I don't own Sky High.

My alarm clock blared and I winced rolling over to shut the damn thing off. Unfortunately in my hung-over state I 'accidentally smacked my alarm clock off of my bedside table. And yes, I did say hung-over folks.

See the thing about me and hating my life is that when I hate my life I feel the need to forget that small fact. Thus alcohol comes into the picture and makes everything wobble. In a wobbly picture I tend to think my life sucking is such a big fact. Thus sanity is achieved.

Sanity might have been achieved last night but I think murder is a probability this morning. I never have been able to hold my booze very well and now my head feels like its expanding inside my skull. Not to mention my liver, which feels like it's been punted to China and back.

Ugh, China. Chinese food. Cal. Kyle. Alex. The dastardly bastard Peace.

Funny how I can go from thinking about my liver to Pyro-I-Still-Don't-Know-His-First-Name-Peace. I actually could have bypassed five of those and just though of school.

Damn, school.

My alarm starts up again from the floor and causes my head to throb like it has a heartbeat of its very own. Nine minutes already? Oh, how the time goes when you're worried your internal organs have made trips across the world.

I reach for my clock and turn the stupid thing off before slipping out of bed. My warm feet touch the cool floorboards and I let out a hiss.

Stupid clock. Stupid school. Stupid liver. Stupid light. Stupid headache. Stupid floorboards.

Stupid world, I hate you.

I grasp the nearest clothes to me not even bothering to check if their clean, just if I wore them yesterday. When I notice that they aren't the clothes I wore the day before I shove them on nearly falling over while pulling on one of my pant legs. My leg ends up going through the hole in the knee.

"Son of a bitch." I groan before I get my pants on correctly. Once that little task is complete I go and hunt for a headache reliever.

I find some Excedrin in my mother's dusty and unoccupied room and dry swallow a few of them. My head hurts too much to bother finding water; I need the relief as soon as possible.

I don't have time for makeup or breakfast since I opted for sleep so I make my way downstairs and shrug on a jacket while throwing a few mints in my mouth to cover the bad breath that no doubt lingers there. Oh well, it's not like I'm trying to make a good impression on people or anything.

I run my fingers through my ridiculously short hair before I head out shouldering my backpack as I go. While on the street I slip my cigarettes from my coat pocket and pull one out with my lips. It dangles from its perch precariously as I try and light it.

It takes three tries to light the thing because I am a failure at using lighters but once it's lit it's worth it. It takes the edge off my hang-over and relaxes me a bit before I have to get on the bus. It's more like a mouth anyway because it'll take me right to the belly of the beast. Fucking Sky High, how I hate and detest you entirely.

I finally get to the bus stop a few minutes earlier and indulge myself in another smoke making a mental note to pick up another pack after school, I only had four left.

The junior bus rolled up as I was taking my last drag, the door swinging open on a frowning bus driver. He scowls as I drop it to the pavement and step on it with my combat boot as I step up the stairs. He wants to say something but my lethal glare -enhanced by my headache- halts him in his tracks.

There aren't many kids on so I plop down in an empty seat relaxing with my head against the window. Not a very good idea, honestly, because when the bus jerks forward my head bounces off the glass making it rattle and my brains to splatter all across the inside of my skull. Well, not literally, but you get the idea.

"Lovely." I muttered dryly, mostly to myself, as the bus glides down the street and I rub my head where a giant red mark is no doubt forming.

Could my day get any worse?

The bus jerks to a stop and I hit my face against the seat in front of mine. As I rub my head yet again contemplating hurting the driver of this fucking death trap I don't notice exactly how karma is paying me back.

But sure enough karma slips down the aisle and plops down… right next to me. A small insignificant noise is what alerts me to his present and I look up.

Now who could possibly sit next to me when I'm just a bad accident away from murdering half the bus?

Well, Peace. As if you hadn't already guessed as much.

"Go away." I say bluntly because my head hurts too much for sarcasm.

I think its official, God hates me. He really, really does.

He shakes his head and looks very amused, probably by the fact that I have two red marks forming on my face. Jackass.

"Are you stalking me?" I demand cynically, wondering if I have anything useful in my backpack or pockets that could help my head or get Peace away from me. I don't think I do. Damn, if only I had a crowbar… or mace.

My eyes flashed white, a premonition. One I called for, not one thrown at me. Personally I think the white eyes are creepier.

"Nice parlor trick." he commented with a raised eyebrow and a ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he relaxed in his seat. Ugh, I can't stand him. It's like Anderson all over again, but at least Peace has decent material. Even if it is mine.

And, even though I couldn't stand the sight of him I was still wondering why he looked familiar.

I shoved my headphones on despite the fact that my head is about to implode and ignore Pyro while waiting for the day to be over.

Even though it's already just begun.