I'm so freaking tired of it.

"Boo freaking hoo, Leah," I snarl. "I'm sick of your whining."

Paul looks shocked. The look on his face says, How the hell did something like that come out of the perfect Seth Clearwater's mouth?

I don't want to answer. The story is just me angsting over my life. I've become what my mom never wanted me to be, and how Jacob was after she left.

"SHUT UP, SETH!" Leah shouts. Her face is contorted, her voice a snarl. She's upset over the situation with her love life. Not only did another one run away, but apparently she's fat and Sam is a fascist bastard.

What else is new?

I give my bitchy sister a look. "No." I'm sick of it all. "I'll keep talking if I want to. You're always moaning about some shit or other, and you don't even think about me. It all revolves around you. I'm tired of it."

"The hell with you, Seth! How would you like to live my life? Deal with what I do? Dad's death? Being a wolf? Never being able to start a family?"

I used to feel so bad for Leah. Now I realize that she's really annoying, and incredibly self-centered.

Not dealing with it.

Leah doesn't deserve for me to deal with her. That would be a waste of my time. I walk out the door in the kitchen. Paul exhales. As I slam the door behind me, I hear him say to Leah, "He's sort of right. You know you never really bother to think about him? He's becoming like Jacob."

I don't want to dwell on that fact.

So the question is, with all of my angst in tow, how did I get on the angsty part of this not-so-kiddie ride?

Time. Tragedy. Compassion. Too much empathy.

I was always the one to think of other people before me. I thought of my mom and Leah when my dad died. I knew I had to be strong for them. I always put myself in Leah's shoes, making my head hurt. I did what everyone wanted, no questions asked.

Jacob once told me I had one of the purest minds Edward had ever seen.

Not anymore.

Somehow, I got this way. Well, screw it.

I jam my hands into my pockets, for once wearing clothes. A reckless idea comes to mind.

I got a brand new attitude, and I'm gonna wear it tonight. I wanna get in trouble, I wanna start a fight.

The stars are beginning to show in the pink sky. The old me would stop to admire it.

I'm not the old Seth anymore.

Wait. Where the hell would I get in a fight?

… Maybe… A bar? There's always fights there in movies. I shake my head and head towards Port Angeles, having phased and tied my clothes to my leg.

There's no reason to be like this. You were never this person.

Shut up, I tell the voice in my head. Thank God no one is running patrol right now, otherwise, I'd be dealing with a lot more crap.

I phase behind an old church in Port Angeles. Recklessly, I stride into the bar a few steps away, the bouncer clearly assuming I'm so much older than fifteen.

There's a hot girl sitting next to a guy. There Forks kids obviously, and I wonder how they snuck in.

The one girl next to the boy is blond, really hot, with straight hair, blue eyes, and big boobs.

Sweetness.

The guy is a chump, looking at her every two seconds as if he's afraid he's going to lose her. The girl sitting on the blonde's other side has brown curly hair and looks murderous. Clearly, she wants this guy the blonde has.

Looks like I've found my fight.

I stride up to the girl confidently. "Travis Melbourne," I say, lying to protect my name, "can I buy you, a, ah, drink?"

She looks at me disdainfully. "As if. Mike, get this stalker off me."

She's an idiot. Doesn't know who she's messing with. "Mike" looks intimidated by my size, but nevertheless manages to spit out, "Hey, buddy. Leave. She's with me."

I laugh. "And I feel bad for her because of it. Seriously, girl, you want a drink or a night?" I raise my eyebrows suggestively.

Her pretty little mouth drops open in a perfect O. Her friend narrows her eyes. "I know you from somewhere, and I don't know where, but you'd better back off now."

Snorting, I oblige. I'll get them with this. I'll get them all. Seth Clearwater in a fight? It'd be like elephants tap dancing.

Expect it to be a regular occurrence.

As I leave the bar where the trio is sitting, I let my fingers do the talked. They brush against the girls low cut top and then traipse along her butt.

Nice.

The boy, Mike, stands up. He pushes my chest. "Hey, asshole, back off my girlfriend!"

Yeah, right.

And so it begins.

I throw the first punch.