Hey, guys, so I've been contemplating this story for a while. As it follows the book, don't be surprised if you read conversations from the book in here, but I'm hoping to limit those. Anything you recognise more than likely doesn't belong to me, however, June is my character (obviously) and I hope you like her.

I re-wrote this (again), as of 26/8/13

Prologue: Beginnings

Do you know what it feels like to be suffocating? To experience an onslaught of intense, all-consuming panic that just rips your nervous system to shreds and threatens to overwhelm you with fear?

To actually feel like you're going to die?

No? Then trust me, you're lucky. It's scary as hell.

It's even scarier that sometimes, I have no warning. Sometimes, it just happens.

One minute, I'm in touch with reality, watching TV, or doing homework. The next, the world disappears and all I can focus on is my heart pounding in my chest, my rapid breathing harsh in my ears, fighting the urge to faint.

Then comes the suffocating feeling.

I have an anxiety disorder and it's about as much fun as wearing a red sweater in a bull pen. I've never actually been in a bull pen wearing a red sweater, but I can imagine the sheer terror of having a massive, dangerous animal with sharp, pointed horns charge straight for you. It's about the same as an anxiety attack.

Let's just say it's not fun.

.

The plane shook slightly with a bout of turbulence and I froze.

My eyes snapped shut and I took a deep breath in slowly, before letting it out. I didn't like flying. I mean, why would I? I'm trapped inside a large metal beast flying thousands of meters above the surface of the planet, defying gravity and relying on aerodynamics to guide me safely to the ground. Who would find that enjoyable? Technology had flaws, and who's to say this plane isn't flawed and we're about to drop out of the sky?

I went around my body, tensing and relaxing the muscle groups. Mum reached her hand out and placed it on mine. When I felt relatively calm and freak-out free, I opened my eyes and turned back to the Amnesty International Urgent Action papers messily scattered on the small fold-down tray in front of me. The papers asked me to write more letters on behalf of those who've had their Human Rights violated.

"We're almost there," mum said. "Why don't you try to get a little sleep?"

"I wish I could," I replied, stretching out a cramp in my hand. "I'll just keep going with these."

She patted my hand twice, before moving her hand away and turning back to the book she was reading.

In the two seats in front of me were my dad and brother, Mason, who glared out the window at the sky like the universe and fate had conspired against him to screw him over. My brother was a lanky, surly fourteen year old who did not, under any circumstances, want to leave his school and town to start over in the middle of the school year in a different town.

Forks. I'd never been there and I'd never had any intention or inclination to go there. But that was before there were cut backs at my mum's work and she'd taken an available position in Forks, whose own hospital was understaffed.

I'd kicked a fuss about leaving in the middle of my junior year, but it didn't do any good. The decision was already made. Dad was on board, because he'd bought a small mechanic shop there and was eager to start up his own business.

I sighed and decided to follow mum's lead, filing the papers in my folder and pulling out my book.

I was up to the chapter on Carl Panzram.

I found serial killers fascinating. Which, now that I thought about it, made me sound like a psycho.

Yes, reading about what kind of people are out there in the world made me sick, made me feel ill at what one person can do to another. But did I also find it interesting? Yes. I also found it unbelievably fascinating to try to understand how the mind of a deranged person worked. Why they committed the crimes they did. What makes them tick, what sends them over the edge and why.

Plus, it was one of the only things that calmed me down and staved off a panic attack.

Yep. Weird.

But I already knew I was odd.

The plane touched down an hour later and we headed for our new house. Mum had fixed up the house last week; she'd flown to Forks to meet with the removalists, and to organise everything to where it was supposed to be. The house itself was nice; a double storey with an open plan kitchen and lounge room. Mason headed straight for his room, thundering up the stairs and slamming his door.

Mum and dad looked at each other, sighing. I followed him up, looking around for my room.

The walls were plain white, and I made a mental note to add a bit of colour as soon as I got the chance. My bed was set up, an Amnesty International poster on the wall above the headboard, and various boxes scattered around, my name scrawled across them in black letters. Empty bookcases lined one wall, just waiting to be filled, so I got to work.

I'd be starting school in the morning. As the new kid. That'll be fun.

Hey, so...What'd'ya think?

Thanks so much for reading!