Revised on 09/27/2011.

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Lights – Chapter Two – September

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The month of August goes by in a blur. It's like when you watch a movie and fast forward till you get to the good part. That's how those first few weeks of school are spent for me, in a fast forward world. Only there really isn't a good a part. Not yet anyway, and I'm not hopeful there will be.

My nineteenth birthday comes and goes, just like any other day. It's a let down, but it doesn't alter anything in me. I just keep moving, instead of dwelling on such things that don't mean much anymore.

For the most part, my grades are good, I'm neither happy or unhappy about this fact. They could be better, without a doubt, if I applied myself. It's obvious to me and everyone who knows me, that I'm not applying myself in the least bit. It is what it is and I get the occasional talking to after class from teachers who tell me the same thing every time "You can do better, Isabella. Try participating more."

When I hear that observation I want to laugh out loud, I was never one to participate anyway, even before the major depression set in. I made up for it with my studying and good test scores, now it's just all going south. St. Volturi's is a large school, there's an average of around nine hundred and fifty kids in my senior class alone. You'd think there would be at least one kid with crappy grades to harp to. As long as I graduate in the end, I don't really give a shit. Is that so hard for people to understand?

I string together a few handful of sentences per day, which is more than I've spoken in that last couple of months. It's not expected, that's for sure. It's either very surprising or very pathetic. I haven't decided but I'm leaning toward the latter. Cutting off human contact screws up a person's social skills beyond belief. Especially if said person's social skills weren't exactly magnificent to begin with.

It's hard not to talk though, even if it's a short lived conversation. Mostly, my words leave my mouth during lunch period.

I took Emmett up on his generous invitation and started sitting with him and his friends.

It was nerve wracking at first. I knew of his friends, but never really knew them.

The only one who I was somewhat familiar with was Rosalie Hale, Em's long time girlfriend, and we weren't exactly on the same social caliber. So, that was a bust right off the bat. She'd smile tightly and periodically nod her head at my presence. Clearly stating silently, You're only here because you're Emmett's sister. Her twin brother, Jasper, and her were so similar in physicality it was scary. And so opposite in personality it was laughable. Unlike Rose, Jasper was a pleasure to share a lunch table with. He was quiet and had a calm demeanor about him. Even Rose's constant bickering didn't bother or rile him.

Then there were the Cullen kids. Alice and Edward. The very first day I stood in front of them, Alice shot up from her seat like lightening struck her. I remember quickly wracking my brain, trying to skim through all the people I knew from this school, or the people I've seen here, and mentally punching myself for not ever remembering Alice. She was a ray of sunlight on a rainy day. It was hard to be unhappy around her because she always had a toothy smile on her face.

I wanted to hate her, I did.

Why the hell was she so happy?

But, I shook it off, that was just Alice. Her very first words to me were, "I know we're going to be the greatest of friends, I just know it." It was a weird affirmation to make, especially when you don't even know the person you're saying it to, but for some odd reason, I believed her. Looking into her eyes, it was hard not to. She was genuine, not fake like most of the people I've encountered.

Edward Cullen, on the other hand, was a different story. I don't think I have ever heard him speak.

When Emmett introduced me to him, he shrugged and his face reddened slightly. Then just as quickly as he looked at me, he turned away. It didn't bother me at first, I was more than happy to not make an impact on someone. More than happy not to have to be the star freak in school for a least a little bit. Going unnoticed was my goal all along. I even became more unacknowledged when I found out Edward Cullen was my lab partner in Biology.

That first day at school, after lunch, when I headed into the classroom, I sat down in the only empty seat available, where none other than Edward Cullen shared. He was unshaped by the coincidence that I was his partner, he rarely looked my way. If we had an assignment to work on, Edward always took full reign without saying a word.

It should have upset me, making me feel inferior. I can't say it did though. He must have known that I didn't have the intention of caring what grade we got. With Edward's fast and thorough work, we always got excellent markings.

I wanted to thank him, tell him I appreciated what he was doing. With the combination of his superb assignment scores, and my average test results I was doing great in Biology and I absolutely loathed science. But, I got the hint that even if did I voice this gratitude, Edward would have just looked the other way and not said anything. We had a silent understanding, I suppose. He did the work, and I took credit for half of it.

One day after class, I noticed Alice zipping through the hall to find me just exiting the room. She made room for herself beside me and fell into my slow stride. "So, I hear you and my brother are lab partners," she said slyly.

I nodded my head, replying yes, without really saying so.

Alice let out a giggle, "Don't worry, he can be a bit odd at first. Once he warms up, you can't get him to shut up." She paused for a few seconds, "I think you make him nervous." I turned to her at that, and she had a sparkle in her eyes, like she was hiding a secret from me.

Before I could muster up something to say back to her, she skipped down the hall to her next class.

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Which brings me back to the present. It's mid–September and I've come to the conclusion that Edward Cullen is sort of an enigma.

Because even though he doesn't talk to me, he's begun to look at me when he thinks I don't notice. He has this intense stare, one that I'm aware of the millisecond it occurs. Whenever I turn to him, I'm met with the greenest eyes that I've ever seen. I swear, every single time, they appear more green than they have before. There is no other way to describe him, except that he's beautiful. And I'm totally blown away that I've never seen him before, never knew a boy with this much physical allure existed. I may not care about what goes on around me, but shit, I'm a nineteen year old girl with hormones. How this guy isn't the most wanted person in school is beyond me.

I find myself taking more care of my appearance in the mornings when getting ready for school. I no longer sloppily tie my hair up. I take the time to brush it, even straightening the stubborn curls I have so that it looks sleek and shiny. I was never one for putting on makeup, but I've succumb to lining my eyes and dressing my lashes with a coat of mascara. Brushing some blush across my nonexistent cheek bones and painting a pale gloss on my light pink lips.

I do these changes subtly at first, trying something new on a different day. The last thing that I want to do is draw attention to myself. It works, no one seems to really notice a difference. If anything starts to feel strange, it's the even more acute glare I get from Edward. His arm is tensely placed on top of the desk, knuckles a straining white color.

Before I even realize the words I'm creating in my head, I hear myself utter, "If you're so uncomfortable sitting next to me, you should ask Mr. Banner to switch your seat so you don't have to sit here anymore."

Edward's lips part slightly and he swallows, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down. "I'm not uncomfortable," he says.

I grunt, "Could have fooled me."

His clear emerald eyes narrow at that, "You don't know anything."

At those last words he speaks, the bell rings signaling that class is over and Edward is up, quickly evacuating the room altogether. You'd think I had some contagious disease the way he juts out to leave.

I'm taking aback by his words, I can't see my face but I'm positive it has a look of awe upon it. He actually spoke. And his voice, his voice was so warm and so cold all at once. An ice cold drink on a hot afternoon. Refreshing and needed.

Something clicks on inside of me, I just want to hear that voice again.

I am shifted out of my revery when I hear my name being called, "Miss Swan, may I talk to you for a minute?"

I look up to find my Biology teacher, Mr. Banner, looking right back at me. I remove myself from my seat and walk up to his desk. "Yes, Mr. Banner. What do you need to talk to me about?"

"Well, Isabella, I must say, that I'm a little bit concerned," my teacher looks down and shakes his head, "I'm aware you went through some difficult things last year." At that remark I hear myself inwardly groan. I have to deal with my problems on a daily basis, I don't need people throwing it back in my face. "But, that doesn't give you the excuse for your school work to be lacking so much."

"Lacking? My grades in this class are good. Great, actually," I argue.

"Isabella, please don't mistake me for a fool. I know Edward is doing most of the work and participation. You manage to do well on your exams because you're a smart girl. If you applied yourself we wouldn't be having this conversation."

I glance down to the floor, not wanting to look at my teacher directly. I hate feeling shame and I'm about an inch from that feeling right now. "I'll try harder, Mr. Banner. You have my word."

He clasps his hands together, "I'm sure you will. Maybe I'd believe you if this was the only class you were having issues with, but it isn't. I've spoken with your other teachers and they're saying the exact same thing. You're present in class but you aren't really here. It's more than the grades, Isabella, this is your senior year. It means a lot that you do well and right now you are just getting by."

I want to say something, but nothing registers in my brain, the shame I hate feeling is now setting in and all I want to do is crawl in my bed and sleep. Mr. Banner continues on with his lecture, "I think this needs to be dealt with now, before we get too far into the year and it's too late to handle. I've spoken to the principal and he wants to speak to you and your parents tomorrow morning before school."

I want to scream. I'm doing all I can do, I'm trying. There's not more I can allow myself to do. It's draining and every time I wake up in the morning I feel like I'm drowning. I'm doing this on my stomach, but I'm still doing it. I may be kind of absent in my own presence, but I'm still doing fairly well, academically. Isn't that what's important, first and foremost? I sigh in defeat. I could argue till my throat is sore, kick and scream like a five year old, but what good would that do?

"You may go." Just as I get to the door, Mr. Banner says, "Do yourself a favor, Isabella, listen to what Principal Caius has to say."

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Principal Caius's office is like something out of a Victorian novel, all decadent and dark. Never-ending book shelves take up three walls of his office, and I wonder how one person can own that much literature. Everything looks creased and old, well worn and used. Thick, burgundy drapes hang from the picture window behind his mahogany desk. It's all very spooky for a high school principal's office, but to each is own.

I've been here twice in the four and half years that I have attended this school.

Once in freshman year, when Kate and I got into an argument about my being chosen to play Juliet in our ballet class's rendition of Romeo & Juliet. It started out verbally and ended physically, with me pulling her hair and Kate kicking my shins. Neither of us were allowed to dance in that recital.

The second time I sat in these abnormally large leather seats, was just a few weeks after Kate died and I made the decision to repeat my senior year, instead of finishing up the next couple of months.

I sit between my mother and father now, anxiously awaiting the headliner of this meeting to come and address us.

"Renee, calm down already. The man hasn't even come in here yet and you're a bundle of nerves," My father gripes as I turn to my mother and see her knee bobbing up down the way mine does when I'm nervous.

"I'm sorry, Charlie, but this place is just suffocating and I don't think I can take anymore bad news."

I lower my head at that, my heart cracking a little bit. All my actions are causing this result and it makes me feel awful.

Just before I can allow myself to crawl deeper in the hole I keep digging, Principal Caius glides into his office, shutting the door behind him. He's a tall, lanky man, in his mid forties. Well dressed in a polished black suit, like he should be on a cover of a magazine rather than head of a school. "Mr. and Mrs. Swan, Isabella," he shakes each of our hands as he pulls out his chair and sits down across from us.

"I've asked you hear today to discuss Isabella's problems with school," Principal Caius makes eye contact with me briefly and then focuses on my parents. "I have been hearing from her teachers that she's been withdrawn. They're concerned, and frankly so am I. It's very important that I keep tabs on the children at this school. We have a very high esteemed curriculum, I don't want to see Isabella fall behind. Or make the same mistake as last year."

My father sighs and rubs his chin the way he does when he's about to give up, "I understand what you're saying, Mr. Caius. Her mother and I are very worried about her too. It's not only at school, it's at home too."

Principal Caius nods in sympathy and then he starts speaking directly to me, "I know you had an extremely hard year last year, Isabella. I can't even begin to fathom how you're getting through it. Sometimes in situations like these, you can't do it alone. To heal, you sometimes need help."

My body goes rigid and I feel my mom place her hand on top of mine and I uneasily pull it away from her. I have a bad feeling where this conversation is starting to go. "I'm healing fine."

"I can't say that I believe that, dear." I know he says it in a comforting way, but in my ears it sounds like a sneer. "I feel it's in Isabella's best interest if she attend a grief counseling program for teens each weekend for a couple of weeks. It's here, every Saturday morning in the gymnasium. It's run by Esme Platt, very sweet woman, all the children just adore her."

"I don't need therapy," My voice is like ice. I tried that before, it didn't work. It's not something I care to repeat any time soon.

"It's hardly therapy. Ms. Platt is a counselor, she's someone to talk to. It being a group thing, no one is embarrassed or ashamed. You'll see that you aren't the only one going through something life altering." Principal Caius places is his palms on his desk and leans into me, "I think your parents would vouch for me in saying that you need this, Isabella. It's not fair to you or your family anymore. You have to get passed it, and with help, you will."

He's pulled out the big guns now.

Parental and familial guilt.

And I'm such a sap that I give up the fight and agree.

I tell him that I'll go. Principal Caius hums in agreement, "See, progress already! It was a pleasure to take this time with you, Mr. and Mrs. Swan. I feel this is the step in the right direction." He ushers us out of his office. My mom gives me a kiss on the cheek and my dad squeezes my shoulder before leaving.

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Emmett finds me at my locker, his face scrunched up in a concerned look. "Don't start, I'm sick of that look," I say as I'm getting my books out for English.

"What look?"

"The 'Izzy is going to shatter into a million little pieces any minute' look. It's the kind of look those women give Kelly Bensimon on The Real Housewives of New York."

Emmett yawns and the look of concern falls from his face. He just doesn't get my love for bad reality television. He playfully punches my arm and I stumble, dropping my books on the floor. He laughs and I roll my eyes, "You're such a moose, idiot."

"And you're such a klutz, know it all." He bends down helping me right my books and picks them up for me, "How'd the godforsaken meeting go?"

"Oh just peachy," I say sarcastically. "I've been reduced to Saturday morning therapy."

"Fuck," Emmett says.

"Yeah, my thoughts exactly."

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The shrill buzzing of my alarm clock wakes me up at eight on Saturday morning. Kiss sleeping in on the weekends goodbye because this is what my life has come down to.

I maneuver myself out of bed, head to the bathroom, picking up random pieces of clothing along the way. Twenty minutes later, I'm showered and dressed. Deeming myself acceptable in a gray hoody and a pair of jeans. My usual weekend wear, I really don't know how to dress for therapy, I feel like I'm going to need some sort of metal armor.

"Isabella, time to go!" I hear my mother shout from downstairs.

I'm pissed that she's taken up the opportunity to drive me. Emmett is most likely still sound asleep in his bed. He doesn't rise before noon on the weekends. Lucky bastard.

I take the stairs one step at a time, still tired from waking up early, my eyes still feel foggy. My mother stands by the front door with her arms crossed, toe tapping at my slow pace, "Let's go, session starts at nine."

Riding in the car with my mom is both agonizing and annoying. She's one of those creeper drivers. It's like when my mom enters the driver's side, she becomes a seventy-five year old lady who can't see above the dashboard so she creeps down the street. A drive that should take five minutes can take up to twenty with her behind the wheel. "I thought you didn't want me to be late," I huff.

"You know what I hope comes out of these sessions? A nice attitude adjustment."

I want to go for the gold and say: Don't hold your breath. Instead I settle for silver and reply with, "You never know, miracles can happen."

"Ah, I hope so. Because you're in desperate need of a miracle, My Bell," my mom promptly glances over at me with a big grin on her face. I know she's being playful with me, trying to get me to laugh. She only calls me 'My Bell' when she feels exceptionally affectionate towards me. I decide to indulge her, she's my mother after all, and more than missing Kate, I miss her. I smile, instead, only slightly and turn my head to view out the window.

Once we arrive at St. Volturi's, I hastily get out of the car , knowing that I'm already late. "I know, I know, I'm sorry! You know how I hate to drive fast," She apologizes as I shut the car door.

I mumble to myself, "Not fast, mom, drive like a normal person."

"Attitude adjustment, that's all I'm saying!" she calls out in my direction from the open car window.

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Being in school on a weekend just blows. I mean it really sucks. It's like oil and water, it just doesn't mix. And it's feels very weird, like you left something at home or locked your keys in the car. That's how I feel right now, completely unbalanced.

I feel even more out of place when I enter the gymnasium and the double doors slam loudly behind me. It makes the handful of people who are casually standing around the gym talking to one another, all turn around and look at me. I surely know how to make an entrance.

Before I can move or fumble around to the nearest chair, I hear a soft but sweet voice greeting me. "You must be Isabella," I look to the front end of the gym to see a woman with wavy light brown hair and an inviting smile on her face. "We've been expecting you."

"I'm sorry, I'm late," I faintly say.

"No worries. We're very flexible here," Ms. Platt clears her throat and her voice rises a little bit louder to address the rest of the people. "All right, everyone, find a seat and get comfortable." I take in everybody around me as they find a spot in the circle of chairs formed around the small section of the room. Certainly, they know each other well, because most choose a seat where they are sitting next to a friend.

The loner in me, however, is disappointed to realize I can't really hide. The chairs being in the shape of a circle make it very fucking difficult. No end and no beginning, which means whichever seat I pick, I'll be sitting next to someone.

I end up selecting a seat near what I assume is the end of the circle. Next to me a tall girl with long, dark hair shyly smiles at me, and sits down, her eyes are focused on the ground.

Ms. Platt speaks again, "All right, Edward, will you pass out the papers I gave you? Make sure each person gets one."

An alarm sounds off in my head. Wait a second. Edward? Cullen? Boy that hates me with a sheer passion? Oh no, this cannot be happening.

It wouldn't be my life, if something this colossal and full of crap didn't happen. Because of course it's happening.

He starts at the other end of the circle, back facing me, but I know it's him. Just by his messy, bronze hair and tall body. He quickly makes his way around the circle, and lastly, lands on me. We make eye contact as he hands me the paper and I'm the first to break it. Because as much as I want to say that I could really see myself falling for this guy, just on physical attraction alone, I so don't want him to see or know the problems I have. They are mine and mine alone, and I hate that a group of people I don't even know, will know my secrets. I could curse Principal Casius for sending me here.

And because it's the only chair not taken, Edward Cullen sits down next to me. I inhale sharply. I can tell out of the corner of my eye that he isn't his normal, staunch self. He's looser and more at ease. There's even a smirk on his face, like he's finally getting this joke too.

"Everyone," Ms. Platt says, "I would like you take the hand of the person sitting beside you and recite the prayer that's printed out on the paper Edward handed to you."

I feel the girl next to me grip my right hand, and then I feel Edward lift my stiff left hand to his, he coaxes my fingers apart and weaves his through mine. His palm is cool to the touch and he holds on tightly to my hand as if he doesn't want to it let go.

In unison we all recite the Serenity prayer: God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things that I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.

My right hand is dropped fast from the girl's clutch, but Edward holds onto my left for a few more moments and then he places it back onto my lap. I'm squirming on the inside, how can he be this relaxed and gentle now when only a few days ago he looked as if I made him sick?

I don't have time to ponder this idea because Ms. Platt immediately starts rambling on about introducing ourselves to one another, "I'm Esme Platt, you may call me Esme, I prefer it, actually. Most of you know me from previous sessions. I see most of the same kids are here, there's few new faces. Let's go around and say your name and why you are here, shall we?"

My eyes follow to each kid that announces their name and reason. One boy, Ben Cheney is here because he has a sister with a terminal illness. Jessica Stanley, who I always took for stuck up and a gossip, resides here because she has a recovering alcoholic father at home. Another boy, Mike Newton, his father, a Chicago cop, got injured on the job and is now paralyzed.

I knew about Mike, my dad worked with his father for a long time on the force. We we're all very sad about what happened to Mr. Newton, a kind man who didn't deserve the hand he got dealt.

That's just it though. None of these kids deserve the hand that they're getting dealt either. Angela Weber who begins to cry when she tells us all how she lost her mother a year ago due to a longtime battle with breast cancer. It breaks my heart. Maybe it's because she says it so brokenly through her tears or maybe it's because it's a daughter crying for her mother, I don't know, but I find myself rubbing her back soothingly. She leans her head on my shoulder till her crying eases up.

Esme pauses till she feels Angela is calm enough and then she looks to me, "It's your turn now."

I go tense, my spine straightening at the simple words. My turn to announce my name and my reason. And I'm not ready, I don't think I'll ever be ready. Saying it out loud only makes it more real. Even more painful than that dull ache I feel every single day.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath and then I feel a weight on my left hand. When I open them, I see that Edward has covered the top of my hand with my own. I turn my head to face him, his deep green eyes gazing into mine. I can almost hear him gently telling me to go ahead, you're all right.

"I'm Isabella Swan, and my best friend Kate Denali committed suicide last February."

Edward's hand doesn't leave mine the rest of the session, he only grasps it tighter.

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We don't talk about much that day, in fact, Esme does most of the talking. She makes us familiar with the type of talking we will do here, how long the sessions will go for and she finishes up by saying that if we need to speak to her one on one, that's she's always available for that.

I'm still impartial to this whole thing. I don't hate it with the complete negativity that I did before, but I'm can't say that I'm directly open to any of it either. I don't see how talking about my sorrow will make me feel better, but it's only been one session.

Hey, who knows, maybe I'll end up being a chatter box by the end of this, maybe I'll get to talking and I won't stop. Maybe I'll even cry the way that Angela Weber did. Let it all out and I'll be ultimately cured and the guilt will be abolished. I'll ride off into the sunset, happy and warm.

I doubt it. But one can dream, can't she?

"Do you have a ride home?" I'm taken out of my daydream when I notice that most everyone has left, except Edward. Esme is on the other side of the gym gathering things into a bag of hers, gearing up to leave.

"Uh, yeah, my mom. She's probably in the parking lot waiting," I motion for the door as I stand up.

Edward nods at my statement and stands up too, his hand is no longer holding mine, instead they're stuffed into the pockets of his jeans. "I'm glad you came. I mean, I know it's not easy, but Esme makes it less hard."

"Yeah, she's very nice. I like her," I say matter-a-factually. And then I remember that Edward didn't say what he was here for. My curiosity gets the better of me and I decide to ask him, "So, what's the reason you're here anyway? You never said."

"Oh, no reason, actually. I help Esme out on the weekends. I plan on going into musical therapy as a career in the future. Totally different from this, but I like helping people and I like to see how Esme interacts with everybody. Gives me some insight, I guess," he shrugs.

I stare at him without saying anything, I'm just stunned he's said this much to me. An awkward silence seeps into the air and Edward removes one hand from the pocket of his jeans and places it behind his neck, rubbing it roughly back and forth. "I should probably go. Thanks for, um, that during group. It helped. A lot," I practically choke on the words.

Edward goes still and his hand leaves his neck, his arm falling to his side. He looks into my eyes with this heart-clenching wonder in them. It takes him a while to form the words he wants to say, so instead of rushing off to leave, my feet stick like glue to the ground. "I feel like I need to introduce myself to you again."

I impatiently blurt, "You never really introduced yourself to me at all. You just ignored me." I snap my mouth shut and my cheeks feel like they're burning a bright crimson color.

Edward smiles crookedly and my knees feel as though they're going to give out from under me. "I'm sorry about that. It's hard for me... especially around people I don't really know..." He motions his hand to mine and takes it again, this time giving it a firm shake, "I'm Edward Cullen."

I think to myself, maybe. Maybe this is my good part.

I see you there,

Don't know where you come from.

Unaware of a stare from someone.

Don't appear to care that I saw you and I want you.

My own two hands will comfort you tonight, tonight.

Say when.

Say When – The Fray –

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