Disclaimer: I do not own twilight.

First off, i am so so sorry about the delay in my update!!! I had exams so my life was filled with boring subjects and no free time but i am back. Sorry again, you all deserve better.

Also, i'm sure you've heard of this girl before but i need to mention her as much as possible so everyone gets the chance to read her awesome writing. TwilightHeart21. She is the beta for this story and a good friend of mine. I owe her everything, so thank you so much sweetie!

Enjoy chapter four!

"I'm worried about you Nina."

Those words should be music to my ears. The small ray of hope I have been praying for since my life went downhill.

But they are being said by the wrong person; my math teacher Mrs. Wright.

I nodded, still playing the part of an innocent girl who had no idea where this concern came from.

"Being a teenage girl can be hard, I know. But you are perfect the way you are." She insisted, taking my hand into hers.

My confusion was real this time. What was she going on about? Perfect?

"No matter how bad it seems you don't need to isolate yourself from others." She said.

"I'm not following." I hinted

"Sweetie," and cue the creepy pet names, "being a teenager can be hard. But resorting to obstructive behavior will solve nothing."

"And what actions do you count as obstructive behavior Mrs. Wright?" My tone was defensive; I pulled my hand away to cross my arms over my chest.

"Speaking out of turn, not hiding your extreme dislike for other students, and even acting upon those emotions."

I stared her down, "What actions have I taken Mrs. Wright?" I sneered her name, challenging her account.

"I am speaking about the several times you have disrespected those students, said some rather nasty words and even used mild violence." Mrs. Wright replied, stepping up to my challenge with grace.

"Okay, do I look stupid? You think that I am lacking enough IQ to actually try a violent action on those douche bags?"

Since you enter primary you are taught to never speak to an adult in a disrespected manner. I lost all those wonderful teachings and programmed manners when the adults started ignoring my existence.

"Nina! Those harsh words will not be tolerated. I was in no way questioning your intelligence and I will not be spoken to as if I was a child." Authority rang though her voice, the tone I would normally back down after but I was too fired up to give a shit.

"Harsh? Those aren't even close to everything they deserve to be called. And don't say you weren't questioning my intelligence," I mocked with air quotations, "No one, with the exception of a few dipshits, would ever lay a finger on those beats."

She shook her head but dismissed my comments, "I did not mean the man of that group, but more the woman."

A laughed bubbled to the surface as I understood what she meant. The bimbos who insisted on hanging off the douche bags like their lives were intertwined. I suppose there were a few times they got pencils thrown at them from across the room, or 'accidently' shoved full forced into the walls or doors.

"This is no laughing matter Ms. Ricci. Those girls did not deserve what you did." She defended. Eyes pleading for understanding.

"Deserve? They didn't deserve?!" My tone was getting close to that of someone being told that even though someone killed their loved one, they had no right to harm that person. In essence, I suppose that is my situation. Patrick may be breathing but he's not alive.

"Yes, that is what I said. Unless, you have something to contradict me I think we are done here."

"How about the fact that those wonderful students you seem so fond of…" I trailed off, stopping myself before I dug up the very emotions I am trying to hide. "Never mind, what I did was wrong and I will refrain from doing so again."

Mrs. Wright smiled and nodded. "Glad to hear it Nina."

Pressing down the urge to laugh in her un-knowing face I forced a part smile. I walked out of the room as fast as my feet would allow. I knew I was close to breaking, and frankly, I am getting tried of bearing my sole to people when they can't help or refuse to listen.

I stormed though the halls. Knocking into whoever was close enough.

My eyes pricked with tears but my clenched fists ached with fury.

I want to curl up into a ball and cry. Cry for everything that has happened. For my brother, he tries to hide behind the blank expressions but I can see right through to the confusion, the sense of lost and worse, the undeniable pain.

For my parents, their silence, knowing that maybe they didn't mean to make me this alone, that maybe for some reason, this was their way of caring.

My fury came from a different direction.

I want to scream at my brother for being so god damn stupid. For letting those people take his life away and not fight for it.

I want to scream at my parents, demand to know why they treated me like this. Know how they let me fall though the cracks without trying to stop me; save me.

And last, the main source of my entire collection of wrath, I wanted to scream, throw things and inflect on them the same emotions so coldly threw at me. All of them, every single one of those overgrown men, I wanted nothing more then an explanation but they refused to even speak with me. Denied me access to my own family.

My hands shot out to protect my face from the fast approaching floor. Reacting to the fact I was falling though the air without recollection of why I was no longer standing. My palms slammed into the cool floor with force, small shock waves zapped up my arm.

My nose barely grazed the surface under me; my face hovered above the filthy ground. Breathing a small sigh of relief, a bloody nose was not something I was capable of dealing with at the moment, I pushed myself into a sitting position.

"Oh god! I'm so sorry!" A deep voice said to me.

I ignored them; it wasn't hard to guess they were faking the concern. Everyone would in this situation. You knock someone down you feel the need to apologize, as if some how that made it okay.

Cursing I stopped inspecting my palms to tug lightly on the shred of random glass that decided to imbed itself in my skin. A stream of red flowed as I moved the piece in a circular motion, hoping to dislodge the sharp point. No luck.

"Oh, that doesn't look too good." The same voice commented.

Chewing the inside of my cheek I clamped down the sarcastic comments wanting to burst though. Sucking a deep breath though my nose I reminded myself that this person had more then likely not contributed to my never ending dooms day.

"Sorry about running into you." I trailed off as I got my first glance at my fellow student on the ground.

Is my life a game to someone? Did they enjoy putting me in these situations?

They must. Of course I bumped into and knocked over none other then my own mystery man. Wonderful.

I quickly jumped to my feet, preparing to make a quick getaway before he remembered my face.

"Wait," a hand clamped gently around my arm as I turned to escape. "You're Patrick's sister right?"

Wriggling out of his hold I curtly replied. "Yes."

My answer seemed to have stunned him. He blankly stared at me, searching my face for something. I leaned further away from him, not wanting to talk. We only had one thing in common, caring about Patrick, the very topic I would chew my own leg off to avoid. It was bound to come up.

Smiling politely I waved to him. He returned the gesture after a few seconds, taking it as my chance I turned to leave.

Walking at a speed close to jogging I dodged my way though the crowded hallways, leaving as much space between as I saw fit.

My throbbing hand steered me in the direction of the nurse's office. The pain was no issue; the sensation was bizarre, but not wrong. That scared me. Humans naturally have an aversion to pain, we tend to remove any source of it but that instinct was lost to me.

I've heard of people who cut, I've seen them, even talked to a few. Their scares aren't out for the world to admire. Quite the contrary, they are concealed beneath layers of clothes, not revealed to anyone who might judge or fear them.

Pushing though the nurse's door I vowed to myself I would not resort to those tactics. No matter how right the pain felt. I do not need an exterior marker of internal suffering.

I would not give my parents or brother the satisfaction of seeing how they affected me.

They wanted to play the stoic card, well might as well make it a family game.

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