Okay, here is chapter 2 and I don't think it's all that good but i felt like i had to post it. I would like to thank my first reviewer, ladyMiraculousNight! Thank you so much! And aslo to thos epeople who added this story to their favorite lists and all that, thanls so much! Review and tell me what you think!

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

Chapter 2: Leaving.

"Dulce, it's time to wake up." I heard my mother's voice say as she shoved me. I woke with a sharp gasp.

"Already?" My voice sounded thick and low as I grabbed for my phone to check the time. It was 4:22 in the morning. What the hell?

I quickly looked to my mom to complain, I could feel my eyebrows smash together and my mouth turn into something mean.

"Mom! Why are we up so early?" Immediately my mom's face turned into a scowl. "Don't snap at me like that, Dulce, I freakin' raised you Now, shut up and get dressed so you can get something to eat, we leave at 6." and with that she was out of the room.

Oh, God, I love my mom. My mom's full name is Amara Neeley. She is 37 years old and a native of La Push. And is my mom beautiful. Seriously, to the point where sometimes I don't want to be seen next to her and get confused for her ugly friend or something. I would be mortified. I remember one time after I told this one girl at my school that she is so dumb that I was surprised she could make it out of her house she saw me and my mom walking around the mall and the next day, everyone at school was talking about my hot older sister. It spread like a disease.

So, every time we go out for errands or whatever, I tend to scurry away just a little bit, so know one gets confused. If I stand next to my mom sometimes, my beauty get's murky, and I don't like that.

Ok, back to me. I groaned as I unwrapped my body from the tentacles of my sheets.

Immediately my body reacted to the cold morning. Shivers ran up and down my spine as I wrapped my arms around body.

Crap, I hadn't picked my clothes for today. Now, I want to further evaluate my situation here. It is summer here, and obviously it's freakin' summer up there in Washington too. Buuuut, it's Washington, so it'll be cold, what to do, what to do.

I jumped from foot to foot, wishing to escape this cold morning. I groaned in frustration, I could feel my hair was a jumbled mess.

I reached for one of my black traveling bags, the ones you can roll and have a handle, and unzipped it quickly.

My eyes raced, trying to get some clothing. I found my underwear and bra, socks, some old dark jeans and a thick, red button up long sleeve. I ran into the bathroom next to my room. It was a medium sized bathroom with cream colored walls with chipped corners.

I laid my clothes on top of the wash bin. I rubbed my eyes to get rid of my sleep and a shock of pain shot into me.

Fuck! I was so stupid! Hello! Note to Dulce, don't touch your black eye, stupid!

Note taken.

I looked at my reflection on the mirror, my eyes were watery and my lips looked chapped. My eye was still black, but more blue than black, I could faintly see a lighter shade around it.

I sighed, it would be a slow recovery.

I stepped into the shower and let the warm water run down my body. As I washed my body I willed myself not to think about that embarrassing moment.

I stood there for a couple of seconds, just letting the water run when I heard a knock on my door.

"Dulce, hurry up, I need to shave!" my dad yelled through the door.

I turned of the water and said. "Thank God!" I heard him roll his eyes. I am so glad he decided to shave that furry, stubbly rat off his face. I hurriedly dried myself and began to dress. My jeans were a bit wrinkled and faded but it didn't really matter. We would get to my grandma's house at, like, 8 something so I don't think no one will see me.

I tried my best to dewrinkle my shirt and jeans but decided to just leave it as they were. I quickly combed my hair, anticipating some warm coffee heating up my insides.

I stopped and concentrated all my attention at my reflection. Pondering.

Should I use makeup to cover up my black eye? Or not? Hmmm?

Pssh! Of course I would use makeup! There is no way I would let anyone see me like this! Give people a view into my humiliation? No thank you!

I quickly opened the bathroom cabinet to reach for some powder or something to cover it up. My hand was very uncoordinated, my right one since I had recently messed up some nerves on it.

It was close to one of my cousins 21 birthdays and she had rented a big ballroom sort of room and I offered to help her.

Big mistake. I ended up having to set up almost all of it. I had to bring down tables and chairs out of cars and set them up. I had to bring down cases of ornaments and of drinks and just all this shit. Because of this I guess I must have worn my hand down or something because ever since then, I began to get sharp pains on my right hand, sometimes it would just twitch outta no where or freeze up.

A couple of weeks after that, I was getting out of my dad's car after taking it to the store when I hit my arm, just above the inside of my elbow and apparently the doctor said that that messed up 2 nerves in my arms so every once in a while I have to go to the doctor and get a sedative to get rid of the pain.

Anyways, I got a random cover up or whatever and was about to touch my eye when I realized that it would hurt. A lot.

I smacked my forehead and groaned miserably. How do I cover this up now? I don't want anyone seeing me like this!

I stared miserably into my reflection while securing my dark hair into a messy pony tail. Well, it looks like people from now on will have to say hello to me and my black eye.

Walking out with a black eye and a diminished ego I went into by room to get my black sneakers before going to the kitchen.

I was welcomed warmly by the bright colors of our small, homely kitchen. The walls were a pale orange and the walls were covered with photographs taken by my mother in her younger days.

My mom was stirring her coffee, black, I presume while keeping her eye on the toaster.

My dad was still in the bathroom shaving which is amazing.

I smiled at my mom as I sat down on a chair, my cup of coffee already waiting for me. How polite.

"Thanks, mom." I said as I took a small sip. Here's a little fun fact about me: I like my coffee with milk. Yeah, I said it. I cannot stand just plain black coffee. I may look somewhat tough but inside is a mushy, delicate center, believe it or not.

I heard the pop of the toaster as I set the cup down, my mom handing me 2 butter covered slices of toast.

I set them on a napkin and was about to ask my mother something when I heard my dads heavy footsteps coming closer.

I turned my head to the hallway and in came my dad. Armando Fierro was 5'10 and medium sized. He was born and raised here in L.A but still enjoyed the outside of the city. He looked really weird without his mustache and I pointedly stared at him with a 'What the fuck?' face. He gave me the same look back which only made me laugh.

He was wearing a white collared shirt and jeans. His short dark hair was combed back and his face looked tired. I loved my dad and it hurt me to see him like this. When he first found out he had diabetes he told my mom but didn't tell me or my brother. Eventually I found out and confronted him. He confessed up after much fighting and told me what he had and how he had to inject himself with insulin shots and all that. And now it looks like 2 people in this family have to have injects to help.

I turned away and began to eat as I stared at my parents checking the bags that were propped against a wall.

My parents were a lot alike. They both had the same personalities, they had quick tongues and a temper every now and then. Them standing next to each other I finally got to see and actually realize how different they looked from each other, besides their 3 year age gap.

My dad was tall, tan, had dark brown hair and light brown eyes. My mother was 5'3, had black, straight, long hair, was a somewhat light russet color and hard charcoal eyes.

I took an equal amount from both my parents in the physical traits, I had my moms black hair and mouth but I had my dads eyes and skin tone.

I smile das a thought crossed my mind from seeing my parents reach for the same bag, they were made for each other. I secretly wondered if I would find the same in my life.

It was almost 10 and here I was in the fuckin' airport bathroom trying to find my grey sweater because I was shaking, I wasn't sure if I was just cold or if it was nerves.

The bathroom was very white, I welcomed the black walls of the bathroom stall I had been in from the blinding color. But now I was busy clawing at the inside of my travel bag just praying for some comfort.

I slowed down my frantic search when I heard a stall open. I looked at the mirror and saw a girl who looked about 20 come out and begin to wash her hands.

I daintily began to look again, not wishing to embarrass myself by letting the blonde even glimpse at my black eye. She began to dry her hands when she began to run her fingers through her hair. I raised my gaze higher, to see what she was doing when she spoke outloud.

"My hair looks so lifeless! Ugh! How can I show up at that agency looking like this!"

A short time passed by. I guess she expected me to say something.

"Uh." I said

"Hopefully. I just don't want my blonde hair to lose it sheen and volume is all!"

I actually shook my head in disbelief when I heard this. I desperately wanted to say "Yeah? You thought your hair was nice? Who old you that lie?" but I bit my tongue.

I looked down at my bag and saw a sliver of grey and reached for my beloved sweater. Yes!

I put it on and raced the fuck outta there.

The plane was about to decent on Quillayute State Airport when I shoved my dad awake. I heard my mom chuckle softly.

It had been a boring 8 hour flight to La Push, Washington.

My dad coughed and woke with a start. I smiled.

I felt the vibrations as the plane began to land and gripped the sides of my seat, leaned back and closed my eyes.

A/N: I'm pretty sure there is a Quillayute Airport since i found it on google but whatever.