Chapter One

The staircase before me, made up of floating porcelain steps that sparkled in the sunlight, stretched out endlessly before me. There was something at the top, something that I needed to reach, but I couldn't bring myself to take that first step forward. I hated heights. They terrified me.

"Come on, Bel. You can make it. Just go up."

I drew in a long, shaky breath. I wanted to more but I couldn't. My legs weren't listening.

"I...I can't. I can't." I murmured, but something shoved me foreward.

I blinked and there I was, halfway between the top and the bottom, immobilized by fear. I felt something catch in my throat. I was so close but not close enough. I couldn't turn back and I couldn't go forward, so I crouched down on the step, feeling it buckle underneath me.

I woke up breathing hard, gasping for air, tears streaming down my face. My chest heaved. I shot upright. The room was pitch black. I was drenched in sweat, alone, no sound but that of my own panting filling my ears. I wiped my cheeks with dampened palms, brushed away the stray hairs that were stuck to the back of my neck and worked to slow my pulse. This happened much more often that I would like to admit.

I threw the covers back, shivering when my bare feet hit the cold floors. What time was it? I tip toed to the door, peeking out to see if I was alone before stepping into the hallway completely naked. I could hear my mother snoring from behind her bedroom door. There was no sound of the television playing in the family room which meant that Bree must be asleep, too. There was no one to keep me company. I decided I should go back to sleep.

But, as usual, I found that I couldn't. I couldn't even bring myself to go back into my bedroom. Instead, I paced up and down the long narrow hallway, huffing through flared nostrils and trying to convince myself that I wasn't having a panic attack. Of course, I was.

My therapist (the tired old man that my mother paid to talk to me about these sorts of things) told me to "concentrate on my breathing" when this happened. But how could I concentrate on breathing when there was no air. The apartment felt foreign to me, as it always did in the wee hours of the night, but I ignored that. This was nothing new. It was just the way I was wired.

I decided to go to the kitchen, carefully creeping along hoping I wouldn't wake the people I had just been wishing weren't asleep. I opened the refrigerator, then the pantry, then the bread droor, then the refrigerator again. Nothing looked appealing so I settled for potato chips, cream cheese and a luke warm cup of coffee poured from the pot I'd made right before bed.

My mother would tell me that my excessie caffein intake was the reason for my insomnia, but we both knew that wasn't it. I was always keyed up. The coffee gave me a nice buzz. If anything, I felt calmer with that big red mug in my hand, savoring the bitter aftertaste as the fluid slid down my throat.

I glanced up at the clock on the microwave: 5:30. I decided it wasn't too early to get dressed for class.

My biology lecture wasn't until 9:00 but getting ready was something that I could channel my nervous energy into. I smeared a particularly large chip with creamcheese before shoving everything back into the refrigerator, throwing back the last of my coffee and heading back towards my room.

I ignored the rumpled bed, probably still warm from all of my body heat, and headed towards my closet. I threw the doors open, taking in row after row (and pile after pile) of gently-loved, uniquely stylish clothing items I had purchansed at either Goodwill or off the clearance rack at Target. Suddenly, I didn't like anything. I could feel that little wrinkle forming in my forehead, reminding me of how Bree was always telling me that my face would "stick that way" if I didn't break the habit. I had a terrible case of resting bitch face, but honestly couldn't bring myself to care enough to make the conscious effort to correct it.

I went with the safe choice: a short black dress with small white flowers. It was too big, like most everything in my wardrobe, and I liked it that way. Slipping it over my head, foregoing a bra entirely because who really cared? Not me. The one pair of unripped tights I had managed to presere for the past two month were draped over the desk chair, waiting expectantly for me. I snatched them up, as I did every morning because they were basic and a good and faithful leg covering, and pulled them on. Grabbing my phone off the bedside table, I sighed. It was now 5:38.

I put my earing in (all seven of them), flirted with the idea of wearing makeup to class before trying to put my contacts in and realizing too late that this would ruin my mascara. Instead, I wiped my face clean with a washcloth and turned my attention to my hair instead: dark brown and hopelessly knotted. This was my own fault. I had been out of commission with the common cold for the past three days and had foregone any sort of hair brushing. Now, the end had started to tangle into dread-like clumps. Biting my lip, I ripped through them with a comb and, when that didn't really work, I gave up and pulled everything back into a horrendously sloppy bun. If my hair had been longer, I might have liked this. But I'd made the impulse decision of buzzing off most of my hair last Christmas and now, I was stuck somewhere in between short hair and not-so-short hair. Story of my life.

I slipped my feet into my moccasins: shoes who had far surpassed their life expectancy and now made an unsettling squeak everytime I applied weight to my right heel. I had decided that this bothered people around me much more than it did me. They were the most comfortable thing I owned.

By the time the alarm on my phone went off, I was well on my way into the city, stuck in rush hour traffic because I had left too early. If I'd waited until 8 o'clock, the commute wouldn't have taken me longer than thirty minutes, but I'd been too damn anxious for that. I listened to the gentle thrum of the radio, the engine, the sound of cars whizzing past my open window in the turn lane. Why couldn't I be going wherever they were going? At least then I'd be moving.

In all truthfulness, though, I never stopped moving. I never gave myself a chance to breathe. I liked it that way. It was the only way I knew how to be. Ever since I could remember I had been on the move, always planning the next thing. Tomorrow was the most important day of the week and I never intended on wasting it. I lived for tomorrow and my inability to stand still exhausted everyone in my life.

Indianapolis was just coming alive when I crossed 38th into central downtown. The busses were making the same stops they made every morning; kids were walking to school; commutors wove in and out of traffic, probably running late to work. I wasn't late but I drove like I was. I had never quite grasped the concept of "slow and steady wins the race."

By 8 o'clock, I was parked and my 8:15 I was firmly planted in lecture hall, anxiously awaiting the arrival of anyone else.

I sat silently for a long time, munching on a packet of crackers I had picked up and sipping the coffee I had picked up from the Caribou across the street. I took it straight black and, most days, Bree would complain that I smelled like a blue-collar dad. This always made me laugh. My sister was only thirteen, but she was a spunky thirteen. She reminded me of myself and that simultaneously struck me with both pride and terror.

It was half past eight when people started filing in, one by one, slowly finding one another and pairing off. I kept my eyes down, pulling out my sketch book and flipping through the pencil drawings-mostly sketches of women with long hair and big eye lashes and boys with rumbled clothes and five o'clock shadows. I liked the idea of people like them, of glamorous ladies with old-hollywood red lips and disheveled artistic types. They seemed romantic, sitting there stoically on my paper. I lost myself in them.

"Whatcha drawin'?" someone asked from behind me.

I glanced back breifly, catching sight of faded jeans and slender, pale hands. I smiled to myself. "Just...whatever."

I didn't see the stranger behind me nod but I could feel it, like you feel someone standing too close to you. But then he was gone.

I glanced behind me, then shrugged returning my attention to the new blank page before me. My pencil hovered over the paper.

"You like art, huh? I wish I could draw." The voice came from somewhere to my right. I looked up and there he was. For a second, I was too surprised to answer.

I didn't know him, but he looked into my eyes like he's talked to me a million times, messy auburn hair falling clumsily over his forehead and obscuring my view. He smiled crookedly at me and I worked to recorver my composure.

"Um...I guess. It's just sort of something I do...you know, when I'm bored."

He smiled wider. "Busy work, huh?" I nodded. "You mind?" he asked, motioning to the seat beside mine. I shrugged.

"No. Go for it."

This was our second week of class but I had never seen him before. Then again, there were three-hundred people in lecture and we hadn't had our first lab yet. He plopped down beside me casually, tossing his bag into the next seat and shuffling through it for a notepad and pencil. When he turned back to me, I raised a brow at him in question.

"I'm Bella." I offered, considering extending my one of my hands for him to shake but choosing to fold them in my lap instead.

He only nodded before directing his attention forward, whispering now because Dr. Mullens had taken his place at the front of the room, shuffling through papers as though we would pay attention to any information presented that wasn't on the power point.

"Nice to meet you, Bella."

And that was the end of that.

We sat there silently, waiting, uncomfortably close. I didn't like it when strangers sat by me. Seats in the lecture hall were crammed tightly together and, every few minutes, one of us would adjust ourseles and brush arms. I held my breath, hoping that someone I knew would get here soon and aleviate my discomfort.

Rosalie and Alice were ten minutes late.

When they sat on the other side of me, Alice leaned over to whisper in my ear. "Who's he?" she asked, barely audibly. I shrugged, eyes wide, mothing the words no idea before crossing my arms tightly over my chest as Dr. Mullens dove into the evolutionary history of gymnosperms.

Great.

When the lecture ended, the boy (who never did tell me his name) got up and left without another word. I decided not to read too much into it. I packed up my bag, along with my sketches, and turned to Alice and Rose who were, to be totally honest, taking too damn long to shuffle out of our row.

"Could you guys get a move on? I'm hungry." I huffed, tapping Rose in the back of the leg with my foot.

"Fine, Bel. What's got your panties in a twist?" Rose chuckled, flipping her long blonde hair behind her shoulder.

"It's not my panties. It's my stomach."

I kicked at her heels again, urging her up the staircase.

Rosalie and Alice and I had met last semester during our orientation. We were all commuters from Indy and had spent the first few weeks of our Summer program carpooling. Our schedules had changed after that, of course, and I had declined their offer to come early for eight o'clock lecture. Why, I had no idea. I was here early anyway.

I followed both of them silently out of lecture hall, listening to the two of them laugh about something someone had said, maybe a bit louder than was normal. I loved them for this. It made me feel more comfortable, like maybe I wasn't the only overly talkative person around. I had a nervous talking problem. Most days, it was pretty unmanageable.

"Where you guys headed?" I always asked because I never knew what they were doing. Alice and Rose never made the same plans twice.

"I might come to lunch today." Alice piped in, ever softspoken and peppy. She bounced a little as she said this and I smiled.

"Great. I think Angela might meet up with us. Rose?"

Rose nodded, her lips persed.

"You guys, makin' me spend all my money..." she complained as she led the way toward the dorm cafeteria. "The food here isn't even good."

"Ya, it sucks." I admitted. "But I'm hungry!"

They both laughed. We ignored the no crossing sign as we sprinted quickly across Michigan. Traffic whizzed past as we stepped up on the curb. Jaywalking was the norm on campus and I almost didn't think twice about it, though it always scared Rose. Alice had told me a few months ago that, if we did get hit, she hoped that flowers would grow through the asphault in that place. I guessed that was one way of looking at it.

I had been at this school for a little over a semester now and the woman who took our cards at the buffet knew me. She had told me the previous week "you always look so pretty, but your hair is always a mess." It was true, and I couldn't help thinking about it today as I handed over my student I.D., hyper aware of the ridiculously sloppy bun perched atop my head. I stopped near the buffet entrance to wait for the girls and dropped my bag, pulling on the drawstring and shuffling around its contents. It was a ridiculously big bag and I found my sweater (my favorite one, the giant brown one) somewhere near the bottom. Yanking on it perhaps a bit more roughly than I needed to, I heard rather than saw several things clatter to the ground.

I closed my eyes and groaned, something along the lines of "seriously" coming out in a frustrated huff. I dropped everything all the time. It was a superpower of mine.

"Having trouble there?" I heard someone ask.

When I looked up, it was the boy from biology.

I nodded, mute for whatever stupid reason. Really? I chose now not to talk? Glancing past him, I noticed the girls were gone. They left me. Awesome.

He bent to help me, gathering up the items I hand thrown free. When I heard the sound of a pill bottle being jostled, I hit the panic button. Snatching it quickly away, I shoved it back in my bag, hoping he hadn't had time to read the word 'diazipam' printed in neat font across the small white RX sticker. OR maybe, if he had, he wouldn't know what it was for.

"Thanks." I spit out, getting to my feel and shrugging quickly into my sweater, struggling a bit to shift my bag from one shoulder to the other. I really needed a new bag. I needed a smaller bag. I needed to clean out my freaking bag.

"Welcome." I said simply, smirking at me a little before gesturing behind me. I turned. "Well, I'm meeting friends so."

"Ya, cool. Thanks again." I nodded, feeling sillier than I had ever felt.

He walked away and so did I. When I spotted Rose and Alice, they had already found Angela and claimed a table right at the front of the dining area: prime seats for viewing the little incident previously described.

"Did you hook up with this guy or something and not tell us? You clearly know each other." Rose asked. Rosalie and her questions, I swear.

I could feel myself blushing.

"Oh, my God. No! I don't even freaking know him. I don't know what the deal is."

This time, it was Alice to make me blush. "Well, I think he's cute. You should."

"Should what?"

"Hook up with him." she replied cashually, getting to her feet.

I hushed her. "Stop." My eyes were big and serious now. "Seriously."

I looked to Angela for help.

"I think what Alice is trying to say..." I waited for Angela to say something wise. She was always so reasonable. I needed someone reasonable. "...is that there are a lot of-"

"Beautiful men at this school." Rose finished for her, prodding me in the rib and dragging me towards the buffet. "Why should the girls who live on campus have all the fun while we just...waste away?" The last part was said with whistful drama, her blue eyes focussing on something far away.

I snorted.

"It's not like any of you have anything exciting going on. Aren't you like saving yourself for marriage or something?"

Alice laughed.

"Rose is saving herself for marriage so long as no one who meet her standards invited her to take a roll in the hay."

"Roll in the hay?" Rose asked, one perfectly manicured eyebrow raised. "Is that what the kids are calling it these days."

"Fine. Fucking."

"Nice." I mumbled.

"Doesn't really matter." Alice continued. "'Cause, as Bella so gently pointed out, none of us are rolling around in anything."

Honestly, the sex analogies were golden.

"What about you, Ang?" I asked, hoping to take the spotlight off of myself. "How's Eric?"

"Good."

Eric and Angela had been together since sophomore year of high school. All three of us went to church together and I had known them both for a while. They were always solid, except for one teeny tiny issue: Angela had a not-so-secret thing for Mike Newton, our pastor's son.

The saga of Angela and Mike was a complex one, mostly consisting of kinda-sorta almost dates and unanswered text messages, emails, etc. The word on the street was that Mike had a thing for Jessica Stanley and, since Angela and Eric had been malking marriage and engagement rings, we all assumed that this crush would continue to be an awkward but unimortant fixure in the social lives of everyone involved with Angela and Eric. They would get married and have babies and she would alway wonder a little bit what her kids would like like with blonde hair and blue eyes.

"So..." Angela began, plopping a piece of pizza down onto both of our plates. Rose and Alice had wandered towards the dessert table.

I made a face as she plopped mash potatoes next to the pizza on my plate. "Really, Ang?"

"What?" she shrugged. "You never eat. Anyway, if you don't know that guy what's the deal. Rose and Alice said he was sitting next to you in bio this morning."

I shrugged. It seemed to be the gesture of the day. "I don't know. He sat down and asked me about my sketched and I told him my name and he said 'nice to meet you'...then, I dropped that stuff and..."

"And?" she prompted.

"And he picked up my prescription." Angela persed her lips, looking as though she felt sorry for me. I hated that look. "So now either he just thinks I'm a klutz or he thinks I'm crazy. So it's a win-win."

Angela patted my shoulder. "Hey, watch the sarcasm. You might hurt yourself."

I gave her one dry chuckle.

"Speaking of which..." I checked my watch. It was almost eleven. "I gotta use the bathroom. I'll be right back, okay?"

She nodded.

I stopped by our table to set down my tray then headed for the ladies room. I checked the stalls. It was empty. I exhaled a breath I hadn't realised I'd been holding, trying very hard not to replay the last fifteen minuted in my mind.

Tossing my bag up on the counter, I shuffled through all the crap I had shoved in their at one time or another and finally pulled out the bottle of diazepam the guy from biology had picked up off the cafeteria floor. Why was I so afraid of people knowing I had these?

I got diagnosed at fourteen when I had a bad episode. They'd saddled me with a pretty significant list of psychological mumbo-jumbo and put me on suicide watch. They'd given me electroconvusive therapy to combat the clinical depression. It was a quick fix for a bigger problem. I was diagnosed with severe panic disorder and sent home with a prescription for Valium and bi-weekly visits to Dr. Vega's office for talk therapy. Angela was the only person outside my family who knew. And I wanted to keep it that way.

Popping the pills in my mouth, I swallowed.

I needed to feel calm.

Why could I never seem to get calm?