Hey, readers! I was reading some of my other chapters and noticed that in a few of them I said that Brayton survived and Braison didn't. I do that a lot when I write about twins, so bear with me. But remember: Brayton, dead. Braison, alive. If it says otherwise in this story, I'm sorry. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I don't own any publically recognized characters, because I'm not Stephenie Meyer

"A blessed thing it is for any man or woman to have a friend, one human soul who knows the best and worst of us, and loves us in spite of all our faults" -Charles Kingsley

Austyn's POV

"What'd you plan on doing today, Austyn?" asked Embry, who was eating a bowl of Cornflakes beside me at the kitchen table.

I swallowed my cereal, thinking, come on, chew it. Seth wouldn't have asked you to be his girlfriend if you weren't beautiful. "Going down to First Beach, I supposed." I took another spoonful, saying the same thing to myself.

"Sounds like fun."

"How about you, Em?" I asked.

Embry got up, putting his dirty dishes in the sink. "Work."

"Work? I didn't know you could get off your lazy ass long enough to work."

Embry laughed. "I actually work down with Sam and the boys. Pretty fun . . . and lots of fresh air." He finished washing his hands, and came to my side, kissing my cheek. "See you later, cuz. And try not to get killed." He walked out the door, laughing loudly.

I smirked at my immature cousin's behaviour. Same old Embry; nothing changed in five years. When I left, he was 17 and immature. Now, he's 22, and still just as immature. You'd think he would have grown up right? Evidently, he didn't.

After putting my empty dishes in the sink, I decided to wash them. I had some time to kill. Might as well do something productive. I ran some warm water, and went on a hunt for dish liquid, finding it in the cupboards under the sink. I squirted some into the water, grabbed an obviously homemade already wet wash cloth from the counter top, and started washing them.

I was done washing, drying and putting them back in their original places, when I heard some thumping on the stairs. I turned to face the culprit. Braison was standing at the landing, staring at me, biting his bottom lip in what look like irritation (then again, he always seems irritated these days). His eyes kept darting to the left towards the living room couch.

"I-I'm going for a walk," he blurted out reluctantly. I nodded, clearly confused at his sudden acknowledgement in my existence. He stayed there for another couple seconds, before striding to the front door in the living room, exiting the house. I felt a sudden chill down my spine and goose bumps erupted on my skin, prompting me to try and rub them away.

Aunt Alannis had gone to work at the local convience store at 5:30, so I was home alone.

For the next ten minutes I ran around the house, finding towels, sun block, Gucci sunglasses, bikini, and other necessities to bring to the beach, fitting them all in my giant woven beach bag and putting on my bikini with a little shawl and flip flops. I hypothesized that I wouldn't be going into the water, so I put on a heavy coat of make up, put M.A.C. concealer on the ugly scars that polluted my arms, and straightened my hair to perfection, pinning my bangs up with bobby pins. I looked into the full length mirror in the hallway upstairs.

And, if I do say so myself, I looked smokin' hot!

Smiling, I continued down the stairs, grabbed my keys, got in my car, and drove the familiar route to First Beach.

Sun rays shone down, warming my skin. I had my glasses on over my closed eyes, so all I could see was pure, ink blackness. Jesse Labelle and Alyssa Reid's Heartbreak Cover-up blasting from my headphones into my ears, sand underneath me with a beach towel guarding my skin from the little specks, the smell of the salt water infiltrating my nose, the taste of my lemonade (Morgan Smith and Haylie Phillips, two nine year old girls that were four and three the last time I saw them, were selling cold glasses of lemonade in the parking lot for a dollar, so I bought one; it was really, really good) that now sat beside me in the sand clinging to the inside of my mouth, parents, kids and teenagers playing around and chilling on the beach, enjoying a rare sunny day in La Push. I wanted to take advantage of it too, because chances are, it'll be pouring rain tomorrow and I'd probably be stuck inside all day, joking around with Embry.

Jesse Labelle's voice rang through the headphones. "It's just another lonely night, they happen all the night, now that you're not around." I started to hum quietly along with him, moving my fingers to the beat. Whenever hearing a song I like, it's unbelievably hard for me to not hum or move apart of my body to the beat, especially when the volume is up as loud as this song was. My eyes opened and my hand reached across the sand until my fingers came in contact with the Styrofoam cup, raising it to my lips and taking a quick sip as the song changed to As Long As You Love Me by Justin Bieber. I started to hum to this song as well, only after placing my cup back in the same imprint on the sand.

Braison's POV

"Do you know where he lives?" I asked Brayton as we walked down the deserted road. It had crossed my mind that I should probably not talk to him so loudly, but as soon as it popped into my mind, the thought disappeared just as quick. Who cared if people called me weird or crazy? I was talking to my twin brother again!

"In the same house. I found that out when I was watching him from—" he pointed up to the sky. "Upstairs."

We navigated down the paved road, switching streets a few times, before hesitantly walking up the dirt driveway to the wooden bridge with chipped white paint. The house that occupied the land was a simple house, nothing out of the ordinary for here, not like our's was. Our house was large (too large if you asked me), filled with windows and glass doors, and luxurious, with a three car garage off to the side. In La Push, you have a few small windows, doors with only a little window up top, shudders, a garage for the men's hang out place out back, and your cars stayed in your driveway, not locked with the keys in the ignition.

This house had light blue wooden siding, white shudders, light brown door that had been previously painted the last time I was here, and a black shuddered roof. Briefly, I wondered if the frizz bee Jazlynne had accidentally thrown up there six years was still there.

"Come on, Braison! Don't be such as wuss! Knock on the door, before I punch your face into it!" yelled Brayton.

This surprised. When Brayton was alive, he was always so mellow and a little passive. "Wow. You're a violent guardian angel aren't you?"

Brayton yawned. "You got me up too early this morning." He paused. "You could've had me . . ." he smiled vindictively. "Or mom, fussing over your clothes, the way you act, and saying things like 'hey little man,' and 'Brai-Boo.'" He patted me on the back. "Dude, you got off easy. Now, knock on the friggin' door."

I took a deep breath, calming myself down. My hand seemed to be lifting of it's own accord (not by Brayton this time, because he had his arms crossed on his chest). My fist came in contact with the door, and knocked, once, twice, thrice, before falling back to my side.

Five seconds.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Three seconds, then, "Coming!" yelled a feminine voice. Probably one of his many sisters. He had five: Brinley, Maula (adopted, from India), Santos, Dominique (also adopted, born in France), and Phoenix. Brinley and Maula were eighteen, Santos was sixteen, Dominique was fourteen, and Phoenix was eleven.

Dominique pulled open the door with a smile, until she saw who it was, and then it faded. Not in dislike of me, but in surprised. She was a pretty girl, with long blond hair, bright blue eyes, dimples, fading freckles on her cheeks, fair skin, a normal body size for fourteen years old. Dominique stood out in La Push because of these qualities. "Braison."

Before I could say anything, a male voice behind her yelled, "That can't be Braison!" He paused, before continuing with a, "Can it?" Feet pattering, then a black spiked head appeared over Dominique's left shoulder. "Braison!" he yelled happily, rushing out to give me a dude-hug.

I smiled. Brayton uncrossed his arms and grinned at our reunion. "Long time no see, River."

Austyn's POV

I didn't stay at the beach that long; maybe an hour and a half, two hours max. It was really boring, no one to talk to or joke with. I packed up, and headed for my car. On the way there, throwing my cup into the garbage can.

I sat in my car for a few minutes, watching the waves wash the shore and the parents running after stray toddlers on the beach, before starting my car and pulling out of the cramped parking lot.

Trust me, I didn't want to, but my car seemed to drive all around town for a couple hours on its own accord, stopping at the high school and the road to the tussle, places that held a specific memory for me. On autopilot, my car drove to ever setting of every memory I ever had in La Push, except for the ones I had in my house and in the middle of town; even my subconscious couldn't see my house again or the place where my life seemed to fall down around me: the interstate between Ocean Front Drive, Main Street, La Push Road and Quileute Street, better known by my family as "The Crash Site."

The closest I have actually managed to get to those locations is Old Sawmill Road, where I live now, a street just two or three minutes away from my old house. When I had to pass by the interstate yesterday, it killed me. I felt so . . . sad and depressed and just plain wrong. It felt weird passing by the place where my parents and younger brother died, and I never wanted to see it again. This was why I was planning on taking the long way out of La Push tomorrow when I go to Port Angeles to pick up a dress to wear to Forks with Seth on our . . . date. I got butterflies just thinking about.

My little trip ended when I pulled up into the Clearwater house on a winding road called Ephraim Drive (named after a famous chief in Quileute legend). Still on autopilot, I walked up the door and knocked a few times, before stepping back; I happened to know that this door opens out, instead of in, so you have to be careful.

The door opened slowly, until the face of Leah Clearwater came into view. I smiled at her. She scowled.

"Is Seth here?" I asked cheerfully.

"Yeah, because if he wasn't, he would have to actually a life." She laughed a venomous, humorless laugh that made me suddenly frightened. Was that supposed to be a joke? Leah turned her head back into the house and shouting, louder than necessary, "Seth! Get your ass down here, you're wanted!" Laughing the same horrible laugh, she swung the door open all the way until it smacked against the siding, and ventured back into the house, disappearing into the kitchen.

I didn't know what to do, so I just rocked back and forth on the low stone bridge. Leah stepped into the doorway of the kitchen. "You know, Austyn, we won't bite. You can come in," she announced in irritation, rolling her eyes and striding back out of view.

Blushing, I stepped into the house and closed the door behind me. I had never actually seen the inside of Seth's house before – it was nice, though. Lots of family pictures, some sewed decorations, probably by Sue, a simple box television on a TV stand, floral couch, loveseat and a worn out green Lazy Boy, a dark brown coffee table with a vase of flowers and coasters on the top of it, pink walls, old pink carpet, a welcome mat under my feet, coat tree beside me, shoe shelves beside the coat tree, brown stairs that let upstairs, and a door with a golden handle between the TV and the stairs.

Thumping from upstairs, Seth talking before I saw him. "What's sup?" Then I could see him, hiding his body behind the wall on top of the stairs, just his face visible. When I first saw him, he had a simple smile on his face, but when he saw that it was me, his smile got wider and brighter, lighting up his entire face. "Austyn!" He ran down the stairs faster than I thought possible, across the living room, pulled me into his arms, and kissed my fully on the mouth. "Hey," he said breathlessly as he pulled away and unwrapped his arms from my waist.

"Hi, Seth. So, I wanted to know if you wanted to go for a walk with me." I asked.

"Sure!" He answered quickly, pushing me out the door. My foot touched the small stone for a bridge for a millisecond before I touched the ground, Seth close behind me, closing the door with a loud band that sounded in the quiet post-noon air. If I had to guess, I'd say the time was somewhere between three and four o'clock, maybe 4:30. It just had that temperature and feel, with the sun's hot blaze dying down to a light tingle on the skin.

Seth wrapped his arm around my waist, pulling me close to his body and placing a small kiss on the crown of my head. "Come on, beautiful."

I sincerely hope you enjoyed this reading experience. If you didn't, that's perfectly fine. You can tell me you appsalutly loathed every single word I wrote, or you can say you adored it all and would like me to continue. Me? I'm happy with this chapter, more so than any other chapter I've written for this story. Have a nice day, I'll write more soon. Bye! –SilverWolfLove