I'm going to try to update every weekend or every other weekend from now on!
Also, thank you everyone for the kind reviews.
I appreciate all of you who even take the time to look at my story, I really do. You all make my week.

Goodnight,
Anna

Not even two hours later, my hands were flying over the keyboard of my laptop. I had searched things such as anger triggers and am I crazy?

Humor me, I thought.

I clicked on a seemingly professional website that outlined the basic symptoms and signs of a werewolf. Things such as unusual or excessive temper and excessive strength showed up in the article, but nothing particularly caught my eye. It wasn't as if I was a werewolf, that was just what came up. It was ridiculous. I chuckled at my antics.

My yelling at Jacob had been a mistake. I had not meant to throw things at him and scream, it just kind of happened. I was not ready for that burst of strong emotions to hit me all at the same time. It threw me off course, to say the least.

I jumped up to look at the door when it creaked, instinctively pulling the top of my laptop down so the search was private. It was Emily, who held a tray of muffins and smiled warmly at me.

"Afternoon," she said cheerily, setting the tray on the bed. Her gaze wandered down to my laptop and back up to my cross expression. "What's up?"

"I was just searching around," I said, shrugging. She would think I was crazy if she knew the reason my search history was overflowing with psychiatric websites. Especially if she knew what had gone on in the morning between Jacob and I.

"I've never been home alone, actually. It was a bit nerve wracking, so I kept myself occupied."

She pulled up the slanted screen of my laptop so that the page was exposed. I thought she would laugh or look confused by my search, but instead she looked extremely displeased. "Jacob was here, wasn't he?"

I nodded, but looked at her in uncertainty. "What does the webpage have to do with him?"

My face softened and breathing slowed, but my heart still felt like an animal of prey that was running for its life.

"You're searching like a madwoman, you're cross, and his boots are in the doorway. Do I need anymore clues?" she listed, putting down a finger for each detail. "And as for the webpage, it was just a coincidence."

The corners of my mouth lifted, but it was barely enough to be considered a smile. Her eyes flashed with something that was short-lived. Remorse. She was lying and trying to hide it from me. It had happened before with people who lied much better than she did so I knew the signs by now.

A staring match went on between her and I for a couple of minutes, daring the one to spill first. I had a big mouth, so of course I was the one to say something first. "He said something to me and got angry. I started screeching and pushing him."

She snorted and rubbed a hand over her eyes. "It doesn't matter. He's an asshole."

I stared back at her my thoughts running wild for a few seconds before saying, "I saw red Emily. I couldn't stop myself, I threw things at him too. It was petty, but I couldn't control myself." My eyes started to tear up again and I pressed my fingers into them. It stifled it momentarily, but I knew more tears would come later if I was not careful. "I felt like I wasn't in my body— like I couldn't feel who I was anymore. I don't know what's wrong with me."

"Hey, it's okay," she said. She moved closer to me and gently put an arm around my shoulder. "Don't cry."

"As you can see, I'm trying not to," I weakly said. "I've just— in the past year had so much shit happen in my life and I came here to get away from it. And I'm creating more."

"Bi . . . what did he say to you?"

No.

I shook my head at her question. No wasn't exactly a valid response to her question, but still.

No.

"Bianca Alison Uley, you tell me right now."

You are not my mother. Do not use my full name like I am obligated to tell you.

"I told you, I got mad for nothing. He just said something about it being better if I hadn't come here," I replied with a small smile to put her at ease. It was a fake smile, one I had given so many times before. I had perfected it throughout the years and now it always worked.

She smiled back, but I could see through her act. Her demeanor was displeased and she was looking at me with a wise look, as if she knew everything even though she knew nothing. Emily looked at the world through rose-colored glasses. Everything was perfect to her, my mother always said. She was the perfect girl for Sam, the yin to his yang. I loved that about her, her bubbly personality, the way she walked with confidence, her horrifyingly beautiful battle scar.

I was sure my mother told Sam and Em the things that happened back at home. And sure enough, the subject was changed after a narrowing of eyes on my part.

"Do you want to go get pizza?" She asked tentatively. I had not realized I was hungry until she asked. I had forgotten to eat today, it was a common occurrence for me. My stomach was grumbling in a range of different ways, making me feel a little queasy and nod my head at her.

"Yeah, I could go for some pizza. What about your muffins, though?" I replied, getting up from my spot on the bed. I pushed my laptop cover down into it clicked into its socket and the computer shut down, listening to Em as she spoke. She shrugged at me, lifting the tray into her hands.

"They'll get eaten if I leave them out on the counter. The boys drop in whenever they please," she said. "They eat whatever they please, too."

"Oh, okay," I said, shrugging. "Let's go get some pizza."

Emily and I got ourselves set pretty quickly. I threw on a sweatshirt over my pajamas and grabbed a pair of shoes on the way out of the house. We were pretty loud in the car, laughing, shouting, and singing like old friends. We first hit it off when she came to my birthday a few years ago with Sam. I liked her better than Sam's old girlfriend, Leah, who was always sort of a bitch. Emily was the complete opposite. It was funny how we had always gotten along.

Soon enough, we had made ourselves into the pizzeria. It was dimly lit and cozy with an array of windows lining the walls that served no purpose. It was always dreary and green in this place. I didn't think anybody wanted to see more green and grey scenery. Somehow, despite the obvious lack of sunlight filtering in through the windows, I made it through the sit.

The waiter came.

"Do you know what you want, or do you want the specials?"

He stared at Emily's scar for an inappropriate amount of time as he spoke, and I could see Emily squirming under his gaze. I glared and mumbled under my breath. I wanted food really bad, and I could not stand to see her uncomfortable anymore. She was beautiful and so was her scar. It was a symbol of strength, survival, endurance and just how fucking amazing of a person she was. She did not deserve to be gawked at like some museum attraction.

"Hello?" I waved a hand across his face. "I know she's beautiful. You can tell her if you want to, don't be shy, asshole."

I am totally, irreversibly, insane.

He looked at me in shock, his pen still poised to write our order. His mouth started to fathom the beginning of a sentence, but abruptly closed shut and gave a dazzling smile. Expectantly, he gestured with his pen towards us as if to say order.

"I want a medium half pineapple and ham pizza—," I said. "Em?"

Her face was twisted into a mask of spite and loveliness, a deadly combination. "—Half of it's going to be mushroom and spinach."

"Spinach? Huh, I always took you for a sausage and tomato type of girl," I joked in attempt to get he rot smile. She smiled, much to my delight, and stared through her rose-colored glasses at the man who had previously silently insulted her. It was not a hard thing for her. Her grudges could always be released and everything forgiven.

"Thank you," she said, smiling at the man. Darrick— I read on his nametag— looked horribly confused. He gave us a quick, weary glance before cleaning up, clearing our table for when the pizza came, and leaving as fast as he could. I laughed loudly and the people from the next table glared at me.

"Sorry," I mumbled guiltily. Emily shoved a hand over her mouth in attempts to stop an oncoming fit of giggling, but she could not hold it in. Her laughs rang out through the pizzeria, shortly after followed by mine. It was a contagious lunch, filled with giggling and a little bit of choking on pizza, but we made it out alright. I ate more than I was used to, downing a record seven slices of pizza, three of them spinach pieces that Emily could not finish. Even after, my hunger was not silenced, but I forced myself to stop eating. It was greedy to eat more than two, my mother used to say. As far back as I could remember, four medium-sized slices always filled me up.

Today, apparently seven could not even do the trick.

"Em," I said before I burped and chugged down another half of a sprite. "What time is it?"

"It is . . ." she pulled a small phone out of her pocket and stared at the lit screen. "Seven thirty-five."

"Where is Sam?"

"He was working the last time I heard from him."

She looked at me expectantly as I prepared another question in my mind to keep the chain of questions continuing. I wondered about the tribal legends and the height of all of Sam's friends (I sure as hell knew it wasn't a Quilete thing.) I wanted to know so much more than that, but I did not want to bring up what I really wanted to know.

Where was my dad, and why when did he become an alcoholic?

My mother, despite her mellowness in her old age, would not send me to live with somebody piggish— or potentially dangerous. It perfectly explained why she dropped me off at Sam's house, though. She probably did not want to have to deal with me staggering asshole of a father, bless his soul.

He was never a good father. Mom kicked him out of the house when Sam was twelve and I was seven and never told me why. The question "why is my daddy never home, and the other kids' fathers are always home" was always nagging me in the back of my head, especially as a kid, but overtime I got over it and just accepted reality as it was. He was my father. I was required to love him, even if he was hardly in my life.

"He's an alcoholic," she shrugged. "Always falling on his face. Sam went to visit him once. He almost killed him."

She said the words nonchalantly, as if my brother almost killing my father was a normal occurrence. I gaped at her in disbelief and worry. Not for him or sam, or even for me, but for her. The voice she used when talking about him was so coldhearted and annoyed, as if he personally did something to her.

"He gets angry when we mention dad," I guessed. Emily touched the scarred side of her face with a tender hand and placed it on the table all in a split second. I noted she did not want me to see what she had been doing with concern. What did any of this have to do with her scar?

"Yeah," she said lowly. Her voice was the quietest I had ever heard it.

"Noted."

Oh, Sam, you messed up somehow, didn't you?

I did not press further, but instead prompted we go home so we could get a good nights sleep. My sleep cycle was off here, since I couldn't sleep the first night. I also took a lot of naps during the day and somehow messed up my sleep hours for the night.

Once we got home, I immediately checked the muffin tray to see if they were gone. Unsurprisingly, they were all gone except a few crumbs scattered around the plate. I bid Emily goodnight after that and tucked myself into a bed that did not feel like my own. I laid my head on an unfamiliar pillow, and pulled unfamiliar covers up to my chin. The events of today raced through my head in endless loops, throwing things, having fits, getting pizza, and heart-to-heart talks with Emily. Once I was here for more than a week, everything would sort itself out.

"Goodnight, Sam!" I yelled, not expecting him to be home from work. It was worth a shot, though.

"Goodnight!" I heard a muffled voice yell back. "Love you!"

Love you too, Sam. I really do.