Author's Note. Thank you to everyone who has reviewed! I really appreciate it, but please do let me know what you think as I do want to work on improving my writing!

BATTERIES 04

Cause these days are so long, and these drinks are so tall,
And I've been spending my time counting the minutes
Just to feel consistent.

I look dreadful, my eyes are wild and are plastered with running mascara, my hairs a tangled mess and I'm pretty sure if I even attempted to brush it; I'd lose the hairbrush. I stare at my face, trying to keep my eyes away from my neck. I daren't look, I truly hope there's not a thin red line there because that means that last night actually happened, and it can't be. It just can't.

My eyes catch me off guard and steal a glance at my neck. It's there alright. It creeps around from the side of neck, and then I see it. Slicing through the front half of my neck, it's turned slightly upwards at the end, in a grim smile. It's laughing at me. I actually scream this time. I touch it. It stings. I know I won't be able to cover it up with foundation. I think about pretending to be ill, but I'm not that good an actor. I can't cover it up with a scarf either because it's 30 degrees outside. I stifle a scream.

Since my hair's a mess, I put it up with a clip but I let some of it escape in order the cover the scar, it doesn't work very well, though it's better than nothing at all. I sigh.

I head towards the small bathroom, when I get in there's wet towels crowding the floor, Rowan, my 19 year old brother. He's probably already out of the house now, working his oh so amazing job, serving food at McDonalds because that's soworth giving up collage for. I'll yell at him when he gets home, hopefully he won't have brought a girl home this time.

Images flash into my head as I wipe the mascara off my face, Simon looking wild-eyed and fragile, the boy blonde boy, holding a knife to my throat, Clary who I presume is the redhead, chasing after Simon and Tyler, outside the café looking confused and angry. A shiver runs up my spine, I don't think I can bare seeing Simon today, I don't think I can bare his terrible beauty, I don't think I can bare his perfect grace, I don't think I can bare his jet black eyes.

Come on Lesley, you need to man up; you need to be stronger if you're going to survive, remember what that boy said.

And I do, vividly. I remember it as if it is happening right now, I can feel the knife against my skin, I can hear his words, I can feel the wind slashing at my face. He said I need to be armed at all times, where am I going to get a knife? Then it hits me, my Dad's dagger. He told me it had been handed down through the generations in my family, that it was well over 100 years old, but it should do.

I dart around the house, rummaging through various draws and cupboards, no sign of it. Wait, my Dad's bedside table. I dash into my Dad's bedroom. I pull open the draw of his bedside table, nearly pulling it completely out. I wrinkle my nose. His room stinks of cigarettes, I hate smokers.

I rummage around for a while, pulling out various papers and ugh, condoms. And there it is, the sunlight bouncing off it reflects back into my eyes, I squint. It's shinning and looks brand new, as if it was bought yesterday. There are no traces of finger prints on it, I pick it up and notice there's something engraved on the handle. To R. J. Harris, from your beloved father. I feel a pinch of guilt as wrap it up in a kitchen towel and slip it into my school bag. I hope never have a chance to use it.

I look at the clock in the kitchen, it reads 8:04 – I need to hurry up. I open up a cupboard to see if there's any waffles I can eat as a dash out of the door. It's empty, damn Rowan.

In the end I just grab one of the few edible apples left, sling my bag over my shoulder and dash out the door, I know I am late and I pray that Tyler hasn't left without me. My question is instantly answered when I find myself standing outside my apartment block, no blue truck in sight, crap.

I don't even bother to look along the sidewalk for the second-hand Ford Fiesta that Rowan and I share. Walking it is.

I check my watch, 8:17 – I'm going to be late for sure and what an impression that's going to make- the new girl, late on her second day. I sigh. This is so one of those fuck my life moments, though, questionably so is my entire life. You're so optimistic today Lesley.

Though I can't deny, that the walk is nice, it calms me down. The sun is almost blinding today, beams soar down, illuminating the darkness and shadows. I smile; the bad things only come out in the dark. For the first time since I saw him, I feel safe.

That is until a black mini flys around the corner and pulls up next to me. I freeze. The smile's been wiped off my features.

"Les? Chill it's me!" A familiar voice calls from inside the car, reluctantly, I peer in, through the wound down window. At the driver's seat sits a petite girl with mousey brown hair that rests in messy waves cascading down her shoulders. She grins wolfishly, stretching the freckles that are splattered over her nose and high cheekbones. "Need a ride?"

I pull the corners of my lips up as high as I can muster, which isn't much and merely nod in return. "Hey Em."

"Hey yourself!" She chirps, not noticing my unusual mood, "get in whore!"

I open the stiff door of the mini and climb in; I throw my bag into the back and before I know it, we're speeding away.

"Thanks Emily," I murmur, angling my body to face her. She doesn't reply but merely gives me a half-hearted smile in return. "I didn't see you at the coffee shop last night."

This time she doesn't even bother plaster a fake smile upon her face, but instead frowns. "Tyler and I are fighting."

"Oh, I'm sorry."

"It's fine, well it's not," Emily mutters, her yellow eyes glassy. "It will be fine, he's just so, uptight you know?"

"It's Tyler, he always acts like he has a stick shoved up his ass."

With that she laughs, really laughs. I give her a meek smile, shocked at my comment. Ever since I moved here, I don't really feel like it's me saying all these things. It's almost as if I'm merely the puppet and someone's controlling me, forcing me to do all these things, I don't feel like me. I don't even really know who me is anymore. I feel like I'm a shadow of a person, just the remains of someone else who took off and left.

"Holy crap Lesley!" A perky voice shouts, plunging me out of my thoughts. We're in the school car park now, in one of the spaces near the football field. And there, staring at me through her yellow-eyed gaze is Emily. She seems to have returned to her usual self. I sigh, there's no possible way I'm going to get out of this. "What the hell happened to you?"

"Jeeze Emily, you scared the crap out of me." I retort, hoping she didn't notice that I'd avoided her question.

Emily puffs, shooting a gust of air which causes her bangs to temporarily wave up and down uncontrollably. "I obviously didn't scare the crap out of you enough because you still look like crap."

Oh Emily, you're much too nice. The sarcastic comment rung in my head, normally I wouldn't have said such a thing, never mind thought it, but after a questionable morning I actually debated saying it to her. But then I remembered her glassy yellow eyes moment earlier and instead mutter a defeated, "Thanks Emily," instead.

The second we walk in the doors the bell screeches, signalling that first period's about to begin.

And in a matter of seconds, doors are being thrust open and what seems like millions of students are pouring out of each, making what was an empty, quiet hallway merely moments ago become a queue to get into Twilight, pushing and shoving, shouting and cursing, kissing and –a sudden spark amidst the crowd catches my attention – smoking?

I walk by Eric. He whistles at me. I run, colliding with a tall jock, he looks down at me and grumbles. I try not to scream. My head is now buzzing with unanswered questions that the smarter side of my brain prays are never answered. Is Eric like Simon? If so, what are they?

I sigh. My life is spiralling out of control and there's no way to stop it.

There is one way to stop it, to gain control...

No. I am not going down that road again. No. I shake my head as if that dismisses the thought all together, but it doesn't. Though I really wish it did.

We pass a tall blonde girl who bumps Emily's shoulder, who, at exact same moment in time makes a sound that oddly resembles that of a snake. The girl stops dead in her tracks, and whirls around, making an unexpected gust of wind. She places her hands on her hips, thrusting glares Emily's way that I'm sure would've have made a little girl cry.

"Bitch." Barks the girl.

"Slut."

The girl grinds her teeth so hard; I swear I can hear small pieces of them falling off. "I. Am. Not. A. Slut." She takes a single footstep in our direction, her hands balling into fists.

A small grin appears on Emily's face and I can practically see the light bulb appear over the top of her head. "Oh I'm SO sorry Courtney, would whore work better for you?" She pauses as Courtney scowls; Violet presses her finger to her lips. "You know what, you're right Courtney, I think the word prostitute is the best match."

I have to make an obscene effort to hide my grin. I find myself leaning in, excited to hear Courtney's comeback.

But shamefully all she says is, "URGHHH. You'll regret that soon enough Fowler." And then marches away, literally right down the middle of the crowd that had formed to watch the catfight, apparently Emily and Courtney were no strangers when it comes to catfights with each other, and the catfights are appearing to be quite famous, especially amongst the opposite gender.

Emily, laughing so hard that there are actually tears streaming down her face, darts through the disappointed crowd (the majority of which, are boys moaning that was no slapping and hair pulling), dragging me with her, constantly muttering things like, 'I so owned her!' and, '.' I couldn't help but roll my eyes at her exceptional glee.

"-did you hear me Lesley?" I turn to stare at her, bewilderment clear on my face. She sighs and knits her eyebrows together. "We have math next, and not only the eye candy of hot daummmn Mr Richards but with the incredibly sexy a la Simon and Eric."

"You didn't use French correctly then, you know." At least I don't think so; I'd never paid any attention in French. I point out and I give her a confused look, pretending that I don't know who Simon and Eric are. She then went into a whole speech about the top 20 'hotties' of the school and how both were on the list and reasonably high up.

She points them both out the very second we enter the classroom.

"Well, I for one don't find them that cute." I say in an almost snobbish tone that I hadn't originally intended.

Emily stops in midstride, her mouth hung in agape, her eyes wide, similar to that of someone who had just been slapped in the face. "WHAT?" She shuts her gaping mouth with her hand. "Are you lesbian or something?"

"No, I'm just-" scared to death of them, partially Simon.I struggle to find the right words, I was never very good at being put on the spot. "You know what. If that shuts you up, yes I am a lesbian. But, just so you know, I'm not, I'm straight. Though you're welcome to think that if it shuts you up."

I smile and wander over to my seat, proud of my unexpected remark and the fact that Emily is still gaping at it.

But that smile is instantly wiped off my face when Mr Richardson announces that we have to partner up to go through last night's homework, and that my partner will be none other than Simon who I vowed I would avoid at all costs. Even though I had to agree with Emily that Mr Richardson was cute and it was only two days into the school year, I was developing a very strong hatred of Mr Richardson.