A/N: Second chapter is now up! Took forever to write, let me tell you! This chapter contains violence and should be read with caution. Please rate and enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Harry Potter characters or objects, nor the song "The Boy Who Blocked His Own Shot" by Brand New.

Chapter 2: Reality Fades

I got up slowly, wincing. My body was still aching. Nervously, I peered around, scanning the trees for any sign of movement. The air was different; it didn't... smell right. Electricity was in the air, like a thunderstorm, only much worse. Everything about this place seemed wrong. I walked away slowly, my ears aching from the cries of distant birds, my eyes sharp, though tired, and I took in my surroundings much quicker than I ever had.

Someone was following me, I could tell.

I turned around quickly. I was alone. I shook my head and wandered home, wondering what I would say to Moira and Ren when I got there. Shaking my head, I told myself that I'd worry about that when the time came.

Something flickered ahead of me. I froze, the hair of the nape of my neck sticking up. It flickered again. I stared for a moment before I realized that it was only the wind blowing a leaf out of the way of the sun every few seconds. I felt really stupid...

I slowly jumped down from the cliff when I reached it, landing softly. It still hurt my legs and back anyway, unfortunately. A shooting pain resided there for a moment before I started walking again. I reached the fallen trees and carefully climbed over them, growing steadily dirtier as I climbed over each one. My cuts were stinging from the dirt, still open, still bleeding. Then I came to the sticker bushes. Wincing, I climbed up the tree, and then jumped to the next few trees, until the sticker bushes were behind me. I climbed down, and started walking out of the woods and up the slope.

Finally, I reached the cottage and walked inside. Luckily, Mother and Ren were still asleep, so I hopped into the shower. Yesterday's dirt and grime washed off easily, but the aches and pains were more stubborn. The cuts and gashes I had received from the sticker bushes were red and raw, purpling around the edges. An ugly, deep purple bruise was forming on my left hip, and a few of them speckled my chest and legs.

After I had gotten out of the shower, I pulled the towel tightly around my body, and dried my hair. It was a long and grueling process, which took my nearly 20 minutes to complete. That was probably the only downside to having such long hair. Finally, I walked into my small, brown room and pulled out some clothes. I slipped on my black and red, vertically wide-striped bra and my black panties. I had long since parted ways with white colored anything; white was an extremely boring color. Not that I wanted to be noticed by the clothes I wore (I was noticed enough as it was), but white was something everyone wore these days. Apparently, the color white represented "purity", and innocence was something most girls my age were striving to appear to have. Playing "hard-to-get" was all the rage these days. I snorted at the thought, and continued dressing.

A black, "Rocky Horror Picture Show" t-shirt was thrown on (with a picture of Tim Curry's face in a pink-ish red outline), along with a black and white diagonally striped skirt that reached my knees, green and black horizontally thin--striped knee-length toe-socks, black converse shoes, and a neon pink hip-length jacket. I loved my outfits, even if they didn't match, most of the time. They earned snide remarks such as, "Dress in the dark this morning, Willow?" It really didn't matter. I would just smirk back at them and continue on my way, watching the different behaviors of the people around me. I got the most stares when I wore my most mismatching outfits; including mismatching socks (matching socks are so boring and vastly overrated), and sometimes, mismatched shoes. Most of my shoes were vans, converse, or sketchers. I wasn't big into flip-flops or sandals, and I hated the stupid white tennis shoes most people in my class wore. I was an individual, never conforming, but always observing.

"Willow, is that you?" I groaned. Mother.

"Yes," I said quietly. She knocked and opened the door as I began brushing my hair out. Sighing, Mother stepped inside and closed the door behind her.

"Can you please tell me what last night was about?" She asked, almost pleadingly. I rolled my eyes.

"I believe that information is classified." It was her turn to roll her eyes. She sighed again.

"It's always going to be like this, you always being unhappy and running away, if you don't tell us what's wrong." Mother said quietly, her green eyes darkening. I turned away and shook my hair out.

"I don't want to talk right now." I zipped shut my messy backpack and threw it over my shoulder. As I walked out the door, I whispered, "Sorry."

"It's okay," Mother said and patted my back. "Hey Ren?" She called.

"What, darling?" Came his sickening reply. I hated his voice, it sounded so fake.

"Can you give Willow a ride to school?"

"Yeah, I'll give little Willy a ride!" I groaned audibly. "But she'll need to walk back up on the way home. I'm taking a double shift tonight, so I won't be home until very late." I wiped the grin off of my face and turned to Mother.

"Could you give me a ride back up?" I asked sweetly. She laughed and shook her head.

"Sorry, sweetie. I have to go out of town for a few hours into Burlington... I won't be back until late tonight." I cursed under my breath.

"So I'm home alone, pretty much?" I asked, disappointment creeping into my voice. Mother nodded. Sighing, exasperated at my rotten luck, I grabbed a blueberry muffin off of the table and headed out to Ren's red truck. I yanked open the door and slammed it as I got in. I ate my muffin in silence, waiting for Ren to hurry up and take me to torture—I mean, school... No, 'my torture' sounds about right.

"Hey kiddo!" Ren said happily as he climbed into the driver's seat. Starting the car, he waved goodbye to mom as she got in her little yellow jeep, and we drove forward down the mountain on an easy slope.

"Willow, hun, you gave your mother and I quite a scare and a shock when you ran off like that last night." I cringed as he called me 'hun'.

I grunted in response. He continued lecturing me.

"We didn't know if you were safe or happy... we were very worried about you last night. Growing up is very difficult, I know. I had to go through it, and my teenage years were very mixed up, crazy, and just plain troublesome. But it will get better, I promise." I rolled my eyes, knowing where this speech was going. "You've got a lot of hormones rushing through your veins right now, and you're scared and confused. A lot of new emotions, temptations, thoughts, and actions are taking over what you used to be comfortable with. You're growing up so fast, Willy, and I just can't believe how big you've gotten! I remember..."

I let him drone on for a while before I blocked him out completely, occasionally adding a "Yeah..." or an "mmhmm," or an "I remember that," until I totally spaced out, thinking about the night before. Had the British guys been a dream? It seemed so real... I could still smell them. Smell them? No. Not smell. I could hear them. I knew they were there because I heard them. No smell.

Finally, he finished off with an, "You're a bright, beautiful girl who will make the right decisions, I'm sure." I nodded at him, keeping my annoyance hidden, thanked him politely, and hopped out of the truck as we pulled up in front of the school. Scottsdale High (real original, don't you think?) was a large school consisting of 12 large, white buildings with red roofs, "lettered" A-L. I walked forward into the school, hoping to get through the day.

"Hey, Stump!" Someone behind me called. I ignored them; 'Stump' was the best nickname/insult these idiots could come up with. "Stump! Get in a fight with the mirror again? I think the mirror won!" I laughed to myself. That was the most ridiculous insult I'd heard in a long time. I walked on.

"Hey Weeping-Willow!" A girl simpered. "Couldn't wait for the sun to rise to see your clothes again, eh? It'd be hard to see anything when you live in the Dark Ages up in Technologically-Deficient-Ville!" I rolled my eyes. She was wearing a white dress with a matching bow in her hair. She looked to be about 7 or 8 in that outfit, with her black Mary Janes on. I grinned and moved on to my locker. My face fell when I reached it.

FREAK

I just stared, shocked, and heard the laughter all around me. My head was spinning, the hallway was spinning, and with one last look around, I ran, terrified.

First Class: English. Uneventful, a few spitballs fired at the back of my head.

Second Class: Math. My teacher hates me, so he calls me up to the board numerous times to embarrass me over my poor math skills.

Third Class: Choir. I sang, I ignored sharp prodding in the back by the guys behind me, and I moved on.

Lunch: Different story.

Lunch came next, and it was the last bit of torture I could take. I grabbed my backpack, threw it over my right shoulder, and walked towards the library; I was going to grab the four new books I'd had on hold for a few days. Feeling a little better, I walked happily to the cafeteria, ready to buy my usual; a salad from the Snack Cart. After doing so, I was confronted by a small herd of the most conformist of all the sheep a.k.a. the popular people.

"What's with the outfit, Willow?" One of the girls asked.

"Yeah, because I've got to say; you look retarded!" The girls all giggled.

"So how's it going, freak." One of the guys said; a jock. I just stared at them.

"What, haven't you got anything to say? Cat got your tongue? Or should I say sap, you freak!" One of the girls said. I rolled my eyes and tried to walk away when one of the guys grabbed my shoulder and pushed me back.

"Don't you walk away from us!" He yelled at me. I turned the other direction and started walking when my backpack was grabbed. I was yanked back with it.

He smelled of anger and annoyance.

She smelled of amusement

He smelled like he hadn't showered.

She smelled bad too.

She didn't use deodorant.

He was wearing pants that didn't go past his ankles. High-waters on a boy, how ridiculous looking.

She hadn't shaved.

He smelled like alcohol.

She smelled like... blood. Really bad smelling blood. Oh my god, she was on her period!

"Allison?" I said quietly, about to enjoy every moment of this.

"Yes, Willow?" She said, sweetly. She smirked at me, about to say something else, when I opened my mouth first.

"It's too bad the 'in' color is white. Wouldn't it suck to get that cute little skirt of yours all red? I mean, it's embarrassing enough that it smells so bad, but man..." I trailed off, smirking at her.

"Now why would Allison get her skirt all red?" The jock, Ken, asked. Everyone just stared at him and I snorted.

"Idiot..." I muttered.

"Oh... Allison, you're on your period?" He said loudly. The rest of the cafeteria turned and looked at Allison. There was an eruption of laughter. I smiled, satisfied, and turned, starting to walk away. Someone grabbed my arm and turned me around. Ken.

"Why'd you do that?" He asked angrily.

"You bug me, I bug you." I said simply.

"Well, at least we're not freaks." He said loudly.

"At least I'm not a conformist sheep." I said defiantly.

"At least we have friends!"

"I don't need friends to make me happy. I have nothing to talk about."

"That's because you have no life!" I stared at him.

"Neither do you."

"Yes I do!"

"Your life is boring. You may as well not even exist." I said plainly. Ken glared at me.

"At least I can keep both of my parents!" He yelled. Silence in the lunchroom. I was shocked, but kept my face blank.

"I'm sure they love you very much." I said quietly.

"What?"

"I'm sure they love you very much." I repeated.

"A lot more than your dad loved you or your mom!"

"It's possible. I never really knew my dad."

"You were such a disgrace to him, he couldn't even stick around to look at you any longer! I'm surprised your mother hasn't left you all alone yet, her and that new husband of hers!"

"Leave my family out of this, Ken." I stared at him, emotionless, and walked away. When no one else was in sight, I started running for the bathroom. Slamming open the door, I sprinted into the nearest stall and threw up. I flushed it and sat on the floor, sobbing.

The thoughts that had haunted me since I was old enough to understand that Father wasn't coming back were resurfacing in my brain.

Was it my fault?

Did he not love me?

Why hasn't Mother left me yet?

Well, she wished that I were dead once, didn't she? Who's to say she hasn't wished it more than once?

Why does everyone hate me?

Does everyone blame me?

Does Mother blame me?

Who am I?

Who am I?

Who am I?

My knees were pulled up to my chest and my arms were circling them, holding them close. I shuddered with each sob that broke from my chest. Every thought was filled with poison. I was the poison. Grabbing my stuff, I burst out of the bathroom and out of the school at a dead run. The security guard ran after me, so I put on another burst of speed. I dropped my backpack, but kept running. Running for the mountain. Running home. I had to escape.

"Willow, get back here!" He yelled. I kept running, my legs stretching out to their fullest extent, easily beating the fat old man. He stopped chasing me a mile away from the mountain, but I kept running. Parents inside of shops and on the streets were pointing as I ran in the center of the road towards the mountain.

"Willow, go to school!" One yelled.

"What the hell are you doing?" Another asked.

"Get back here!"

I kept running until I reached the mountain, out of breath, and tired. It's hard running for four straight miles. I doubled over, holding my knees for support, breathing hard, and smiling slightly. When I had caught my breath, I walked my way up the mountain.

The grass was starting to yellow at the bottom of the mountain, and some of the taller grass scratched through my socks. I didn't mind, and happily traipsed up the mountainside. There were a few clouds in the sky, and I smelled rain.

Smelled it?

Not smelled, figured.

I figured it would rain.

All of these mental corrections were starting to give me a really awful headache. The further up the mountain I went, the greener the grass got. I also got a bit colder, a bit more tired, and I really wanted to get home. The grass was long and wavy, past my thighs, blowing in the cool breeze. I shivered a little, but walked on, the grass tickling my legs.

Something moved in the corner of my eye. I stopped moving. The grass rustled. Wind? Maybe. A strong smell of... it wasn't decay... it was old food, rotting food. There was the smell of some sharp, almost sour deodorant in the air. A man. I smelled a man and I stood there, waiting.

"I know you're there." I called. "Come out and face me like a--" Something hurtled from my left side and pummeled me into the ground.

"I'm here, little girl." The voice whispered in my ear. I was laying in the tall grass, a large man on top of me, putting all of his weight down on me. I squirmed and squeaked in pain as he rammed his knee in my stomach. "You keep wiggling and you'll be making more noises than that." He warned. "Convenient of your mother to live so far away from town; no one can hear you scream." My eyes opened in shock.

"Are you going to kill me?" I asked, whimpering. He laughed.

"Why would I kill a pretty little thing like you?" He asked, caressing my cheek. "I'm here to have a little fun... Knew you'd be coming up this way... Now old Bill's about to have some fun..." I kept my eyes squeezed shut and tried to block out his voice. "Come on now, kiddo, you've got to relax or it won't be fun!" Realizing what he really meant to do, I started screaming and kicking, hoping to hit him, squirming, biting, and fighting to get away, but he held strong. Bill slapped me and I whimpered, unable to move.

"Get off of me, you pervert!" I screamed in his ear. He laughed jauntily.

"No one can hear you scream but me, kid." I finally got a good look at him. He had gray streaked brown hair that fell to his shoulders, cold blue eyes, and a mouth curled into a sneer.

"Let me go!" I yelled. He responded by slapping me full on the face again. I bit my tongue so hard that it bled, and I spit the blood in his face. "Get off!" Bill laughed again and sat up straight on me. My eyes widened again as I saw him unbutton and unzip his jeans. I thrashed at him with my hands, arms flailing, screaming, kneeing him if I could.

I fought tooth and nail to get him off of me as he pulled up my skirt and pulled down my underwear. His hands groped around for something to hold onto and I screamed the loudest I've ever screamed. Tears streamed down my face as I continued to hit him, fighting as hard as I possibly could.

"Stop fighting; it'll be over faster if you do." He yelled angrily, spit hitting my cheek. He pulled my head up by my hair and smashed it into a large rock. I cried harder, but continued to fight. I dug my nails into him as an unbearable pain beseeched my body. I tried to block it out, tried blocking out everything in my head. I was screaming, clawing out, begging for it all to stop. I blacked out.

When I awoke, I was alone and my clothes were back on. I stood up uneasily and look around, petrified and hurting. A storm raged inside of me, and a feeling of hatred and pain washed over me, killing all good thoughts, and all good emotions. I was horribly bruised and in unbearable pain, even then. I looked around me, hoping that Bill was long gone. Whether for his sake or for mine, I wasn't sure. If I could've gotten my hands on him then, I would've beaten him to a bloody pulp and thrown him off of the mountain onto a sharp rock.

I stumbled forward, stumbled home, hoping my mother would just wrap her arms around me and tell me that everything would be okay. Mother's face flashed before my eyes; disgust written into every line of it. She would be disgusted that I couldn't have handled the situation, ashamed that I couldn't stop him, and she would hate me. At that thought, I ran home as fast as I could, stumbling and falling every 30 steps, until I reached our cottage. I burst through the door looking around wildly, and grabbed a small bag. I shoved as many pieces of clothing as I could into it; shirts, pairs of pants and skirts, socks, underwear, bras... As soon as it was nearly breaking at the seam, I zipped it up and swung it over my shoulder. I picked up my electric guitar in its hard case and, remembering that my acoustic was at the secret spot, tore out of the house, only grabbing four or five large blueberry muffins.

It was probably around 5:00 when I reached my secret spot. I dropped my things, setting my muffins on my backpack, and fell to the ground, sobbing. I was horrified by what had happened, terrified that it would happen again. The thought of a man touching me, anyone touching me for that matter, made me sick to my stomach. I turned to the nearest tree and vomited, its acrid stench polluting the air around me. Everything was so dirty; I was so dirty. It was my fault, all my fault, and the feeling of being unclean wouldn't go away. My blood was dirty, muddy, filled with disease and sickness; my hands, my feet, my very body and soul were covered in a thick slime; I could feel it. I had to be rid of it. I ran. I plunged into the creek, standing waist deep, and tore off my clothes, throwing them on the banks. I scrubbed at my skin with the creek water, watching the dirt and grass come off. I was not satisfied. I scrubbed harder and harder, scouring my skin, every inch of me; I had to be rid of the dirt. The water around me was going red with my blood. Tears poured down my face until I slowly sunk into the water, gasping and sobbing in pain and frustration; it was so hard to breathe. I closed my eyes, only to find scenes from earlier flashing through my brain. I screamed and started spitting, coughing, hacking up anything I could. I swayed, holding my stomach, and collapsed into the water, feeling sick. My head started to ache and I grew dizzy. Water closed over my head before I got to take a breath. Black.

I don't remember being pulled out of the water. I don't remember going back to the cliff. I don't remember being dried off or clothed. I don't know how the hell I got back to the cliff, but I did. I'm not sure whether I'd just been saved, or condemned to another round of hell. But it didn't matter; I was alive.

The sun was nearly set when I pulled out my acoustic guitar and began playing a song by Brand New, a band steadily growing popular. I played a song called, "The Boy Who Blocked His Own Shot."

"If it makes you less sad, I will die by your hand

I hope you find out what you want

I already know what I am

And if it makes you less sad, we'll start talking again

And you can tell me how vile I already know that I am

I'll grow old and start acting my age

I'll be a brand new day in a life that you hate

A crown of gold, a heart that's harder than stone

And it hurts a whole lot, but it's missed when it's gone

Call me a safe bet; I'm betting I'm not

I'm glad that you can forgive

I'm only hoping as time goes, you can forget

If it makes you less sad, I'll move out of the state

You can keep to yourself; I'll keep out of your way

And if it makes you less sad, I'll take your pictures all down

Every picture you paint, I will paint myself out

It's cold as a tomb, and it's dark in your room,

When I sneak to your bed to pour salt in your wounds

So call it quits or get a grip

Say you wanted a solution; you just wanted to be missed

Call me a safe bet; I'm betting I'm not

I'm glad that you can forgive

I'm only hoping as time goes, you can forget...

You are calm and reposed; let your beauty unfold.

Pale white, like the skin stretched over your bones

Spring keeps you ever close

You are second hand smoke; you are so fragile and thin

Standing trial for your sins

Holding onto yourself the best you can

You are the smell before rain

You are the blood in my veins

Call me a safe bet; I'm betting I'm not.

I'm glad that you can forgive

I'm only hoping as time goes, you can forget..."

I set the guitar down and cried, facing the sunset, my face buried in my hands. My body was shaking with the sobs that racked it, and I started to lie down, still facing the setting sun as it sunk low beneath the mountains. The clouds were a dark, deep red. Like the color of my blood, I thought to myself. I was just about to fall asleep when I smelled something else. Tuna. Tuna? Tuna! I hated tuna! I sneezed, trying to get the smell out of my nose when I froze again. Tuna? I had never brought tuna out here... never even thought of bringing it out here... and no one had ever been out here... Unless... I leapt up, still sore and aching, pain racking my body, and I sniffed around, desperate to find the source. Then, bathed in moonlight...

An empty can of tuna.

I walked warily around it, looking around, my eyes sharp even in the dark. A twig snapped—it was only me. I was breathing hard, searching for the source of the tuna can, when I ran back to the cliff and grabbed my stuff. I had to get out of there. Someone was following me; I couldn't be followed, it was too dangerous! What did they want with me? What could they possibly want? I froze when I reached the tuna again. I picked it up gingerly, looking at it intently, wondering where it had come from, when suddenly...

I felt a jerk somewhere behind my navel, and I was jerked irresistibly forward with a howl of wind, whistling in my ears, and through swirling colors until—

I fell and landed hard, my guitar and bag falling with me.