So this is obviously AU. Enjoy

chapter 2:

I was hoisted up on my bed, my feet on the desk next to me and my headphones blared out music. With my toes bouncing to the beat, I scrolled through my social networks. The day was too hot to even contemplate going outside because a sun burn would be imminent. Not that I had fragile skin, I did get pretty good tans, but I was not one fond of sunscreen. My mother always used to say I was asking God to burn my skin the color of crabs. And then she went out and got crabs. Bitch.

Anyways, it had been three days since my encounter with the Bates' at their spooky house. Norman had found a way to get my cell phone number and we've been texting ever since. He has a way of texting which seems like he's trying to write me a novel.

The door to my room swung gently open and Remo popped in, his signature smirk plastered on his lips. "Love?" he cooed, chuckling when my eyes rolled so much they almost stuck.

"What's up?" I asked, plopping out my earphones and throwing my phone on the pillow. I propped up on my elbows and wiggled my toes at Remo.

"I'm going to take a shower," he announced. I shook my head and frowned sarcastically.

"Don't tell me you need assistance, old man," I grumbled, making grimaces. My uncle chuckled, his tired eyes closing for half a second.

"I was going to say that if anyone comes to the door, don't answer," he replied. I gave him the thumbs up and resumed my scrolling.

Yes, Remo Wallace was my uncle. His sister, Emily, was my mother. She's still alive, but she rarely showed her face at the house. Ever since she started working for Gil the woman has been MIA. Then Gil got shot and she reduced her visits even more. Four years is the exact number that I haven't spent a full week with my mother. Before she was high off her mind in her room with a hairy chested guy on top of her. Remo had to sell his shitty house to move in with us because I was too young to take care of myself. He took me in with his ever lasting big heart (note the sarcasm) and agreed to keep the house with me.

So for the past six years and a half, the only adult in this house whose been actually present despite work is Remo. I can actual count on his ass to help me. Even though he needs a clean shave and a hair cut, he's not so bad to live around.

I got a sudden hunger strike just as I heard Remo curse as he got in the shower. The shower head tends to decide if you're taking a cold or hot shower.

And just as I made my way down the creaking stairs of this crumbling house, there was a subtle knock at the door. I paused. Now if you were a good niece, you wouldn't open that door. But I'm not you. I had always been curious of what Remo really, really did, even though I knew he worked for Gil or Zane or whoever was in charge now. There was a delicious rush that came through me every time he got a call and had to dash out the door holding a 9 mil. There was a magnetic attraction in me when I'd watch him screech out of the drive way in his truck, a look of power and slight fright in his eyes. I wanted to be a part of that, I wanted to be in that adrenaline candy.

I slowly walked to the door. Behind the shady, foggy white curtain hanging over the door, a dark figure loomed on my porch. Square shoulders peaked from under a dark t-shirt. Blonde hair was muffled over a slightly tanned face. As I turned the knob, a queasy feeling filled my stomach and I smirked. Maybe this was my shot at something awesome, to make something out of my pathetic life.

I yanked the door abruptly opened and stared into deep blue/grey eyes. "You," I gasped.

Dylan stood on the decaying floorboards of my porch, his combat boots heaving on the wood. His eyes widened, then narrowed as he took me in, recognizing me at once. "You," he gave back.

He was wearing a light blue t-shirt, muscular arms peaking from the sleeves. Blonde hairs chiseled his forearms, the same color as the untamed mane on his head. His round chin still adorned the light stubble that made him look edgy and sour. The smell of dog shit and weed was replaced by wood smoke and beer and I couldn't help but like it as the odor heightened my senses.

I slowly grew accustomed to the sight of him there. Leaning on the door frame, I crossed my arms over my Guns 'n' Roses tank top. "What do you want?" I asked, trying to avoid staring into the blue gems.

"I-uh- shit I must have the wrong house," he stuttered, scratching his head in an impossibly cute manner.

I sighed loudly. "Who you looking for?" I asked.

"Remo Wallace?" he said questioningly.

I laughed loudly and pushed the door wider, signaling for him to enter. "You're at the right address, amigo," I said. Perplexed, he stood in my doorway, his head down with a frown knitting his brows.

"You live here?" he mumbled, lifting his head slightly so our eyes could meet.

I huffed, annoyed. "No I just secretly stash myself here now and then," I grumbled sarcastically. "Of course I live here! Now come in."

Once again, he refused to step inside. I motioned angrily for him to come in, but the stubborn man chewed on his lip and stared at the ground. "Are you his daughter?" he asked finally, with a voice smaller than my rat.

I made a sound that was a laugh with many 'fs' and hung on the door. Remo could never stand a baby, let alone be the father of one. "No," I breathed between cramped laughter.

"Then who are you?" he questioned back angrily. Behind him, the sun was setting and the glowing globe cast a halo around him that enhanced his beautiful light features. For a second, even despite the frown and taunt lips, he was cute and I could have hugged him. But then the bile rose at the simple thought of it and I regained my thoughts.

"I'm his niece."

Dylan's mouth made an O shape as he put together the pieces. His eyes scanned the outside of the house as he turned on his heels to stare at the setting sun. A light chuckle emanated from his chest, rumbling through him. I stared in silence and watched the crinkles beside his mouth and eyes and didn't really care if he was hot or not. I just didn't give a shit.

"You work for Remo or?" I asked.

A hand was slowly placed beside my head and Remo emerged from behind me. He was extremely careful in not touching me and for that, I was thankful. A plaid blouse was being buttoned on my uncle and he already wore his usual dark washed jeans and boots. His hair was dripping wet and I smirked when I saw the clean shaved jaw. Points to me!

"No actually, I work for Dylan," Remo announced as he sighed and gave me the knowing look. "I thought I told you not to open the door."

I smirked and shrugged innocently. "At least I didn't open the door to the Big Bad Wolf, now did I?" I giggled as I slowly made my way out of the doorway.

"I might just be..." I heard Dylan mumble as I retreated back to my room.

Haphephobia (also known as aphephobia, haphophobia, hapnophobia, haptephobia, haptophobia, thixophobia) is a rare specific phobia that involves the fear of touching or of being touched.

I sighed. If I really had Haphephobia or whatever else, then would I have to contact a psychiatrist? No, Remo would never be able to afford such services.

I exited the page and walked out of the library. Thoughts pushed around in my brain, begging for me to kill myself over their complexity. I hadn't been this way forever. I was never one for extreme physical contact, but now just the thought was enough for me to puke my life out. The slight feel of flesh on my own made me waver and possibly lose consciousness.

"Hey, hey, Caroline!"

I turned at the mention of my name. A dark haired, skinny boy was awkwardly marching his way towards me. For a second, I was tempted to just turn and walk away because I didn't recognize him. However, after he flashed me his wide smile, I waved back. "Norman."

"I found a way to help you, for you know, your personal response," he breathed, his chest heaving. My mouth hung slightly ajar. The simple thought of someone wanting to help me was enough to make me wanna dance. And I don't dance. Only when I'm drunk.

"Shit, Norman, thank you!" I laughed. We stood there awkwardly for a second, the lack of a high-five or something making the situation bitter.

"Pound it?" he asked lightly, making his hand into a fist and holding it out. I never knew how this peculiar boy understood my fear of being touched.

I nodded, pinching my lips together and giving his small fist a quick pound. No puke, that's good.

The bell shrilled over head and Norman waved me his goodbyes as we both separated for our classes. He had Chemistry, I had physical education. Outside, fuck! Like who gives a gym class out in the burning hot sun on a Wednesday last period? Mr. Glade does.

I raced to the locker rooms, changed into my working out clothes, and raced back outside on the track field. As I passed the fence lounging the parking lot, an unknown pick up truck caught my attention. Also the familiar young man leaning his well built frame on the door.

"Dylan?" I called, shielding my eyes from the sun. His head flicked up and our eyes met.

"Hey!" he called back, making his way over to me. I gripped the fence and leaned on one hip.

"What are you doing lurking around a high school track field?" I asked, a giggle at the back of my throat. A large hand covered his forehead. It had been two days since he'd been at my house looking for Remo and he looked like he hadn't slept since. He wore a white shirt and black jeans and his hands were crusted with dirt.

"This is public property by the way," he mumbled absentmindedly. Something about his voice, soft and tired, alarmed me. Had something gone wrong at the weed factory? Pfft. I found myself laughing internally at that. "Have you seen Norman?" His voice was whiny and nosy, like he had a cold. But such a thing was impossible in the middle of this hot day.

"He's in Chem," I grumbled back, backing away from him. "I can't get him for you."

He sighed. "Caroline."

The sound of my name whispered off his lips sounded like butter deliciously melting in a hot pan. My eyes fluttered shut for a second and my tummy filled with sparks. When I reopened my eyes, he still stared at the floor, the muscles in his shoulders taunt. "Caroline, Remo's in some big shit."

I snapped out of the haze and stared deeply at Dylan. "What?" The words came out drowned in venom. "What kind of shit, Dylan?"

Dylan stood up, gripped the roots of his hair and turned away from me. His back was impossibly taunt with stress and anger and the sight of him this distraught was making me queasy. "Dylan!" I demanded, my heart drumming harder against my rib cage.

"Oh shit, oh shit," he mumbled quietly. His voice was like a cry for help and I swiftly hopped the fence and marched towards him.

"Fucking tell me, Dylan," I demanded in a harsh tone. "Is he hurt?"

The man turned to face me, but kept his shameful eyes away from mine. Turmoil started deep from within me and worry encompassed everything. The only person I could bring myself to care about was my uncle, and I was not about to worry myself to death for the idiot.

"You know Gil was killed, right?" he started hesitantly. I nodded furiously. "So the boss sent in Zane. And Zane's a tough guy, man, he doesn't mess around. He's already killed Nick Ford's guys and he's bloodthirsty. Remo knows this, fuck, he works with the guy." He stopped, pinched his lips and let out an angry growl. "Look, Zane's a ruthless boss, he'd kill anyone who'd cross him. And Remo's my friend, get it? He's a good guy and I don't want to see him dead. B-but, Caroline, shit!"

I watched him punch the door of his truck and lean his arm against it. His forehead slowly connected with the arm and he let out angry, hallowed breaths.

"Dylan," I said softly, deciding a more soft approach.

"I'm telling you this because you're all he's got," he whispered. "But he fucked up, Caroline."

"What did he do?" I asked, my voice final and strong.

Dylan rose up and straightened his shoulders. He looked left and right, then straight into my eyes and I saw the deep worry they swam in. Holy shit, what had Remo done?

"He stole money from Zane."