Chapter 1: Neither a beginning or an ending

Dear Diary, January 1st

I am strong. I – am – strong. Farrah Sabine Woods is strong.

Repeat – I am strong, I am strong…..IAMSTRONGIAMSTRONG. I. GODDAMIT.

Dr Fitzgerald is an idiot if she honestly thought that mantra was going to help me, I am anything but strong.

I am weak, I am tired and I'm in pain. But most of all, I want to die.

- Farrah

Dear Diary, January 10th

Diary, let's be real. Writing about how frail and fucked up my body is – is NOT going to help. What does Dr Fitzy want me to do? How is writing down facts going to help. Yes, I'm sick. Yes, I'm in pain. Yes, my body doesn't work.

Yes, my friends abandoned me. And yes, I am completely and absolutely, alone.

I don't want to do this anymore,

- Farrah

I'm too old for this shit.

Well technically I'm 17, I guess my body is too old for this shit.

'Is this really what you want to do,' Angie pressed, her face tense and worried. 'Sweetie, I'm sure there are other options, you could always go live with your father – you never know you might love Tennessee.'

I nearly snickered when she mentioned my father, he left when I was three and had a new family with a tyrant of a woman. It would be worse there, than at…home. Home. The thought of the two-story house I knew that waited for me at La Push sent shivers down the back of my hands. Nervousness tore through me and for one sickening second, I thought I'd throw up.

Angie is my aunt, my beautifully talented aunt who I love more than anything in the world. When my mum ran off and my grandparents were deemed too old to care for me, Angie stepped in. When I got sick, Angie looked after me. Angie dropped her entire life to take me in. I could never deny her anything, and if moving back home is what we need to do, I'll do it. I'll face the pain I knew that waited for me, the lingering sense of betrayal that surrounds my past terrifies me.

I forced a grin to my face as I faced my aunt across the length of the U-Haul that separated us, 'C'mon Ange, it's a new adventure! New York was fun for a year but it's time to go home.'

I knew Angie too well to know she didn't believe me, but there was nothing we could do, we simply can no longer afford to live in New York.

I grew up in La Push with my flighty mother. Since I was five she'd leave me for days at a time, as she jumped from man to man, job to job, and I grew to be independent.

The house that I knew awaited my return was my father's grandparents' house, where my grandmother lives in solitude. It was comforting to know I'd return to a house where I knew that when I entered I was loved unconditionally. I was to live in a house where on my brief and at times lengthy visits, I knew happiness and belonging. Unlike my mother's place. I will never enter that deep corner of hell again. In fact, I may burn it.

Anger flew through my body, a sudden surge of pure fury that saw sparks shoot from my fingers, and the smell of burnt her entered the car. Stabbing pain followed the sparks almost immediately. 'Just breathe babe, just breathe, meditate while I drive to the airport. You need to calm yourself,' Ange gently reminded me.

Ange hummed a song as she backed out of the driveway of her old house, the one that was recently sold to move back to a shitty little town she tried to escape from. Because of me.

I couldn't physically do the drive from New York to Washington, therefore we decided to fly and having all of our belongings shipped to us upon our arrival.

The problem is, my grandparents' house is situated next to the Call's. Home to my ex-2nd mother and best friend, Embry and Tiffany Call.

Moving back was not nearly as hard as I thought it would be. The familiar walls were a comfort to me. The yellow stained walls brought a sense of warmth into my cooling soul, I desperately need this. I needed my grandmother, and her lavender scented hugs. Ange needed her mother's support in caring for me. And grandmother Evangeline needed her girls, since she lost her husband six years ago she had been alone. Except for my frequent visits, usually with a trail of boys behind me. My grandmother had a place in the council, she was not in the council, but she played a role that was respected even by the Chief. For she possesses forgotten knowledge passed down only to her. She knew what I was becoming, she knew why my body was failing. She urgently bade us come back to our land before I combust as my heritage and body continues to fight against each other. We are here because she is the only one who can help me transition, to continue to live.

But to live comes with a price, for what I could become could see me bound to La Push forever, and I think I would rather die.

In the three days after I arrived at Gran's I did not see Embry once. His bedroom window faced my old one. I hung block out curtains to deny him a glimpse of me, but every now and again I would peek out my window. His bed remained made, and his room untouched for the entire length of time I was back. I saw Tiffany from a distance, getting out of her car and checking the mailbox. But not once did I see the boys. Unusual as we practically lived at the Call's growing up. The house would be full of life and laughter and stupid pranks, but now it was just empty.

I was given a week before I had to start school. In that time, I visited my new Physio every day for recovery at Fork's hospital but other than that I refused to step outside. I didn't want to see anyone I once knew. I didn't think I could control myself. I spent my days with Gran as Ange painted, and painted and painted, she travelled too and from Seattle to oversee her new art gallery.

But the following Monday soon rolled around. Much to my dismay, I knew I could not fully avoid them without the walls of my grandmother's house. I practiced calming techniques she taught me, I must not harm anyone.

There was an undeniable tension that rippled through the carpark when Ange pulled out my walker from the back seat and unfolded it like a pram. She kissed me softly on the cheek, regret shone from her chocolate coloured eyes, she hated that I had to do this – to face them. She fetched my blue backpack, medicine planner and joint guards before swiftly packing them away in the small compartment in my walker. I could feel the muted energy rebound as the kids I knew for years, who I grew up with, stopped and stared. Their eyes lingered on the once lively Farrah Woods be escorted to the office by a woman notorious for hating her home town. But it was the bright blue walker decorated with fairy lights that drew their attention to the two women. I knew I was going to be avoiding awkward personal questions for the rest of the week: what happened to you? Where did you go? Why did you leave? What happened that night?

I don't dread their curiosity, it is human nature and after all I find delight in making the questioner uncomfortable as possible.

No, what I dread was a trio of boys. Friends from the cradle, preschool, middle school till the end of freshmen year. Those who turned on me when I needed their strength to continue my farce of a life.

Thankfully they weren't in the carpark or the office. I could only hope I could avoid them.

'This is a most unusual situation Ms Woods, we haven't had a student with this calibre of a disability in the last decade,' the principal began as the two Woods women sat down in adjacent seats. I lifted a brow, curious as to where he was going with this.

As did Angie apparently…

'Where are you going with this Nick,' she demanded, crossing her legs while cocking her head to the side inquiringly. I shot her a look, the principal was her ex high-school boyfriend, and unlike her – he never escaped.

'Ms Woods,' he started before being cut off by my headstrong aunt.

'Knock it off Nick, you've seen me naked, I've seen you naked. Don't you think that in lieu of our old romantic relationship you can call me Angie?'

"Nick," turned an interesting shade of purple as he choked on his own spit.

I leaned forward expressionless, 'Mr Johnson would you like some water?' As he shook his head no, with a sudden small smile I exclaimed, 'excellent, let's do business, then shall we? As you have heard I have an undiagnosed autoimmune disease, chronic nerve pain along with damage from the accident. I was wondering if you were going to suggest that the school was unable to host me. Because, if so, that could be classified as discrimination, and with your low attendance and result records from the past four years I imagine a defamation suit is the last thing you need.' Angie smiled at me proudly, while her ex-boyfriend looked on in horror.

Ange rustled around in her handbag before pulling out her wallet, 'Farr do you remember where I put the card for that fancy lawyer I met at work?'

'That won't be necessary,' Mr Johnson interjected hastily. 'I'm sure measures can be put in place to aid Miss Woods time at La Push High.

I grinned triumphantly, 'I fully expect disabled toilets be installed shortly, in the meantime I'll be using the teacher facilities.'

Mr Nicolas Johnson ran his hand through his hair, how did he lose control of this meeting so thoroughly? La Push High, despite mandatory requirements never updated school facilities to cater for disabilities. He was planning to suggest the Woods reconsider their enrolment to attend Forks high instead as it is a more modern school. But he had forgotten that he would have to deal with his high-school girlfriend and her no-bullshit attitude. He wasn't employed at the high school during Farrah's first and last year at La Push High, but he heard the rumours of what happened. It was awful, and despite two years it's still talked about.

Sighing, he resigned himself to extra paperwork, and to beg for more funding. Ramps are going to be installed, a new toilet – it's a cluster headache ready to happen. He had enough to deal with the blasted "Protectors of La Push," which is supported fiercely by Chief Black and the council. They have been condoning the boys continued absences and poor marks. Principal Johnson knew he was losing control of his school.

Because in his mind, people with disabilities do not belong in mainstream schools.

When Farrah and Ange finally left the office after sorting out paperwork they erupted into giggles. 'Did you see his face? He so was not expecting that,' Ange gasped clutching her stomach.

'He wasn't, was he?' I chuckled, we expected him to try to muscle me out of attending the school, due to my disability and his past with my aunt. He was known as a vindictive bastard around these parts.

'Okay, alright, lets breathe,' gasped Ange, 'what's your first class?'

I looked down at my schedule clutched between my hand and the walker handle. 'Uh, Modern History in 201. Ugh, thank fuck I missed homeroom,' I said smoothing out the creases to read what I had on for the rest of the day. Angie nodded towards the double doors, 'need help kid?' I laughed 'I got this Angie, I was in this hellhole for a year.' She grinned, lurching forward she fixed the collar of my red cherry dress underneath my thick denim jacket.

'Angieeee if you start fixing my makeup I will punch you in the boob,' I protested, pushing her blue nailed hands from me.

'Kid, remember you are; kick ass, gorgeous, fabulous young woman and if anyone tells you differently you have my permission to ram them in the ankles with your walker.'

With a salute and a sarcastic smirk, I said goodbye, reminding her to pick me up in the afternoon and not get lost in her latest painting. She huffed and smacked my butt before stomping off to her car.

Farrah Woods, you are strong. You are not broken. I closed my eyes briefly, trying to gain a sense of quiet before I pushed the door to 201 open. All 23 pairs of eyes turned to me as I struggled to get my walker through the heavy door. No one got up. No one asked if I needed help. They just stared. With a grunt I heaved and pushed the blasted walking device through. I sighed in exasperation, I knew people would be shocked, but I didn't expect stunned silence.

With a sardonic twist of the lips I declared, 'the prodigal daughter of La Push returns! As flattering as it is for you to all be stunned my ethereal beauty, but would anyone mind pointing me to an empty seat? Or could you girl in green move so I can sit down with my walker beside me?' Being the centre of attention was unnerving and unpleasant. The girl in green stood up in haste, nearly knocking her chair over.

Hey, girl-in-green is familiar. Ha! That's Kimmy Conwell! From what I remember she was quiet, smart and was content to hide in the shadows – I always doubted it was out of shyness but more of an unwillingness to deal with high-school bullshit. I was friends with her dad, he ran the local grocery store, he would let me extend our 'account' when we ran out of food and money. Not for my mother, but out of worry, he was afraid I would starve.

The class robotically turned from me to Kim, as she moved desk from the back-corner row but to the one beside it. I laughed awkwardly, the teacher hadn't proceeded to teach or well, move, in general. How very rude. I stumbled towards his desk, did an awkward finger gun motion before limping to my new seat.

I sighed gratefully as I sat down, manoeuvring my walker to face me to reach my belongings. Mr Pratt – oops I mean, Mr Platt gasped back to life.

'Ah…okay..um, you must be Miss Farrah Woods, welcome to – uh, I mean…welcome back! I hope you enjoy this class, if you need help please come to me,' he corrected himself, 'no, sorry, raise your hand and I'll come to you, if you have any questions.'

I was surprised to hear a snort beside me. I turned amused, I hope she is sarcastic, please be sarcastic.

'Thanks,' I whispered as Pratt began his lecture on the French Revolution. The girl beside me twitched a nervous smile, 'no problem,' she murmured as we shared an amused glance before turning our attention to Pratt, ugh MR PLATT. I need to remember his name, I can't call him a prat to his face. Despite how much of one he is.

When it was over I gasped in pain when I went to bend my knee. Trying not to vocalise the pain I was in from merely trying to stand, I grasped the handles of my walker and heaved myself upwards. I nearly screamed. Thousands of sharp daggers were being repeatedly stabbing my spine as the sensation tricked down my leg and feet.

Don't you fucking dare Farrah, you don't owe anyone your tears. You should have used your fucking wheelchair, but noooo you were too proud.

Hunched over my walker frozen, assaulted by agonizing nerve pain. I didn't realise my possessions were being quickly and quietly packed up by girl-in-green. I was oblivious until a warm hand covered my arm and led it to the walkers handles. She swung my blue back pack over her shoulder. The class was empty, the asshole teacher had left, despite his new student's obvious health crisis. A freshmen class was lining up at the door waiting for their teacher.

I knew it, I knew I wasn't ready for school, for any of this. I'm especially not ready for La Push. My old house, I wasn't ready to upgrade my wheelchair to a walker. I fought the tears I knew were forming in the corner of my eyes.

Girl-in-green gently placed my other hand on the left handle, she released the brakes and stood beside me.

'C'mon Farrah, it's the first step you need to get over. It's going to be the worst, but you'll battle it out,' soft brown eyes stared into mine determinedly. And I knew that this girl was not going to give up on me.

I nodded and pushed my left leg forward. Immediately my body attacked itself. Deep raw wounds should have opened from my thigh to my toes. I ought to have been heavily bleeding, instead no one else could see the damage, only I could feel it.

I clenched my teeth, I could hear them grind as I took my next step forward. Now the flame that began in the soles of my feet were travelling up my legs engulfing me entirely.

I was in hell.

Soft words of encouragement fall out of the lips of the girl next to me. We made it out of the classroom, I tried to tell her we had to get to our next class, but she shook her head and informed me we were going to the nurse.

With muttered creative curses from me and kind encouragement from Kim we found the nurses office. Unlike most stereotypes, Greg the nurse was not a matronly motherly woman but a flamboyantly gay male. And I love him.

'Farrah, Farrah, Farrah,' he said shaking his head, 'you know I have a bet with your Aunt Angie- nice lady by the way – when you'd be visiting me. I owe her $5, I said I'd be seeing you within the first hour. But you lasted for nearly two. You go girl.'

I stared at his eye catching green, pink and yellow shirt as Kim explained to him what happened. I was fighting the waves of pain, fighting not to be consumed. Fighting to scream.

'Farr, what's the pain level?' Greg turned to face me. I held out all ten of my fingers showing that my pain rate was 100%.

He hissed in sympathy, then asked about the type of pain I was experiencing, was it my arthritis pain? The nerve pains? My back?

I gritted my teeth as he decided I required an anti-inflammatory injection. He told Kim she could leave, but she refused, steadfast in her determination to see me out of this pain episode and into the next class.

I refused to flinch when he plunged the needle into my arm, that pain is nothing. Instead I was watching Kim, she was turning green and it was hilarious. Jeeze, if she wasn't so obviously straight I would probably be attracted to her.

'Farr girl, Ange dropped off your spare wheelchair for times like this. You can come back after lunch and swap it for your walker,' he explained, pulling out my -oh…..whaaaat the actual fuck? What the fuck did Ange do?

This fucking wheelchair was hot fucking pink.

It's fabulous.

I grinned, even though I was still in pain, it was fading and I'm now the very proud owner of my fabulous pink wheelchair. Kim giggled, 'this is actually amazing.'

'Did you know your Aunt bought you a bright pink wheelchair?' Girl-in-green enquired from behind me. I chuckled, shifting in the chair, 'my old one was rented from a hospital in New York, I left it behind when we came back here. This was a very unwelcoming surprise.'

A beat of silence passed before she asked me what class I had next, I smiled and answered Art. It was among my favourite subjects, it had to be – I had a famous artist for an Aunt after all. Ange was renowned for her paintings and sometimes sculptures. Before the accident she lived between New York and Paris, flitting back and forth as her art became high demand. But now she is back in the place she despises because of me. Because of our ancestry, because of our legends…. because of my legacy. Something incredible runs through our veins, those of us who are native to La Push. And because I know, that who I am becoming will play an important part in my tribe's community, and those who serve to protect it, is why we are back. I hate it. I hate the fact that we are here because of my blood. A trait that has skipped generations until triggered by something foul and demon-like. I am speaking of the supernatural. Something I didn't know existed…until that night. That one stupid, life-changing night. And its killing me.

Thinking of this I could feel a spark pull from my hands, painful and uncontrolled, this wasn't the nerve pain. This was a part of the transition, when I learn to deal with the magic that runs through my families blood I will adjust. But for now, my body is rejecting the surge of my elemental gift, and its slowly deteriorating.

'Farrah…I was wondering,' Kim began nervously, 'can we exchange numbers?' I must have looked confused because she hurried on, 'I remember you in Middle School and from dad's shop, I had always wanted to be your friend. You were loud and never afraid of expressing your opinion. You hung out with Jake and the boys –'I winced ' – you were and are strong. I admired you then, and I admire you now. I want to be your friend. And I want you to be able to call me if you need a hand.'

I stared, stunned, this beats her one sentence replies in Modern History. I don't think I've ever heard her say much on anything.

A small smile spread across my face as I fought back tears, 'I would like that,' I replied simply. We stopped to plug our numbers into our respective phones before navigating the school to the one arts classroom. Splashing along in the ever-present mud.

Art was interesting. No. Art was amazing. The teacher Ms Jay was in her late sixties and she was sassy. When I entered the classroom door leaving mud tracks she threw up her hands and started singing, ' …they see me rollin', they hatin' trying to catch me riding dirty...' The art kids, clearly used to her sense of humour smiled wryly and continued their work. It was a theory day, and the topic for this semester was on modern expressionism. Before leaving Kim asked if I had nowhere to sit at lunch if I'd like to sit with her and her friends, slightly high from my medicine injection I forgot about my rule of not getting close to anyone, I nodded.

'Farrrrraaaah Woods!' Ms Jay clapped as she pulled a desk forward and putting the chair to the side, so I could roll forwards, 'I taught your aunt in high school you know?' She grinned, 'she owes her fame and fortune to me, tell her I want a share,' and winked.

'Alrighty class, this is Miss Farrah Woods and yes as you can see she is in a wheelchair. No, its not your business to know why. I want you guys to open doors for Farrah, because I remember from my back surgery opening doors with a wheelchair is a fucking nightmare. Now what is Modern expressionism...'

I raised a brow, a teacher swearing to her students? Interesting. Everyone else seemed to either ignore her little speeches or are so used to them they stopped listening a long time ago. I chose the first option and tuned out, opting to read the chapter we were meant to have read before class in our textbook

'…then there was that one time I went cave diving and the shark…'

Ms Jay, sat on her desk swinging her legs back and forth, and continued speaking.

'…now Woodstock, Woodstock was art. Or well, I was on a lot of drugs back them, but whatever they made me see and hear was art…'

A note was placed on my desk, I looked to my left – there was an empty desk but to my right was a boy wearing…. a suit? Unwrapping the note, it read, 'don't worry, she is always like this.' He smiled brightly at me, the crinkles outlining his eyes were prominent. He is someone who smiles a lot it was obvious.

People began talking as Ms Jay continued her odd lecture which has now turned to 1960s sexual cults. Suit-Boy leant towards me, 'I'm Reginald River, nice to meet you Farrah Woods. Well re-meet you. You used to run around my house naked.'

'Uhhhhh'

'We were toddlers.'

'Ummm, who are you Mark Darcy and I'm Bridget Jones? Are you going to tell me I used to play naked in your paddling pool?'

A full throaty laugh tore from his throat, 'as long as you're wearing your granny panties and horribly misjudge me from the start. But how can you get the wrong impression with me? I rock this suit.'

'I bet its from Kmart,' I accused, torn between amusement and slight shock that he mentioned panties in our first conversation, reference to a movie or not. Was he flirting with me? People do not flirt with people like me. What do I do? I wanted to run, but I also knew I need to stand my ground to my insecurities.

He feinted a mock stabbing and declare, 'madam you wound me, you at least ought to be able tell I purchased my dapper garments from Target. Or should I say, "Tar-Jay."

I swallowed a giggle.

'Well Mr Darcy, it is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a suit is trying to prove something, what would that be?' I mocked carelessly.

'Well Miss Bennet or Miss Jones, its because I have rather unconventional taste in ties. In fact I have a vast collection, and all needed to be worn at some point. How else without a suit?' he shrugged, a hint of a smile flittered on his face as I tried to laugh but instead snorted.

His tie was very bright yellow adorned with a picture of a badger, written above was "I don't give a Hufflefuck!"

How the fuck has he gotten away with wearing that school?

'Well Mr Reginald Rivers, we shall be best of friends, I'm a Slytherin.'

And that is how I met my best friend.

'And I said, mum, if you're going to buy me a suit for a third-cousins wedding I'm at least going to wear it to school. Now I own seven suits, one for every day of the week.'

Reginald, or Reggie as he prefers to be called, chattered away behind me as he pushed my wheel chair to the cafeteria.

'- so I decided that green velvet would go fabulously with my skin, and who doesn't want a velvet suit?'

'Oi, Sarah! Can you open the door Mademoiselle and I need to get some food!'

Pushing me through the door I didn't get the chance to say I was going to sit with Kim and her friends, he rolled me to a corner in the far right of the cafeteria. Sitting there were two boys a girl.

The girl had very bright green and purple hair, she didn't look up from her novel when Reggie pushed me to the table and announced he had commandeered a new friend.

The boy on the right was average looking, looking at me strangely, as though he was trying to figure me out. And the other boy? He was asleep.

Slamming my hands on the table I shouted, 'Sup!?'

Jumping girl in colourful hair shrieked 'WHO THE FUCK!?' The other kid continued to sleep.

Reggie smiled and ruffled my already unruly curls, 'I knew I'd like you.' The girl glared at me, 'so you're the cripple huh?'

I took my time getting my lunch box out, ignoring her annoyed gaze before grinning, 'and you're the bitch, are you?'

She snorted, 'basically. I'm Ash, and I gotta say you are rocking that wheelchair.'

'That's Connor, you won't really get to meet him because he is asleep all the time. And creepy guy who is staring at you is Jason. Don't worry he's only a little bit stoned,' Ash pointed.

'Cool cool cool cool, nice to meet you guys.'

Reggie and his friends were a collective of loners, who kind of gravitated towards each other when the occasion called for it. Ash spent half her time in detention due to her unconventional hair colours, and habit of arguing with dim teachers. Connor was a very active gamer who plays all night and sleeps the school day away. When he's awake he has a vicious sense of humour. And Jason? Jason was so far gone he had no idea what day it was. I think I found my group of independent and interesting weirdos to help me get through high-school. Because quite frankly, none of them gave a fuck I was in a wheelchair.

I was deep into a conversation with Ash, discussing Germaine Greer when I finally spotted Kim. Sitting alone across the cafeteria, I felt guilty and was about to make my excuses when I saw them.

Reggie snorted, 'and see the very tall, very attractive foursome to your left Farrah? They are the 'protectors' of La Push. But we have our theories, our first is a steroid drug ring and Chief Black is the king pin because you know that's Jake. Or what were we saying yesterday Connor?'

'Gym Cult? Dude I dunno.'

I stared frozen, they had changed. Their faces lost their innocence, child-like curiosity was gone. Instead they moved with purpose, scanning the room unintentionally as though they were searching for exposed threats. They were my brothers, my family, my boys but now they've been reduced to …. predators. And I wanted to throw up. To scream, to throw a plate to see the porcelain smash against the school linoleum. I watched as the four; Jake, Embry, Quil and I think that is Jared (I hadn't much to do with him) moved across the room quickly to the lone Kimmy. Was she with them? With the group that ruined my lives? If it wasn't for them, the crash would never have happened, she would still be alive, and I wouldn't be dying.

Its their fault. And I hate them for it.

In my shock at suddenly seeing them after quite some time, I saw in a fog of Kim pointing in my direction and three heads turning.

Oh shit, whatever I do I must not meet their eyes. Then I could well and truly…be trapped.