You know what sucks more than writer's block? The moment you lose the drafts for the next chapter in every story you have. My computer was basically wiped clean – I beg of you not to ask how that happened. It was mortifying and traumatizing, to say the least. This is one of the reasons why I have updated this story later than I wanted to.

Plus, the university is a killer despite the pandemic.

Anyway, enjoy the new chapter.

chellekathrynn: Again, I thank you for your comment. It has opened my eyes to something I haven't seen. I'll try to be more careful in the future.

WickedlyMinx: Who knows if she has powers or not. I'll not tell but I am happy that you have liked this story so far.

xSiriuslyPadfoot: Cullens have basically lived longer than her grandparents, some even beyond that. Trixie is just an awkward girl who is practically a baby compared to them, so of course, I try making some interactions quirky. Glad to know it is working. As for Seth, the town is pretty small so I would at least expect one or few interactions between other characters beyond the school. So yeah, Seth will return at some point.

Alsynea: Trixie and her father may have something going on, beyond the dysfunctional relationship and communication, that is. It is more complicated than it seems to be revealed in one chapter so gradually you can find out what's going on. Sorry about the wait.

Mirabitur: I'm happy to know that you like what you've read so far. If you want to know what's going on in Trixie's family, do stick around.

Guest (guestststst): Yeah, I'm a formal writer. It sucks, but I've only noticed how major it is in my writing thanks to you and chellekathrynn. Thank you for that. English is not my first language, but people have commented over the years that I even speak formally in my native language. It is something I do unconsciously, sometimes, but apparently, it has been poured into my work, too.

Bluebirdskies: Sorry for the wait, even when you sounded so excited about the new chapter in your last comment. Thank you for your support.

I don't need no one to put me down
I'm on the ground, can't get no lower
And I don't need no one to hang around an' make me frown
Just makes me look older

-By Mary J. Blige (I Can Do Bad All By Myself)

Chapter 7:

Blood thicker than water

A child's mind does not understand things the same way as an adult does. This much is obvious.

What seems clear and coherent to them, is almost always lost to a young one. When I grew up, there were many bundles of confusing events that did not make sense for me. I either accepted the explanations given or pretended to know what they meant even when I did not.

I was a very quiet child, is what I recall. Nobody has ever truly said to me their own opinions on the matter. So, this is the conclusion I came up with using my own memories. Whenever in the classroom, I either wanted to sit beside the window or in the back. If group work was made, I merely listened mostly until someone asked what I thought.

Instead of shyness, it could have been fear. Fear of how others might act if I spoke or did something.

The idea that fault is mine if rejection happens was rooted in my skull pretty quickly.

"Dad."

I recall reaching out for his hand back when I had been a mouse and he a towering giant.

His hands, as large as they were, were half-hidden by the long sleeves of his jacket. It was winter evening – it was cold and dark with few streetlights. I do not recall when it was that he stopped taking me there.

I reached out because I wanted to know what his hand would feel like. I wanted to hold his hand because I was afraid to be swept away by the biting wind. I was shivering, barely keeping myself upright on the slippery ice.

But when my small, gloved fingers were just an inch away, his limb jerked. My face prickled with cold.

"You've to understand he's… trying to cope with all this in his own way."

"You're such a smart girl. Try to understand him."

"He doesn't mean anything bad by it. It's not your fault, so try to understand."

I didn't 'understand' it, as the adults wished I did. Their words and actions did not make sense to me. I was already a teenager, but not old enough to yet comprehend how the world actually works. It is twisted, there is no one real answer to anything and it is cruel.

But I still tried to make it through with their words. I did what I had been taught back in my old home because that was one of the few sources of comfort I had left. I prayed. I went next to my bed, crossed my arms, and prayed. The words I spoke beneath my breath and in my mind were all filled with things that could not have been granted. It is no wonder that nothing I wished or prayed for came true, but even before the most horrible years of my life, nothing really ever did.

I once prayed for a hamster – I never got one.

Does he hate me? Is he blaming me for what happened? Is that why he won't talk or look at me? Those were the questions I wanted an answer to. I thought about it while sitting next to my bed with the cross in my hands. In time, the puzzlement turned into an uncontrollable and sad curiosity. Basically, I started to think that if I got an answer then I could figure out how to make things better. But the reality wasn't so simple – I was just hopeful and lonely and plainly miserable.

So, against all that the adults and people around me had told me, I broke one unspoken rule in the household.

He had always kept the door to his room closed. The door to the mysterious bedroom had always been closed and I only ever saw it open a handful of times. And it was always dark within. Even during the sunny days, the curtains must have been drawn together to shun the sunlight because nothing could be seen inside.

I never asked for permission to step in, too scared of what my father's answer might be. He already rejected me with his entire being, the sight of the door closing right before my eyes felt like another nail stabbed into my heart.

One day, when he was gone, I opened the door.

I had had enough of prayer and 'trying to understand' him and this entire situation. I left my cross on the table in my room, thinking that God had truly abandoned me at this man's mercy.

I was scared, but when I opened the door I froze. It did not have a lock, but it felt like I broke an invisible one.

The room smelled like… nothing. And it truly held almost nothing within it.

A bed, a table, a closet, and one tightly closed window. No pictures, other furniture, or decorations were around and for a moment I wondered if I was still in the same house. I held my breath, the hairs on my back standing up. I was so afraid that my father might turn up at any moment and find his sanctuary invaded.

I stepped in, leaving the door wide open so the meager light from the kitchen pooled in. I did not turn on any other lights, for some reason I thought it might explode or burn this room to the ground if I did so.

Only two steps in and I faltered.

And like a coward, I backed away and closed the door.

Father never found out about the "brave" attempt and never asked if I ever tried to enter his room… but somehow, I always felt like he knew what I did, but chose not to comment.

And years to come, I continued to try and understand why it seemed like he avoided my existence.

"Happy birthday to you!

Happy birthday to you!

Happy birthday, dear Alexander!

Happy birthday to you~"

There aren't many people in the small hospital room, but the clapping sounds can surely be heard out to the hallway. A healthy flush is on his cheeks, as the brunette fights off a rising bashful grin and blows on the candles slowly.

The small trails of smoke send a bitter smell, but his father is quick to act and opens up a window. "Remember to say if it gets too chilly in here."

Before Alex can answer, a flash of sharp light momentarily blinds him and me. We sit together in his hospital bed, side by side and the cake is in front of us on a tray.

"Mom, enough with the pictures," Alex whines, blinking the brightness off.

Richard, his father, laughs at the sight of his son's disgruntled face. "Let the boy be already. You can take all the pictures of him later."

"But later he won't be eating the cake," she argues and takes another picture of the said dessert. "Alright, one more. Trixie dear, could you get closer to Alex for me?"

I chuckle at the look the boy sends me. He clearly isn't enjoying the attention, for this is probably the hundredth time Jenna has taken a picture of him within a few hours. Still, he doesn't fight it when I lean closer and wrap my arm around his shoulder.

The older woman smiles wider. "That's it. Stay still and – Alex quit making faces!"

The boy retracts the tongue he stuck out and we both snort at the disgruntled look his mother sends us. When the flash of the camera is over though, the four of us begin to eat the cake. It tastes sweet. But for Alex it definitely tastes even sweeter than to any of us – the words are drawn on the paper above his bed scream the words 'happy birthday' and 'I beat cancer' simultaneously in bold letters. I nearly had a heart attack when reading those words.

The illness has been a cloud that has been hanging over our friendship. I never bring it up, unless my friend does so first. But now I probably never have to be so careful again… is what I hope for at least.

The red rims around Jenna's – Alex's mother's – eyes are obvious and say that she is holding back another set of tears. Richard beside her does not show it, but he too appears more emotional than usual. No doubt the thought of never seeing their son's eighteenth birthday has been haunting, but now they are here watching him devour the cake.

The sight is bittersweet, and it almost ruins the taste of the cream in my mouth.

"You've been very quiet. What's wrong?" Alex asks as soon as his parents are out of sight and it is just the two of us in his room. He wears a black shirt with the word 'winner' on it in white letters – my gift to him.

I hide the uneasiness behind a sheepish look. His straightforwardness throws me off a bit. "I got a bunch of homework from the days I missed school. Just wait when you get there and know what I mean."

"Well, I still get a few more months because I can't start in the middle of the year," he replies cheekily, grinning at the sour expression I make. "You still have to get this and next year over with."

I groan, already imagining the piles of books waiting for me at home. "Don't remind me."

He does this a lot now. I can tell we will be having a lot of conversations about school in the future. Until now he has been pretty much bedridden the entire time and has missed the life outside his home or the hospital. Alex is eager to get inside that building that smells like body odor and basketballs' rubber. I genuinely wish he will have better times there than I have.

Just one more year of waiting and I can get out of here.

"What'll you do once the school ends? Are you still planning on going to Tennessee?" He asks absentmindedly when we begin playing with a puzzle – his father's gift, the man has a strange taste.

I sit cross-legged on the other end of the bed, a small table between us. "Yes. I'm planning on studying literature there… at least I think so."

Alex snorts. "Sounds very convincing."

"Don't be a jerk," I grunt and place a piece down. "It's just I think I wouldn't completely suck at it."

"Why Tennessee, though?" He asks innocently again.

"Why not Tennessee?" I ask back smartly but can't raise my eyes up to look at him. Instead, I stare at the image we are forming. It is a flower field in what the box says is from Europe. For some reason, the image of a dark-haired girl appears in my head and her bell-like laughter and voice fill my head.

"I've been to, for example, Italy, Brazil, Norway…" Alice's words make me think of many unknown places. The topic of traveling only makes these feelings stronger – fear and uncertainty.

Maybe I am an open book because the birthday boy gives a small smile. "Do you miss your old home?"

Funnily enough, I do not answer immediately. I probably should, though. It is the place I often think about, filled with both good and bad memories. But at this moment, the words do not come out as easily. There is a pressure within my ribcage like phantom hands are squeezing every organ there.

"Yes," I finally say and look up at him. "I do."

"Is that why you want to go and study there?"

"… It's half of the reason."

He seems a bit surprised by that. "Really? What's your other reason?"

I give him a tight smile. "I'm really interested in literature for now. Plus, I still have some old neighbors and friends to help me out there."

That sounds convincing, the sarcastic voice within my skull speaks out, mimicking Alex's previous tone. I am not entirely too sure if I even have a solid reason for going back there. It is the first place that comes to my mind when I think of where I want to go to. Getting otherwise out of my comfort zone has always been a struggle and so has been forgetting the place I spend most of my seventeen years of living in.

I told Alice I like Forks… but I wonder if that is what I have forced myself to think. Besides Alex and his family… what do I really have here? Back in Tennessee, there are more happy memories that make my chest ache with nostalgia and longing. I miss that place. Pure and simple – there is no strong interest in studies involved, which will serve as a poor motivator in the future, I am sure of that.

Alex must not feel the gloominess that has suddenly set over me.

"Enough about school," I say and finish the puzzle with the final piece at the side. The flowerbeds are now in full bloom before us. I come up with the first random subject to talk about. "Have you thought about getting a driver's license soon?"

This is supposed to be a happy day. But the second Jenna and Richard walk back in and the former hugs Alex with all her might small cracks that I have mended begin to open up. It makes me wonder, why I truly want to return somewhere, where there is nothing worth waiting for me.

The gloom is taken away when Alex and I are brought together for another picture. This time we hold hands – his warm and large around mine.

I should have not become too lax in my short time away from high school.

In that very short amount of the said time, I forgot what could wait for me here. Young people – particularly teenagers – are not in the kindest of phase while in this place. It must be the fact that we are all forced together into one building with unhealthy stereotypes and poor hygiene. Those things do strange things for the brain.

Which is why I am in the middle of contemplating about finding the culprit of the mess I am seeing and strangling them.

In my absence, someone thought that it would be funny to stuff what appears to be mud down the small holes at the front of the locker. The mud has since then dried up and hardened on top of the few books I had stored in.

The smell is… not something I want to even start describing.

I can tell that some of the conversations in the hallway have halted. Especially from certain angles where there is a direct view of my locker. Without much of a thought, I close it and grab my bag, deciding that it is not worth the trouble of standing as still as a statue.

My reaction comes too late, though. People have seen it and a few snickers sound around the hallway as I pass by. Others either stay silent and smirk while a handful of mature ones just decides to ignore it. What I can't ignore is the rising heat to my cheeks.

"Hey, Paint Girl."

Oh, for the love of –

Lauren stands in the middle of my path with her small group of friends behind her. As usual, her bile green eyes stare at me with that satisfied and mean glint while her arms are crossed across her chest. If I felt particularly snarky today, I would mimic her posture just to show how ridiculous it looks.

But because I do not, I try to ignore her very existence by continuing my walk. Of course, she does not let me get away that easily.

She quirks an eyebrow. "Are you trying to ignore me?"

"Yes," I answer honestly. Whether because of how the unfairness of life or the fact that I forgot how annoying she could be, I am bold and attempt passing her by again. Besides, she could have been the one that stuffed mud into the locker and the thought infuriates me.

"What? You think that because you were rushed to the hospital I am supposed to care?" She asks the arrogant smirk slipping away into a sneer.

I halt and then frown soon after. "What?"

"You heard me," she flips her hair back over her shoulder. "What's with you and Swan suddenly trying to hog attention?"

It takes a while for me to realize who she is talking about. There has never been any Swans in this school – at least in my time – and my brain recognizes people by their first names rather than surnames. But when the pieces click into place, I recall the sharp and pale face of the new girl with whom I have exchange rather awkward conversations…

And then I remember the sight of a car sliding towards her, the last thing I saw before entering into an almost vegetative state.

I feel cold, despite wearing a hoodie with a long-sleeved shirt underneath. The memory of the vehicle hits me hard and the sense of dizziness hits me again. I am not going to faint; I know it this time. But I certainly wish that I could. I want out of this hallway and to forget that the incident ever happened. Isabella is fine, I was told so. But within my mind, the sight of her still form keeps on changing into someone else. A memory that is supposed to be repressed is beginning to creep out its ugly tail.

Don't think about it.

My mouth dries up and Lauren's form becomes a sluggish shape, like an eel or a slug. The temperature shifts and numbness spreads across my face.

It's over.

"Attention?" I parrot but then a bitter thing called anger makes my hands twitch. "I knew that you were mental and sick in the head but speaking like that about a near-death experience sure is a new level for you."

This is the second time I have spoken like this to her or anyone who has bullied me pretty much. It is not worth the trouble, because I am stuck here with them whether I like it or not and there are pretty much no other high schools almost anywhere near. I guess keeping quiet made me sometimes feel superior to them, too.

But seeing the shock on her make-up covered face and finally silencing that nasal tone of hers has never felt so good.

"Get a life," I spit, finally walking past her and her friends whose gazes follow me with flabbergasted expressions on their faces.

I feel like I can breathe a bit easier now…

Instead of heading to the classroom, I end up powerwalking to the bathroom. Nobody seems to be there at the first glance, and I take solace in that for a second before closing myself into one of the toilet closets, as I call them.

I sit down, the bag falling heavily down next to my feet and I look up at the blinking lights on the ceiling. The entire place smells sweet from perfume someone has been overly enthusiastic to use and it enters into my nostrils like a drug. The smell is distracting, I need it though. The images of my school closet filled with mud, the hospital, Alex's small birthday party, and the car accident just come crashing down on me like a wave. And now the scene in the hallway.

The ceiling becomes blurred and I close my stinging eyes, shoulders hunched. Breathe. You're alive. The stinging appears on my lower lip where I bite down on it.

Just another day.

"Trixie!"

"Christ!" I cry out, balancing the food on my tray with a panicked expression. Luckily nothing falls, but my heart is close to leaping out of my chest.

There is no warning to the sudden tackle-hug I receive. My gaze has been solely focusing on the cafeteria's line for food and the rumbling in the lowest pit of my stomach that I completely missed the charging pixie-like girl whose grip is as strong as iron.

"H-hi, Alice," I manage out, the cracking in my voice is due to the air I can't enough into my lungs. Her hold isn't crushing, but the fact that we are this close where everyone can see is… slightly frightening.

Naturally, over her petite shoulder, I spot those said looks and internally want to crumble. I am thankfully released pretty quickly.

"C'mere," she excitedly guides me to a table that we occupied at one point.

I freeze but her pull keeps me moving until she eventually decides to let go and sit down in front of her own serving. Then, her large eyes turn up to me expectantly and I look between her and the curious glances send towards us. Awkward is too weak of a word to describe what I am feeling right now. What's she doing?

"Um," I begin idiotically and eventually place my own tray down, "how was your weekend?"

This does not feel any different from the previous conversation we had on this very same table.

It is a plain question and if she notices just how uncomfortable I am sitting on the other side of the table from her, she doesn't show it. "It was great. Now, let's talk about the Port Angeles trip."

A ton of imaginary bricks slams down on my head at her abrupt reminder of our last meeting in front of my house. It is strange how she calls it 'the trip', only solidifying what I prayed she eventually would forget to mention. Without realizing it, my hands tighten around the edges of my seat. I keep them out of the smaller girl's view so she wouldn't notice how nervously they fidget.

To distract me from the regret of my promise and the bright chatter in my ears, I begin to absentmindedly unwrap the lunch. Alice continues talking, unaware of how every word she says fills me with dread.

"Unfortunately tomorrow I've a family thing going on, which means we can check that off the list. I was thinking about this Wednesday," she looks at me with a twinkle in her eyes.

She really does remind me of a fairy. The pixie-cut has nothing to do with it. The disposition of ever shining positivity or excitement is far too much energy than any other teenager can afford.

"Sure," I say, and drink. The water has a slight chemical taste to it, different from the tap water at home. "You're still the one doing the driving, right?"

"Yup!" She nods and then opens up a juice box. However, she only takes one sip before continuing the talk. "I'm one of the best drivers in the family so you can count on me."

Her smile is there for one second but then falters. The corners of her mouth twitch and slowly the attention shifts to the side and on the other side of the cafeteria. I follow her gaze and not surprisingly end up looking at the rest of the Cullen family's table. There, a single large boy keeps steady eye contact on us, an unmistakable grin splitting his face. It is a bit unnerving, and I find myself shifting uncomfortably in the chair. Rosalie is there, too, and our last and only encounter fills my gut with nervous twitches.

Jasper and Edward are not present. It is both strange and not so surprising. I am actually kind of glad that the former is not here, considering how awful our conversations and meetings have been to this point. However, this does not take an edge off the fact that two Cullens are staring at the table I am sitting at.

The blonde does not look very happy. She sits next to the grinning giant, but unlike him, sends a venomous look that could kill a fly. The three of them are adopted with the amount of difference in disposition and appearance-wise. But I would think that each of them would have an effect on one another – Alice's smile is not contagious on her foster sister, though.

The dark-haired girl makes a strange gesture at Emmet Cullen which he only appears to snort at before turning his attention back to the meager lunch before him. Rosalie's glare does not relent, but she too chooses to ignore the two of us. From this distance, I am not sure whether she was glaring at me, Alice, or both.

Nevertheless, I let out a silent breath when the strange tension in the air disbands.

Whatever transpired between the three of them, I take it as a strange siblings' communication and leave it at that. It slightly reminds me of times when Alex and I silently bander across the room where his parents or nurses can't see or understand us.

"Let's leave straight after school if you don't mind," Alice says as soon as she has broken her staring contest.

"Sure," I say lamely, knowing that this is the second time the word has come out of my mouth.

I do not know what else to do – I have never gone out shopping with someone before. The thought of me making a fool of myself again is just unbearable. It is the moments like these that make me feel more of an outsider in the middle of my peers than anything else. Sure, the Cullen family is not known for their socialism amongst others of their age, but even they appear to have more of a life outside the school than I do.

"Are you feeling alright?" She asks suddenly with genuine concern in her voice. A frown has formed a line on her otherwise smooth skin.

For some reason, seeing her frown is like looking at a crack appearing on a mirror's surface. "Yeah, just a bit tired."

From life.

"Here," she suddenly pushes a protein bar to my tray. "You need it more than I do with the extra lessons coming up."

I am hesitant to take the offering. Firstly, it makes me feel off to accept food from someone who barely has eaten anything in front of me. But secondly, her words are perplexing and my hand twitches between taking the bar and retreating back under the table.

In the end, my hand ends up resting next to the tray.

"Extra lessons?" The words sound wrong in my mouth.

She looks at me with the most obvious look. "Yes, extra math lessons. You and Jasper have them… right?"

Her tone turns hesitant from seeing how my face morphs into a deeper frown and my eyes widen. The air stills and it feels for a moment that I am dreaming because even she appears to have become a complete statue and stares back at me. I think that I misheard her, but when nothing changes nor does she begin to giggle, sweat turns my palms clammy.

"What?"

Gaping like a fish is one of the most unattractive expressions you could ever muster, but that is probably how close I am looking like one.

Library computers tend to be slow, school library's especially. It is agitating, especially when you need to find information in a hurry and the box-shaped machine is not working properly. That is precisely why I give it a few good whacks in frustration when the librarian or anyone else is not looking. C'mon, work already!

The screen flashes white when it arrives at the front page of my email and I begin opening all of the messages that have arrived since my time in the hospital. They are all from various teachers in the courses I partake in, every single one of them wishing me well but giving me some extra work to do for the absence. They all send mixed signals.

Finally, there is one that clarifies my worst fears.

'Dear Miss Stone

Due to your sudden absence, you were not present when the results were shared. As I informed the entire class last week, this quiz will have a significant effect on your grade.

Unfortunately, you did not get a high enough grade to pass. However, because of your circumstances, I am willing to push your quiz to next week. Hopefully, you will be feeling better until then.

Additionally, I would like to suggest a tutor for you. This is to make sure that you won't fall further behind and the next courses will be easier for you. I have taken note of your previous tests and this is a solution I have come up with to improve your grades in the future. Mr. Jasper Hale has kindly volunteered to help you in this and will be available starting next Monday. You two do not have last hour classes, so I hope that this timeline suits you.

If you have any problems with this arrangement, please contact me before Monday and we can discuss it. Otherwise Mr. Hale will inform you of these plans himself and you two can meet in my classroom.

The file below contains the needed material for the pop quiz. Please remember that it will take place on – '

It feels like cockroaches have started to crawl up and down my arms. No, scratch that, cold water has been poured down my spine and I shudder. All those times that the teachers have told me and the rest of my peers to read texts and messages to the end come flashing back. I now experience firsthand what can happen if you don't.

Jasper did not say anything the day he came to my house with Alice. When I look at the date the message was sent, it is definitely the same one when I received the get-well present from them. His behavior had not been any different than what I was used to.

This does not make any sense. If he had just hinted or even said something about the arrangements, he and my math teacher made then I would have definitely declined. But the message states clearly that I should have done so before today and no matter how many times I read it the text does not change. It stays there, taunting me for being a carefree idiot.

I take in a shuddering breath. The teacher's words make less and less sense. He 'kindly volunteered' to help me?

Volunteered, volunteered… Jasper Hale volunteered… the infamous stoic, pale boy volunteered… he volunteered to help me in math? The world is ending.

"Stone!"

Sports and such are not my forte. They require energy levels above my capacity including staying focused and interested in the game. However, out of all the sports that we play in high school volleyball is my favorite for one reason – the ball is soft. Nobody kicks the ball at you, throws it at your abdomen, or runs after you like a dog trying to grab a bone.

This is why it is very unfortunate to have ended up in a course that chose to play basketball during the time I am most definitely distracted.

The hardball makes sudden contact with my face. It touches the tip of my nose before flattening it completely. Instant pain shoots up and down my nostrils channels and my head jerks back. The floor is slippery and because the horrible impact comes out of nowhere, I slip and fall flat on my back. It is ridiculously comical, and painful.

Hurts.

Tears spurt out from the corner of my eyes when I attempt sitting up. Pain creates twinkling stars in my vision, but my hearing works if the sudden hush and rising chatter in the gym is anything to go by.

"Move away, move away!"

Coach Clapp is within seconds pressing tissue against my nose. At first, it confuses me, but when I touch them to pull away, the tips of my fingers contact slick and warm substance – I stiffen. My fingers are now red and the realization that I am bleeding only seems to intensify the pain throbbing in my nose. Oh.

The color immediately reminds me of the hospital and my chest constricts. I don't ever recall getting a nosebleed before, so the experience slightly worries me. Just how hard was that ball launched at me?

"Stone, you need to lean forward – don't tip your head back!" The coach pushes my head down when I attempt leaning back. I have no idea what to do. "All of you, continue with the game. Harper, take Stone's place in the field!"

He helps me to the locker room and lets me sit down. I do not talk, too busy keeping the blood and tears under control. The wild thoughts about the bleeding not stopping and ending back into the hospital haunt and scare me to bits. This day – no, an entire week – feels like it is filled with misfortune after misfortune – has the universe suddenly decided to be against me with full force? Literally.

My nose hurts to the point I fear it might be broke, but when the coach asks me to let him see he only shakes his head.

"It doesn't look like it's broken. Just keep adding pressure to it and hopefully, the bleeding will stop."

"Hobefully," I repeat under my breath, voice drowsy from the blockage in the nostrils. It sounds like I have a case of cold rather than a bleeding nose.

The coach shrugs. Not bothered at all by my slumped over form or the fact he is in the girls' locker room. "The period is ending soon anyway. Do you have any classes after this?"

His question is like adding a nail to my coffin. "I've madh."

"In case the bleeding doesn't stop within the next five to ten minutes, go to the infirmary."

His offer sounds so appealing. It is like an escape route for me and suddenly the bleeding and the fact of how annoying it is to breathe through the mouth do not feel so terrible. However, walking out in the hallway like this is just asking for trouble. Lauren and her gang of minions have stayed away since the little spat we had, but I have managed to avoid them as well by slipping away from places quickly enough and keeping my head down.

When Clapp leaves, I stand up, swaying slightly on my feet. My elbows ache, they took the crash for my head. I walk to the mirror to inspect the damage and cringe at the sight greeting me back.

I look like Rudolph the reindeer. Whoever threw that ball, they certainly did it well. The skin is angry red, blister angry, and bright against the pale marred skin.

With nothing else to do, I sit and wait for the bleeding to stop as was the advice. And when it does, I pack my things and move out to the hallway.

People have already seen my face red from burns, but it does not make walking through hallways, which are steadily being filled with people, easier. I am just hopeful that the redness settles before I have 'extra lessons' with Jasper…

I am close to stopping when the reason for my previous distraction rises to the surface. I become more conscious of my appearance but continue moving forward. He has admittedly seen me in far worse situations, but I would like to lessen those times. No doubt he will already have to deal with my poor math skills and the thought horrifies me. It scares me just as much as being in the dark for his reasons to do such a thing.

He might feel bad for me.

My face almost wrinkles, but then smoothens once I get to mull it over.

He could be thinking about what happened last week in the schoolyard. Having someone faint and crumble in a matter of seconds can be traumatic. Soon after that, he visited me with Alice, too. Although, the visit had more to do with the fact he did not want the pixie-like girl driving alone.

"Trixie," a voice says my name – not screams or shrieks – in a soft tone. It is such a thin and weak sound that the student commotion on the upper floor nearly drowns it.

I jump, heart thundering within my chest similarly to the moment I fell. "Alice."

She stands motionlessly. There is no trace of the usual smile she wears, just blankness in her gaze. Immediately, without blinking, she strides forward and just a few breaths away halts. I smell a faint whiff of perfume, but the observation stops there. Out of reflex, I freeze.

Two round dark eyes are staring at the damaged nose. "What happened?"

"An accident," I say like it answers the entire question.

Her reaction feels a bit extreme. She is looking at me as if there is a huge gashing wound across the skin. Her mouth is half-open, and it does not appear like she is breathing. It is alarming, but so is the fact that people are trickling their way into the hallway that we occupy. The hairs on my arms stand up and I make a move to grab the smaller girl's hand to lead her away from here. The action comes naturally – she has broken the physical barrier more than once. This feels almost normal.

The skin of her hand is ice cold.

One second is all I get before she takes a step back.

My hand is left hanging between us in the air, abandoned and rejected. I freeze and she does too, apparently, both of us realize at the same time what has happened.

"Sorry," she breathes out, shoulders dropping. Life seems to pour back into her, and she glances around at the students surrounding us. "Let's get you cleaned up."

That is all she says before reaching out and dragging me away. People stare, obviously, but their judgment does not reach me. My mind is in disarray. The ache inside the nose feels like it is just spreading deeper into my skull, but that might just as well be because the blood circulation within my veins quickens. I can feel my own quick heartbeat drumming against my face.

Alice continues pulling me along, not saying a word or flashing me one of the usual toothed smiles. Her hand stays on the edge of my baggy sleeve, clutching the fabric and barely touching the wrist underneath it.

"It's fine," I say, trying to pull away. To my surprise, her hold only tightens. "The bleeding has stopped – Alice, are you listening?"

"Yes," she looks at me over her shoulder, but she is not smiling yet. "It's started bleeding again."

My eyes widen and I reach out for my nose in panic. "R-really?"

As if to prove the point we end up walking to the nearest bathroom and stop in front of a mirror. I stare at my reflection, noticing the thin trail of red dripping down underneath the nose to dangerously close to the edge of my upper lip. I look no better than in the girls' locker room's mirror. Self-conscious, I cover the nose and quickly pull out tissues to block the leakage.

The bathroom is mostly quiet while the hallway chatter is muffled by the walls. Nobody else is here, surprisingly. But the reason becomes a little clearer when the door opens, a girl registers the scene before her and leaves just as abruptly. I am left mortified that she saw me like this – hanging over the sink with a bunch of paper stuffed into my nose – and awkward when I realize that the reason for the quick departure stands right next to me.

Alice is not intimidating, per se. She is barely average high with her heels. If anything, it is her foster sister's glare that could cut through glass. But at the moment, even I feel the air shrink from the petite girl's presence.

I dare to take a glance from the mirror's reflection and regret it afterward. Her dark gaze – the gold is gone – bores holes into my skull. Her entire form is rigid with tension and for the second time, it appears like she is not breathing. It has a similar effect on me, and I close my mouth, letting the lack of oxygen slow down the beating heart's rhythm.

"There," I say lamely when the bleeding finally stops and throw the tissue into the trash. The sound of my voice is merely a way to try and lessen the strange silence, but when I look at Alice expectantly, I also fight an urge to frown as she inspects my face.

The intensity of her eyes is scary.

Her tight-lipped silence becomes too much, but I hesitate to crack the ice. The sensation of Alice's cold hand drawing quickly away reminded me of a cold wind brushing against the skin and it makes me wonder what she was thinking when she did that. She touches me whenever she wants, but when I try reaching out…

"Are you alright?"

"Yes. I guess I'm a bit… startled," she blinks, but the expression on her face does not change. "You're supposed to meet with Jasper now."

I nod mutely, feeling a bit strange to talk about him right now. Moments ago we were focusing on the bleeding nose.

"Don't," Alice's voice is sharp and stiffens the bones. "He's… he left earlier."

Bafflement can't begin to describe the expression I am wearing. A phantom limb has punched me in the intestines. "Left? But…"

"He told me to apologize to you," Alice cuts me off, a visible frown on her face. Her dark gaze averts down for the first time. "He has… not been feeling great. The same's for Edward."

What?

I think back to the lunch and the table occupied only by Rose and Emmet, the image slowly making more sense. However, I could have been told about the change in plans during that time, or before I got hit by the basketball. Before I can start blaming Alice though, I recall that she is the one who informed me about the math class arrangement in the first place. Even she hadn't been aware of this. But… is she only covering for her brother? That could be likely. It would explain her sudden change in demeanor.

The emotion of betrayal stings. I am not sure whether to believe this sudden explanation about feeling sick or angry because I am only told this within such a short period. The day's emotional rollercoaster has gotten steeper and steeper and now I only feel like toppling down from the heights.

In the end, all I can say is. "I see."

"I'm sorry," Alice apologizes, her tone is clipped but there is also genuine sadness there. A weird combination. "He seemed perfectly fine this morning, but…"

A strange idea that he might have become sick at the thought of helping me twists my gut. I would not be surprised if this was the truth. A grade school teacher once told me I was quite exhausting to deal with.

"You know what?" I ask, giving a tight smile and trying not to grimace at the slightly metallic smell. "It's fine. I'll just have to message the teacher. Hope he'll be better soon."

"Yes," the pixie-like girl nods, crossing her arms across her chest. She does not add anything, though. A way to tell that this conversation is over.

A knife pokes my chest. I think of the hug-greeting she gave me earlier today in the cafeteria, her smile and impish looks she sent to her foster siblings – all gone within seconds. The change is uncomfortable, and she appears to be so. Her shoulders are down, but they are so very still and in a harsh line that you could cut diamonds with them.

My nose throbs again and I fight an urge to cover it, thinking like a silly girl that this is the reason for her odd behavior. Or maybe it is. I must not reach her high standards, the bitter part of me hisses, but I smother it.

I back away, no idea if I should stay in here to ask if she is fine again or begin my daily walk back to the house.

"See you tomorrow," she turns around and within seconds has closed herself behind one of the doors.

It takes less time for me to whirl around and walk away from the stifling exchange.

An entire family of weirdoes.

Sticks crack from my weight. As usual, the path home is silent and only a few neighbors are even doing something outside. Someone fixes their car, others merely watch out of the window at their cat playing in the yard. They are all aware of the stormy grey clouds hanging from above, but totally oblivious to the one specifically hanging above my head.

I nearly slip over an icy spot, feeling the random cat halt and look at me with wide eyes. I continue walking, determined to get home before my thighs freeze over in this chilled weather.

When the rough and twisty road leading to the front porch of the one-floor house comes to view, I slow down, soft white clouds flowing out of my mouth. It is the beginning of the year, spring should arrive soon and after that summer would follow, but here in Forks, it feels like the winter chill never leaves. The tips of my fingers barely feel the knob of the door when I twist it open.

The air inside is warm, but the place is otherwise empty. The sound of silence deflates my stiff shoulders down. I have got no room to criticize other families.

My mouth is downturned. I do not even start humoring myself with the words 'I am home'.

The homework is done within hours, but it feels like an eternity has passed when I finish. The sun has set down and outside the window, it is nearly pitch black. The sense of time has left me, though. Whenever I try focusing, thoughts drift back to today's events that cause both headaches and confusion. It is like you flick away a fly, but it keeps on coming back. A persistent pest.

Even while sitting down and watching cartoons and movies, the familiar pale faces appear in my mind. Maybe they're just socially awkward? The defense sounds weak and even I have to admit that I am trying to make excuses for them – I am such a pushover.

The screen continues flashing with colors and when my eyes close, they reach through the lids in warps of lights. It hurts my head, but the fact that a basketball was slammed against my head does not help either. My nose does not ache unless I touch it, the skin feels tender. I hiss whenever I forget the small injury and end up rubbing against it or wrinkling my face in distaste to feel an electric jolt of slight pain. It only makes my mood sourer and fills my head with more negative thoughts.

She didn't mean anything bad.

I frown, sitting on the sofa in the dark. In any other situation, this would be unsettling, but those things are far from my mind.

People are confusing. I do not understand why some can be as nasty as Lauren and other bullies, or as close and warm as Alex and his family. Things get more complicated when one person is both warm and cold and keeps on switching between those two. The way Alice hugged me today had been startling, but the gesture was friendly… But then she drew away from me as if my touch had burned her in the hallway.

I should not take this kind of thing personally. Especially with her and her family. What Jasper has done is annoying and troublesome – I have had to explain to the teacher the circumstances that even I do not understand – but he has shown more than once how much he dislikes other students. The pained face he makes every day at school is enough to prove it.

What his usual attitude can't prove, though, is why he agreed to a meeting and then canceled it through Alice.

Again, the memory of that pale hand pulling away from me sends an uncontrollable stab into my chest. I was suspicious of her intentions before, so why am I feeling like she has slapped me in the face?

I do not like dark. It is the kind of pitch blackness that does not let you see whether there is someone near you or not. However, in this house I know I am at the moment completely alone. The car is not in the garage and my gaze slides through the shroud of the evening towards where a single closed door is located at.

You know why it bothers you.

Slowly, I stand up and put on the lights. The door is still there, and I take the first step towards it but halt just as quickly. There is an invisible barrier between me and that door. The handle is made of cold metal and will bite down mercilessly on a hand that touches it. The wood is dark like so many other doors in here, but it seems to suck light more than any other door.

If today was not such a crappy day, I would not continue walking towards it. Even removing the accident in P.E. could have stopped me from doing this. My mind is clouded by the thoughts I have gathered up and by now it has formed a dark cloud.

The poor little girl can never handle rejection.

Just as I thought, the metal feels icy cold, as if warning me to stay back. I swallow, actually hesitating and fearing what might happen if I twist the handle just a little bit. I am thinking about consequences, but then I slowly begin to realize that there would never be any. All the time I have spent in this house and I have never once even been scolded, much less yelled at.

I remember once breaking a plate. It had been in a fit of anger, but… nothing happened. Father cleaned it away, not telling me to never do it again or to be careful not to cut my feet from the shards. I had just stood there, waiting for him to react and he never as much as glanced at me while sweeping away the broken object.

He doesn't care.

The door opens and my heart is pounding. The light from the room pools into the dark and the bed inside becomes visible. The sight of the bed reminds me of the ones in the hospital. It is white and plain, mixing into the plain wall behind it. The sight of it makes me shiver for some reason.

I reach out for the light switch which I find next to the door. I flick it and immediately a single lamp on the ceiling turns on. Faint memories of the first time I tried to come here and look around come back. Nothing has changed and nostalgia hits me with full force. The closet is here along with a single drawer. The one and only window is shut tightly.

The late teenage rebellion phase should have been over and done with me a long time ago. There has been nothing for me to argue about or fight for, after all.

What did you expect to happen?

Perhaps I wanted for him to start caring more when I landed myself into a coma-like state.

Those periwinkles at school don't care that you almost died…

The smell of mud in the locker is washed away by the scent of wood heavy in the air. It is like the room is not used by anyone after all. Nothing has changed. I am still a loner with one true friend and a father who acts more like a ghost than a human being.

He doesn't care either.

Starting from the most obvious of places, I open the first drawer and look inside. By now, my heartbeat is loud, and the very organ jumps up the throat. Breathing is scary as if something or someone in this empty place could hear it and come over to discover what I am doing. This feels wrong, but because I am upset and tired, I try justifying my actions.

But when I open the drawer, a frown tugs the ends of my eyebrows down. "What the…"

There is nothing in there. I open a second one, and a third and then the fourth. All of them are empty, as if nobody even owns them, or uses them. This can't be right. Of all things I expected to find my father to own, I am left with nothing but air. He does not have any possessions in this drawer, and it makes me wonder what the inside of the closet looks like.

I close the drawers, turning towards the taller furniture and…

The sound of a familiar car's engine invades through the walls.

I stiffen, lightning-fast panic shooting up and down the spine. Not wasting a second in confusion I speed out of the room, staggering back only to flicker the lights shut and close the door.

Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!

The flash of silver from the back of the vehicle disappears into the garage the second I glance out of the window, cheek pressed against the icy cold glass. It really is father, but it is still a shock to see him return so suddenly and at the most inconvenient of times. It is like he sensed that his bedroom was breached and hurried back. I shudder from the thought of it despite how ridiculous the entire thing sounds.

He steps out, the dark color of his clothes melting into the evening forest. Immediately, I back away from the window and head towards my room. The front door opens as soon as mine closes and instinctively I back away.

I've done nothing wrong.

I sit down on the bed, glancing towards the door carefully. There are no loud sounds of footsteps coming from the other side, but the noise of a door opening does come eventually. I sweat, rationally trying to think that there is no way he could know I was there. He would not even care if I was.

But then the door opens again and a thick silence swallows the house.

The door handle to my room rattles.