"The thing is, there are good days and bad days."
All The Bright Places by Jennifer Niven

1. Arrows

(Bella's POV)

Kids have such a bullshit perception of the world. I'm not a violent person, but I really want to smack some reality into them to save them from future disappointment when life knocks them down. You tend to always assume that you won't be next; that you won't be one of the unlucky ones. However, we're all targets, and sooner or later, you'll take an arrow straight through your beating heart. You'll survive it, barely, but you'll never be the same again.
I feel betrayed, in a way. As a child, I surrounded myself in deceptive fairytales, so much so that I felt as though I was in one—I would get a happy ending like all the pretty girls in the books do. But, so far, my life is looking a lot like a tragedy and nothing like romance.

Everything was perfect.

I had a close-knit family, sunny holidays, lots of love, laughter, hope... but everything came crashing down person by person, like dominoes, until I was all that was left. First my mother, my father, then my big brother, almost me, and finally my little sister.

I've tortured myself enough thinking about it and no one wants all the details, so I'll keep it as simple as I can. My mom died due to Postpartum bleeding eight years ago after giving birth to my little sister, Avery. This was around the time Jason, my big brother, was starting his training for the army. My lonely dad just couldn't cope with Avery and I alone.

That's when my aunt Sue moved in with us. Things settled for a while—a short while—until my dad got into an argument with her and he stormed out of the house, never to be seen again. His fishing boat was gone, so was he, and nobody could explain what had happened to him. The only evidence that he even existed are the things he left behind: photographs, clothes, his children.

Time meant nothing to me back then but I know it wasn't long after my dad went missing that Jason was deployed in Afghanistan. I was twelve when he left and oh, how I begged him to stay. I was petrified that something would happen to him.

I love you but I have no choice, he had told me.

We were notified five months later that he had gone M.I.A, leaving us assuming the worst since he still hasn't returned home.

In some sick chronological irony, it was my turn. Luckily for you I can't actually go into much detail about what happened to me because I can't remember most of it. I woke up in a dark room, feeling numb to the core, with a stranger hovering over me. He told me I had to remember his name; that he would come back for me. It seemed stupid that he would tell me his name was James, when he was about to become one of America's most wanted men. I don't know what he did to me. I can only ever wonder how I ended up with a permanent tattoo and 26 diagonal lines down my arms, thirteen on each. Those are just a couple of the scars that destiny's arrows left behind. The tattoo lies on the back of my neck and it simply reads: death is easy. To be perfectly honest, I don't have much to say about that because I have no idea what the purpose of it is. I don't really even know how I'm meant to interpret it. Is it a threat? Or, a truth? 13 is worldly known as an unlucky number, however I can't help but get the overwhelming feeling that there is some significance in a total of 26. It doesn't mean anything to me but perhaps it means something to him. Or, maybe, it means nothing and James is just a sadistic bastard.

Anyway, I was found in a ballet studio in Arizona—another of the many mysteries my family has evoked. No one knows how I got there, why I was in that specific place, nor do they know where James disappeared to. I like to imagine that he was driven insane by the weight of what he'd done and topped himself. But, realistically, he probably ran to protect himself, leaving only a frightening promise of his return.

To end the story that is my sad life, Avery was kidnapped as well. Only, she didn't live to tell the tale. Nine months ago, I went to collect her from her best friend's house after a play date, and I was greeted by the police rather than her friend's mom. All I know is that they were playing out back and that's the last time anyone saw her. A search mission was launched instantly, and all the parents were terrified to leave their children alone. A seemingly long two months later, her body was found buried by the border of Forks. Cause of death: blunt force trauma to the head.

It's suspicious.

It's confusing.

And I am very, very alone.

Like any good cliché story, I don't really have any friends. School is legitimately hell on earth and if you want to disagree, try being accused of slaughtering your own family on a daily basis. They know what happened—as little as I do—but they just won't accept things as they are. That doesn't happen in high school because people spread rumours like wildfire. They'll believe anything you tell them, no matter how absurd it seems to those of us who are almost sane—which is very few in this chaotic world.