I opened up the window to my second story apartment and as gracefully as humanly possible lowered myself to a sitting position on the sill, my back against one side, my feet pressed firmly on the other. Rolo, my pug, curled into his bed sitting just below the window. His left ear flopped over onto his face causing me to giggle before turning my attention back to my precarious position. My right hand held an average sized pipe, the bowl was the shape of a skull, it was my absolute favourite piece. The glass had a yellow tint to it and the way it was blown all lopsided-like make it perfectly imperfect. The inside was piled high with beautiful, crystally, dank washington medical grade cannabis. When it was lit correctly, the inside stayed burning and it looked like a brain.

No, I didn't have a prescription. Yes, I could still get fucked for having nearly an ounce sitting in the false bottom of my underwear drawer. Quite frankly, the pros of being high defeated the cons of getting fined hundreds of dollars for possession.

The likelihood of getting caught was also slim to none... Unless you asked my parents who would constantly lecture that smoking dope would most definitely get me thrown in the darkest, most dangerous parts of prison. Not that they even knew that I had picked up smoking in my Junior year of high school, but they felt the need to lecture nonetheless. I didn't necessarily have to smoke leaning out of a rickety window, but years of hiding my habits from prying parents left me unable to enjoy a simple bowl without extreme paranoia. I didn't have a roommate, boyfriend, or even a nearby neighbour that would care enough to even call police, but better safe than sorry, yeah? That was my usual mantra every time I felt silly for emptying a half a can of Febreeze, burning a stick of incense, and constantly opening my old, guillotine style windows. I say guillotine style because nearly every window in my apartment has almost decapitated me once, if not more.

Tossing a few strands of long brown hair away from my face, I brought the bowl to my lips, lighter in tow and took a huge hit from my prized item. The weed was decent, not the best I'd smoked, but on my budget I could not afford top shelf.

Was I a drug addict? I wouldn't say so. Not even close. Was I abusing my drug of choice? Most definitely. It was my coping mechanism for almost five years of extremely debilitating anxiety. I couldn't go about my normal daily routine without at least three grams in my purse and my skull bowl tucked neatly into its shatter proof case. Why was I anxious? This was where my life story became dark and completely strayed from the confines of average American family problems. My family was special. Completely different from ninety-nine percent of human beings born into this world. Our genealogy could be traced all the way back to Salem during the witch trials.

Each member of my immediate family was born with incredible powers. We're all witches: Jasper, me, Mom, and Dad... There aren't many rules to follow, just don't expose yourself and don't hurt anyone, or else. The or else is referring to The Witches Council, they sound overbearing and they can be if you're a constant rule breaker like myself. Aro Volturi, leader of The Witches Council has a strict no tolerance policy for 'Slip Ups' within human society. A 'Slip Up' constitutes as the use of magic in front of humans, unfairly using magic against a human, and last but not least, using magic to mess with life and death. I'd only broken the first two in my whole life and both instances were when I was in my junior year of high school. The Witches Council had to personally visit my home and question my family whilst they sent out their slaves to erase the memories of the humans I 'endangered.'

I didn't understand why my punishment was so severe; however, according to Witches Law, using magic to control a piece of chalk to write "Fuck you Mr. Banner," on the old blackboard behind the teacher's desk during a lesson was prohibited. The whole class erupted in full out belly laughs while the white chalk gracefully danced across the board. Mr. Banner, his jaw quivering and eyes bulging behind his Steve Urkel style glasses, tried to grab the chalk from my invisible clutches, but all to no avail. He ended up flopping around the front of the class room until he dove head first, in an attempt to snag the chalk, and nailed his head on the corner of his solid oak desk. He recovered after two minutes of laying on the cold linoleum floor. I saw no harm in my display of comedy... Aro Volturi did. He gave me two options: One, leave my family at the age of eighteen to work as an Overseer (Slave) in the Witches Council for ten years; or Two, bind my powers until the age of twenty-one.

I chose the latter.

Stupid, immature, seventeen year old me decided to have my powers bound until the age of twenty-one even though Aro calmly pointed out the god-awful side affects. Constant anxiety and irritability, restlessness, and the ability to contract all human diseases, viruses, and injuries. Witches have immunity from all human ailments, including Cancer. However, the second he performed the ritual to bind my powers to the confines of my body, he made me worthless; weak; and prone to an untimely death.

I brought the bowl up my lips again and took a huge hit, holding it in my lungs far longer than necessary. Suddenly, a knock on my door sent Rolo into a barking/snorting frenzy. I coughed out my hit, trying to regain composure.

"Bella! We need to talk. Now," my brother's voice echoed against the empty walls of my apartment. I cursed the still hot piece of glass in my hands, Jasper would surely tell mom and dad... I started to remove myself from my sitting position but another loud knock and round of barking caused me to fall backwards out the window, pipe and lighter in hand. Here it comes, I thought. Who knew death would be as easy as falling from a second story window? All my anxiety and pain would be gone in mere seconds. As quickly as I'd fallen from the sill, my back hit something hard and cold and clothed in leather? I'd been cheated. I could still feel the endless tingling in my fingertips, the anxiety that was definitely creating golf ball sized ulcers in my oesophagus, and the pain in my lungs from a harsh hit as it continued to resonate through my chest. This wasn't death. This was unlucky Bella Swan surviving a deadly fall onto a concrete patio. I pried open my tightly closed eyes and gasped my when my gaze connected with the oddest shade of gold I'd ever seen.