A/N: So guess what. I decided to stray away from Zanessa and try a Troyella (a once hated pairing). I know. What a drastic change. Unbelievable, ain't it?

I'm trying something new here, so we'll just have to see how it works. It's going to be different from what you have read, but in a good way. I'm trying to step it up... Anyway...

Special thanks to zacvanessaxxx for the making of this story! Thanks so much for your input!! You know how much I love constructive critisism. ;) I live for it.

Listen. I know many readers hate flashbacks with all their life and I know they especially hate ones without the pairing they like, but trust me, this one is CRUCIAL and will give you lots of...er, clues...later on in the story.

Disclaimer: I do not own Disney or any of these characters except the Wheatons. So far, at least.

I kicked the suitcase I final time, sighing as I sunk down onto my bed.

I took a good look at the room. My bedroom. Now, my ex-bedroom. It looked bare, the walls stripped of their posters and pictures, and the built-in shelves crammed with emptiness.

Moving.

I was moving.

If a parent told their kid right now that they were moving, they'd go ballistic and strike. Myself, I just trek up to my room and start packing. I move a lot. It's part of my mother's job. She doesn't mind moving around. I secretly think she likes it. I don't mind either, then again I'm used to it.

But this time it's different. Because this time, we're not moving because of my mother's job. We're moving because she's getting married.

Yes. The grand and cheesy 'I do'. To some guy…some guy named Phillip Wheaton. I've met him on an account of three times. When I was spending the summer with my grandmother in Mexico, he just barged in and took hold of my mother's heart. And her life. It's like everything she does now is for Mr. Wheaton. The only thing that ever comes from her mouth is "It's for Phillip."

You should see this guy. He looks like he's come out of preppy central. He always wears polos from Ralph Lauren or J. Crew with the sleeves of a matching sweater tied around his neck. And God forbid he doesn't wear khakis. Barf.

I don't understand what my mom sees in this guy. But whatever it is has sure hit her hard. Within two months, they were, as I quote from my mother, "completely in love." And here we are, a week later, moving because of their engagement.

I didn't know how to react. The bomb dropped right in front of me, but I didn't think it would explode. And boom. It did.

Albuquerque. Texas, sure. But New Mexico? I'd never so much as driven through the place. For God sakes, I lived in San Diego. I was not meant to live in the desert. I was meant for the beach. But did I say this to anyone? No. I couldn't destroy my mother's happiness. I just couldn't. She'd been such a wreck, ever since my father left. And now finally, she was happy again. Even if it were with Mr. Preppy.

"Ella?"

I switched out of my reverie, jumping up and walking over to the door.

"Yeah, Mom?" I called back.

"We're leaving now, sweetie. Come bring that last suitcase down."

I obeyed, lugging the suitcase down the steps and dragging it to the front door, where all of our other luggage stood. I gazed around a last time, the impact of the furniture-less rooms coming down to me as the realization really set. This was it. This was final.

I was moving. To New Mexico. My mother was getting married. To Mr. Preppy. And I would have to some how get along with his children. His four children, whom I'd never met, but I knew were stuck-up preppy kids too.

I choked, blinking back the tears. There were so many memories made in this house…so many memories I'd never forget. It felt like now that I was leaving this residence, I was leaving the memories. But I knew it wasn't true. Those memories were safe in my heart, and for eternity.

"Gabi…" he managed a mesmerized whisper, tucking a curl of my hair behind my ear gently. His thumb trailed up and down the side of my face, making my skin tingle. I stared into his eyes, the deep enchanting ones I loved so much. I knew I would never grow tired of them.

"Yeah?" I whispered tentatively, gazing up at him, my eyes overflowing with passion. I slowly drew circles on his leg, loving how he shivered beside me. He pulled me closer to him, dropping a chaste kiss on my shoulder but not breaking our intense eye contact. I cherised the feeling of his skin rubbing against mine, our bodies so close that his heat radiated onto me.

"You're so beautiful," he breathed finally, shaking his head slightly and stroking my hair, gaping at me in awe. His eyes read of such love and care at the moment that it made me liquefy. I stared back up at him, memorizing the way his long hair fell over his eyes, and how his eyes glimmered so spectacularly. His eyes suddenly brimmed with tears, and he pressed the back of my head to his chest, threading his fingers through my hair and rubbing my back with his free hand. I bit my lip, as I knew he'd only done this so quickly because he didn't want me to see him crying.

"Baby?" I gave a muffled whisper, breathing in his scent as I inhaled deeply.

"Yeah?" he croaked, his voice stretching itself to sound innocent and clueless.

"Are you…okay?"

He lowered his head, burying it in my neck and pushing my body even closer to his, wrapping his arms around me and ensuring no space was left between us. "You know I love you…right?" I nodded, trying to hide my whimper as I hid my face further in his chest. I felt tears sting my eyes, and I closed them as I felt his hand continue to rub my back.

"Don't go, Hunter," I whispered.

I knew where this was headed. But I couldn't let it go that way. I couldn't. This was where I felt most at home. Where I finally felt safe and protected. He made me feel so special, like I was the only thing that mattered in the entire world. Those hours I had spent with him, crying and grieving when my father had left…the way we bonded, how we let each other in…it gave me chills. And I wasn't letting that go. That was too sacred to be let go. It wasn't everyday you found someone you loved as much as we loved each other.

"You know I'll love you always…r-right?" And now he burst into tears, hugging me so close to him that I could barely breathe. "Forever." He shook around me, engulfing me completely and squeezing my body, just needing to feel me there.

I was numb. This wasn't happening. He couldn't leave me. Not like this. My eyes went glossy with fiery hot tears, and I couldn't stop them from spilling down, drenching his shirt. Soon I was trembling, cradled against him in his arms. I bunched up the material of his shirt as hard as I could, as if it could stop us from breaking apart.

"W-Why?" I whimpered, my voice cracking as I faltered into convulsing sobs again. I just felt him shake his head vigorously, heaving a giant pitiful sob before squishing me close to him once more. He was never this vulnerable like this. Never. But that wasn't what signaled to me that this was major. I weaved my fingers through his gorgeous hair, unable to help thinking that this could be the last time. "I love you," I whispered with all the love in my heart, all that I could ever give to him. His hand crept up my shirt and began rubbing patterns on my bare back, stalling his answer as he bit his lip and sucked in his quivering breath before letting it out with his response.

"You know I love you, Gabriella," he whispered gravely into my ear, his hot breath tickling me and making my stomach flip reflexively. I felt his lips attach to my neck, sucking, warm and wet, and I cried even more, unable to cease, knowing for sure that this time was the last time I'd ever get to feel his lips against my neck like this. "Goddamn it Gabi," he choked hoarsely, almost unable to go on through his own constant tears. Just hearing his helpless voice; so heavy and discouraged, so sure that our forever was now never; made my heart drop to the endless black pit that now felt like my stomach.

I desperately gasped for air through my cries, feeling the lugubrious air cascade around us in one heavy curtain, shielding us from the rest of the world and encasing us in my room, on my bed. Everything looked gray. There was no hope. None at all. "I love you," he whispered hopelessly, yet meaning every single word. He squeezed me tight as I erupted into new sobs, the three words he had just said increasing the pain to unbearable. I could just feel the sharp daggers, stabbing at my heart endlessly. So slowly the blood drained, yet so quickly I felt nearer to the end.

"You can't give up on this," I whispered in terminal despair, my voice strained to keep in the tears, "on us." He only hugged my tiny frame to his harder, this time squeezing me so hard I thought I felt a rib snap.

"I'm not giving up on us," he trembled powerlessly. He was hesitant before he replied unwillingly, yet truth strung with every word, "The world is." At this, I knew I was over. The ball of light had now disappeared, the atmosphere had now dimmed, and I was enclosed in a galaxy of darkness. I clawed at him, trying to hold on to what left of him I had. I couldn't stand the torture—this was too much, too much for me to handle…

"When do you leave?" I whispered despondently, barely audible, and grasping his waist for my dear life as he stroked my hair. His attempts were barely enough to soothe me.

"You know I'll never leave you, baby," he breathed, his voice so weak. "You know I'll always be with you, wherever you go." I clutched him tighter, wrapping my legs around him, surged by the sudden need to be as close to him as possible.

"Please don't go," I whimpered again in the pitch black that was my room that midnight. "You're my Hunter…" I gasped, gripping his shirt, squeezing my fist so tightly that my knuckles turned white. He gave a last pathetic sob before sighing into my hair, gently untangling my small fingers from his shirt and intertwining them with his between us.

"And you're my Gabi," he whispered in such a soft caring voice that I completely melted in his arms, tightening my legs around his waist as I continued to cry so disheartenedly, completely drowning from the melancholy surrounding me. I had no defense now. And I was scared. I was weak. I was so vulnerable, so easy to tear down without my strength. And my strength was him. I was nothing now…nothing at all…I was just a waste of space. I didn't mean anything…I didn't mean a fuck…

I continued to weep in his arms, never wanting to leave him. I tried to keep my eyes open for as long as possible, wanting to savor every moment. I guess I fell asleep, for when I reopened my eyes, to my ultimate horror, he was gone.

My worst nightmare had come true.

I stared at my scarred wrist, silently reminiscing the most horrific and dreadful night of my life. I closed my eyes momentarily, painfully remembering the long lonely days I had gone through, and was still enduring. I let my eyes water and my lips tremble as I revived the torture I had suffered and still was. I would never be able to get out of this dark hole. I was better than before, but never would I ever be the same again.

I sighed, hoisting my last suitcase up and trampling down the wooden steps to the porch.

I heard my mother stumbling down the rickety stairs, and I quickly brushed my eyes with the back of my sleeve. She didn't notice as she swung open the door, hauling one blue suitcase and trying to get it into the back of the car.

When I noticed something else. That car wasn't ours. That had to mean that—

"Phil! Can you give me a hand?"

"Of course, Maria! Here, go sit in the car. I'll load this for you."

I internally gagged as he pecked my mother on the cheek, pushing the suitcase into the trunk of the car. It took him a full minute to notice me waiting awkwardly by the door of the house.

"Gabriella!" he bellowed with a smile, his painfully pearly teeth blinding my eyes in the sun. He ran a hand through his short reddish gold hair, "Come out here."

I gulped, nodding and quickly making my way over to him.

"Hey, how're you Gabs?"

I did not want him to call me that. No. That was off limits.

"Fine," I swallowed gutturally, lacing my fingers together in nervousness. Mr. Wheaton squinted his eyes in the sunlight, and I could tell he was bracing himself through the awkwardness. He bit his lip, nodding slowly before putting on his sunglasses, which shaded his green eyes.

I silently got in the car, resting my head on the window as I watched Preppy try his best to manage our luggage. He really needed a workout. It seemed like hours before the car finally revved to a start.

"Oh Phil, you really didn't have to! We could've driven ourselves."

"Maria, stop! I couldn't've let you do that, I really couldn't've. The ride's a good twelve hours. I can't let you drive that yourself!"

"I wouldn't! Ella drives too."

"Ah, does she? But she's only fifteen!"

I narrowed my eyes at him from the backseat but neither of them noticed.

"No, she's seventeen, soon to be eighteen in just a few months."

I rolled my eyes, trying to fight the dry lump in my throat. I didn't know what it was; why I was acting this way. But I was, and I couldn't control it. I had never felt like this before. I felt like I was going to explode. With what exactly, I wasn't sure. It was just this huge jumbo mess of jealousy, anger, and annoyance.

Mr. Preppy and his fiancé blabbered on flirtatiously like that, and I couldn't stop the tears that sprung to my eyes. I still remembered when my father and my mother were so in love. Before the trouble started. Before he left us. How her eyes sparkled when he looked at her, how is voice was so soft when he spoke to her. I saw the same thing in Mr. Preppy and his fiancé, but it still didn't feel the same. It felt so weird. So misplaced and incompatible. I wanted to kick Wheaton out and substitute him with my father right away. But I knew I never could. My father was well gone now.

The twelve hours couldn't have lasted longer. I wanted to pinch Preppy every time he made my mother laugh, punch him in the eye every time he kissed her, and knock him out completely every time he told her he loved her. It was disgusting. Absolutely gross and mortifying. I couldn't believe my own mother was acting like this in front of me. I spent most of the time staring out the window, admiring the scenery and thinking, mostly about Him.

Yes, Him. The boy I never went a minute with without thinking about. The boy who had stolen my heart. The boy who had left me, my heart still embraced with His. The boy who left me like this, lonely and feeling forgotten, and so drenched with sorrow and languish.

My head was spinning around and around with thoughts of Him. His image flooded my mind, swarming the gag-worthy scene around me. He was all I could think about. And I couldn't stop. Even if I'd never see Him again.

He was my Hunter. How could He do this to me? I asked myself time and time again, only to result with no answer and tears running down my face.

I tried not to think about it the entire ride, but it was impossible.

I was practically puking in the backseat as I watched the two adults act like lovesick teenagers. And the way Phillip sucked up to me with a sunny smile and how my mother acted like nothing was out of the ordinary really topped it off. Perfect.

It was amazing I didn't have an eating disorder at this point. Truly. But only just.

Mr. Preppy finally pulled up to a mansion.

It. Was. Enormous.

No. Colossal.

It was like Buckingham Palace or something. The White House. You name it.

And it was gorgeous. Modern, sweet, creative, and artsy. The house had a huge front porch and a huge entrance with an even huger door accompanied by a huge metal knocker. The lawn was perfectly mowed, so lusciously green and rich with delicate flowers that it looked like it was from a movie or from one of those fairytale storybooks I used to read when I was little.

And for some reason, this made moving in with Phillip and his perfect preppy crew seem even worse.

I clutched my stomach at the sight of the beautiful estate; so beautiful I didn't want to believe it was really Mr. Preppy's. I wanted him to turn the vehicle around, say it was a joke and direct us to a battered, barely-standing cottage. Yes. The ancient straw cottage was better than this. As long as this showoff of a castle wasn't Mr. Wheaton's proud claim.

I couldn't function as I saw Mr. Wheaton and Maria run up the porch, no skipping, flinging open the door so merrily and calling out happily, "Kiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiids! WE'RE HOME!"

A/N: Okay? Terrible? Phenomenal? Suckish? Review? ;)

I absolutely postively definitely infinitely endlessly love constructive critisism. Think of it as your good deed of the day.