You aren't really sure what you expected when your mother called you into her office. But it certainly was not this.

"Alexandria," she says as you walk in- head bowed, eyes glued to the floor. She nods towards the chair in front of her desk and you make sure to sit as quickly as you can. Talking to your mother has always been more like a business transaction than a loving and caring relationship between daughter and mother. The less personal the better. And you figure that probably has to do with the fact that both of your parents are the CEOs to one of the biggest companies in the world and they simply don't have time to shut off that business mode they get into. Which is fine. It really is.

You've gotten used to it. There has been more than one occasion where they have asked you what you think of the economy before they realized you were still only seven years old with mud on your jeans and food staining your face and had no idea what the hell they were talking about. But still they would stare expectantly at you until you said something and that usually ended with a disappointed sigh or an extremely long winded discussion about someone named Dow Jones. Honestly, you had no idea and tended to tune it out. At least that is what Gustus always told you to do.

You were practically raised by the man. He was your main caretaker. Your nanny if you may. Although he never liked being called that- it wasn't manly enough he always said. And he did his best to make sure you had a somewhat normal childhood. Bless his soul. But honestly, it's rather difficult to live normally when the man who takes you to the park and to your "friends" birthday parties and your ballet practice and literally everything else looks more like Hulk Hogan than Mrs. Doubtfire.

Yet, Gustus's efforts were all for naught because despite everything he did for you, he could only hide the fact that your parent's don't really love you for so long before you kind of figure it out yourself. It only takes a few times of them brushing you aside when you try to talk to them or simply ignoring you whenever you look at them or a few rounds of their 'positive reinforcement sessions' for you to get the hint. And you try really, really hard not to hate them. You really do. Because you understand that they are busy. Running a company is hard. But really? Would it be all that difficult to just let your daughter know that, yes, mastering the piano by the age of eleven was impressive and deserves to be recognized. Or the fact that she scored the game winning goal for the championship soccer game her freshman year. Or how about the fact that she got into all eight of the Ivy League colleges and seven of them wanted her to play soccer for them.

But its whatever.

You're over it.

You really are.

Your mother's voice brings you back to reality. Or whatever fresh hell this is you've just walked into, because in your short nineteen years of life you have never once heard your mother's voice anything but calm and collected and right now there is a deep seated bitterness that is just rutting its ugly head to be let out of her emotionless façade.

"There are some things that your father and I have failed to tell you," she stood up from her ungodly large leather chair and clasped her hands behind her back. You immediately recognize her 'I am closing this fucking deal whether you like it or not' posture. "Far before when you were born, your father had a momentary lapse of judgement and had a few… promiscuous months."

Well that wasn't really anything new. You knew your father had cheated on your mother. You were just wondering which time she was talking about right now.

"And in that time one of his harlots had a child," she spits.

That's to be expected.

"What we haven't told you," she tugged at the collar of her blouse, "is that you already know your sister."

Your head snaps up and you can feel your jaw drop open. Your mother's offhanded, "close your mouth, Alexandria, it's unbecoming of you" only confirms what you already know.

"What?" you mentally berate yourself because you know better than to speak without permission.

She ignores your outburst, "We never told you because we never told her. And we wanted to keep it that way. If neither of you knew it would have been for the better." You know what she really means is that it would have been better because then you wouldn't have something to hang over their heads should you ever need to. You're parents really don't like loose ends.

She clears her throat, "But she found out and is now forcing us to tell you the truth."

Now that was certainly something new. No one. And you mean no one, tells your parent's to do anything.

"Who?" you ask weakly, averting your eyes back down to the floor.

You can feel her stare burning into the top of your skull, calculating your every move. You just focus more deeply on studying the tiny scuff on the tip of your shoe. "Anya."

A snort of a laughter bursts out of you before you can stop it and you immediately slap a hand over your mouth.

You've known Anya since you were really little. Really little. You both went to the same school and you've always been drawn to her. To her clear disregard to the rules. To her free spirited life. In fact you have taken the fall for when Anya got in trouble on more than one occasion. Which never ended well for you. Your parents were, are, really into punishment.

You guess you know why now. Especially, when it was Anya involved antics.

The older girl was literally the exact opposite of the prim and proper people that called themselves the Woods. And this made the whole situation all the more amusing. She must take after her mother's side of the family because you sure as hell know she didn't get it from your father. She would have ended up like you otherwise. A follow everything by the rule book, keep your head down, do as they say, kind of a girl. A disappointment to her parent's kind of a girl. A disgrace to the family name kind of a girl.

But its whatever.

You're over it.

You really are.

"You will visit her." You can't help the small smile that presses itself onto your lips. You love visiting Anya. She has never been one to stay in the same place for more than a couple of months. She is always someplace new. Someplace fresh. And you absolutely cannot wait to see her. Cannot wait to see where she has settled this time. "In fact you will be spending your whole summer with her."

You look up. Her eyes narrow slightly as she studies you, "You're flight leaves in an hour, Alexandria, and Gustus has already packed for you. You should be in the car by now," she says, her voice tinged with disappointment because, yes, it was totally your fault that you are late. Because you totally knew about the flight and everything. Of course. Nothing was ever your mother's fault.

You swallow hard and nod once before getting up, making sure to push in your chair, and heading to the garage to find Gus.

Your house is exorbitantly large, far larger than three people need, but status is everything and you know your parents just bought the house to show off their wealth, their power. It takes a few minutes but soon enough Gustus's large form comes into view. You never knew how he got away with his rather rugged look. You barely can grow your hair out longer than your collarbones before your parents forcibly drag you to the best salon in the state to get a hundred dollar trim. And here Gus is, with a beard that falls to his chest and hair that is longer than your own, tucked neatly away in a bun on the top of his head.

He gives you a massive grin before he pulls you into a bear hug. He has always given the best hugs.

"You've gotten big, kid." You smile at him and just squeeze him tighter, because you really love Gustus. Not a day goes by where you don't wish he was your father. Part of yourself hates for this because you should be grateful that you have a father at all. But in reality, you stopped having a father a long time ago. And Gus, well Gus, filled the space in your heart far better than your dad ever did. "It's been far too long since I've seen you," he says as he finally sets you down on the ground.

"It's been like two weeks, Gus," you say, with an eye roll that you know would just make your parents absolutely shudder with revulsion.

He lets out a loud chortle before ruffling your hair a bit with his paw of a hand, "That's too long for my liking," he says before picking up the suitcase that was by his feet and heading out to the garage.

"Can we take the convertible?" you ask, eyeing the flashy red car. You love that thing. Even if the fact that you are driving around with no roof on scares you a bit. It always makes you feel… alive.

Gus smiles again and winks at you, "I like the way you think, kid."


It's bittersweet saying bye to Gus. You know you'll see him in a couple months. Your break will be over before you know it and you'll have to head back to school. And you know he'll be the first person you see at the airport. He'll be the first to welcome you back.

Your parents won't even bother to call to see if you landed safely.

But Gus, he'll pull you into a hug and tell you have big you've gotten and ruffle your hair like he always does. And you just know he'll bring the convertible to drive you back to school, even if it is the most impractical vehicle to move things in. But you love the stupid thing.

It'll probably take twenty some odd trip because you have far more shit than any normal person should have, but Gus will lug it inside without a single snarky comment and when you ask if he wants to get ice cream after, you don't think you have ever seen someone smile quite as big.

You love Gus. He's your best friend. And he has always, always, been there for you.

You give him a wave and barely see him wave back before you are sucked away in the crowd pushing to get through security.

It's packed because this airport always is. You take a deep breath and try to calm yourself because you have never done well with crowds. With the shoving and the yelling and the germy atmosphere and god you just really hate crowds. You would must prefer to keep to yourself. In a nice, quiet room. Maybe with a book and a cup of tea.

Yeah, that sounds really nice.

You didn't even realize you had stopped in the middle of the walkway until someone physically picks you up by your shoulders and moves you off to the side by an over flowing trashcan.

"Wake up or get out of the way," he says gruffly before storming off in the direction of his gate.

You can feel your face burning up and you glance around and notice multiple people pointing and chuckling at you. And, god, you have never wished for the ground to suck you up more than in this moment. You try and calm yourself down, but you can feel your breathing start to spiral out of control and your fists are starting to shake and you know this is never a good sign. You need to calm down. You need to calm down before you start too really panic and things get out of control.

You try and think back to what Anya had taught you to do when you had your first panic attack. It's hard because all you can think about is the pointing and the laughing and the eyes that are still on you, looking at you a little fearfully. You gasp out a breath and break through the crowd and start sprinting down the various hallways until you find a deserted corridor empty of any travelers except for a lone janitor waxing the floors.

You slam into the window, making the pane shake a little, and lean your forehead against the glass. Your breath fogs up the pane a little, but it's oddly calming. You can see you are breathing, you can see that you are still breathing.

No one is watching you. And you are still breathing.

You have no idea how long you stand there for, but when the PA system crackles a little and you hear the last call for your flight, you take off in the direction of the gate.

The stewardess's eyes widen slightly when she sees you charging toward the gate, but when you roughly shove your ticket into her hand and rather embarrassingly out of breath tell her thanks, she simply smiles and says, "Not a problem, dear."


Your parents bought you a first class ticket and it's probably the nicest thing they have done for you in a while.


When you step off the plane you are hit with a wave of humidity. You can already feel the sweat forming on your brow and you instantly regret wearing jeans and a long sleeve shirt. Like honestly, who the hell wears that in Hawaii. Hopefully, Gustus packed you more suitable clothing because if not you are going to be in a world of hurt for the rest of the summer.

You manage to find your luggage fairly quickly and head to the exit. You didn't have any messages from Anya and you hope that she remembers to pick you up. But then you hear your name and you spot her. She has a ridiculous chauffeur's hat on and she has more rings pierced up the side of her ears than you ever thought possible. She has on these really tight black jeans with rips all over and this really worn ACDC shirt with its sleeves ripped off, that you just know had a solid thirteen owners before Anya ever got her hands on it. Honestly, she looks like a 80s rock band groupie. She looks like a punk. A rebel. But you suppose Anya has always been like that. A rebel. A 'do whatever the hell you want kind of a person'.

You kind of just stand there looking at her dumbly but when she grins and waves around a large sign that has your name printed on it in big black blocky letters with a little "aka my long lost sister" printed down below, you break into a sprint and crash into her open arms.

You haven't seen Anya in over a year, but she is still the same. Perhaps a little more tan (if that was possible) and with the tips of her hair dyed blonde, but she's still the same. She squeezes you a little tighter before putting you at arm's length, "Damn, Lex, you have gotten tall." She scrunches her brow a bit, "Are you taller than me now?"

You smile a little, "Not quite."

"Good. You are always going to be a little squirt then," she laughs as she slings her arm over your shoulders and tugs you toward the parking lot.

"This way to the royal chariot," she says as she points toward an old, beaten up, black Ford Bronco. You can't imagine Anya driving any other car.

She haphazardly chucks your suitcase in the back along with the hat and the sign before shoving you slightly toward the passenger's door, "Come on slow poke, we are wasting daylight."


Anya immediately rolls down the windows and throws on a pair of sunglasses.

She looks over at you and smirks slightly, "Forgot your sunglasses didn't you?"

You try and suppress your eye roll, "Well, excuse me, for not knowing my sister lived in Hawaii. Had I known I would have come a little more prepared," you say, gesturing to your outfit.

Anya just laughs and turns back to the road, "Oh and the AC is broken," she lazily sticks her hand out the window, "hence the windows."

You stare at her for a minute. Her hair is wild and flailing all over the place, but she has this small smile of satisfaction on her face.

You think about it for a second, before you release your own hair from the braid it's perpetually in and stick your own hand out the window, "I don't mind."

Anya's smile grows, "Embracing the island life already?"

You can't help the giggle that passes through you. It feels so good. It feels so good to let it be free.

"I suppose I am," you say softly.


The drive wasn't very long, but you have been driving down this dusty path way for more than fifteen minutes and you idly wonder where the hell Anya lives. But when you finally pull up in front of a house made up of seventy-five percent glass, on top of a giant hill, secluded in the middle of nowhere, this certainly was not what you were expecting.

You get out and take a couple steps forward. "Wow. Anya," you pause and look at her from across the hood, "this place is incredible."

"Not quite what you were expected, huh?"

You shake your head because no. This is not what you were expecting at all. For your entire life Anya has only owned stuff that has been rustic. Used. Antique. So her owning a house this modern, this new, was certainly different.

"I may like old stuff, but I like my house to be new. It's cleaner that way," she chuckles slightly with a shrug, before jerking her thumb over her shoulder to the back of the bronco, "Come on, grab your stuff and I'll give you a tour."

It takes you a few seconds to grab your stuff and Anya is already waiting for you by the door. You can't help but feel guilty for making her wait.

She pushes open the door and wow.

It's a mostly open concept. The kitchen to the right, the living area- on a slightly lower level- to the left. The best part, though? The entire back side is a massive glass window that overlooks the ocean.

You know you're slack jawed, but this place is incredible. Anya just chuckles softly before calling to you to follow her. You get to see the bathrooms, her office, her bedroom (also wow), the rec room, and finally your bedroom. It's not quite as big as Anya's, but it has this amazing view of the ocean and there is a framed picture of you and her on the nightstand from when you were little and smiley and still had a gap in between your front teeth and it's more than you could ever ask for.

Your heart tugs a little when you realize that this place is starting to feel more like a home than the one back in DC ever felt like.

"There's a pool outback if you want to go swimming and there are stairs that lead down to the beach… actually it's my own beach, but c'est la vie."

You just laugh because really? Only Anya would be casual about owning her own beach. You're struck with the urge to ask her just how exactly she came to own this place. But then you kind of realize you have no idea what Anya does for a living. In fact you actually have no idea what Anya has been doing for the past year.

Which is your fault. You know it is.

It hits you like a truck. You know practically nothing about Anya anymore. You know practically nothing about your sister.

You can feel the tears in your eyes and you want to hide them, but one trickles down your face before you can stop it and the laugh that was in your chest suddenly changes into a slightly strangled sob, and it's all so embarrassing. You slap your hand over your mouth, but it's not enough to stop your shoulders from shaking.

Anya's gentle fingers wrap themselves around your wrists and pull you into a hug. It's not tight, it's rather hesitant. Anya has always known that you hate being touched when you get to be like this. But when you sling your arms around her, she pulls you in tighter.

Neither of you say anything.

You don't need to because this hug is telling you enough.

You understand. She understands. And that's more than you need.

She squeezes tighter before pulling back slightly and just kind of looks at you, her eyes soft and caring, before she wipes away a tear with her thumb.

"Why don't you get unpacked and I'll go make some dinner, okay? Then maybe we can go down to the beach or something?"

You nod a bit and she places a kiss on your forehead, "Okay."

She squeezes your shoulders once more before heading out of the room, closing the door behind her.

You let out a little breath and practically fling yourself onto the bed. It's comfy and squishy and just firm enough and it kind of feels like Anya picked it out specifically for you because you are pretty sure you are seconds from falling asleep. Maybe the exhaustion was because you had two breakdowns today. Maybe that had something to do with it.

You reach over and grab the picture. You remember the day as if it was yesterday. The warm air. The cotton candy. The stupid song on the Ferris wheel that got stuck in your head the whole way back. You close your eyes and hug the picture to your chest. It burns with the memories and you want nothing more than to sleep for an eternity.

You take a deep breath, willing yourself to sleep, but then you pick up on what smells like… bacon?

You haven't had that in forever. Your parent's never allowed it. They thought it would make you fat and they always insisted you could lose a few pounds.

You open your eyes at the thought of them and kind of look around the room a bit before sitting up. They are the last thing you want to think about right now. So you stand, grab your suitcase, and schlepp it onto the bed. You send out a silent prayer that Gustus packed some summery/Hawaiian weather appropriate clothes.

The case practically bursts open and it seems that Gustus has packed your entire closet. An assortment of t-shirts, button downs, pants, shorts, skirts, dresses, and yes even swim suits topple over the edge and fall onto the bed.

You smile a little because all you can think about is Gustus sitting on the top of your case trying to squish everything down enough to get it to fit.

The thought pulls a little giggle from you, but it quickly fades and your stomach drops a little when you think about him. It'll be hard being away, but you know you'll see him soon and you know that you will have so much fun with Anya for the next three months.

It'll be okay.

It's going to be okay.


You're kinda staring blankly out the window watching the sun start to set, holding a half folded shirt in your hand, when you hear Anya calling out to tell you dinner would be ready in fifteen. You jump start and look at your bag because for the last hour you really haven't done anything. You start frantically folding as fast and as efficiently as you can and start tossing clothes into whatever drawers they would fit in because you can't be late to dinner.

You can't be late.

You quickly toss the last shirt into the dresser and look at your watch. Sure enough, you've got a few minutes to spare so you take a deep breath, straighten out your shirt, and make sure there are no creases in your pants before heading to the kitchen to offer your help to Anya. Should she need it, of course.

You had just stepped into the kitchen when you hear a loud crash and a violent stream of expletives spewing from Anya. She calls out to you, clearly not seeing you in the doorway.

You jerk to a stop and your stomach drops. Anya is clutching her right hand under the faucet and muttering something to herself. And this is all too familiar.

This is your fault. If you had just finished packing a little sooner. If you had gotten to Anya earlier she wouldn't have burned herself.

It's all too familiar.

You've been here too many times before. And you can't help it. You try so hard, but you can't help it when your mind instantly flees to its flight mode. You know what happens next.

Anya calls out to you again and looks up. You lock eyes for a minute and you flinch. God, you hate that you flinch. You tried so hard to suppress it, but you know Anya's seen it.

You take a step back and suddenly it is really, really hard to breath.

Anya follows your motion with a tiny step, but she stops herself when her foot hits the pan on the floor. Her head jerks to you and she lifts her hands slightly, "Lexa," she says so quietly it's almost hard to hear, "I am not going to hurt you."

And you know she won't. You know Anya would never, ever lay a hand on you. But it's like her words break something inside you and suddenly you are sprinting back to your room, slamming the door behind you.

It hurts. Everything hurts. Ghost pains from the past. You try to suck in a breath but nothing happens. You know you need to calm down because nothing has happened.

Nothing has happened.

You try again. Your lungs pull in desperately for air, but your body doesn't appease them. That makes you panic more.

You're kind of crumpled over and staring at the floor when you hear the door open and Anya's quiet shuffles behind you.

You can only imagine what you look like right now. A quaking, breathless, croaking mess.

She doesn't attempt to go near you. She learned not to do that a long time ago. But she whispers softly that you can do this. That nothing here will hurt you. She promises that.

Her words jolt you to life. It's like an electric charge to the brain. You instantly spring to the window and slam your forehead against the glass. There is tiny dot of condensation, barely there, but there none-the-less and you focus all your attention on it.

The spot grows and grows with each passing second as your shallow breaths fog up the pane.

You are breathing.

You. Are. Breathing.

Air is finally getting into your lungs when you hear Anya approaching. You turn your head slightly against the glass to peak over at her. Her face is soft, but her brow is scrunched in worry.

She raises her hand a little, a silent question. You close your eyes and nod your head a little.

Her hand slowly slinks around your wrist and you feel your fingers being carefully pried apart. You never noticed they were in a fist. You never noticed your nails digging into your skin. You never noticed the blood that was dripping down your fingers.

Slowly, Anya leads you over to the bed and sits you down before she goes into the bathroom and comes out with a first aid kit. She sits down next to you and picks up your hand, mentioning how 'this might sting a little'. You watch her careful movements and you know this should hurt, but everything is just. Numb.

When she is finished she carefully places the kit onto the floor and kneels down in front of you, taking your other hand in her own.

She nudges your chin a little with her knuckles so that you are looking at her, "Lexa," her grip tightens a little, "have they…"

She doesn't have to finish her sentence. You know what she is going to say. You nod a little.

Anya closes her eyes and takes a steadying breath. Her eyes snap open and they are studying you, her dark amber gaze an open question.

You pull your hands out of hers and carefully start to roll up your sleeves, revealing blotchy black and blue bruising up your forearms.

Anya's hand covers her mouth and her eyes get a little glassy. It scares you because you think she is going to cry. And that would be your fault.

It would be your fault.

You never want Anya to cry over you. You never want her to be in pain because of you.

But she blinks them away and her eyes quickly harden into a steely resolve.

She takes your hands again, "They will never. Never. Touch you, again." She squeezes a little, "Do you hear me? They will never hurt you again, Lexa. I won't let them. Okay? I promise you." She pauses, "I won't fail you again."

You meet her gaze at her words and just nod a little, unshed tears stinging behind your eyes. You take a heavy, burning breath before you fling yourself at her and pull her into a hug.

Never in your life had you been so grateful for Anya.

She and Gustus are truly the only people you have ever cared for. They are the only ones who have ever made you feel safe. They are the only ones that have ever made you feel loved.

"I love you," it's barely a mumble and it feels strange on your tongue. You haven't said those words in a very long time.

Anya pulls back, "I love you too, squirt."


You're exhausted. You know you are. You can feel the fatigue in the core of your bones. You can feel it settling deep in your soul. Begging you to sleep. Begging for a moment of relief.

Yet.

You can't.

Normally, you would have collapsed in bed and slept for hours. Especially, after having two panic attacks in one day. So right now. You are definitely supposed to be asleep.

But today just isn't a normal day. And you are about as far from sleep as someone who has just drank thirteen shots of espresso.

So here you are, staring at the ceiling, willing, hoping, praying that your mind will shut off just for a second so you can drift off into a peaceful slumber. Drift away from the memories and the what ifs.

Drift away from it all.

Yet.

You are awake and painfully aware of how you shouldn't be.

You roll onto your side and look at the small analogue clock on the night stand.

It's four in the morning.

And you are still awake.

Still hideously awake.

Sighing you get up and trudge into the bathroom. The tile floor is cold and you kind of hop around hoping your feet to get used to the temperature. You really wish you had your fuzzy socks on. Gus probably packed you some. He knows that your feet get cold.

You glance in the mirror at your frizzled hair and your freckled face. You think about keeping your hair down today. It's not too wild. Maybe a little fluffy, but nothing a little water and mousse couldn't help.

Quickly, you look through Anya's cabinets and find a can of mousse. It makes a satisfying hissing sound as you spray a small amount on your palm. A tinge of guilt floods your stomach when you realize that you will probably need a lot more than what you've already taken and you decide that you will have to go to the store and get Anya a new can. Sighing a little you toss your hair over your shoulder to get a better angle. You're about to start scrunching your hair when your eye catches the little pink scar on the side of your neck.

You stare at it for a while, all the memories of how you got it flooding back to you. It was the last time you tried to wear your hair down.

It feels like a pair of hands have gripped your lungs and the bathroom, though very large, suddenly feels very stifling. You can't get the mousse off your hands and your hair up in a bun fast enough.

You put your contacts in, trying to ignore how your breaths are choppy and painful. The sooner you are out of this bathroom the better.

It only takes two steps to leave the room, but it feels like a mile to get out. The instant your feet hit the bedroom it's like a breath of fresh air. The hands releasing their grip. You take a second to calm your breathing before you get dressed in some running clothes, a pair of running tights and a tank top. The monotony of the task calming you more than you would like to admit. You'd have to thank Gustus for having the insight to pack your workout gear… and your fuzzy socks. He always seems to know what you need, even if he is nowhere near you. He always knows.

You are pretty sure Anya will still be asleep. The sun is barely rising above the horizon after all. But you start a pot of coffee anyways because you know she'll want it and write a quick note to her telling her you've gone for a run.

You place your headphones in your ears and select a playlist that is somewhat interesting and head down the stairs that lead to the beach.

Despite it still being early, it's sickeningly humid. You can feel the sweat clinging to your body. You can feel the sand sticking to your clothes and legs. You feel dirty. You feel cloudy. Somehow though, it's strangely comforting allowing yourself this brief moment of not being perfect.

You run down the beach. Just close enough to the water that you can feel the spray of the ocean but far enough that you don't get wet. You can feel the tiny particles of the sand kicking up with each step- burrowing into every crack of your shoes- and the slight tingle on your skin as it burns under the morning light.

You let your mind wander. You let it think. You let it stew. The farther you run the less your mind thinks. The less it ponders. The less it questions. And it's so freeing.

You run longer.

You run until your legs hurt. You run until you can't breathe. You run and run and run. You run until your mind dries up and it's mercifully empty.

You run until you can't anymore. You run until you crash to the ground. Your hands digging into the warming sand. It's nice. It's nice to not have to worry. It's nice to just… be.

You can't help but think that coming here. Seeing Hawaii. It will probably be one of the best experiences for you.


It's nearly eight when you get back. Anya is waiting for you. Coffee cup in hand. Her face hardens when she sees the bruising down your arms. When she sees the scars across your exposed shoulders. Along your neck.

You try to cover them. Usually you do. You've become a master of concealing. But you were in such a rush this morning that you forgot to.

Your skin burns under Anya's gaze and you subconsciously try and cover the bruising with your hands. The look in your sister's amber eyes tells you that you are failing miserably. You give up and look to the ground in shame.

There is a soft click as Anya sets her coffee cup down and you look up.

You meet her eyes and they soften. They aren't pitying. They aren't angry. No.

They are sad and they are burning with a steely fire. They burn as if to say "never again." They burn with the desire to help. They burn for your sake.

She doesn't need to say anything at all. Her eyes conveying what she may never be able to fully put into words. It's a little stifling and a little too much for you. But for once it's a good feeling. For once you don't feel like fleeing. You don't feel like running away.

It hits you like a wave, all the emotions that you've been hiding from, and you've never loved Anya more than you do right now.

She clears her throat a little and looks down at her cup, breaking your gaze, "There is this little shop right along the beach that has some really good pastries. If you, maybe, want to grab breakfast?" Her voice is so unsure it pains you.

"That sounds great, Anya. Thank you."

She nods before making an offhand comment about how you smell and that you need to shower before you can go.


The shop was quaint with little pink shutters and a bright purple door and quite literally on the edge of the beach. A soft bell rings when you open the door and an instant flurry of smells burst out. Cinnamon and chocolate and everything good. It makes your mouth water.

There are cupcakes and actual cakes and lemon bars and desserts you've never seen or heard before stacked all over the place. The swirling and twirling frosting patterns adding more color to the shop than the bright yellow wall paper.

It's a little overwhelming and when you look up at the menu board you gulp because there have to be at least fifty different dessert types up there. Not to mention a completely separate board for breakfast foods and pastries.

Anya asks what you want and you just pick something at random. You really hope Damson Plum Clafoutis is good. Anya gives you a weird look before shrugging and stepping up to order. You kind of slap your hand to your forehead because, god, you are an idiot. Damson Plum Clafoutis? Really? That's what you choose? Now you just sound like a pretentious asshole.

Sighing you take a step back and let a couple other customers get in line.

After a few minutes, Anya still hasn't retreated from the cash register and you pull your eyes away from a delicately decorated wedding cake to look at her. She's talking with the cashier and you know she is flirting because her cheeks are tinged a little red and her right foot is hooked around her ankle and she's leaning just a little bit across the counter.

And it's definitely working.

The guy, you squint to see his name tag, Nyko, smiles and writes something- which looks suspiciously like a phone number- down on her receipt.

Yup it definitely worked.

Smiling a little you head out of the shop, leaving Anya to chat with Nyko, and walk down the beach a little. There is a tall palm tree resting just a ways from the lifeguard tower and you stand under the little shade that if provides.

People are wandering all over. Splashing in the water, building sand castles, laying in the sun. Content with the world.

You cross your arms and pull at your sleeves a little, tugging them down a little farther. You wish you could be like them. You wish you could just relax and enjoy the day.

But you've got the weight of the world on your shoulders and your parent's breathing down your neck and you know you'll never have that sense of peace. You will never get to be the lazy sightseer. You'll never get to have that normal life.

Shaking your head a little, hoping to rid yourself of such thoughts- you are on 'vacation' after all, you look towards the lifeguard's tower. There's a girl up there with waving blonde hair, blowing slightly in the warm summer breeze. She's scanning the water, her hand coming up every once in a while, tucking a wild strand of hair behind her ear, before the wind blows it crazy again. On occasion she'll tug at the whistle around her neck and look around at the crowded beach.

You know you are staring. And you definitely know you should look away. But she is just so… entrancing. Just as you are thinking of going back to find Anya she suddenly looks toward you. Your eyes connect, well you guess they connect- you can't really tell where she is looking from behind the black wayfarers she has on- and huge smile plasters on her face. You panic and snap your head away. Because yup, she definitely just caught you staring.

Well shit.

You can feel your skin heating up and you know you must be redder than a lobster. Your skin is prickling with embarrassment and everything is starting to get to be a little too much. Too many people. Too many noises.

"Hey there."

Her words cut through everything, like a sharp blade slicing through the white noise. Everything else just fades away.

You turn slowly. She's standing in front of you, her hair blowing slightly in the wind, her tanned skin glistening just slightly in the light. She's got on these really short red shorts, a white tank top with 'lifeguard' printed across in red, and this ridiculous looking red fanny pack. But she's absolutely stunning and when she smiles and pushes her glasses up on top of her head you feel as if your heart has stopped.

"You surf?" she asks tilting her head to the left a little.

You look behind you, because honestly you aren't even sure she is actually talking to you. There is a board behind you- which, you guess, is why she asked if you surfed- tucked snuggly into the sand but other than that, the area is empty. You turn back around.

She smiles even brighter, and her eyes- her blue, blue eyes- seem to smile too, "Yeah, I am talking to you."

God her voice was like gritty honey. So smooth with a slight husky undertone.

You swallow hard and shake your head.

"Hmm," she glances down for a second her brow furrowed in quick thought, before her gaze settles back on you, "I could teach you if you like?"

If you weren't dead before, you definitely are now.

You feel yourself nodding before your mind even has time to catch up.

If it was possible her smiles gets even brighter, "Well great." She sticks her hand out, "I'm Clarke, by the way. Clarke Griffin"

You take her hand and tiny tingles shoot up your fingertips, "Woods."

She chuckles slightly.

Fuck.

Is it possible to die twice? Because you are pretty sure you just did.

Her laugh was magical. As if the muses themselves had descended on earth.

"Woods? That's a very interesting name. I guess I can't really talk though. Clarke isn't very gender neutral. People always think I'm a guy," she shrugs.

Fuck. Did you really say your name was Woods?

Now you are pretty sure your whole body is covered with your blush.

You mutter a little curse under your breath because for god's sake why can't you ever behave like a normal person around people, "I-I'm sorry. That's… that's not my name." You extend your hand again and she takes it, a small smile playing on her lips, a slight question in her eye. "I'm Lexa. Lexa Woods."

Clarke chuckles again.

God damn it. She really needs to stop laughing or else she will have to perform CPR on you.

"Well, that makes a lot more sense." She flips her hair over her shoulder, "It's very nice to meet you, Lexa."

"Likewise," you breathe out.

She smiles a little more and you realize you are still holding her hand and you frantically pull away.

Clarke just giggles, like an adorable fucking giggle, before she gasps out a little, "oh," and rummages in her fanny pack. She pulls out a sharpie and grabs your hand, scribbling something down on your skin.

"Just call me when you want that lesson, Lexa."

You merely nod and Clarke's laughing again before she's walking backwards, a smirk on her lips, her eyes never leaving yours. She winks.

Mother fucker.

She actually fucking winked. You just gulp as she turns and climbs back up the tower.

You have to shake yourself back awake because you aren't really sure what just happened. All you can really comprehend is that Clarke was a fucking angel walking on earth.

You look down at the neat number scrawling across your palm.

"What's that?"

You jump at Anya's voice, your hand slapping to your beating heart.

You look at her, a little shocked, a little dazed, "I just got a girl's number."

A huge smirk crosses her face, "Atta' girl."

Author's Note:

So hopefully you guys liked the first chapter. If you have any questions or comments please let me know. I love love love hearing from you. so please talk to me! Also just as a bit of information, Lexa in this story has some pretty bad ptsd (which i will go into more with later chapters). and because of that she has a hard time with crowds and loud noises. She really has a hard time talking with most people, hence why she is always shying away or looking down, being submissive (this also has to do with what caused her ptsd). But when she isn't being bogged down by these she is probably the most snarky and sarcastic person and when she meets Clarke it's the first time in like forever that she actually shows this snarky and adorkably lovable side of herself.