Alright now, before you all massacre me with your pitchforks and torches and rubber chickens, let me say this: I was grounded from the computer. As in, mucho grounded, no access whatsoever to the home computer. As I said before, my laptop blocked this website so I couldn't access it from there either. So, I contented myself with as long a chapter as I can manage. I hope you are contented with this one, because I can never be.

READ THE WARNINGS BELOW PLEASE!!!!!

Warnings: Alright kiddies, this is the part where I take the canon Twilight plot that Stephanie Meyer so painstakingly crafted...and throw it to the ground, set it on fire with a flamethrower, dance around it manically while drinking an iced latte, and then crush the ashes beneath my feet while giggling with unseemly relish. I'd apologize, but, well....I'm afraid I'm just not sorry. Phil isn't Bella, which I'm pretty sure I've made abundantly clear by now, and as such you will only find the bare bones, picked clean of the flesh, of canon in the fic from here on out.

If none of the above is palatable to you, well... (indicates the top left corner)...there's the back button, right up there. Don't say I didn't warn you.

Sad to say, I had to omit some humor from this chapter and substitute it with plot. I know, I hate me too. But your questions about Phil and whether she was human or not will be answered, so....enjoy? Don't worry, though-- I've got some good stuff planned for the next chapter...(rubs hands together and runs off cackling gleefully.)

Disclaimer: Philomena "Phil" Morgan, her family and pets, are mine. Everything else I'm borrowing from Stephanie Meyer's Twilight series and various other media.

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Chapter 3: Today is Just Not My Day

Blaring rock music roared from the alarm clock next to my ear and I jerked upright sleepily, wincing when Puu slid down my chest and dug in her little claws to slow her descent. I grabbed the kitten by the scruff of her neck and deposited her to the side before sliding out of bed... and losing my footing, to crash to the ground in a heap. Mondays were never very good days, but it was a universal fact that I hated Tuesdays and Tuesdays hated me.

I'll get you for this, Tuesday.

I crawled to my feet and stumbled to the window, groaning out loud when I saw snow, of all things, piling up on the ground outside. The funny thing was, I used to love snow as a kid, but now I wouldn't go near the stuff if I could help it. Curses on Mom for not letting me buy that flamethrower off of Ebay...oh well. At least I could take my time and enjoy my breakfast without being rushed. Grandpa and Grandma never got up before eight, so it was up to me to start the coffee and take care of the pets-- or more specifically, the dog.

I trudged into the kitchen, Rosie pattering enthusiastically after me and the cats perched on the back of the sofa in the living room, eyeing the dog with deep suspicion. I opened the back door to the fenced-in yard and the canine shot out like a blur of white smudged with brown to do her business. Closing the door with my foot (and cringing at how cold the damn thing was), I stumbled to the pantry and took out the coffee grounds and cereal. I was all but a zombie in the morning when I got up-- except I wanted caffiene, not brains.

Five minutes later, I stood at the counter, staring fixedly at the coffee pot and willing it to hurry the hell up. I sighed when it didn't comply and turned my head to stare dully out the window over the sink. Snow was still flittering here and there, the sun was half over the horizon...hmmm, look at that, Rosie was in the front yard, wonder how she got there... waitaminute, WHAT?!?

I bolted to the terrace door and wrenched it open, screaming "ROSIE!!" at the top of my lungs. As per usual, she didn't respond, instead trotting down the hill to sniff at whatever the hell was down there. Six foul words that my mother had once washed my mouth out with soap for uttering in her presence spilled from my lips and I took off through the snow in my bare feet and pajamas.

"Coldcoldcoldcold, ROOOOSSIIIIEEE," I wailed, flailing my arms and attempting not to lose my balance at the same time. I was already losing feeling in my toes and fingers, and there was hair in my mouth from the wind. She perked up when she saw me blasting my way through the snow and then I realised my fatal mistake-- she thought I was playing a game. Rosie took off again, straight towards the road; spitting expletives and her name in alternating steps, I followed.

Six minutes later (and the loss of feeling in several of my extremities)...

"Dammit, Rosie!! Spawn of Satan!! Cease! Desist! STTTOOOOOOPPP!!!" I shouted desperately. Not the slightest inclination of slowing down came from that damn dog, who was now running wide circles around the front yard. At least she wasn't going towards the road anymore, I thought in stilted relief, slowing down to double over and catch my breath.

The roar of an engine made me stiffen and slowly look up in dawning horror as Rosie whipped her head around to zero in on the oncoming car.

Tuesday, you need a hobby. One that preferably does NOT involve fudging up my life.

Rosie barked excitedly and flew toward the road at the exact same moment I cried out and bolted for her. I pumped my legs hard, straining to reach out and grab my dog before she became a puppy pancake on the side of the road, the cold morning air burning my lungs as I gulped it in. I stretched my arms out-- her tail was almost in reach, if I yanked too hard I might dislocate it, but it'd be better than--

My foot slipped and I did a spectacular faceplant in the snow. I pushed myself up and saw that Rosie and the car were about to collide.

"NO!!" I screamed, shoving myself to my feet and scrambling forward, eyes fixed on my dog that was going to be run over in the space of two seconds--

The car screeched to a halt directly in front of Rosie's yapping head. I stared disbelievingly for a beat of time; my dog was alive. She wasn't dead, wasn't even hurt.

I tore up to the road and snatched Rosie up before she could run off again and take another ten years off my lifespan. She squirmed manically and chewed on my shirt and grunted, but I clutched her tightly and grimly to my chest. I was dangerously close to breaking down in the middle of the street and bawling from relief.

"Are you alright?" a familiar voice demanded, hands seizing my shoulders and spinning me around to stare directly into Alice and Rosalie's concerned faces. Emmett and Jasper hovered behind them as Edward shut the driver's side door and hurried over. I tried to open my mouth to thank them and insist that I was okay, but my teeth were chattering so hard that all that came out was something like, "Th-th-th-th-th-th-th-".

"Of course she's not alright," Rosalie snapped, whipping off her jacket and wrapping it around me. That was really nice of her-- I just hoped that she wouldn't mind if the gnawing creature in my arms turned her teeth to it. "She's barefoot and in shorts in ten degrees below celsius! Her fingers and toes are blue!"

They were? I glanced down and saw that yes, my unfortunate appendages were beginning to turn a rather interesting shade of turqouise. Hmm, that can't be good, I hope they don't stay that way for very long...wait, what was I saying?! I was turning freaking BLUE!! Damn it, Tuesday, I haven't even been awake for a half-hour yet! Cut me some frigging SLACK!!

"Looks like your mutt led you on quite a chase," Emmett remarked, taking in the front yard. I followed his gaze and blinked when I saw that the new-fallen snow was crisscrossed nearly everywhere with dog tracks and human footprints. I frowned down at Rosie, who was testing the sharpness of her teeth on my bare arm (which I couldn't even feel, due to being so cold) and decided to never again buy a half-basset, half-mutt stamina freak. When she was six weeks old, it seemed all she did was sleep and all I tried to do was get her to wake up so we could play. Now all I wanted was for her to go back to sleep and all she wanted to do was play-- the little thing called 'irony' seemed to be coming back to bite me in the ass all too often lately.

"She needs to get back inside," Alice said quickly, brushing snow off of my shirt. "It's far too cold for her to be out here when she's dressed like that."

Really? I had no fucking clue.

"Righto," Emmett boomed, and scooped me up, dog and all. Oh, hell no was I going to be carried-- especially bridal style! I twisted and tried to glare up at him and tried to express my opinion ("N-n-n-n-n-n-" "Can't understand a word you're saying, Phil."), but Rosie picked that instant to grab a mouthful of curls and yank. Hard. I made a muffled noise of pain, unable to form the curse words I so fondly used without biting my tongue off as well as free my hair without releasing the little demon.

Edward leaned over me, gently prying Rosie's mouth open and pulling my now officially mangled hair loose. She turned her head and promptly began to chew on his hand as well, which he didn't seem to mind. He tucked my curls behind my ears carefully, his eyes never leaving mine. I stared back wide-eyed, transfixed with curiousity at the brilliant gold of his eyes. I had never seen that color of iris or even heard of it before...

...but his eyes had been black that day in Biology when I'd stabbed him.

"There," he said at last, drawing his hand back. I released the breath I hadn't known I was holding and hugged Rosie closer. "Take her up, Emmett, before she catches pneumonia."

"Alright," Emmett agreed amiably. "Hang tight, kid."

To what, exactly? I thought dryly as he towed me back up to the terrace door, kicked it open and sat me down on the couch. I released Rosie, who raced around the newcomer excitedly and then chased Puu up a chair in a frenzy of joy.

"You going to make it, little human?" Emmett asked, crouching down to peer at my face.

Feeling had already begun to return to my fingers and toes in a tingling burn, making me grimace and twitch spasmodically. I nodded, feeling Rosalie's jacket slide down my shoulders, and pulled it off, offering it to the giant senior wordlessly. He accepted it carefully and tucked it under his arm gingerly, probably afraid of what his girlfriend would do to him if it came back in any less than perfect condition, and then pulled the afghan from the back of the sofa and cocooned me in it firmly. I blinked at him owlishly from my wrappings and he tousled my hair, his ever-present wide smile beaming down at me.

"See you in school," he said cheerfully and waved goodbye as he took off out the door and down the hill. I stared confusedly at the space he had once occupied, then turned to look at Puu, who had clawed her way up the couch to get away from Rosie and perched herself in my lap. She cocked her head and mewed cutely, the end of her tail tapping the afghan every few seconds.

Little human...?

"I don't get them either," I confided, and dislodged her from the blanket by wiggling out of it. There was a hot shower with my name on it in the bathroom, and I still had plenty of time before school started. I was pretty sure I'd used up my bad karma for today.

Shows what an idiot I am that I didn't even bother to knock on wood.

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I pulled into my parking space, killed the engine and slumped in my seat with a sigh of resignation as my eyes wandered over to the gray monstrosity that called itself a school (and that I was reasonably sure was in need of a good exorcising or two, just to be safe). A nice hot shower, two cups of coffee, one bowl of cereal and a note to my grandparents not to let Rosie out into the backyard because she had apparently dug a hole underneath the fence, and I was as good as new. Of course, my classmates weren't exactly going to agree when all the caffeine I had drank kicked in, but that was their problem.

It didn't really help that I had brought along my trusty thermos, filled to the brim with even more coffee and sugary goodness. Hehe, they thought I was crazy now? Oh, they had no idea what they were in store for...

Humming cheerfully to myself, I bounced out of the car and began to make my way around it, before I remembered that I had left my bag in the passenger seat, as well as forgetting to lock the passenger side door. I doubted anyone in Forks penetentiary would have the balls to do anything drastic to my vehicle, but you could never be too sure. With a dramatic sigh, I fished my keys back out of my pocket and went to unlock the door.

My key was halfway into the lock when I felt it-- the lightning burst of dread that crackled up my spine to shock all my other senses into high awareness. I ripped the key loose and turned around, just as the high-pitched screeching of protesting tires against asphalt split the air and an out-of-control blue van spun into sight, coming straight for me. I caught a glimpse of the Cullens' horrified faces directly across the parking lot-- Edward's face in particular had stood out, stark white against the Forks-style background of nondescript gray. I watched him until the van completely dominated my vision, and then... then came the hard part.

Time slowed to a crawl, faces and objects blurring in front of my eyes as the real problem set in.

My skin physically felt like it was burning, like it was blistering under intense heat with an extreme case of pins and needles on the side. My eyes felt like they were on fire, like they were melting inside my sockets and I was helpless to stop it. The heat was too much, too much, I'd burn myself alive if this kept up-- I grabbed blindly for the sense of the burning and desperately shoved at it, willing it to get out of my skin. For a single second, there was nothing, and then...

It leaped crazily out of me, smashing with all the force of a charging bull elephant into the nearest available target: the van.

The vehicle flew back, tires squealing and shredding under the friction, before it flipped and rolled several times until at last it came to a sliding stop on its side at the end of the parking lot, mercifully not squashing anyone else in its progress.

I was free and the burning had stopped. But at the same time, what had I done?

"Fuck," I hissed, and tore across the parking lot after the van, shoving any gawkers out of the way and kicking shins when they didn't get the hint the first time. Panic had set in and it felt like I was breathing the essence of Terror as my heart jackhammered in my chest. What if the driver had gotten hurt? What if he was dying?

(please please God let him be alright I didn't mean to hurt anyone I swear it just happened oh God please don't let him be dead because of me)

I stomped on the foot of one persistent interloper and finally broke through the masses to the car. I raced around to look through the windshield, but it was too cracked and smudged to make anything distinct out. A strangled shriek of equal parts fury and despair ripped its way out of my throat and, ignoring the cries of the other students, I dragged myself up onto the side of the van and crawled to peer into the passenger window.

A boy hung suspended to the side in his seatbelt; I recognized him dimly as a face in the classroom that I had never bothered to look too closely at. I banged sharply on the side of the van, not trusting the already fragile glass to hold up under my fist. To my incredible relief, he opened his eyes and looked up at me. The guy definitely looked like he had seen better days-- glass from his window had given him quite a few slices, judging from the trickles of blood on his face, but it was nothing fatal or irreparable.

"Hang on," I yelled through the glass, "Somebody will be here to get you out soon!"

He nodded, indicating that he had heard me. I breathed out a mitigating sigh and pressed my cheek against the cold metal, the relief so strong I could have cried. Wow, that's twice in one day. I must be getting soft. Maybe a little Jessica Torture at lunch would help reestablish my bitch personality...

A strange sort of popping sound sounded in the vicinity of the engine. I sat up, frowning-- and choked as fire burst into life beneath the hood.

Tuesday, you bitch.

People immediately began scattering, screaming things like, "It's gonna blow!" and "Take cover!". Despite the situation, I couldn't help but roll my eyes and wonder just how many brain cells they limited themselves to using a day if they had resorted to stealing lines from old movies. I sobered up quickly and pushed my body off the door before grasping the handle and yanking hard. It didn't budge an inch, probably due to the fact that the door was partially smashed and crumpled in on itself. Great. Just fudging great.

I sat up and rummaged through my pockets, for once finding nothing to aid me. Ho-kay, it was definitely time to start making homemade lockpicks again, and somebody had most likely already called an ambulance, so no dice on the cellphone... I huffed and rolled up my sleeves. There was just no help for it-- especially since the Idiot Brigade had deserted me.

"Cover your head!" I yelled through the window. The boy's eyes widened and he immediately did as I said. Huh, well there's a first.

I drew my fist back and braced myself before driving it down through the glass (thank God the stuff was already cracked to hell and back or I'd have been nursing some serious bruises). It shattered and rained down on the boy's (hmm, I'd have to learn his name too...) protected head, but the gap I made wasn't wide enough for him to slip through unharmed. I grimaced and wrapped my hands around the edges to yank off more glass, ignoring the wide crimson streaks my palms left behind. When the hole had widened enough, I reached my less dinged-up arm through and the guy grabbed on. I towed him up, flinching inwardly as his dry skin pulled at the newly-made cuts.

"Th-thanks," he panted, wiping away the blood that trickled down to his eyebrows from a cut somewhere on his hairline. "I really owe you--"

"No, you don't," I cut in tersely, ignoring the guilt that crept into my belly. First Edward, now some random guy I didn't even know the name of, were making me feel like a little kid getting sent to stand in the corner. What next, Jessica and Mr. Varner?...on second thought, nevermind. "Let's get out of here before we get blown to kingdom come."

"R-right." I dropped his hand as we scrambled away, seeing as he obviously wasn't a baby and didn't need to be led around like a showhorse. Wonder why he hadn't let go as soon as he was out of the van? Bah, who cares, it was probably just the shock or something.

Behind us, the car burst into a nasty-smelling fireball. I hope he didn't have anything like a family heirloom or some other valuable thing in there.

After that, the screaming hordes descended upon us. My eye twitched, but I held perfectly still as we were showered with, "Oh my God are you okay?!", "What happened?", "Oh my gosh you are so brave!", on and on. Yadda yadda yadda, SHUT UP ALREADY, I thought irritably, pulling my sleeves down to hide my bloody arms from sight. A pretty useless effort, all things considered, seeing as the ambulence pulled in right then. I attempted to melt into the background and go back to my truck, but the guy I had pulled from the van grabbed me by the sleeve and dragged me forward to be treated.

Numbskulls, every last one of you, I thought rudely as a medic inspected my arms.

"These are serious cuts, young lady," the medic said at last. "You'll have to go to the hospital, I'm afraid."

Oh, joy. "Whatever," I grumbled, and stood up, remembering just in time not to stuff my hands in my pockets.

"Where do you think you're going?" he demanded, standing up as well and hurrying after me, obviously thinking I was attempting to make a break for it.

"To get my coffee," I retorted. "There is no way in hell that I am going to the hospital without my fucking coffee. You are straight-up crazy if you think for one minute I am going to a stinking hospital without my coffee. So don't even think about trying to stop me."

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Okay, now it was official: I hated everybody. Especially nosy, condescending buttheaded man-bitch medics who don't let you take your coffee with you on the ambulence ride and talk to you like you're three while lecturing you on how 'you shouldn't be drinking coffee because it will stunt your growth' (what growth? I hadn't grown an inch since the eighth grade) and putting makeshift bandages on your arms. Unfortunately for him, I had decided that if he was going to treat me like a three-year-old, I was damn well going to act like one. I sincerely hoped the bite marks on his arms bruised.

While we were on the subject of three-year-olds, that kid throwing a tantrum down the hall really needed to shut up before my brain burst out of my skull and fled the scene. I had a headache like no tomorrow and it really wasn't helping with my perpetually black mood. The boy (whose name turned out to be Tyler) and his repeated apologies for nearly making me a part of my truck permanently and his thanks for saving him wasn't helping in the slightest. If that damn doctor wasn't here within the next five minutes, I was going to walk out and tape up my arm BY. MYSELF. Maybe I'd leave a trail of mass destruction and irreversible trauma behind me, just for kicks and giggles.

"I am so sorry--"

"Just," I hissed, holding up a hand and scrunching my eyes shut, "stop. We've established that you're sorry. That's wonderful and all, but it stopped being so wonderful when you repeated yourself for the thirty-sixth time. Now I am establishing this: shut up or I am going to snap and you are going to be the first to go." I threw in one of my more poisonous glares for good measure, and Tyler quickly dropped his head sheepishly. The demon brat from down the hall began screaming even more shrilly, and I buried my head in my hands with a defeated groan. Alright Tuesday, if I said you won, would you screw off and leave me alone for the rest of the day? No? I didn't think so.

The howling died down after another thirty seconds, leaving the room oppressively silent. Maybe I shouldn't have told Tyler to shut up after all; this quiet was making my flesh creep. I thumped my heels impatiently against the floor and watched the door. I couldn't possibly be as badly injured as the coffee-hating dude had said, if they were just leaving me to bleed out all by my lonesome. At that thought, I started to get up out and walk out the door from sheer aggravation, but then sat back down and heaved another sigh. If I left now, I'd have to dodge a whole building full of doctors and on top of that, I'd have to walk back to school to get my truck. Calling Grandpa for a ride was out of the question, as he would make me stay in the doomful white place of people who stuck needles in your arms full of substances of questionable origins and asked you how that made you feel... Lose-lose situation, either way.

Besides, my coffee was probably cold by now...

Thirty more seconds ticked past, and I blew out an explosive breath, now bored out of my skull. There was nothing that wasn't nondescript enough in a hospital to hold my eyes for more than a nanosecond or two, which left me with nothing to focus on so I could just tune everything out and daydream. Tyler was glancing subtly (or what he thought was subtly) at me every now and then, so I gave him a flat, despondent stare that told him exactly what I thought of that. Finally I gave up and flopped back on the gurney that I had been parked on, staring up at the ceiling, which wasn't much more interesting than the walls. White, white, and more white...blech.

"You know, I never got why they paint everything in the hospital white," I confided in Tyler, who stared at me with a 'huh?' expression plastered on his face. "I mean, hospitals are supposed to be a place you go to get better in, right? How can anyone get better in all this disgusting antiseptic smell and this glaring white nastiness?" I demanded, crossing one leg over the other. "Maybe they should paint it blue-- like a robin's eggshell blue. That's a pretty color, and it makes people happy, don't you think?"

"Yeah...right," Tyler mumbled, no real conviction in his voice. I bit my lip, feeling miserable. Another failed attempt at socialization. Why is it that I couldn't talk to anybody, even when it was about fairly normal things like color?...Okay, it was nearly always more than partly my fault, but still. In a school of three-hundred-odd (both literally and figuratively) students, you'd think I'd find one person who wouldn't look at me like I was something that escaped from a cross between a mental facility and a zoo, or treat me like a shiny new toy that everybody wanted. But no.

Gah, this was so depressing.

"Freude, schöner Götterfunken, tochter aus Elysium," I sang softly to myself, bouncing my leg in time with the beat. I ignored Tyler and the incredulous look he shot my way-- he already thought I was weird, so I may as well give him some straight-up proof. "Wir betreten feuer-trunken, himmlische, dein Heiligtum--"

"What is that?" Tyler cut in.

"Beethoven, symphony number nine," I said flatly. "Now stop interrupting. It's not as easy as it looks, tuning out morons like you."

"Huh?"

I gave him a pitying look. "Exactly," I confirmed, and then went back to singing. "Deine Zauber binden wieder, was die Mode streng geteilt; Alle Menschen werden Brüder, wo dein sanfter Flügel weilt."

"It's been quite a while since I've heard that in German." I sat up and turned to the door, and saw an exceedingly attractive blond male doctor crossing the threshold of the room to stand before me, two people who were obviously Tyler's parents (judging by the way the woman attempted to suffocate him by shoving his head in her bosom) hurrying in after him to collect their son.

"Well, Tyler, you're a very lucky young man," the doctor announced, consulting the clipboard in his hands. "The cuts you recieved from the glass were shallow and purely superficial, so there shouldn't be any scarring. Just remember to keep them covered in order to avoid infection, and you should be fine."

Tyler mumbled assent and slouched after his parents, pausing to wave goodbye before he slunk out the door and I could get the chance to wave back. I frowned a little after him-- was everyone in Forks either completely dense or completely oblivious to rudeness? Damn, that meant I would be spending a few more weeks shaking off all the idiots that seemed to collect wherever I went.

"Hello, Phil, I'm Dr. Cullen," the doctor said warmly. Ah, so this was Edward's father...wonder if he knew that I'd stabbed his kid with a pen? Then again, there were no guarantees that he didn't already know and was now making plans to murder me brutally with a scalpel and a bag of cotton balls. I gauged the distance from the gurney to the door and decided that if I got a decent head start, I could outrun him until I was in the receptionist's office, at the very least. I'd be relatively safe there-- receptionists hated it when you got blood on the carpet.

"Hi," I said blandly, twitching my leg back and forth. He reached out and gently took hold of my right arm, the one I had punched through the glass with, and inspected it carefully. Well, there was no scalpel or syringe of questionable liquid in his hands-- maybe he was just hiding it in his coat?

"That was a very noble thing you did," Dr. Cullen said quietly, gently swabbing my cuts with some antiseptic and cotton balls.

"Not really," I muttered, dropping my eyes. How was it noble when it was my fault in the first place? Sheesh, Doc, get a clue.

"Ah, but it was," he insisted, a smile curling up at the ends of his lips. "There are not many who would risk themselves for the lives and safety of another."

I shifted uncomfortably, wishing he would stop trying to make me out to be a heroine. I cleaned up my mess and covered up the truth (as usual), but I was not noble, not heroic, and definitely nowhere near the person he was portraying me to be. Dr. Cullen must have noticed the look on my face, because he maneuvered the conversation down a different route. One that was, while a welcome change, almost as uncomfortable as the first topic.

"My children were very worried about you," he stated lightly, golden eyes bright with some kind of inadvertant mischief. I eyed him warily, wondering just what it was he had up his sleeve and would it make me run screaming into the night from terror. "All of them have skipped have skipped out of class and are sitting in the waiting room, along with half the school."

Hold the hamburger phone, what did he just say?

"...W-wha?" I stuttered, thrown completely off balance. There was no way this was possible-- Emmett and Rosalie might have come, and maybe Alice and Jasper as well, but Edward? No matter how much better we were getting along, there was no way he was here. The good doctor obviously needed to go out and count his kids again.

"Oh, yes," Dr. Cullen said conversationally, before touching a particularly long and nasty scrape down my right forearm. "This one's going to need stitches, I'm afraid. You were lucky-- you just missed the vein. And this one as well," he amended, indicating a shorter scratch on the back of my arm.

"Crap," I muttered, meaning both the Cullens and the stitches. "Are you sure?"

"Positive," he affirmed.

"Double crap," I grumbled, withdrawing my arm and scowling at the crimson gashes. I hated (and, by proxy, was scared to death and back again of) needles-- especially when they were being jabbed into my flesh without so much as a by-your-leave.

"Am I wrong in supposing you are not a fan of needles?" the handsome doctor said mildly, prepping a syringe carefully.

"I suppose you might be right," I confirmed dryly. It struck me then that I was having an actual conversation with someone without the usual insults and barbed comments that I usually deployed, and that it was actually civil and fairly enjoyable.

"You wouldn't be the first," Dr. Cullen said comfortingly. "Lie back, please." I obliged, offering up my arm when he reached for it. As soon as the needle was lowered to my skin, I looked away. Squeamish, yeah, I know, but I couldn't bear to see the fluid being emptied into my veins. There was only a little discomfort, for which I was relieved.

"There," he said kindly. "You should start feeling it in the next five minutes or so. Would you like to talk while you wait? Some patients find it soothing to speak while the numbing is taking effect."

"Sure," I assented, shrugging a little. To be honest, I was more than a little pleased with our talk and didn't want it to end quite yet. Hell, I might even grow some social skills out of this. Nonetheless, I was not going to let him pick the topic, which would most likely lead us to his kids and my relationship with them. "Why don't I tell you why I'm scared of needles?"

"Go on," he prompted, leaning forward.

"I was about ten or so, and I'd gone to the dentist to get my wisdom teeth pulled," I started, recalling it with a faint shudder. "Everything was going fine until the time came to put me under. The dentist was trying to give me whatever the heck that stuff was, but he missed my vein about two or three times, and that really hurt. When I looked over to tell him to stop it, I saw the blood on my arm. To my credit," I said wryly, remembering the doctor's and nurses completely apologetic faces, "I didn't throw a screaming fit, but I did start crying. The nurses wrapped my arm in hot towels and gave me a blanket to make my veins bigger, and that did the trick. The operation went off without any other hitches, but I've never liked needles since. Not that I ever did in the first place, but you get the idea."

"I see," Dr. Cullen concluded, comprehension in his eyes. "It must have been very frightening for you."

I snorted, feeling my head swim slightly. "Piffle. It wasn't that big of a deal." I poked my arm experimentally, humming Beethoveven's ninth once more to myself. "I think the stuff is kicking in."

"Very well," the doctor conceded, moving closer and extending the needle towards the tear in my skin. "Why don't you keep talking so you don't have to look? Just try not to move your arm too much."

"Alright," I agreed placidly, focusing on the ceiling. "What do you want to hear about?"

A little voice in my head that I ignored a little too often murmured whoops, bad move. Too bad I was a little too high on the stuff he gave me and could barely tell up from down.

"Did you know that you were all my children talked about for the past week?" Dr. Cullen asked, shifting my arm to a better position. I blinked at the ceiling hazily, turning his words over speculatively in my head without really hearing them.

"You'd think there were more interesting things to talk about than the psycho girl," I told the ceiling without any real heat behind my words. I heard him chuckle quietly and resisted the urge to turn my head and look.

"They find you very interesting," he assured me. "I've never seen Rosalie act so matronly toward anyone in my life. Even Jasper seems very taken with you, though I can't quite tell yet."

"Edward doesn't like me, even if he is polite about it," I argued irritably. Why was Dr. Cullen making me out to be some sort of sunshine-fluffy-clouds-smiley-pink-happy person when I was, incredibly obviously, not? I was a bitch. B-I-T-C-H, that was me to the core, and I was not going to change, not no way and not no how.

"Doesn't like you?" There was a definite ripple of laughter in the doctor's voice. How annoying-- there was also a clear tone of I-know-something-you-don't-know rising to the surface. "My dear girl, wherever did you get that idea?"

"Since he gave me that constipated glare of his in Biology and I stuck him in the arm with my pen." I snapped my mouth shut, cursing my random foot-in-mouth syndrome for all it was worth. REAL smart, Phil, telling the doctor stitching up your arm that you stabbed his son with a writing utensil. And just what kind of flowers did you want at your funeral again?

"Yes, Edward told me about that," he said, mildly reproving. I cringed inwardly and waited for the rebuke-- or worse, the stab.

It didn't come. I chanced a quick look at him and looked away immediately when I saw the needle enter my flesh. In my opinion, there's pretty much nothing in the world that is creepier than watching someone sew your skin together and not feel a thing.

"You're not mad?" I said tentatively at last.

"No, child. I'm not angry with you," Dr. Cullen said quickly. "I was merely thinking of something unpleasant."

"If you say so."

"I do say so. There we are," he proclaimed suddenly. I sat up and looked down at my arm, noting the flesh was hewn back together practically seamlessly and the other scrapes littered across my hands and arms had been carefully bandaged. "Good as new! I've called your grandfather, so he should be here any minute. However," the doctor gave me a stern look at this, "you need to take care of your hands. No more death-defying stunts, understand?"

"It's not like I stand in the middle of the freeway with a neon sign over my head saying 'Hit me, I splatter!'," I complained, springing from the gurnery and practically dancing toward the door. Free! Free at last, from the terrible smelly hospital with ugly colors and the cursed needles! I'd even take the possessed Forks Penetentiary over this nuthouse.

"Your grandfather said for you to stay in the waiting room until he came," Dr. Cullen called as I shot down the hall. I made a face, but slowed down and turned where the sign indicated the lounge was. Okay, I wasn't out of the hellhole just yet, but I could wait...I think.

"Phil!"

I turned and a blur of black and purple collided with me, knocking me off balance. I yelped and pinwheeled my arms frantically, but a set of hands grasped me around the waist before I could fall and righted me. Alice grinned at me, her golden eyes dancing as she stepped back to take my face in her hands and turn it from side to side. I gave her a dry look, noting distantly that her hands were as cold as Edward's had been yesterday. To my surprise, I didn't even mind that much that she was touching me. As a rule, I didn't really care for it when people I barely knew initiated bare skin on skin contact, and generally endeavored to make that dislike plain-- hence Mr. Spork and the self-defense lessons I had taken as a child up until recently.

"We were so worried about you," Alice explained, releasing my face. "We saw the car go up in flames from the other side of the parking lot, and we--"

"I'm fine, Alice," I assured her, bemused at her sudden burst of unanticipated affection. Most likely she was just relieved that I wasn't a sliced-up charcoal briquette. "I just got some cuts from the glass, and your dad fixed those in less than ten minutes. See?" I held up my hands and twiddled my bandaged fingers, which she giggled at. "No harm done."

"Come on, let's let Rose have a look at you," she declared impatiently, grabbing an uninjured space on my arm and towing me in what I assumed was the direction of the waiting room. Of course, she could be taking me to the morgue because she was secretly in cahoots with Edward and they were going to stuff me in one of the cabinet-thingies where I would slowly freeze to death while they laughed the trademark Evil Villain's Laugh With Personal Variations©. But I did like to give people the benefit of the doubt every now and then-- except if they were from the government, because the government LIED and it was all one big CONSPIRACY.

Before I could work myself up into going on an internal rant, Alice dragged me into the waiting room and all but threw me into Rosalie's stone-cold arms. Jeez, did anybody in this family wear a jacket? And they had been worried about me getting frostbite...

"Are you all right? Are you in pain, Carlisle did give you something for the pain, didn't he?" Rosalie demanded, taking me by the shoulders and inspecting me from head to toe, brushing stray curls back from my face. I blinked, wondering what was with the touchy-feely business today. On the other hand, it was kind of nice; mostly my parents had had a 'live and let live' kind of attitude, which meant they didn't fuss a whole lot whether I was either in pain or in trouble. It would take wild horses on steroids to drag that little tidbit out of me, though.

"Rosie, give the girl some air," Emmett laughed as I automatically looked back and forth on the floor, half-expecting to see Rosie (the dog, not the girl) barrelling underneath the chairs and chewing up magazines. I took the opportunity to duck out of Rosalie's grasp-- or attempted to, in any case. Her arms were like steel cables that kept me locked in place, making my eye tick dangerously; what did this girl do every day after school, pump five hundred pounds of iron? Rosalie scowled and released me reluctantly while I endeavored not to make a big show of rubbing my poor abused ribs. Damn, but she did have a grip like an octopus-- except she only had two arms and no suckers.

"I told you she was fine. You should know better than to doubt me," Alice informed Rosalie huffily. The statuesque blonde snorted and put her hands on her hips challengingly as she leaned forward. My You-Are-About-To-Be-In-Deep-Shit-If-You-Don't-Move-NOW! alarm went off in my head and I immediately backed up as fast as I could.

"Even you can be wrong sometimes, midget," Rosalie retorted. Alice's eyes sparked dangerously, and within seconds a whole war of insults began that zipped back and forth in between them as I looked from one to the other, following the derogatory terms and rude suggestions like I was watching a ping-pong match. I probably should have taken offense at the 'midget' comment, but I hadn't been this entertained since I had watched my mom and Alan wrestle with each other on Thanksgiving night (both of them were somewhat...inebriated). Mom won, of course, though to this day Alan protested at the top of his lungs that she had cheated.

"--microscopic speck on the back of a flea!" Okay, that one hit a bit close to home, I thought as I witnessed Alice's eyebrow tick menacingly.

"Prissy, fluffbrained plastic Miss Piggy look-alike!" Oooh, ouch, that one had to sting, I reflected wryly when Rosalie's eyes narrowed.

I tore my eyes away from the rapidly growing spectacle to see if Jasper and Emmett were going to rein their girlfriends in to stop them from tearing each other apart. When I saw the men in question, I sighed and dragged a hand through my hair in frustration of the idiocy of the male sex.

They were taking bets. Morons. If I was an anime character, I would have facefaulted and had a big huge sweatdrop hanging next to my head by now. Regrettably, I was a real girl and I had to deal with real life problems. Damn, what a drag.

A familiar thermos of coffee came into view from between the gaps of my fingers over my eyes. I dropped my hand to see Edward offering it to me with a tiny crooked smile on his face. Oh my God, play the Hallelujah chorus, that was just what I needed! At the moment, I couldn't have cared less that this was the guy who most likely hated my guts and wished I would vanish off the face of the Earth entirely. He was giving me my coffee and that was all that mattered.

Yeah, I was a caffiene addict. What about it?

"You," I told him in a voice full of conviction as I took the thermos from him and cradled it reverently, "are a lifesaver." Suspicion immediately reared its head when I went to take a drink, and I stopped and looked up at him with narrowed eyes. "How did you get this?" I asked carefully, eyeing him and the thermos alternately in caution. So help me God, if he had tampered with my caffeine in any way, there wouldn't be enough pieces to scrape together to have a funeral with when I was through with him.

"I heard you shouting at the paramedic about your coffee from across the parking lot," Edward told me, his grin widening slightly. "Since you'd left your car unlocked, I took the liberty of retrieving it for you. Don't worry, I locked it back up after I left," he added when he saw my expression.

"Ah," I said in relief, then took a draught of caffeine. It was a little chilly, but I didn't mind overmuch.

"You've been having one hell of a day, huh kid?" Emmett mused thoughtfully, "First Edward almost runs over your dog--" the aforementioned male scowled at this, "then you almost get smushed by a van, and then you go around punching out the windows of that van...you've got some kinda luck."

"It comes from my mother's side of the family. Sadly enough, it skipped over my brother and sister, which they think is completely hilarious," I said dryly, and tipped the thermos back to catch the last of the coffee, frowning when there was no more left. Emmett laughed and Jasper cracked a grin at my expression of consternation. Edward, however, didn't seem to share their viewpoints, judging by the clenched fists and jaw he was sporting. I frowned as our eyes met-- he looked angry again. Now what did I do?

"Why did you do it?" he demanded abruptly. Alice and Rosalie fell silent at Edward's harsh tone and turned to give him almost identical stern glares; he paid them no attention.

"Do what?" I snapped, bridling with budding indignance. Hey, I couldn't help it! It just seemed like every time he opened his mouth, he either confused or irritated the hell out of me. "I've done a lot of things this morning. Be specific."

"Go after the van like that. You could have been hurt; you could have been killed!" the golden-eyed boy snarled.

"Oh, so it was a bad thing to try and save somebody's life?" I snarked sarcastically, feeling the anger and confusion well up inside me. The buzzing underneath my skin began to pick up again, stirred from this morning, but I slapped down on it with everything I had. I couldn't afford to do this twice in one day. "I'm sorry, I'll make sure to pass the memo around next time. After all, we can't have people being saved, oh no!"

"Don't be so mordant," Edward shot back, striding closer. I refused to shrink back and glowered up at him instead, shifting my leg to a better position in case he invaded my personal bubble and I had to demonstrate why my bubble must always be held in the highest respect. "I want to know why you felt you had to do it."

(because it was my fault you dumbass my sin my crime my weakness why can't you see that?)

"What, you thought the Idiot Brigade had things under control?" I snorted derisively. "Puh-lease. They couldn't find their own butts with both hands and a map."

"You're avoiding the question," Edward pressed, golden eyes boring into mine.

"I gave you an answer, didn't I?" I pointed out. "Therefore I did not avoid the question, which is meaningless anyway. I did it, end of story. Goodnight. Goodbye. Have a nice day. Would you like fries with that?"

"Just," he hissed, "stop." He reached out like he wanted to grab me by the shoulders and shake me, and a surge of panic swept through me at the familiar movement. I automatically skipped back and raised my arms defensively. Edward stopped, a pained look flashing across his face, and carefully withdrew. "Just tell me why," he pleaded, and at his tone my anger gently dissipated into a soft whirl of nothingness. How was I supposed to say mad at him if he said it like that?

"Edward," I said hesitantly, his name heavy and foreign on my tongue. "Why do you care?"

Silence hung thickly in the air and I waited for his response, half-hoping and half-afraid of what it would be. Edward seemed frozen, lips barely parted and eyes staring desperately into mine, like they were imploring me to understand what he couldn't speak. He took a breath, and a spasm of pain passed over his face. Without thinking, I dropped my arms and stepped forward to--

"Here's a llama, there's a llama and another little llama, fuzzy llama funny llama, llama llama duck!"

Hello, Bad Timing, how nice of you to drop in. I haven't seen you since, oh, I don't know... 20 minutes ago? How have you been?

"Llama llama cheesecake llama, tablet brick potato llama, llama llama mushroom llama, llama llama duck!"

I drew my phone out of my pocket and flipped it open, and then grimaced. My sister's name, Lissy, stared up at me accusingly, reminding me that I had bigger issues than a spat over...what was it over, anyway? Hell if I knew; maybe Edward would tell me when he was past the incoherent stage and actually making sense again.

"I was once a treehouse, I lived in a a cake, but I never saw the way the orange slayed the rake, I was only three years dead, but it told a tale, and now listen little child, to the safety rail!"

"Excuse me, I have to take this," I muttered, and left the room in the direction of the bathrooms.

After having to double back because I was going the wrong way, I found the bathroom and locked myself in a stall after checking to make sure no one else was present and eavesdropping. I pressed a button and held it slightly away from my ear in case she decided to start shouting. It wouldn't be the first time, after all.

"Phil! Are you okay? I just got a call from Grandpa--"

"No one's here, Lissy," I said flatly.

"Oh, good," she said, clearly relieved. "Seriously though, are you okay? The damn thing cut out on me before it finished-- it just showed the van flipping on its side and then nothing."

"I'm fine, I just got a few scrapes," I assured her, rolling my eyes and settling against the wall.

"Scrapes, huh?" There was a pause on the other end of the line, and then a sucked-in breath of aggravation. Uh-oh. "So that's what you call stitches these days-- don't roll your eyes at me, I saw that!"

There was only one thing more annoying than a know-it-all big sister-- a sister who really did know it all. Though Lissy was a great help in Algebra, and advice like, "Watch out for Robby Klane in third period, he'll try to trip you when you walk by," was generally appreciated (I'd worn steel-toed boots that day and stepped on his foot as I'd walked past), whatever deity that gave my sister the power of astral projection along with foresight and hydrokinesis had a sick, sick, SICK sense of humor.

Here's the thing: my dad's family, the Morgans, had special strands of genetics in their DNA that give them all psychic powers. No one really knows the origins of it, or who the original progenitor was, or anything along those lines. All we know is that we have it and while sometimes it gets passed on, sometimes it doesn't (not nearly often enough for everyone's peace of mind, though). Generally, when someone from the paternal side of my family married and had a child, the kid usually had only one talent, say, telekinesis or telepathy. And they were good with that.

Of course, Dad just had to be the one who would go and break the norm when he married Mom. My mother had latent automatic writing skills and retrocognition; combined with my father's radiesthesia, it had produced some completely out-of-whack results in the form of my sister Lissy, my brother Alan, and myself. Lissy and Alan each had three talents; I had two, which was two more than I had ever wanted in the first place. Psychokineses that couldn't be brought to heel in the slightest and claircognizance that didn't kick in unless I was about thirty seconds from death or severe injury wasn't exactly what I had put on my Christmas list to Santa.

Don't get me wrong, I loved my brother and sister and my parents. However, it did frustrate me from time to time to see all of them use their psi talents so easily while I struggled to keep from blowing the roof off the house on most days. It was one of the more private, shameful reasons I had wanted to move to Forks. Hey, I'm not a jealous person by nature, but I knew my limits and when I was about to cross them.

Aside from the whole psychic thing, my family was actually pretty normal. I mean, sure, Mom always knew when I hadn't done my homework, Alan could tell me where I'd left my car keys last night without even needing prompts, and Dad could tell exactly where I was at without even looking up from the paper. But those were regular parts of our daily ritual, which was just as normal to us as being asked to pass the butter. All the same, we hardly ever had guests over.

"Have you been meditating lately?" Lissy demanded sternly. "That's why your control is so bad, isn't it? You haven't been meditating."

I dragged a hand through my hair and blew out a sigh of annoyance. "You know damn good and well that meditation never helped me one bit. It made it worse, Lissy. I am not going to meditate, understand? Not in Forks."

"Oh, so, what, you're going to just pretend it doesn't exist?" she said scathingly.

"Worked so far."

"NO! That isn't healthy! You have to stop denying the gift you've been given!" Lissy bellowed down the line. I gritted my teeth and held the phone away from my ear, glaring at it with considerable irritation. Honestly, there was no need to shout...

"You've been reading those cheesy psychiatry books again, haven't you," I stated point-blank, narrowing my eyes. " 'Denying the gift you've been given', indeed."

Lissy (Alyssa when we were with our great-aunts) was still as much a drama queen as ever, despite being a twenty-nine-year-old divorcee with a seven-year-old son. She was always the most enthusiastic of our family about our powers-- Alan and I were a whole lot mellower about the psi talents we had. She saw her powers as a blessing; well, good for her. She didn't need to expect the rest of us to view them that way, though.

"Don't be so prejudiced, it's what they are! Gifts!" she concluded angrily. Her self-righteous tone grated on my ears, making me clutch the phone more tightly and the thrumming to surface again. I tried counting to ten, but the old anger-management try didn't do much for me. The last vestiges of control left me and I just plain didn't give a fuck anymore

"Gifts?! What gifts, the gift for throwing a car across the parking lot?!? That's not a gift, Liss, that's a curse!" I whisper-screamed down the phone. The stall doors blasted open and began rapidly slamming themselves, and the paper-towel dispenser rattled warningly on the wall. I didn't even bother trying to make them stop this time. "I'm not like you and Alan! I can't control it, and if I try, I'm going to kill someone! Just face it already-- the only thing it's good for is blowing something up!"

"If that's what you think of it, that's how it's going to be," Lissy whispered mournfully. I ignored that and breathed in deeply, trying to calm myself down. I thought of icebergs, lilacs in spring, playing fetch with Rosie, the scent of rain, the little fountain in my room, coffee brewing in the morning, the rustle of pages in a book, my piano waiting for me at home....

Gradually, the doors shuddered to a halt and I breathed easier-- and suddenly, I was as exhausted as if I'd run a marathon or three. I just wanted to go home and curl up in bed and forget about everything, especially including anything regarding Edward Cullen and psychokinesis.

"Later," I said curtly, and pressed the End Call button before she could protest. I was undoubtedly going to catch hell for that when she got around to calling me back, but I didn't really care at the moment.

I stepped out of the stall and looked in the mirror, making a face when I saw that my hair was a bird's nest and my eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot. Combined with my newly sewed-up slices, I was Frankenstein Reborn: Punk Style. I did my best in flattening my hair, not even bothering with my face, and then swept back outside.

Edward was leaning against the wall in the hallway, staring intently at the door I had just exited. My paranoia senses hit the roof screaming at the top of their lungs and I froze in place as his eyes bored into me.

Uh-oh.

Had he been out here while I was throwing my little psychic temper tantrum? Shit, shit, shit, not good! I bit my lip and schooled my face to a blank expression, willing myself to remain calm and not go on a Carrie psycho spree to get away from Edward and his piercing I-see-your-filthy-SOUL eyes.

"The men's bathroom is that way," I told him shortly, pointing to the left of the women's restroom. He smiled benignly and I fought the urge to backpedal and take off in the other direction as fast as possible. There was something just a little too knowing for comfort in that smirk of his.

"Were you alright in there? There was quite a bit of noise earlier," Edward asked in polite concern. Or it had better have been.

"Oh, yeah. My sister and I got in a fight, and I took it out on the stall doors," I explained, giving him my best charm-filled I-am-innocent-and-you-can't-do-a-damn-thing-about-it smile. I sure as hell wasn't going to say oh, that was just my out-of-control psychokinesis blasting through, don't mind it, it will only kill you if I get too pissed off. Not exactly the greatest reassurance I could offer.

"I see," he said quietly, 'I don't believe you in the slightest bit' clearly prominent in his tone.

"You damn well better not have, you dirty bathroom-peeper," I warned him. Insulting his decency seemed the best way to go when I needed to distract him. Hey, I had no shame, remember?

His eyes tightened and his smile began to take on an annoyed edge. Good, maybe that would teach him to butt out of other peoples' business.

"Call it odd, but I heard several stall doors slamming at the same time."

Then again...

"That's the nature of a temper tantrum, Edward," I informed him dryly, expertly covering up my uneasiness. "It isn't confined to one space; it goes everywhere."

"I don't believe you," Edward told me, leaning forward menacingly until we were almost nose to nose. Oh, no. Oh no, he didn't just invade my bubble. Of all the fuckery he could he have gotten up to, he had chosen invading my personal space? There was no way in hell I was going to stand for that.

Edward Cullen was going down.

"Here's the funny thing, mister," I chirruped, giving him a poisonously sweet smile, "I don't give a flying fuck in space what you believe."

His eyebrows rose; well, it was better than nothing. Why couldn't the fool just take a hint already? Pretty soon I'd have to start taking drastic measures, and Grandpa wouldn't be happy with a repeat of the Velveeta incident. Actually, now that I thought about it, nobody would be very happy about it; that smell never went away.

"You're hiding something," Edward accused quietly. I rolled my eyes at him in exasperation. No shit, Sherlock. All the same, keep your magnifying glass to yourself before it gets shoved up a certain unnamed area of your anatomy, please and thank you. And don't think I won't.

"Edward, everybody's hiding something. There's something wrong with you if you don't in this day and age," I retorted irritably. "Whatever it is I may hide-- and mind you, I'm not saying I am-- is absolutely none of your beeswax. Extend that courtesy to me, and I will extend the same to you. After all," I murmured, tilting my head back challengingly at him, "there's not many families that have the same golden eyes and cold skin-- especially if they're supposedly all related through adoption. Right, Edward?"

Ah, there was just something so immensely satisfying about the way he took a step back and goggled at me with a completely poleaxed expression. Ha. He didn't find it so amusing when the tables were turned on him, did he?

"How did you..." Edward trailed off, looking furious again. For cripes' sake, was he bipolar? Just pick an emotion and stick to it, already!

"I'm psychotic, not oblivious, Edward," I said calmly. Well, actually I was just taking a shot in the dark, but whatever worked. "I wasn't even going to bring it up until you started in on this crap. So listen here," I snarled, enthusiastically latching on to the opportunity to release some frustration. I grabbed him by the shirt collar and yanked him down so his face was level with mine, forcing him to bend down at an awkward angle due to our drastic height differences. "Stay out of my business, or else your business will become mine. And you're really not going to like it when I poke my nose where it doesn't belong. Capiche?"

Edward said nothing, staring down at me with some kind of fascinated shock in his golden eyes. I guess no one had ever done the equivalent of backhanding him in the face and telling him what was what before. I took his silence for agreement and released his shirt; he withdrew slowly, rubbing the back of his neck cautiously.

Guilt made a return trip to my stomach at the thought that I might have hurt him; I did my best to ignore it. After all, it was more than likely that he would have tried to hurt me if he knew the truth. Sadly enough, I liked Edward (asshat though he was) and his family. I wouldn't have minded being friends, but that was probably a slim to none chance now that I had made an allusion to their Dread Secret. Whatever that was.

People would get so ridiculously touchy about certain things-- you just had to learn where to poke and how hard. Unfortunately for Eddy-boy, I had years of experience in that particular area under my belt.

"I'm so glad we had this talk," I said with mock brightness, audaciously reaching up to pat his cheek condescendingly. His eyes darkened back into to anger and I bit back a smug smirk. Honestly, if he was this easy to rile up, I could forgo the whole 'friends' issue and kick him around like a soccer ball all year.

A little voice in my head commented that that might be misconstrued as sadism. I sternly told the little voice where to shove it and smiled widely up at Edward before fluttering my fingers in a sardonic farewell and turning my back on him to return to the waiting room.

I could almost hear him fuming behind me.

And so the games begin, I mused as I strolled down the hallway. Let's see how Edward Cullen likes the ones with my rules.

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Edward Cullen stood inhumanly still, his mind wiped blank from shock as he stared after Phil's retreating form. It seemed to be a reoccuring theme whenever they met, now that he thought about it. He shooke his head to snap himself out of his daze, his brain chasing after the new discoveries that were flittering around his skull.

This wasn't what the vampire had expected when he'd followed Phil to the bathroom in hopes of overhearing her phone call. Gifts. What did the woman on the phone mean when she said 'gift'? Phil hadn't seemed to appreciate the title however, from the way she had spat it out and relabeled it as 'curse'. What was it about these 'gifts' that made that furiously animalistic tone of loathing surface in her voice?

Perhaps...these 'gifts' were of the same category as his own family's? It was a distinct possibility. He hadn't heard Phil move from when she had been shouting down the phone, and yet she claimed she had been running all over the bathroom to batter at everything in her anger. It was something he could easily picture her doing, but all the same...

Edward had caught the scent of lightning that seemed to arise whenever the young girl's wrath was stoked. And come to think of it, he had smelled it again earlier today, when the van had almost...

The thought of Phil's small body crushed cruelly underneath the van's bulk made his throat tighten unexpectedly-- partially, he admitted shamefully to himself, at the thought of her sweet blood spilled so carelessly across the pavement.

But Tyler's van had apparently collided with something that had thrown it back when it had drawn so perilously close to Phil, and that something had sent it flying back with enough force to destroy the automobile. There was nothing that strong, except for another vampire...

Once again, however, Edward had to bring himself back from his imaginings by reminding himself that Phil's heart still pumped blood and she still possessed all capabilities of breathing. That did not, however, mean that she wasn't something else... a werewolf? No, she was much too small, and the terrible stench that followed all of their kind was absent from her. What was she, then?

In his memory, gray-green orbs glittered warningly. Stay out of my business, or else your business will become mine.

Unfortunately, Edward was curious about the tantalizing secrets Phil kept tightly locked away from the rest of the world. Surely he could find out what they were without too much fuss? She had nothing, nothing at all to convict his family of vampirism, only her own suspicions, surely--

Horrified with himself, Edward dragged his thoughts away from that track. Where had his consideration for his family, for Carlisle and Esme, his beloved parents, gone? Where had the devotion to the safety of his siblings gone to?

What had that girl done to him, he wondered, a stirring of the old resentment from last week raising its malignant head in his chest.

Edward remembered with an uneasy jolt the ease with which the girl had managed to pull him down to her level to hiss her warning in his face, and even further back when she had stabbed him with her pen. He knew perfectly well the strength it took for a vampire to be moved, and it was well beyond any human's capabilities. Perhaps there was some weight to her carefully veiled threats after all.

Well, curiousity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back, he thought with grim amusement. Edward could only hope that satisfaction would be enough in this case. Next time, Phil might not be so kind as to use a pen when attempting to inflict damage on his person. He wouldn't put it past her to keep a samurai sword underneath her bed.

Edward sighed, and bid farewell to boredom and peace-- presumably for a long, long time.

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Bah, I don't like this chapter, but it needed to be written and gotten out of the way. That said, stay tuned for Chapter 3: Tomorrow Doesn't Look So Good Either! Have no fear, I won't make you wait for it as long as this one, I've graduated high school and I'll have some free time-- for a while, anyway. I promise, it won't drag like this one. (scowls grouchily and pokes at the chapter in disgruntlement) I swear, I started out well, but I don't know where I went wrong...

Anyway, on a more random note, I picked out two songs for Edward and Phil that depict (or will, in the near future) their feelings for each other. Here they are!

Edward: Just The Girl by Click Five
Phil: Get Tangled Up in Me by Skye Sweetnam

Read and Review, please!