My name is Bella. I have a secret - deep, dark and incomprehensible. It is one possession of mine which I loathe completely, and one which I swear I will never reveal to anyone. My eyes. Never peer into them. Never peek, look or gaze into my eyes. Why? You may ask. If you do I will know, just like that, the date you will die.

I haven't always been this way. When I was a young girl, what I thought were random numbers would flash across my mind's eye. I didn't understand it. One situation. One heart-ripping event changed this inability to comprehend the random numbers appearing. For years I had looked into my friend's eyes and seen a number, then on the same date this number was, my friend died. It was from this day forward I understood them to be death dates. My innerness longed to remove myself from this abnormality of living. I struggled against it for so long. But I eventually came to terms with this 'power' of mine, and was forced into an abstract existence of dread and misery.

I stared at the pavement as I shuffled along, numb to the world. I stared at the pavement, studying it's every intricacy, desperately willing myself not to look up. This is what my day-to-day life consisted of. I knew the moment I looked up from anything below eye-level, that I was going to catch someone's glance and in that very second BAM! 09.26.11. I shuddered and carried on staring at the pavement.

"Are you okay?" asked Charlie, peering at me curiously.

I nodded quickly, keeping my eyes glued steadfastly on that pavement. I knew Charlie would suspect otherwise, and the awkwardness that followed began to set in.

I try to focus on his voice - anything other than my own insanity. He had insisted on giving me a tour around the town before school started up on Monday.

I raise my eyes just the slightest, and realize we've approached a building with rather a plain exterior.

"This is the library," Charlie extends his arm towards the frumpy building, "I know it's kind of small, but I don't doubt you will be spending copious amounts of time here," he says with a chuckle.

I nod my head quickly again. I feel the quiet tug of guilt at my heart, because I know he's trying to spark a conversation with me. But I'm so utterly exhausted. So exhausted.

I'd travelled alone on the airplane, and it forced me to look up and acknowledge my surroundings. Seeing so many numbers in a single day tired me out emotionally. I was weary. Looking downwards in the chaotic environment of the airport was not an option, and if it had been, was certainly not a good idea. In an attempt to avoid people's eyes, I bumped into so many people that it resulted in my body evolving into one big bruise.

Charlie's voice snapped me back to the future. "…here's the Café that I used to take you to when you were much younger. Would you like to grab a bit to eat? I'm sure there are people who would love to see how much you've grown," he smiles, eagerness spread on his face.

This was going to be a long day.

The second I arrived back at Charlie's house, I dashed straight to my room. I really ought to be calling it 'home' now.

I retrieve my mobile phone from the unmade bed. Eight missed calls. Damn, this spells bad news. Somehow, I just knew it was my mother. Her voice messages conveyed raw concern, and worry, despite the fact I assured her that the chances of the airplane crashing were extremely low. I knew she worried about me. I could tell she was losing sleep again, and I hoped to God that Paul was looking after her as he always had.

I called my mother and struggled to make conversation for half an hour. My patience, my will was wearing thin. I faked fatigue, and as always, she bought into it and insisted I get some sleep. I was not about to argue.

Although exhaustion was tearing at every part of me by now, I knew sleep was far from me, and as is my custom, I went through the daily routine of saying all the numbers I'd seen that day. Every date. Every single death date. 07.26.11, 05.01.10, 09.07.13, 05…