A/N Hey everyone! So here is a new story from me. It started as a one-shot, but it will at least be a two-shot. I think I left the end to cliff-hangery? Not a word… I hope you enjoy it anyway!

Warning: So angsty! Sorry, I didn't even notice how sad it was until I re-read it!

Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize.

I couldn't think. Couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. After all these years of trying to recover and trying to find myself again, he just has to show up again. He was the reason for the last ten years of hell. He thinks he can just call me and leave a message like we're old friends? We're not. We were enemies. He hated me with a burning passion. My therapists said it was because he was jealous of me - he knew I was a better leader and he resented me for it. I know that's not true. The reason he hated me is because he was savage and he would do anything to feel that hunting rush. All he wanted to do was hunt, and when I didn't let him, he snapped.

I crumpled to the ground. I couldn't take all the memories that started flowing. My therapists had encouraged me to remember and open up to them, but instead I piled up the memories inside of myself and created barriers to keep the horrid memories out of my mind. I wanted to stop myself from thinking right now - I had worked far to hard creating walls to chase the memories away to have them fall to pieces right now. But, honestly, I felt to weak to even try and overtake these powerful thoughts that flooded in. So I let them in - just this once - and tried to prepare myself for what was yet to come.

The pictures flashed in my mind. The voices rang in my head. All I could process were the voices, the sounds overlapping each other. There was a crash of a plane, Piggy's voice, a conch, pig snorts, screaming, boulders rolling and –

No. No, I did not have to go through this again. I would not suffer anymore. I forced my eyes open and pushed myself off the cold, hard floor. It took all of my strength, but I was able to do it. I felt a small sense of pride, knowing I was able to accomplish the small task even a 4-year-old could. I used the counter in my single apartment's kitchen to hold me up. I stared at my answering machine with the glowing red 01 new message(s) typed into the screen. I wanted to delete the message. More than that, destroy the machine, smash it again the wall, throw it out the window - but I couldn't. I knew what anger did to a person, oh god, I knew. So, maybe I could just delete the message? I tried to force my hand to move forward, but I couldn't do it. I could not press the one button that could help me get through this. I felt a warm pattern of wetness run down my cheeks but I couldn't be bothered to wipe the tears away. It would be too hard. Everything was too hard at the moment. I was able to shift my glare away from the machine and out my window overlooking the busy streets.

Press delete, Ralph. It's not that hard, Piggy's voice spoke into my head. I hated it when this happened - Piggy became that little voice in the back of my head. My conscience if you will.
"Shut up, Piggy," I spoke aloud. After years of trying to forget Piggy's damn voice, I could still hear it as perfectly as I could on that fist day after the plane cra-

No! Ralph, stop! I screamed at myself mentally, Don't give in now, please don't. I tried to stop the tears from rolling down my cheeks. Why would he do this? Why would he want to see me after all these years? Why would he care?

I didn't know how much time had passed once I finally figured out how to make my legs move again. It could have been hours, it could have been minutes – I didn't know for sure. I was able to stumble my way to the couch and collapse. I squeezed my eyes shut and feel into an uneasy sleep full of my normal nightmares.

I was at the beach again. The damn beach leading to Castle Rock. The fire blazed and the smell of overcooked pig filled the air. The savages danced around the fire, pretending to kill with their spears. As per usual, I noticed myself and Piggy just as bad as the others. We might have been on the outside, but we were dying to get a piece of the action. Then a dark, small figure came out of the forest and stumbled into the center of the circle. Now I could see 'the beast' clearly for who it was. Simon. I yelled, I screamed, I did everything in my power to stop my young self from participating in the murder, but there was nothing I could do. I was up near the front now, just as bad as the rest of them. Then came the rolling noise. A boulder was rolling down from Castle Rock and struck Piggy, killing him instantly. As I was staring at Piggy, I missed what was happening with the other boys. I looked at my young self, decorated in war paint, just as savage as the rest of them.

I woke up in a cold sweat, throat raw from screaming. That dream - the dream that had been haunting me since that very first sleep off the island. Piggy, and Simon, and I. Though they were physically dead, I was dead inside. That's just as bad, right? At least they didn't have to deal with recovery - they were just gone. Probably somewhere nicer, and far, far away from here. That's what I'd always hoped for, anyway. I didn't want them to suffer; I wanted them to be somewhere good where they deserved to be. Out of all the boys on- on the island, they deserve to be in a better place the most. Especially Simon. Simon who was never a savage. Even Piggy and I had lost ourselves to the savagery the night we ki- that night. But Piggy deserved better than hell-on-earth, too. If we had just listened to him from the start! I had no doubt things would've been different. He tried to save all of us, but he couldn't.

Letting my thoughts run so freely really caught me off guard. Memories from the island I thought I had forgotten flowed back into my mind like a never-ending stream. That stream? That's my life's pain. My pain will never end. Never. I will always be tortured by these memories.
Sometimes, if I had a really lucky night and didn't dream at all, there would be a second in the morning when I woke up, and I would think everything's okay. But then my brain would kick in, and I would live my day the same way I lived my life - in pain more immense than being driven over by a hummer while lying on top of a needle bed.

Most days I think I would actually take that pain rather than the internal pain I always had to deal with. Instead of feeling deep cuts through my body as dark blood coursed down my body, I had to feel my entire insides being shredded apart every day of my life.

Why couldn't I have just protected them? I asked myself this question constantly. I knew that if I had just protected them better, they wouldn't be dead. I could completely see Simon when I attacked him - I could've stopped the other boys. And Piggy, oh Piggy! I could've just yelled at him to get out of the way! That's all - nothing complicated. Just a 'run to your left!' and maybe he would still be alive. Maybe. That is if Jack didn't get to him like he almost got to me.

I still remembered that moment. When I was running through the forest, when I tripped, before I saw the officer. I knew I was done for. I knew they would catch me and torture me into a slow and painful death. Then they would cut my head off. Looking back on it now, they would probably cut my head off while I was still alive. I felt my neck lock up just thinking about it. I squeezed my eyes closed and tried to block out the images. It actually made it worse – the images became vivid and very much alive. I forced my eyes open once again, and tried to forget. I didn't know what I was trying to forget – my whole life, I assumed.

Death seemed like a better alternative than living in this constant pain. But I knew I was too afraid to do it. I wouldn't be able to kill myself. The thought of death scares me since the island. Most things scare me since the island. Especially pig. I went vegan after getting off island. There was no way I could eat meat again. Even thinking of it made me want to throw up. I was afraid of thunderstorms and rain. It reminded me of too many nights spent on the island. Everything reminds me of the damned island.

I don't think there are many people who know the pain I live in every day. There may be those who know, but definitely not many who care. My parents care. Well, my dad used to. He just wants me to get over it now, which is why I live alone. And my mom, she still cares. I know she does. My therapists don't care. If they cared, they wouldn't make me pay for therapy – they'd do it for free to help me. And I didn't have any friends. I couldn't function after the island. I couldn't interact with anyone. The only friends I thought I really had left were Sam and Eric from the island, and we hadn't spoken in over three years.

I remembered my therapists saying once that if anyone other than Sam and Eric contacted me from the island, I needed to call them right away. I stared at my answering machine. The pain the damned message put me through was already too much to bear – no way I would tell anyone else about it. But maybe I should do something about it. Maybe I should listen to the message one more time and then I could move on with my life. Or at least the hell my life seemed to be.

I stumbled over to the answering machine and hit Play Unread Messages quickly so there wouldn't be time for me to think. As soon as I clicked the button, I sank to the ground and braced myself.

Hi Ralph. This is Jack. Merridew? Remember me? I heard you live in this area now, and I'm just passing through. I was just wondering if you wanted to catch up? If you do, call me at 555-8787. If not, I understand.

And he left it at that. Nothing else. His voice sounded apologetic and sincere, but who knows if he meant it? He's such a good manipulator; he could be luring me into some trap where the savage boys – men, now – would be waiting to kill me. But didn't I just want my life to end? Not like that. That's what I've been running from since my life on the island.

It wasn't a trap, anyways. He's, like, over ten years older than the last time I saw him. I knew we were all different now, and all he really wanted to do was talk. But, I was afraid if I actually came face to face with Jack Merridew again, I wouldn't be able to speak. I wouldn't be able to think or move, either. But maybe seeing him again would make something better. It would break this awful routine I lived in. It could make my life better, if Jack was different in a better way now. Or he could be worse, and make my life even worse than it is already – something I would've thought impossible a few days ago.

Now I had to make a decision. I had to make a choice. I had to decide between taking a chance and hoping he's better now, or I would have to assume that he's worse and possibly miss my one chance at improving my life. I shook my head as I forced myself to my feet.

I grabbed the phone and punched in the dreaded number. The ring of the phone matched the ringing in my head. Why am I doing this? Putting myself through this? I almost slammed the phone down, but then someone on the other line picked up.

"Hello?"

"Hi. Jack? This is Ralph."

A/N So what did you think? Next part is on the way, but it may take me a while to write. Please review and tell me what you think. Reviews and constructive criticism is greatly appreciated! Maybe tell me what you'd like to see in the next part, and if you would like this story just to be a two-shot or possibly a multi-chapter story.

Thanks!

RRM