A/N

First Chapter into Bea's life

From your greatest British Friend, Anya

BPOV

Just a couple more hours Bea' I groaned at this thought, a couple more hours being stuck on this plane. Sorry, chicken pen! How can anyone feel free whilst flying? How can anyone feel free at all? I pushed the thought aside, there was no point getting myself worked up again. I huffed for what felt like the millionth time in the last hour, my mum sensed my anxiety.

'Bea just breathe honey, another 3 hours is nothing, you've been on here for nine already.'

"Thanks for the reminder mum" she gave me a sympathetic look before her eyes went wide with a thought.

'Would you like a drink? Or a snack? Oh god! You must be starving and you must stop skipping breakfast it isn't good for you-"

I jumped up out of my seat and made my way to the planes only toilet, I couldn't listen to her attempts to comfort me, they only made me feel worse about how I wasn't normal, how I could feel safe and free if I wasn't consumed with nervousness. Anxiety doesn't affect me as much as other people's stories I've heard but it's still there within me, lingering. Id perfected the art of calming myself before a panic attack, well when I say calming I meaning running out of wherever the heck I was before anyone could notice but it still worked. No matter how much my mother tried to help me overcome this monster, she couldn't and after the fire it only got worse, not that she noticed. I grabbed onto the door handle for stability as the plane shook slightly, like when the floorboards shook back at home, when there was such thing as home.

My father was candle obsessed, weird right? Usually it's quite a feminine thing but he didn't care, he said 'express yourself darling, in whatever shape or form. You will meet people who express themselves so much different to you and you have to learn to accept Beatrice' I cringed, not only at the thought of my full name but the memories of my loving, erratic harebrained father...Who saved me. And his obsession of candles that killed him.

I counted my breathes and felt my heartbeat slow, as I made my way back to my seat, my mother gave me a warm smile which followed shortly by my forced one. I must have drifted off to sleep again as I heard agonizing screams fill my head and the comforting warmth from my blanket was soon turned into a scorching oblivion.

'Please Mick don't go! Leave it, just leave her!' my mother's words echoed in my head

'Cassie, let me go, you don't mean it.'

I heard loud thuds coming up the steps as my screams were drowned out by the developing fire, the floor boards shook and I screamed even louder for help as I took one last look at my bedroom filled with memories and pictures. I knew the floor would give way any moment and I hadn't come to accept that it was my time to go. It can't be my time, not yet.

My vision was blurry but I forced my brain to focus on the figure stumbling forwards. Dad. He forced the door open with such ease. But I had tried and tried to pry it open? I had pulled and pushed, kicked and punched but I wouldn't budge. How did he open it? He grabbed my face and said ' accept everyone Beatrice even those who you aren't normal'

And that's when he, growled? I still hadn't figured that bit out yet maybe a fragment of my imagination but my attention was turned to the crumbling floor as I was thrown out the first story window and Darkness overcame me.

My eyes flew open and I found myself still sitting on this damn plane. I turned my head and stared at my mother. The screaming, telling Mick (my dad) not go get me? Was my mother. I don't know what was going through her head at the time and I don't think she did either until a year after.

When my father died she refused to speak, leave the house, shop for groceries, cook, anything. So that's what I did for my 16th year as I child. Care for my mum and hide the constant anxiety and panic attacks the death of my father brought me.

My mother got counselling and after a few months returned to her normal widowed self. Heartless, that's how I see it, you tell your husband to leave your only child to die in a fire, basically leave her to fend for herself for a year and then get over it after three months of help. But as much as I try to hate her, I can't. Sure, now she cares for me and attempts to help me when I struggle in life but I refuse to accept it, the new her, I can't. The betrayal she had shown taught me never to trust anyone, ever.

So that's why I am currently on a plane to La Push Reservation, to ' escape this town, escape this hell' as my mother put it. But the hell created was inside my head, it just happened to play hide and seek a lot of the time, except, you didn't need to come and find it, it would become present when it wanted to. Okay, maybe I'm exaggerating a little bit, the 'hell', was living with my mother to be exact and she did let me come and go as I please.