Hello all! Welcome to my first foray into fanfiction. Enjoy...

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. I am in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended. I just like to take them out and play with them.

Rated M: For mature themes involving depression, attempted suicide, prescription drug abuse, and sexual situations that may not be suitable for minors, If you're underage, you probably shouldn't be reading this, but it's not like I can stop you.

Chapter 1: Bella
Starting Over

I gripped the steering wheel – eyes closed – and took a deep, calming breath. This will be ok. This will be ok. I repeated the words over and over again. It was some 'mantra' thing my new therapist wanted me to try. He thought it might help me overcome my demons from the accident last July.

July. When my world had turned upside down and I had been ripped in half… but I couldn't think about that today. I couldn't lose what little control I had. Today was going to be hard enough without me having a huge emotional breakdown in the front seat of my car before the day even started.

Finally mustering up the strength to move, I stepped down from my car and walked toward the school. It wasn't anything like my high school back home in Phoenix. That had been a sprawling concrete monstrosity; Chugiak High (home of the Mustangs!) in bustling Chugiak, Alaska was its polar opposite in every way. Instead of being one large building, there were several smaller red-brick buildings that surrounded a pretty little courtyard covered in snow. At least, I suppose it might have been pretty had I bothered to take my eyes off of the ground long enough to look at it.

Pushing through the double doors of the main building, I took another deep breath and readied myself for the curious stares that I knew would be coming my way all day. He had been the outgoing one – the one with all the friends. I hated being the center of attention. And there was no better way to become the center of attention than transferring to a small high school mid-semester. Only 368 kids in the entire student body – not exactly the place you can get lost in a crowd. Nervously, I tugged my sleeves down over my palms. This action made me briefly relieved again that long sleeves were appropriate year-round in Alaska.

Ugh.

I was in my own personal hell.

The sounds of the school hit me like a freight train – kids laughing, talking, yelling, lockers slamming – it made me want to turn right back around and get back in my car. But I had promised my dad that I would at least make an effort. I wanted to show him that I was making progress – that I was trying… that it was working. I was determined to get him to quit worrying about me so much, hence my feeble attempt at school to pacify his mind. So, I made my way to the front office to get my schedule with my head down and my eyes on my shoes.

After the secretary handed me my schedule along with a map of the school (yeah, I wasn't going to stand out at all), I made one quick detour before braving the curious masses and heading to class. I felt the beginnings of my daily migraine start to pound behind my right eye near my temple, so I went into the girls' bathroom to take something.

Most girls bring make-up to school. I bring a pharmacy.

Unzipping my make-up case, I was faced with a choice. Imatrex or Excedrin Migraine? Inhaler or pills? Screw it all and numb my mind with a Vicodin or Fiornal? Dammit. Stupid promise to my dad! I took three Excedrin like a champ with no water (the recommended doses are just that – recommended) and used an Imatrex inhaler. Armed with enough prescription drugs to incapacitate an entire family of horses, I made my way to Building Five for homeroom with my head down and my eyes again on my shoes.

At this rate, I would have every scuff on my black Dr. Marten mary-janes burned into my memory by the end of the school day.

When I approached the classroom door, my chest tightened in a painful yet familiar way and my breathing grew shallow. Shit. Shit. Shit. I worked hard to control my breathing, 'In through the nose, out through the mouth. In through the nose, out through the mouth.' I was just chock full of these fucking mantras. Ever since my… incident, I've been suffering from panic attacks. They can be brought on by pretty much anything, from changing schools to changing the channel on the TV, and once they start there's no going back. I just needed to take a few deep breaths and suffer through the pain. Lately, I have been trying to limit my stressors of as to avoid the attacks all together, but starting a new school was most definitely stressing me out. There was no avoiding this today.

My homeroom teacher, Mr. Reese, was a tall, thin, balding man wearing a sweater vest and wire-rimmed glasses. I mean, really. People like him were born to be high school teachers. He looked at my schedule and told me to take a seat without a second glance. Thank GOD, because I was still attempting to breathe my way through my daily feels-like-a-heart-attack-but-it's-not panic attack.

I sat.

He took roll.

I raised my hand.

People looked at me.

I cringed in my seat.

The meds kicked in.

I didn't relax.

The bell rang.

I assumed later on that my morning classes went well. It's not that I wasn't trying to pay attention, but I kept on zoning out – a remnant of my slight dependence on sleeping pills. Sure, they work, but I wouldn't exactly refer to myself as 'coherent' until well after eleven am. By lunchtime, I had only looked three people in the eye (the office secretary and two teachers) and had uttered a total of only fifteen words ('thanks' and 'here' being my most popular word choices of the day). I also had no idea what went on in any of my classes. Since no one had said anything or outwardly noticed anything wrong, I figured that I must be putting on a good show. They'll just think I'm shy. Or mildly hard of hearing when I don't respond to questions. Whatever. So even though I was in complete and total denial, I was still trudging bravely through my day.

After fourth period, I took another detour into the bathroom to pop a Klonopin before lunch. I didn't want to face the gawking crowds while in the grips of another panic-stricken frenzy á la homeroom. But when I closed and locked the stall door behind me, it dawned on me that I didn't really have to go to the cafeteria. For the past few months, I haven't really eaten much – so eating lunch wasn't a necessity – and it's not like they take attendance to ensure that you actually eat in the lunch room. So I spent my very first lunch hour at my new high school sitting inside a locked bathroom stall happier than I had been all day. There is something seriously wrong with me.

After an hour, my serenity was interrupted when the bell rang signaling the end of lunch. I checked my schedule and saw that I had biology next period. Biology. A subject I had already taken in Phoenix. Apparently, students in Arizona take bio as sophomores but juniors take it in Alaska; the office staff hadn't taken that into account when they made my schedule. Honestly, I wasn't about to tell them. This year was going to be hard enough. Starting all of my classes in the middle of the term made for some serious make-up work, so having a class that I already knew would just take one more stressor out of my life.

Walking into the room, I immediately determined that this class would be problematic because I would have to share a lab table with some poor unsuspecting normal student. Working closely together on labs was definitely not going to be much fun for them given my propensity for complete and total silence.

Mr. Banner checked my schedule and pointed to the only seat left in the classroom – right next to a guy that looked like he wanted to be in school just about as much as I did. "Welcome to the class Miss Swan. Go ahead and take that seat over by Edward." "Thanks," I replied. That made sixteen words for the day. 'Lab table guy' didn't move to look at me; it was almost like he hadn't even noticed me sitting down next to him. Maybe this would work out. We could spend the entire year ignoring each other until we were forced to talk about Biology. Perfect.

'Lab table guy' – Edward, I guess – was incredibly pale like most of the residents here with reddish-brown hair that you could almost call bronze. His face was very classically structured with a long sloping nose and high cheek bones, kind of like a statue from ancient Greece or Rome. He was lean and muscular, like a distance runner, and from the way he seemed to be folded onto his seat I guessed he was pretty tall. He had a think silver hoop through his left earlobe and a silver bar through the cartilage on the same side. There were various silver hoops and studs going up his right ear, and the look was polished off with a stud going right through the middle of his lower lip. And the look on his face was so bored, that he basically looked like he couldn't give a flying fuck about anything or anyone. Again, perfect.

I would have immediately written him off as your basic slacker-type if it weren't for his clothes- he was wearing what appeared to be really expensive designer jeans, black leather shoes, and a long-sleeved button-up shirt that fit his frame nicely. I think it must have been this obvious dichotomy that made me really take notice of him; his style was so opposed to his attitude and body language (and, you know, the multiple facial piercings). He was the first student I had truly looked at since I walked in the doors this morning – if you had asked me anything about the kids in my other classes, I don't think I would have been able to answer a single question. For some reason, Edward seemed different.

Class went by agonizingly slowly. Mr. Banner was giving a lecture on cellular anatomy – something I had already studied in greater depth back home – so I placed my pen on my notebook and stared blankly toward the front of the room. I really did try to take some notes, but I ended up just zoning out. Near the end of class, I realized that I must not have been moving that much when my back started to feel stiff. I think it was the lab stools – they didn't have backs on them and I was kind of hunched over the table leaning on my elbows. Without thinking of the attention it would draw, I stretched my arms up over my head and arched my back to relieve the stiffness that had settled there. Edward noticed my movements and glanced over at me… and so did a few other kids. Dammit. I quickly returned to my prior position with my back curved down and my shoulders drawn inwards. I hated being noticed. Thankfully the bell rang then, saving me from dwelling on it further.

If I thought coming to a new school was hell, then my final class was most definitely its seventh circle. Gym. God must hate me. Brandon had been the athletic one – the star quarterback, the cross-country runner – I had always been the studious one. The clumsy, somewhat uncoordinated book worm who brought novels to her brother's football games because she didn't know what was going on. I wondered briefly if I could convince my new therapist to get me out of gym, but let that idea go almost immediately. He wanted me to become involved in my new school as much as possible; coming to him after one day and asking to get out of something would not go over well at all.

Coach Dyer let me sit out since it was my first day (hooray), but after class he led me to his office and provided me with my very own set of gym clothes so I could be prepared to endure the humiliation tomorrow. Short-sleeved T-shirts were required on the days we spent inside in the gym. What? No! NO! Fuck! I can't! I hadn't even thought of this. But no one wears t-shirts in Alaska! I wanted to scream this at him. My head began to spin at the mental image of me walking out of the locker room in that shirt. I almost threw up on him. This was something that would definitely have to be taken care of. Before tomorrow.

The walk out to my car after school was cold. Everything here was cold. Ice had crusted over my door handle while I was in school today and I actually had to chip it away before climbing up into the cab and starting the engine. My dad had gotten me a truck when I moved up here two weeks ago so I could drive myself on the icy roads. It was totally massive and I wasn't that great at parking it in between the lines yet, but I would be safe if I slid of the road in it for sure. I blasted the heater on high and started out towards Dr. Lavery's office. When I had seen him the previous Friday, he had essentially forced me to make an appointment for the afternoon after my first day in school here. I guess he thought I would want to talk about things.

I never wanted to talk about things.

~B~

"And how did our first day go?" Dr. Lavery's kind, fatherly eyes were fixed on me while I stared back at him like a sullen child.

"Fine."

"Good… good…" He liked to pretend that I was actually answering his questions instead of just putting him off. I had no idea why. "So there were no issues? No panic attacks? Nothing I need to take care of for you?"

"Um. Well… maybe."

"Just say the word my dear, I'm here to help you after all." He really was a nice man.

"Well… for gym… the shirts… they have short sleeves. It's embarrassing, you know… I can't… I mean… I don't want people… to know…" I let my rambling trail off.

"Yes, yes! Of course. I'll speak to the counseling office first thing in the morning. They are very discreet, so no need to worry about that." I swear this man could read my mind.

"Thanks."

"No problem at all! Now. Let's talk about your medications." The remainder of our session consisted of him asking me questions and me grunting back one word answers. Par for the course for us. By the end of the hour, he had determined that I was doing well on my current cocktail and I would be coming back to see him Wednesday afternoon after school.

"Thanks, Dr. Lavery," I mumbled as I moved toward the door.

"Have a good night and I'll see you Wednesday, ok? Call me anytime if you ever need anything!" he called after me as I opened the door into the rapidly darkening afternoon. I liked this guy. I mean, I wasn't planning on calling him but he didn't ride my ass about not spilling my guts like the last lady. It was nice.

~B~

I came home to an empty house. My dad was still at the police station until 5:30 and since he had never remarried, I was left to my own devices in his empty home. Only a few weeks ago, this would have been a seriously bad idea but I was doing much better now – or at least I liked to think so. Just yesterday he and I had a talk about it, and dad told me that he trusted me enough to be home alone and that as long as I honored that trust, we wouldn't have any problems. Mom would have found that impossible. I really did love my dad.

Dinner was held in comfortable silence. Dad hadn't ever been much of a talker and I stared blankly down at my plate while attempting to choke down the steak and mashed potatoes. I managed about half and put the rest in a Tupperware destined for dad's lunch at the station tomorrow – he would like that. When he was done eating, he went upstairs to change out of his uniform while I took the dishes and began washing them mechanically while staring unseeing out of the little window over the sink.

He came down a few minutes later in his flannel pajama pants and ratty old University of Arizona sweatshirt to start a fire in the living room fireplace. By the time I was done washing and drying the dishes – no dishwasher – he was settled in his recliner watching ESPN and drinking peppermint tea in front of a roaring fire. It looked so cozy in that little living room that I sat down next to the fireplace with my backpack and decided to lose myself in some school work before bed. I had a ton of work to catch up on.

Homework had always been an escape for me, and now was no different. If I could just concentrate on work for awhile, maybe I could forget the rest of my pathetic life. I pulled out my various books and syllabi to begin making a master list of everything I needed to get done if I was ever going to get caught up with my classmates. After about an hour I had an entire three notebook pages full of chapters to read, worksheets to fill out, and papers to write. They've only been in school a month! This is fucking insane! I felt more in over my head than ever. Shoving everything back in my bag to be dealt with tomorrow, I kissed my dad on the cheek and turned to go upstairs to take a shower before going to bed.

"Hey, Bells? I just… I wanted to say that I'm glad you're back in school. And here… with me," my dad wasn't that great with showing emotion, so this was going way over the top for him.

"Yeah dad… thanks. I'm glad I'm here too," and I was. He smiled up at me from his old leather chair and I made an attempt to smile back. It probably looked forced.

The upstairs was about thirty degrees colder than the living room had been, so I ended up spending a bit longer in the shower than normal in an attempt to make the heat last. It's not that we didn't have heat or anything, but for some reason that Alaska chill just came right through the walls. I toweled off, dried my hair thoroughly to prevent ice crystals from forming in the night, downed an Ambien with a small glass of water, and put on my most comfortable sweats that were about three sizes too big for me now. Once ready for bed, it was time for my nightly routine. Burrowing underneath the heavy quilts and blankets on my bed, I began to sob quietly while thinking about how I had come to be stuck in this godforsaken town to begin with.

AN: Kindly leave your thoughts if you feel so inclined.