Hey I'm sorry I haven't been writing! My life has been hectic with school and stupid drama. There is some Japanese in this chapter and I hope I don't offend anyone because I don't speak too much Japanese and had to use Google translate so it probably isn't accurate. Well I hope you like it anyway, enjoy!

Death had it's clammy fingers draped around my neck. Its bitterly chilling breath eased down my throat, making my shell hollow and cold. Consciousness prodded at the transparent curtain separating life from death. What lingered on the other side of that curtain, I hadn't the slightest clue. All I knew was that my body had been set ablaze for my skin wept from the hot licks of flame. I would have writhed from the pain, had my paralyzed self been capable of doing so. All I could hear were my ragged breaths as Death chattered in my ear, speaking in a language unbeknownst to me. A language of strange, high pitched squeals and clicks, each syllable pounding into the tender material of my brain.

Make it stop. I pleaded to anyone who might hear me. Please, make it stop.

I began to stir, I could feel the minuscule muscles in my pinky give a triumphant twitch. Death clawed at me madly in an attempt to claim me as its own as alertness bubbled to the surface of my comatose-like state. A strangled groan leapt from my chest but became ensnared in my throat. Cotton scratched at my burning arms and legs, I was drowning in the rough material. Chemicals plunged into my nostrils making me dizzy and that persistent beeping continued to hammer at my patience. My eyes flickered behind lids that refused to lift.

As though muffled with a thick blanket, a voice murmured, "Miss Hastings?"

I closed my hand in on itself, capturing scratchy bed sheets in my palm. Another groan sounded, this time pushing past parted lips.

A loud scraping sound filled the room, as though a chair had been drug across the floor.

"Miss Hastings, are you awake?"

A sliver of sight was granted to me as my right lid struggled to raise itself.

An aging man of oriental heritage sat at my bedside. His skin was a startling white, as though it had never felt the sun's gentle kiss. Wire frame glasses sat on the bridge of a profound nose and behind its lenses sparked the eyes of someone of great intelligence. My lips parted in a questioning manner.

Who was this man?

"I see, so you are," he nodded. "Do you know why you're here?"

Here. Where is here? Through my one good eye I took in the bleached room around me. A hospital room? I held back a startled gasp when my gaze fell to the bed I rested in. Sheets blanketed my lap, making whatever lay beneath a mystery. What I found most startling was the tubes that raced across the bed rails, leading to my body.

"You were in an accident, you're in one of the Hastings' Hospitals," the man said slowly.

It hit me all at once. Karin's grave, my biting words towards Father, the impact of the crash.

Father! My left lid opened, both eyes now functioning. Was he alright? I tried to ask the strange man but it appeared there was something in my mouth, making speech nearly impossible. Something that snaked down my throat. Another tube.

I suppressed a shudder from such a feeling of discomfort and urged the man to continue with my eyes.

"My name is Mister Ootori, I'll be taking you back to Japan with me. You see . . ."

Ootori? The same Ootori we were on our way to see before the accident? This was the man whom my father would do business with?

"Your father is dead."

I blinked. Surely I had misheard him. He couldn't be dead, my last words to him . . .

"I hate you! It should have been you who died, not Karin!"

A hand composed of little more than bone and skin found my right wrist. My eyes flickered over to Mister Ootori's grave face. I suppose the gesture was meant to be comforting, but more than anything, it was unnerving.

"It was your father's final wish that I would take you into my care," he started, his calm voice so different from my wavering heart. "You'll be happy in Japan, I have a son who is a year older than you, he'll help you get settled."

Questions sprang forward, each demanding immediate attention. Was Father really gone? Why was this man, a complete stranger to me, taking me home to live with him? Didn't my mother want me?

I let the curtains of my eyes be lowered, part of me wishing it would be the final time and I could slip back into darkness.

Back into Death's embrace.

"This is where you'll be staying, Mister Ootori's daughter and youngest son live here." the maid explained to me.

I said nothing. Words had long since abandoned me. I no longer hungered for conversation, or desired to taste a sweet song on my lips. My very being had been emptied, a hollow loneliness taking root in my heart.

It had been months since the accident. I later found out I had been in a coma for three weeks and in those three weeks my father had withered away in the room across the hall from mine. My injuries had been reduced to ugly bruises and marring of scars on my body. The lick of burn marks were dulled as was the pain. But it was still there.

I stepped past the maid, dragging my luggage across the tile, the uneven wheels whirring and clicking along with a steady hum. The foyer was large and the design was open, leading into a vast living room. My eyes swept the scene, searching for the whereabouts of my new room. I could still feel the sting of finding out that the only person who had considered taking me in was Mister Ootori. Apparently even my mother had agreed to this arrangement, not wanting to house me.

"Ma'am?"

I turned to face the maid.

"You're room is this way," she nodded her head towards a grand staircase.

Reluctance took hold of me, but I drug my feet across the floor, painstakingly slow and ascended the stairs, following her. I kept my hand on the banister, not because my footing was unsteady, but because at that moment I needed to know something steady was within reach and could hold me up. I wasn't used to being the frail creature the doctors made me out to be. That had been Karin, I was the tough one. I was Melanie Hastings: independent, strong, and stubborn with a sharp tongue always cocked and loaded.

Now I was Melanie Hastings: pitiful, alone, weak, and one shove short of falling off the deep end. I had been stripped of everything, including my identity.

The staircase's mouth led us to a lengthy hallway, dimly lit by expensive light fixtures. Their weak glow danced off walls a purple so dark they appeared to be black. It was an oddly cold feeling given off by the hall and I wondered how someone could stand to live in such a lifeless environment.

I held in a startled gasp when one of the many doors suddenly swung open nearby. An impassive face leered from the darkness of the doorway and broke into the soft glow of light I was drowning in.

The face belonged to a boy of great height. He was slender, with a torso lacking the muscle definition of other boys his age. His limbs were long, and as terrible as it may sound I imagined he never had trouble reaching objects on shelves well above my head. Clean swept hair of a raven hue hung over piercing eyes trained on a book nestled in his hands which were just as lithe as the rest of him.

The maid dropped into a deep curtsy beside me. "Greetings young master," she murmured.

I stole a glance at the humble woman beside me. Young master? Was this the Kyoya Ootori I had been told about? He did mildly resemble Mister Ootori with his dark hair and ivory skin.

The boy looked up, light dancing off his wire framed glasses. His eyes leapt over the maid and rested on me. He seemed to drink me in, trying to drown my image in his eyes, dark pools against a stark white.

He downed a generic smile. "You must be Miss Hastings, welcome."

Something inside me stirred restlessly. Not happiness, not shyness, not even anxiety. It was pure discontent. My eyes sparked with a hateful malevolence.

"I don't like your smile, it doesn't reach your eyes."

I pushed past the confused boy and left him with the maid whose mouth now hung open so wide, it was in danger of reaching the lavish carpet on the hall's floor.

I had meant every syllable in that one sentence and I hoped I was able to convey my distaste for the lad. It had only taken me that short encounter to see what sort Kyoya Ootori was. I could tell from his refined posture that he thought highly of himself. His smile, devoid of any true emotion, was no more than a pleasant looking accessory, like a necklace, used to charm the dim witted minds of others. His voice had been smooth, never rising and never falling, meaning he was sure of himself, calculating every word he intended to say, perhaps determining which sentences would serve to bring him some form of gain. And though his nose had only been slightly upturned, it implemented arrogance.

This was the person who would be my ally in my darkest of times? He would be my friend as I struggled through an unseemly sense of abandonment? I shook my head, pushing on the wood of a random door, not caring where it would lead me as long as it was away from that boy.

The room, like the rest of the house, was absent of light. I felt blindly for a light switch, my palm grazing the wall. I found it at last and upturned its nose, flooding the room with wonderful light.

It was a bedroom, bathed in shades of cream. A canopy hung suspended over a four poster bed. Uniformal ruffles frosted the beds top and ran around the sides of the comforter. Curious feet carried me over to its foot, past a large mahogany wardrobe and vanity dresser. Reaching down, I touched my fingertips to the bed, feeling smooth sheets, as gentle on my skin as a kitten's breath would be.

"You know, it's very rude for your first words toward a person to be, 'I don't like your smile,'"

I kept my back to the conceited young man, not thinking him worth the effort of turning.

"Haven't you heard of knocking?" I shot back, regardless of relevance.

Shoes slapped at the hardwood floor, their loud chatter only ceasing when they reached plush carpet. His shadow crept over me, holding me tight in its grasp. I estimated he was about three feet away from me.

"This is my home," he started. "You, my guest, have just welcomed yourself into a room I do not remember allowing admittance to."

Now I did turn, not for his sake but for mine. I wanted to cut the insolent boy with my sharp gaze. To show him how much I was hurting and that I didn't need him adding to my leaden burden.

I had miscalculated on how close he was. My eyes met his chest, his breath pouring over top my head. Scowling, I raised my eyes to meet his. I imbibed my unease at his closeness.

"I do not need this pestering from you right now," I started, trying to keep my voice smooth like his. "Can you not let me settle in and get accustomed to my new abode? Have I not gone through enough?"

He leaned forward, bending down to my level.

"I was simply going to suggest I show you to your proper room."

I cursed my reddened cheeks as embarrassment took hold of me. Alright, so he really was trying to help me, not make my life more difficult. I had jumped to the first conclusion fabricated, convinced he only meant me bothersome annoyance. I then realized how rude my greeting to him earlier really was.

"I . . . I'm sorry for my harsh words earlier." I stammered.

He straightened up, his arms folding over his chest. "I accept your apology Miss Hastings," he sighed as though my expression of regret were trivial.

I wet my dried lips, keeping my eyes down. I did not wish to fall victim under his gaze, thus strengthening my newfound shame.

"Would you be so kind as to show me to my room?" I finally asked.

"Your room?" He asked. "This is it. Be sure to clean yourself up before dinner."

I watched in disbelief as he sauntered out of the room. So he was just fooling around with me! He wasn't trying to help! He had deliberately made me feel shame that I should not have.

I clenched my teeth planting my foot firmly on the ground.

"I hate you, Kyoya Ootori!"

I scrutinized the bright yellow with distaste.

"I won't wear it," I announced to no one in particular, discarding the monstrosity over side my bed.

Sliding off my mattress, I made my way over to the wardrobe, downing clothes more to my liking; a modest, black shirt and worn jeans. I cared not whether I would be ridiculed for my choice of garb. These people didn't know me and therefore had no right to pass judgment.

A light knock came from my door, the maid's voice coming through, muffled by the wood. "Ma'am, it's time for you and the young master to go to school."

I let out a defeated sigh as her words reached my ears. Ouran Academy awaited my arrival that morning, the prodigious school Kyoya Ootori and now myself would attend. I had been told the entrance exams for the facility were nearly impossible to pass, but coming from such wealth, I like many other of the occupants did not need to take such an exam to get in. I wondered bitterly what sort of institution this would be, if one didn't even need to take an exam simply because their funds were of an ample amount. It made me wonder . . .

What would the intelligence of my other classmates be?

Something told me it would be lacking.

With a heavy heart and reluctant feet, I slung my book bag over my shoulder. Dragging my unwilling being over to my door, I gave its knob a sharp twist and pushed forward in order to slip into the drab hallway. Its vacancy was not surprising, according to my cellphone I was running a good twelve minutes late. Kyoya was probably waiting in the limo with nothing but his impatience to hinder him.

My accusation appeared to be correct, for when I finally made it to the humming vehicle, the young man was in a foul mood.

"You're late," he drulled as I slid in, slamming the door shut behind me before the chauffeur could get his fingertips on the handle.

I buckled my seat belt into place without a word. My heart's pace had hastened, and my stomach had tightened in on itself. The last time I had been in the back seat of a limousine, the drive had ended in a barrel roll sealing my father's demise. When I had first arrived in Japan, I was flown over in a private jet and taken back to the estate in a fairly nice car. But I was not required to take any limousine.

Kyoya raised his brow in mild curiosity. "Everything alright?"

"I'm fine!" I snapped, folding my arms over my stomach, feeling that if I didn't, it would leap up and out of my mouth. I forced my fingers to cease their incessant shaking.

The vehicle pulled out onto open road, furthering the extent of my discomfort. I leaned back on the leather, letting its cool touch help ease my anxiety as it leaked through the thin fabric of my shirt. Closing my eyes, I focused on my breathing.

"You're not wearing your uniform."

I opened an eye to see Kyoya peering at me in a discourteous manner. I took on a discontented lour.

"I am in the middle of grieving the loss of my father," I started tartly, "Can you not allow me to bear grief's colors and cease your pestering?"

He raised his hands. "Calm down, I was only making an observation."

"Even if I weren't grieving I would refuse to wear such apparel," I grumbled, "It makes me look like a giant lemon drop."

"You realize no one wears black during mourning anymore," was his only reply.

I turned my attention the the tinted window to my right. My original expectations of Japan proved to be not entirely correct. The big cities like Tokyo were indeed crowded, and I had expected the rest of the island to be. But it turned out it wasn't all concrete. Driving down the road I saw that the city thinned out a bit, revealing a cluster-like town with some grass that sprang up from the ground, rather than concrete. My eyes found the vast academy quickly, for the grand building towered over all the others like a god among men. My disquiet was forgotten as I took in the skilled craftsmanship gone into sculpting such a beauteous structure. A laughing fountain sat before the institute, water tittering with joy as it danced up into the sky only to be brought back down again by gravity's inescapable pull. We pulled up beside it, its spittle peppering my window.

"I'm sorry."

I tore my eyes away from the window to look at Kyoya's placid profile, his eyes trained forward, so they wouldn't meet mine.

"For what?" I asked confused.

Was he apologizing for his attitude? Part of me hoped so, honestly I thought of him as a rude and arrogant fellow without so much as a shred of decency. Even though I had only known him for about a day.

"It just occurred to me I haven't shown my condolences for Mister Hastings' death. I am told he was a wonderful man."

Before I had a chance to search his face for honesty, he opened his door and slid out, leaving me alone with unanswered questions.

Hikaru had never despised being in the same class as his twin brother. But that was before.

Before he found out he had lied to him.

Kaoru sat at the other end of the room, his shoulders stooped low. It was a new school year and not only was Haruhi in a different class, but his brother now hated him. He wondered what would become of them, they had once been so close, now that bond had been severed. He looked over at Hikaru's despondent face. They should be sitting together, not apart from one another.

If only Hikaru would stop being mad at him long enough to listen to reason.

The room was alight with the mindless prattle of rich teenagers. Students discussed where they went during summer vacation and what they did. The Hiatachiin brothers had spent their free time away from one another. Before Kaoru had the chance to talk with his twin about what happened, Hikaru had taken off on the family jet to go to one of their family's summer homes.

Their teacher, a portly man with a receding hairline, dabbed his round face with a handkerchief, scanning the room. All seemed to be accounted for. He picked up the attendance sheets from his desk, staining the thin paper with greasy fingerprints. Going down the list, he muttered to himself, wiping his clammy palms on his trousers.

The sound of a door being opened tore through the chatter which dispersed into silence. The pupils spun in their chairs intrigued. Class had commenced. Who could possibly be so late?

Waves of nausea wracked my body. My hold on the handle was a weak one and I flirted with the idea of making a quick dash out of the building. I didn't belong here. I was supposed to be attending my own school back home with Karin. None of this should have happened.

This was wrong.

I knew I was late and I couldn't have cared less. My responsibilities as a new student here such as showing up to class on time seemed so trivial to me. I knew this wasn't the best attitude to hold so dear but I was not in the mood to be the perfect little girl high society had tried so desperately to breed me to be.

I entered, putting on a cold front and tried to ignore their curious stares. I set my eyes on my teacher, a man who had been crammed into a checkered sweater vest. It looked painful.

He retrieved a yellowing handkerchief from his pocket and swept away the pearls of sweat that had been strung on his forehead and dabbed his florid face.

"Dare ka anata?" He asked.

Panic took hold of me. Oh how I wished I had paid more attention in my Japanese class. In all the madness I had forgotten that I would have to be able to communicate in japanese. The Ootori's had conversed with me in english so it had completely slipped my mind. I still remembered some japanese from my lessons but only a few phrases.

Think Melanie, think. I thought hurriedly. What had did he just say? Using reason I came up with a conclusive answer.

In other words I took a wild jab in the dark.

He's probably asking who I am, right?

"Watashino namae wa Melanie Hastings desu."

His fish lips tugged up into a grin and for a moment I thought all might be well. Once, Japanese culture had captivated both Karin and I. That was why I had taken lessons. But after her death anything that reminded me of my sister no longer appealed to me. Luckily I still remembered some key phrases. Perhaps I would be able to make it to my desk without making a fool of myself.

"Watashi no kurasu e yōkoso. Watashi wa anata no sensei ni narimasu. Watashinonamaeha sensei Yamata desu. Anata no nihongo wa dōdesu ka?"

Apparently not. Just say something! I begged myself. Anything!

"Uh . . . Watashi no hobākurafuto wa unagi de ippai desu."

My teacher's already reddened face darkened to a deep scarlet as snickers from my classmates rolled across the room. I felt color rise to my own cheeks as I realized what I had just said.

My hovercraft is full of eels? That's what I chose to say?! Of everything– oh I am a fool.

I hadn't realized how limited my vocabulary was. I wore shame like a heavy cloak, draped around my body. Humiliation weighed down on me, making it difficult to stand properly. My sight became clouded with haze, shapes losing the once sharp edges and faces turning to on blurred circle. I blinked, as though I could wipe away the grimy filter of my eyesight with my lashes.

I started when a hand found my shoulder. Spinning around, I came face to face with a pair of yellow, catlike eyes. The boy brushed the ginger locks hanging in them and spoke.

"Do you speak English?" He asked.

I felt so relieved; someone I could communicate with.

"Yes," I said quickly with a nod.

The boy smiled and turned to our teacher. With him, we were able to relay messages and though some of my burden had been lifted, shame still stung my cheeks. If I was going to take a Japanese class I was going to have to learn to speak the language.

A pair of eyes bore into my back and turned me to face their gaze. A boy nearly identical to the one helping me sat with his elbows on his desk, chin resting on his laced fingers. I assumed they were twins. His amber orbs held a glow of curiosity. However, when they flickered from me to the boy beside me, a dark malevolence took over.

The redhead beside me turned to face me with a smile.

"There's an open seat by–"

"Me, come sit." His brother cut in.

Perplexed, I looked between the two. Our classmates had fallen into a hushed silence and were watching the spectacle as though it were a TV drama. I could feel the hostility in the air and I knew it wasn't because of me. These two were angry at each other, that was certain, but it definitely wasn't about where I sat. No. I was just a pawn they wanted to use to annoy the other with.

I was so tired of being a pawn.

I took a seat at the front between a chubby aristocratic boy and a lanky girl with dark eyes.

"Sup?" I asked.