Guys I'm so sorry. I've had NO connection for the past two weeks, however, I DID have a working Word program, so I've had chapter 6 done for about a week now. I just had a friend fix my computer and now it's connecting and the first thing I'm doing is uploading this chapter. I've been anticipating it. I can't believe I've gained over ten followers since the last chapter and I haven't even updated, you guys are fucking awesome. I seriously love you all and your supportive encouragement. Thank you so so so much you lovely people.

Emily

Everything's black, like my eyes are sealed shut. There's no sound, and I feel like all my weight is being supported by clouds; like all my senses have been cut off.

Beep…

A spontaneous, steady beep bounces around my ear drums and sounds like a fire alarm in comparison to the recent silence.

Beep…

This time, as it rings out, it's not as disruptive but just as monotonous. It's the same solid beep incessantly sounding out at a slow pace.

Like a heart monitor.

An eerie whisper echoes quietly, "You… Fa…."

Beep…

As the repetitive sound gets quicker, the strange voice gets louder.

"Your… Fa…"

Beep… Beep…

"Your… Fault…"

It's a woman's voice.

Beep…Beep… Beep…

"Your... Fault…"

It's Jenna's voice.

Beep… Beep… Beep… Beep...

"Your fault!" Her voice screams.

The heart-monitor-like-beep has increase to such a rapid pace a hummingbird's wings wouldn't be able to match its ratio per minute. Jenna's voice multiplies into thousands just like it and there are countless, jumbled, condescending words of hatred being thrown at me in her annoying high-pitched squeal from every direction.

"You knew!"

"Get out!"

"You disgust me!"

"Your fault! Your fault! YOUR FAULT!"

The noise is so loud and chaotic that I swear my ears are going to start bleeding. I don't know what's going on. There's only noise, everything's still black. It's closing in. All I can think is…

"I'M SORRY!" I scream as I jolt up so fast all my blankets fall to the floor. Panting and sweating, I hug my knees to my chest and try to focus on my breathing. The small, black alarm clock on my bedside table tells me it's quarter past five in the morning.

My breathing is almost back to normal when my door suddenly flies open with a destructive crash, causing me to scurry away until my back hits the wall my bed's pushed up against. I hug my knees tighter to my chest and duck my head as a figure swiftly approaches me. In my still-semi-conscious state, I don't piece together that it's Cook until I feel his strong, bare arms wrap protectively around me. I instantly relax and rest my head in the crook of his neck.

"I thought this had stopped red," he says gently.

"Yeah," I say between deep breaths, "Me too."

It took a good fifteen minutes before I finally convinced Cook I was fine. He tentatively went back to bed and, no doubt, fell asleep again instantly. I knew I wasn't going to get anymore sleep if I tried, so I opted for a walk instead; at least it helps clear my head. I left Cook a note on the coffee maker so he wouldn't worry. He tends to hover over me and keep a bit too close of an eye on my every move when this happens. I have nightmares now and then. It's nothing I can't handle, but that doesn't mean it's any less of a pain in the ass. It's a constant reminder of the one thing I want nothing more than to forget. Although it has calmed down over the past two years; I used to wake up in the middle of the night screaming. It scared the shit out of Cook.

When Jenna kicked me out everyone assumed it was because I was gay, which it was, but why she never accepted me back again, well, as much as she likes to claim differently, was a bit of a different story. I know, and she knows, and Katie knows, and Cook knows; she blames me for my father's death.

It happened only just a week after I came out and six days after I was kicked out. The band-aid had been ripped off but the wound was still fresh. Every time I snuck over to see Katie or James, it was like holding salt over the wound; if Jenna caught me, the outcome would sting everyone. When my father died however, it didn't just sting, oh no, his death didn't just pour salt into the wound, his death plunged a rusty knife into it. The misfortune caused so much pain that it was unbearable but it wasn't enough to kill us, leaving us wishing it had. He was the only potential aspect possibly keeping our family together. I think that's why he had a heart attack; he knew it would have been his job to repair the cracked and shattered relationships around him, and that was too much pressure. He was stressed enough with Jenna, his gym, and struggling to support his family, take that and add his favorite daughter confessing she's a lesbian, the family being torn apart, and being forced to pick sides, I'm not surprised his heart caved. Of course, Jenna's opinion differs just a bit. She's convinced herself that he passed because my coming out was too shocking for him, that he couldn't handle the idea. I won't believe that shit for a second. In reality, if she hadn't of made such an over exaggerated deal and blown the whole fucking thing out of proportion, making the situation a lot worse than it had to be, I'll bet you any money I'd still be playing songs for him.

When I opted for a walk I didn't actually have any idea where I wanted to go. All I knew was that I needed to get out of the flat and be by myself for a bit. So, naturally, my feet took me to my little café in a bubble.

A small smile plays on my lips as I walk through the red framed-doors. The feelings of unease and guilt, frustration and anger all evaporate as soon as the expected warm aroma engulfs me.

"Emily, good to see you," Courtney says from behind the counter, smiling at me kindly. Courtney, if you haven't guessed, is the owner of Courtney's Coffee. She's offered me a job a few times, but I always decline. I don't want to remember my safe haven as a place I used to work at.

"Hey, Courtney," I briefly return her smile, "You too." I order a hot chocolate and head over to my usual seat at the blue-clothed table while I wait. Courtney arrives with my beverage five minutes later.

"Mind if I sit?" She asks.

Courtney is the only person I would call my friend besides Cook and my siblings. We don't hang out or anything along those lines, but we're as far as being on a first name basis and we have a few odd conversations here and there if she's working and the shop's quiet. She manages to look past the black eyes and false smiles I bring into the shop and she's the closest thing to a friend as I'm going to get. I try not to push her out like I do most people. I'm used to just putting on a bitch front to every new face because, eventually, everyone just judges me by my past or my wounds or my habits. They're going to find a reason to hate on me anyway, so why not get it over with? I'm looked at and labelled before anything else, I'm stereotyped unfairly and I carry heavy stigmas on my shoulders everywhere I go; like a mule forever packing its owners' belongings.

"Go for it," I tell her, gesturing to the chair opposite me. She sits down and pulls her chair in carefully before resting her hands on the table in front of her and absent-mindedly twiddling her thumbs. "But, aren't you, like, you know, working?" I ask.

"Oh, oh yeah I am, but I also own the place. Who's going to fire me for taking a few minutes off?" She laughs lightly. Courtney looks like she's near her late twenties. She's got long light brown hair that falls in straight strands and reaches an inch below her arm pit. Her eyes are a hazel color that she highlights with different colors and kinds of silver make-up, making them look like jewels. If I didn't respect her, you better believe I would have jumped on her by now. "Emily, can I be straight with you?"

I smile an amused smile at the irony of her words, "Sure."

"Look, I've seen the black eyes, the dry blood, the limps, the torn clothing, all of it." My smile falters. "Before you get the wrong idea, I'm not here to patronize you, and I'm not going to offer you my sympathy either because you strike me as someone who wouldn't want it if I tried."

I know where this is going. She's going to tell me not to come here anymore because I probably make it look like they accept and serve delinquents.

"I wanted to make sure you understood," she continued, "You know, in case there's any doubt, that whatever goes on in your world, whatever happens, is your business and regardless of what you get yourself into I consider you a friend, Emily. Just know you're always welcome here."

I've always been awkward in situations like this. I'm not used to random acts of kindness, it's foreign to me. Despite my uncomfortable reaction, I show my gratitude as best I can by smiling gratefully at her and murmuring a pitiful 'thanks.' It's a pathetic response, but she doesn't seem bothered.

"Right then," she says in a much less serious tone, "what I really wanted to tell you is, assuming you're unemployed, that there's a job opening at Hanks Restaurant down the street," she points her thumb in the general direction of 'down the street.' "I put in a good word for you already. I'm friends with Hank," she winks at me. "You can head down there anytime this weekend. Tell him you're the Emily I told him about and you should be good."

I feel uncomfortable; only because I don't deserve gestures and offerings like this. I have no clue how to say thanks like a normal human being.

"Courtney, I- I don't know what to say, this is- it's very kind of you," I stutter out brilliantly. "Thank you."

She nods once, "Don't mention it," she pats my arm, "now, I'm going to get myself in trouble if I keep sitting down on the job," she gets up and pushes her chair in, "talk to you later, Emily. Good luck."

With that, she leaves me feeling a little overwhelmed as she walks back towards the front counter. Okay, so maybe not everyone is a condescending asshole.

I stayed at Courtney's for two hours, sitting at my table with my drink and my thoughts. Cook knows the most about me that I'd let anyone know, but that doesn't mean I tell him everything. Everyone has their secrets, I'm entitled to my own, but secrets demand being thought about. Courtney's gives me a place to do that in peace.

After leaving, I walked back home. It's a good thing everything's within walking distance in this area. Cook makes pretty good money through his dealing, but he blows it all on drugs or alcohol or prostitutes. Hopefully I'll get this job, then I can find and save up for a cheap car. I got my licence when I was sixteen but I've never had a car of my own to drive. If I want to save up for Uni, let alone go to uni, I'm going to need a vehicle. I have a bit saved up from a job working at a grocery store as a cashier I recently got fired from because I showed up with two black eyes and a cut lip I couldn't have covered up if I tried; and I did.

When I come through the door Cook's rampaging through the kitchen, raiding the cupboards and drawers frantically and muttering under his breath.

"What's going on?" I ask, closing the door behind me.

"I've fucking lost the emergency bag of coke," he slams another cupboard shut.

"What's the emergency?" I ask as I grab his arms gently and place them at his sides. He calms down and I make sure I have his attention before I let him continue.

"One of my top customers wants thirty grams dropped off in half an hour and I told him it wasn't a problem because I thought I knew where the other bag was but now I have an impatient guy expecting me in half an hour and no fucking crack," he rushes out. He rubs his face with his hands and exhales with a frustrated sigh.

"Okay, okay, calm down. Can I help?" I ask.

His hands fly away from his face and he looks at me like I just told him we won the lottery.

"As a matter of fact, my little muff muncher, you can," he smiles excitedly at me, "I need you to go pick up thirty g's from Keith. I'll call him and let him know I sent you and that I'll pay for it later. Drop it off at the old abandoned skate park on the corner of Gregory, that's where I'm meeting the guy. I'll stall him until you get there. Well, if you'll do it."

"Of course I'll fucking do it you dunce!" I smack his arm, "but just- be careful Cook. Try not to get yourself into situations like this, yeah?"

"You're the fucking best, red," he kisses my forehead and runs to the door, ignoring my concern. "See you in about forty-five, yeah?"

I nod at him. He flashes another broad grin at me and heads out the door.

Dropping off the powder was sketchy as fuck. I know Cook knows what he's doing but my sixth sense was telling me to get the fuck out of there before I even arrived. The look of the guy he was selling it to didn't help; a tall man with broad shoulders, short, jet-black black hair gelled back perfectly, and a fresh black tux with a purple tie. His black jeep had three other hulks, all dressed exactly the same, sitting in it, eyeing Cook and I carefully. When I arrived, they all violated me with rape eyes, but I was with Cook, and he won't let anything happen to me. Regardless, I got out of there as soon as possible.

Gregory is a little farther than I remember. I never visit that area of town; it's ghetto as fuck and guaranteed the most suspicious place you'll ever see. I mean, I can manage my own but I can't beat everything; a gang of ten to twenty men trudging around is one of those things.

I've been walking for a while and I recognize my surroundings so I'm probably close to home. Finding my way there was easy, but I decided to take a different way I thought would be quicker back. Now I'm fucking lost.

Despite being out of dangerous, enemy territory, I'm still jumpy. A sudden loud crash from behind me doesn't help.

I spin around so fast I almost trip over my own feet, "Who's there?" I ask.

My question drowns out in silence. There's nothing here except a few old houses that look like they were colonized by heroin addicts and then abandoned to be taken over by mother earth. I'm just jumpy, there's no one there. It was probably just a cat or some shit.

I continue walking in the direction I hope will bring me home when another loud crash, like a tin garbage can being kicked over and rolling, makes me spin again and raise my fists instinctively; but there's absolutely no one there.

"Fuck this," I mumble. I walk towards where the sound came from; between two old houses overrun by moss and fungus. It's just a grungy pathway; overflowing garbage cans with ants and fuck knows what other kinds of bugs infesting them, a small red door hanging on one hinge on the side of one of the houses with a tiny cracked window and chipped paint, and a short, green-tinted brick wall on the other side. It smells like dead rats and piss. This is ridiculous.

I turn to walk away from the disgusting pathway before I puke but as soon as my back's turned there's another loud sound only this time it's right behind me and it's more of a bam than a crash. I don't get a chance to turn around as a pair of arms wrap around me from behind aggressively; one hand covering my mouth and an arm around my neck. My hands shoot up and I dig my nails into the arm holding my neck in a choke hold as hard as I can but it does nothing; whoever the fuck has decided to fuck with me drags me back through the shitty little red door. I struggle and resist and scream as many muffled indignant threats as I can but all it does it make the arms tighten their death grip. I hear a sick feminine snicker in my ear just before I'm thrown down roughly on a wood floor.

The sadistic laugh of pleasure multiplies; these old rotten houses may have provided shelter for some addicts, but I guess they attract psychos as well. I'm not stupid. I know what's going on.

"Now Fitch, it really isn't safe for an attractive young lady like yourself to be wondering around dangerous areas like this alone," I hear the unmistakable voice of Candice say. "Your little girlfriend unfortunately interrupted our last get-together so we made sure to wait until you were available in a different part of town, to make sure that wouldn't be an issue again."

I'm on my feet before she finishes her sentence. She's leering at me with a smile like slime and all things revolting on her face. Her minions are on all sides.

"I don't know who the fuck she was, bitch," I spit at her. Her followers look as if they have to strain themselves not to pounce on me. Oh so fucking loyal to their leader as they force themselves to wait for the command.

"Right," she steps closer to me. "Well, considering we had to cut last week a little short because of her interference, we figured we'd make this visit extra special to make up for it." If possible, her intrusive smile grows wider and makes her whole face look extra twisted. She looks at one of her followers over my shoulder and raises her eyebrows in the slightest gesture and before I can react- not that any reaction would make a difference –I'm kicked in the back of the knees and I collapse involuntarily. All I can do is curl up in my default position and wait for this shit to end.

It passes in blurs of black and red with hard grunts and evil laughs torturing my ears.

"Not so attractive now, are we?" Candice hisses with one last kick to my ribs. "Your girlfriend won't want to save you now," and with that, they all leave, kicking me wherever they can on their way out.

With a limp and swollen eyes, it takes longer than expected to make my way back to my complex. Eventually, I'm standing in the parking lot next to a car I don't own and thinking about how I'm going to explain my injuries to Cook, if he's even home. The blood that was pouring from my nose has dried up and my left eye's swelling has gone down, but I'm pretty sure I have two black eyes and the bruises on my sides, splits in my lips, and cuts on my face are all working together to make every move I make feel like I'm dying.

Cook or no Cook, I can't stand outside forever, so with a hopeless sigh I take my first wounded step towards the front doors. I'm three paces away when I hear a familiarly foreign voice coming from nowhere.

"Hey," it's urgent as it floats in the air around me.

I shouldn't have heard it, but it's quiet enough around me that, somehow, I did. I stop where I am and listen carefully, just to make sure Candice and her gang didn't beat the sane out of me. An awkwardly fake cough echo's from around the corner of the complex to my right. You'd think I'd have learnt my lesson about following distant sounds by now, but apparently not. I approach with caution that immediately turns to hateful disappointment when I discover what's waiting for me.

The anonymous, cheeky, oh-so-sure of herself blonde is standing underneath the fire exit stairs that go down the side of the building with her hand behind her neck and her head lowered; eyes glued to the ground. She doesn't look cocky like usual. She looks uneasy and uncomfortable and almost a little nervous as she shifts her weight from one foot to the other. She's dressed in regular clothes; a black t-shirt with some red font on it, and a light blue pair of skinny jeans. That infuriating necklace, that I used to have, is strapped securely around her neck.

She stops shifting her weight and raises her head the slightest bit. Her eyes flick up to meet mine. When she sees my current state, she slowly raises her head completely. A series of emotions cross her face in quick succession; confusion, anger, guilt, pity, then nothing. Vacant before anyone can grab a peek. She shoves her hands in her pockets and straightens up a bit.

"Hi," she says seriously.

I attempt to glare at her with what I hope comes across as disgust or hatred. Not because that's what I feel right now- I'm too exhausted to care really -and not even because it's her fault I got beat on harder than usual. But because even though she knows my name, won't give me answers, is seemingly following me around, and is complicating my life, I can't help but feel relieved to see her. But I don't know why, and that's the frustrating part.

Sorry for the wait again guys, I hope you were all satisfied with this chapter, let me know if you like. Thanks for reading :)