A/N: Ok, I don't know about anyone else who reads Fan Fiction, but when I'm scrolling through the summaries, word count is the first thing I look at. I understand that seeing only 427 words in the first chapter may not have impressed a few people, but I'm determined to make it up a little bit in this chapter. Thanks to those who reviewed, and I hope you aren't disappointed with this.

I'm sorry if the beginning seems a bit confusing or fast-paced, but I'm trying to cram in information so the story makes more sense later. Sorry if there's any confusion.

Also, like in almost anything I write, I include some sort of song or music reference. If anyone would like the song(s) I include, I'll be more than happy to email an MP3 attachment upon request. (I know Gmail works, not so sure about other sites...)

Peace and Happy Reading!

Disclaimer: I do not own nor claim to affiliate myself with the Twilight book series. All related material is copyright of Stephenie Meyer. I also claim no rights of ownership to any songs mentioned in the following narrative.


--Chapter I--

He was late. Just like mom said he would be. I hadn't seen Oliver in over five years, but I at least hoped his timing habits would have improved since then. Mom's voice rang through my head, "Living with him is a mistake. You"ll be back in Virginia by next week."

I checked my watch. 4:25. My plane landed at two. All my bags were retrieved by 2:30. Oliver agreed to meet me at the western entrance of William R. Fairchild International, the airport which I just landed in, by 3:00. Jet lag was kicking in and I was starving, but I had to say I wasn't at all surprised by his lack of punctuality.

My mom, Allison, always portrayed Oliver as the irresponsible one of the family. "He takes after his dad," she would say, "Completely unreliable." Oliver and I have different fathers, so technically, we're only half-siblings. But I don't care. I love the unreliable twit anyway.

Oliver's dad, Brian, walked out on him and Mom when Oliver was only a toddler. It always left a layer of bitterness in Oliver, even though he had no memories of his dad.

By the time Allison had gained fifteen pounds and sworn an oath to never love another man again, she met my dad, Raven. His real name was Benjamin Gray III, but always got extremely touchy at the subject. He never legally changed it, so both Allison and I have the last name he always hated. Raven once told me that if he had his way, we wouldn't have last names. I never understood his logic.

Anyway, Raven and Allison met three years after Brian left the picture. They met at a park, and Raven was playing his Guitar. He was an aging hippie, clinging to the last remnants of flower power, even though it was 1985. Allison was a sucker for the guitar, so naturally she went over, Oliver clinging to her hand. Both my parents would later tell me it was love at first sight. They were married six weeks later, and I came along next summer.

"We named you Michelle, because that was the first song he played me when I sat next to him on the grass," she later told me. "He got the French part all wrong, but I didn't care. He was so beautiful."

Oliver never really took to Raven. He tried his very best to get Oliver to warm up to him, but nothing ever worked. Eventually he just gave up, and they were more like cordial housemates than anything else. Raven died when I was 14, leaving me in a mess even my mom couldn't fix, but Oliver flew back to Alexandria for the funeral and stayed with me, despite obvious coldness toward my dad. I never really understood why Oliver didn't like him, and I never had the heart to ask.

Oliver lived with us until after he turned seventeen, when Brian decided to show up in his life again. There was a big ordeal with Brian and Allison. Brian wanted custody, saying he cleaned up very well. He had a new wife and substantial income in a small town called Forks, Washington. When Allison refused to let Brian see Oliver, the law was involved. Brian was being allowed visitation rights while in Virginia when a court date was assigned. The judge left the decision up to Oliver. He chose Brian, and off to Forks he went.

Up until the day he left, I was always the favored sibling over Oliver. It sounds horrible to say, because I love him terribly, but I knew the harsh truth when I saw it. Allison said it was because I was her baby, but I understood better as I got older. The accident occured soon after Oliver left.

When I was younger, I never understood why neither Raven nor Allison let me play like the other kids. Never allowed to birthday parties or play outside without either of them within a ten foot radius. Home-schooled instead of public school. I found out why when I was ten. When I nearly bled to death.

How I got hurt was simple. There was nothing anyone could have done to prevent it, though I've heard a ton of guilty remorse through the years ("We should have known that bed was too old" or "We should have gotten the damn thing for you").

I've always loved to paint. I've always loved art in general. My easel had always been stored under my bed and I'd retrieved it from that very place countless times before. This time had been no exception.

My bed was in a corner of my room, so when I reached under my bed to get my easel, I noticed that I must have pushed it against the wall when I last replaced it. I stretched my arm farther to reach it, grabbed the wooden limb, and tugged it out.

But by then, my arm was drenched in blood. A long gash reached from my elbow to wrist, roughly a quarter-inch deep in the center. Seeing all that blood, which to me seemed like more than normal, made me scream in terror. It just wouldn't stop bleeding!

Raven ran in, saw all the blood, then yelled at Allison to call 911. I fainted from loss of blood before the paramedics even arrived.

When my bed was later dismantled, they found the spring coil which had come loose and sliced me. By then I was still unconscious in the hospital.

When I finally regained consciousness, the doctor told me what my teary-eyed parents thought I was too young to understand. He broke the news that I was a Hemophiliac.

The doctor tried to explain to me the genetics of Hemophilia the best he could, but there's only so many medical terms a ten-year-old can understand. He told me that the disease was a genetic disorder in the blood, in which the blood clotted at a very slow rate, causing internal and external injuries to bleed more than that of a normal person. He told me that the disease was very rare in females, and that the gene had to be present in both parents; Raven had it and Allison was a carrier. When I thought about it, I'd hardly ever seen my dad injured at all and I'd always wondered why my bruises always seemed to grow before they got better, or why a simple paper cut could leave my finger looking like a prune. Now I knew why.

That was also the day I found out my blood type was B negative. Only two percent of the United States population shared my blood type. It's a bit ironic, in a way.

Two months, one transfusion, and 143 crappy hospital meals later, I was finally able to go home. But not without a thick, angry-looking scar to keep as a reminder of how easily I could injure myself. Any person I met in the medical field told me I was lucky. I could have died that day very easily.

I absent-mindedly rubbed my thumb across the scar, silent in my reverie, rain drizzling faintly around me. Back home in Alexandria, Virginia, sunshine was way more common than rain. Oliver told me to brace myself for a big climate shift; Forks, Washington was one of the most overcast cities in the U.S., getting about 100 inches of rain a year. I thought he was exaggerating, but the rain wasn't letting up.

Ten more minutes passed before Oliver drove up to the sidewalk next to where I was sitting. I had to squint to see through the windshield to make sure it was really him.

I once heard that someone's car can reflect the personality of the driver. I didn't know what car Oliver drove, but I did not think a shiny black Saturn SUV suited his personality at all. The best words to describe him were eccentric, loud, and disheveled. When I saw his ride, I thought he won the lottery.

"Michelle!" he called, getting out of the car and running to embrace me. I welcomed him with open arms. He enveloped me in a big hug that made me forget all about his shortcomings, the same effect as always. He buried his face in my mane of blonde hair and just held me. I was reluctant to pull away about a minute later. I was surprised no one stole the car, which idled at the curb.

"God, it's great to see you. You look all grown up!" I saw him wipe away a tear as he hauled one of my suitcases to the truck and popped the lift gate. "It seems like more than five years, doesn't it?" he asked, tossing the suitcase in.

I dragged an over-stuffed duffel to the car, "Yeah, seems like forever," I said, not mentioning the reason for his last visit.

Oliver fit in my guitar case (which I inherited from Raven) and the remainder of bags then slammed the gate shut. He turned to me with a grin on his face, then buried me in another hug, one I gladly welcomed.

"I've missed you so much, you don't even know," he said, resting his chin on the top of my head.

"Me, too," my voice cracked slightly, and a few tears escaped my eyes, landing on his shirt. When we finally pulled apart, mascara ran in smudges down my face. So much for looking nice. I can't believe Mom convinced me to wear it.

"Hey, everything's gonna be fine," he said wiping away the smudges. I broke out with more sobs. So many emotions were flowing from me, I couldn't keep up. Oliver just held me, shushing me softly and whispering that everything was going to be alright. I felt so much joy at seeing him, but I felt, for whatever reason, like I was reliving the grief of losing my father. I didn't realize just how empty I was until Oliver was there to fill me with his embrace.

I looked up at him, tears freely flowing now, and smiled. "Yeah, I think it will be, too"

--------

"A built-in remedy
For Khrushchev and Kennedy
At anytime an invitation
You can't decline..."

Oliver sang along happily to Queen: Greatest Hits. We'd been on the road towards Forks for about twenty minutes, and I knew he wasn't going to let me get away sulking for much longer.

"C'mon, 'Chelle. You love Queen!"

It was true. Even after five years apart, he still knew me too well.

"Yeah, well, I think Freddie Mercury would be cringing in his grave if he could hear you," I countered, then laughed. We both sang along with the chorus:

"She's a Killer Queen
Got that agility
Dynamite with a laser beam
Guaranteed to blow your mind
Anytime..."

When the song ended, my stomach decided that was the appropriate time to growl. Rather loudly.

Oliver chuckled. "You hungry?"

"Three hours ahead, remember?"

"You should have said something. I can live with an early dinner," he said, pulling off at the next exit and driving through a small town that I didn't know the name of. I saw a few gas stations and restaurants up ahead. "What'll it be?"

I saw an IHOP on our side of the road. I pointed it out, "Shitty breakfast food sounds good." He pulled into the lot and parked.

Oliver held the door open as we approached the restaurant. "After you, Mademoiselle," he said in a over-drawling French accent.

I matched his accent with a proper British one, "I thank you most heartedly, good sir," for effect, I pulled a used tissue out of my jacket pocket, "Please take this favor as a token of my affection."

He held it dramatically to his heart, "I shall treasure it always!"

We giggled like children as we entered the IHOP.

The first thing I noticed about the place was the heat. It made my head feel light. I knew I'd just entered from the chilly rain, but were all restaurants in the rainy state this hot? Oliver didn't seem to notice. He was probably used to it. My body didn't like the temperature and humidity shift. This reaction had happened before, but I still prayed in vain hope that it would go away. Maybe someone up there doesn't like me. It happened as the hostess led us to our seats.

Blood began flowing freely from my nose as we arrived at our table. The hostess looked at me and gasped, surprise clearly etched upon her face. Oliver turned to see what she was looking at.

"Damn it," he said, grabbing a dish towel out of the hostess's apron and holding it to my face. I pinched the bridge of my nose with it as he led me to the restroom by the elbow. I hoped I didn't stain the carpet...

Completely ignoring the "Ladies" sign and protest of the woman washing her hands, Oliver entered the restroom by my side and led me to the sink. That's love for you.

I removed the soiled hand towel and let almost a teaspoon of blood gush from my face and into the sink. I'd had nosebleeds like this before. I got them relatively often. I knew the best thing to do was let it run it's course.

I looked forlornly into the sink's gory basin, my hunger forgotten. Why me?

I attempted a massacred smile at Oliver, "Well, this'll be a great way to remember my first day in Washington..."

Despite the situation, Oliver smiled, too. "I agree."

There was a minute stretch of silence as my nostrils continued to drain. "So is there a hospital in Forks you can rush me to when I get into some big accident?"

"You know, despite the size of Forks, we do indeed have a hospital. Not to mention one of the most ditinguished doctors on the West Coast."

I grabbed at the distraction, "Oh yeah?" I pressed for more information.

"Yeah. Doctor Cullen. I've met him a couple times when I needed a trip to the hospital. He's really young, but very experienced in medicine."

"Heh. Think he could help me out?"

He chuckled. "Doubt it, sis. You're a lost cause."

"Shut up, you," I joked.

After a few more minutes, the blood wasn't pouring out quite so rapidly. The clot dripped out and my nosebleed finally stopped. I wiped away the last of the blood with a paper towel and looked up my nose in the mirror. "I think it's done," I said to Oliver.

"Good. You need some food in you."

I rinsed out the sink and checked around the bathroom for any blood I might have spilled. Finding none, I checked my reflection.

My face, which was normally a pleasant color, was now a pasty eggshell. My clear blue eyes were glossier than normal; probably from crying earlier. My hair was a mess. The blonde ringlets now looked extremely frizzy, which tended to happen in the rain. Another thing I'd have to adjust to.

Oliver snapped me out of my examination. "Ready?" he asked.

I nodded and headed to the door. "Born that way."


A/N: So, now what do you think? 2,500 words in this chapter. Took me a whole day, on and off, to type this. My computer's a bitch though. I have to type it on Microsoft Works, which won't upload, then paste it to notepad, then edit all the quotes and apostrophes. So, I'm sorry if I missed anything.

Also, a bit of funny trivia: Michelle's injury I described is an actual one of my own. It wasn't quite so bad and I don't have Hemophilia, but I did need 26 stitches and I still have the scar. It changes shape whenever I bend my arm. Cool, eh?

Hopefully, the next chapter will be coming soon. Stay tuned. For those who added me to their favorite stories, authors, and author alerts list, thanks a bundle. Made my day. Thanks again!

Peace out,

Trippix

P.S. For those who want the MP3 for "Michelle" or "Killer Queen", two excellent songs, tell me in a signed review and I'll try my best to get it to you through e-mail.