A/N So if anyone reviews (and likes) I will consider going on with this story. I have no clue where it's going or where it will end up. This *is* my first fan fiction and I would loooove advice and constructive criticism. I'm thirteen and learning to create and be confident in my own writing style. Thank you.

PROLOUGE

SLICE OF MY MIND

When I was growing up I was one of the happiest kids around. I giggled at the goofy attempts of entertainment that were the many tall, tan baby sitters I had. I laughed at the inappropriate jokes they told to each other, laughing harder when I didn't understand them. I smiled, lighting up the room with my permanent wide eyes and bubbly grin. Even more, I held on to the idea that everyone was my friend, and that I could protect them all.

Since I was two, I was surrounded by a huge tight knit, makeshift family. There wasn't anyone I wasn't comfortable talking to, and so, I was considered outgoing by the time I was three. I learned to look at people as paintings. What they knew to say when you needed comforting, what they didn't know to tell you. The jokes they told each other and the number of laughs they did or did not get. Their outlooks and opinions on people, their tastes in music, their likes and dislikes, were all colors. No one could help the colors they were born showing, couldn't help the other colors they envied, couldn't help the colors they were attracted to.

Quil's colors were always very interesting and simple in the greatest way. He makes everyone laugh with his silly jokes and what I now know to be flirty winks and smiles. He's like an Uncle in the sense that he loves to get in to trouble with you but would never let you fall no matter what the risk you were taking. Throughout the whole time I've known him, I've been curiously studying him. You may think of it as crazy but I've always felt connected to him in a way that I never had words to describe (unlikely? Yes I know). I was constantly trying to be like Quil. I would be as loud as I could, reeling in weird looks and playful eye rolls. I spent hours online looking up jokes for the next big family/pack meeting. And I was permanently glued to his side since the day I had met him.

Until around sixth grade I was a mini Quil in every way. I had a reputation as generous and warm, happy and friendly at the least. Family meant more to me than anything I had come across. At the age of seven I was let into an odd world of supernatural beings and history. All those tall tan babysitters were now known by me as the pack and the wolf girls. All of them became a part of me. That was until I began to slip up with no matter what I did.

At first it seemed like it was just that over processed idea of teenagerhood. The symptoms were the same. I was moody, sarcastic, and open to anything as long as it wasn't that of the "authorities". I started looking at things differently out of provocation. The provoker? That's one thing I'm not even sure of. Despite not knowing, however, I began to believe that I was thriving in what everyone else saw as a sad new perception of the world around me. I began to lose interest in the things I had once claimed to be my own. Whether it was the music I listened to or the way I interacted with others, something wasn't the same.

If you asked anyone around me, my tough times began for me at the end of my fifth grade year. I guess they were right. I remember the night clearly. After a very long day of fractions and a novice study of the human body, I was picked up from school by a slightly suspicious Quil in his incredulously large Ford. I sat in the front, my sister in the back seat even though she's older (something that constantly bothered her). We drove home bopping to one of Quil's mix tapes. Despite the rare sadness in his eyes he smiled and sang along to the familiar chorus, his deep voice not really matching that of the Bee Gees. We laughed and sang all the way to my drive way. Violet hopped out of the back and walked into our modest one story home. I unbuckled my seat belt following her, when Quil stopped me.

"Claire?"His voice was serious. That's odd.

"Yes?" I could feel my eyebrows rise curiously. I stared at him waiting for him to reply. After a minute of silence, he did.

"You know I love you right?"

"Of course. Why?"

"I just don't want you to forget it." He kissed my cheek and let me go.

Later that night I learned just what the hell was up. Violet, my younger brother Cameron, and I were sat down by my parents. They sat next to each other waiting for either of them to begin. When my dad finally did, I began to sink into where I was sitting. I wished the old sofa would swallow me like it did to lost remotes and worn pennies.

Divorce.

There had been many threats, many times when my parents had had enough of each other's nonsense to where one would pack a bag and ditch for a few days. "To clear their head's" was the way they had liked to put it each time we questioned their motives. Don't get me wrong, I love my parents and they were always there for me, but memories of sitting by my windowsill wide awake, watching the sky's perplexing dance of sunrise, wondering where my mom was and if my dad was capable of packing our lunches and getting us to school let alone staying stable throughout the day, are defiantly haunting.

Due to my mom and dad's tendency to get overly frustrated with each other, I couldn't help but believe it would all pass over soon. I was setting myself up for heartbreak. The day my mom signed the lease to her new apartment I fell apart. My life then began to crack. I was pissed, confused, and simply annoyed.

Within the first year of my new life I lost my ability to connect with anyone. I refused to talk to my mom, because for some reason it was all her fault. I couldn't keep a conversation going with my father without cracking a joke out of fear that he would break down at any second. My brother and sister even began to lose all of their respect for me when I started on my tirades of anger whenever anyone approached me.

The only person that didn't seem to think of me as a bitch was Quil. We looked to each other for guidance. We held on to each other's friendship because its all we knew how to do. Whenever I was confused he showed me the way. Whenever he fell I learned to pick him back up.

This is the story of him and me learning, and teaching, to live.