I never knew she liked anything other the rock music she played in her car, nor did I know she was more than just artistically gifted. The door shifted open a little farther; I basked in the sound of her music.

Her hands froze upon the keys and, almost as if she sensed me watching, she said robotically, "Beethoven, Piano Sonata Number 14 in C-Sharp Minor." Then, in a soft whisper, "More commonly known as Moonlight Sonata."

I stood there, stunned. "It's beautiful." You're beautiful. And she was. Having turned around to look at me—and she had a full view, seeing as the door had nudged itself even farther open—I could see her more plainly with both my eyes, and what a sight she was.

Her hair was slightly askew with the fervor with which she had been playing, eyes bright, but sad. And as I shifted closer, into the room, I saw tears on her cheeks, dark black trails marking where they had fallen, marring her beautiful face. It was a sad piece, but surely those tears were from something more. She didn't even seem to realize that they were there; she didn't wipe at her face, but simply stared at me.

"My mother taught it to me."

I nodded, moving closer and closer, and before I knew it my knees were pressing up against the back of the bench and I was looking down upon her like she was some fallen angel and I was a goddess, come to save her from her plunge.

"I haven't played properly in years," she confessed, gazing up into my eyes with something akin to admiration in them.

"Oh?" I questioned, my brow furrowing. "Why now?"

She stared at my eyes and, it seemed, into my soul, as if the answer would be there. And then she was gripping the edges of my jacket and pulling me to her, and her lips were upon mine, furious, as she pulled me closer still, until I was sitting backwards on the bench and she was moving to get closer, shifting onto my lap before I knew it and pressing me into the piano.

Notes clashed almost painfully, but it didn't matter anymore as she kissed me, molding her body to mine, her pert breasts pressing against mine, her warmth surrounding me as she tried to pull me closer still. And then her tongue slipped into my mouth and I moaned from the sheer rightness of it, how perfect it seemed. I couldn't get enough of her, her scent filling my brain in delicious swirls of sweet pea and honey and something purely and simply Alice.

I was dizzy beyond belief, and I knew I needed to breath, but I couldn't stop kissing her and touching her and being her. Where she ended and I began was a blurry line that I could no longer distinguish. My hand slid up her hip to her small, shapely little waist, and I clung to her, shifting her closer. Her denim-clad legs wrapped around my hips, and she pulled me forward off the piano so as to push my jacket off, revealing my worn, scarred arms to the world. She pulled away from my lips only to bring hers to one of my arms, kissing the marks upon them almost reverently, as if she could make them all better.

I leaned against the piano, relishing in the strange, but pleasant sensation of her lips placing light, feather-like kisses upon my skin. The keys jumbled again, and I didn't care. When she reached the stitched up wound on my arm, she ran her fingers along it, gently so as to not agitate the reddened skin.

She brought her forehead to mine and our eyes met, both of us breathing heavily. Her hand ran up my other arm, sending goose bumps rippling through my body. It was all so intimate and foreign, despite the familiarity of our position. There was something about her that made this like nothing else I had ever experienced.

"There's something very special about you that I can't put my finger on." Her whisper seemed loud in the vacant room.

"Yes," I whispered back, bewildered by what I was feeling. Everything I had been raised to believe was coming into question and I felt so confused and scared at the possibility that the world was not what I thought it was, but something entirely different with rules that contradicted everything I knew. "Everything I know says this is wrong, that this shouldn't be, but nothing has ever felt so right."