"A blackout approaching, here it comes now, wish me luck; It's all over, it's all over in a flash, I can't remember—What have I done now?"

-Imogen Heap, "Glittering Clouds"

She was never the type to hold a grudge or hate someone, but maybe she should've gotten used to the feeling before deciding to do so.

Even though she repeatedly tried to assure herself that things were not as bad as they seemed at the moment, it was counterproductive and only served to increase her paranoia. She was in the very situation she condemned in peers her age and for all the wrong reasons. If word was leaked about her dilemma, the impending glances that she'd receive from the other students would lead her to the same fate she possessed four years earlier. Linda never bothered to ask herself why exactly this sequence of bad luck seemed to afflict her; to the best of her memory, she had never broken a mirror or stepped underneath a ladder or anything of the superstitious sort.

She knew that she had to think less about why this had occurred than how she was going to fix it. Abortion was already out of the question; she'd never do something so callous and invasive to her own body. On the other hand, if she did give birth, there would be even more problems for her. How would she take care of the baby? How would she explain what had happened to her parents? Would they even believe her?

She went through her days without dwelling too much on it, but if she didn't make a swift decision, things would get out of hand.

Sighing, Linda chewed on the tip of her pen as she attempted to concentrate on the calculus assignments that mixed in freely with the unrelated papers on her desk. The window was open, the cool breeze sharpening her senses but failing to give her the motivation to do anything except stare at the blank pieces of paper that would be inevitably scribbled over into the late hours of the night.

Standing up, she went over to the stereo and absently went through her CDs, not knowing what exactly she was in the mood for. Skipping the jazz and classical sections entirely, she found herself stuck on alternative and instrumentals. After some internal debate, she settled for an older instrumental group.

In three days, she'd turn eighteen. Time had passed so quickly, leaving her utterly confused as to what the next step in life would be. Her parents hadn't been enthusiastic in offering her any advice, and she it would be strange for a seemingly decisive girl like her to suddenly ask anyone for guidance.

She just looked out the window, watching tree branches lash out at each other.

Linda couldn't think straight after spending more than twelve hours at school.

Standing at the bus stop, her shoulders were slumped and she was fairly certain that her hair was sticking out at all ends. Being a Friday, the night was just beginning for downtown Los Angeles. She eyed her classmates enviously as they laughed and went from this place to that, no doubt doing something illegal in the process. Wincing at the sudden pain in her lower abdomen, Linda swallowed and took a breath in relief when she saw the bus. Fishing some change out of her pocket, she all too eagerly hopped up the steps, only to find that there was a grand total of one seat left.

In the very back, she saw someone sitting by a window, the seat next to them vacant. Shuffling uncomfortably, she dropped the change into the metal box and made her way down the aisle. She couldn't tell if said person was sleeping or not, but it would make sense if they did; few others appeared to be awake.

"'Scuse me, can I sit here?" she asked, shocked at the exhausted tone she was using.

The person turned his (at least, she believed it wasn't 'her') head and looked up at her, quirking an eyebrow. Upon further inspection, there was a sudden lump in her throat after realizing who he was.

"Victor?"

If the rolling of his eyes was any indication, then she was clearly unwelcome. Frowning, she ventured, "Come on, there's nowhere else to sit, and I'm too tired to stand."

He said nothing; he merely turned to the window and mumbled something inaudible. She took that as clearance and took a seat next to him, setting her backpack underneath the seat, taking her cell phone to see the time. Her stomach sank when the clock flashed 10:30, knowing that her parents were not going to be happy in the slightest.

She looked at him out of the corner of her eye and bit her lip, debating on whether she should ask him what she so desperately wanted to know. There would be few other opportunities; she had no money to go see a professional, and there wasn't a snowball's chance in hell that she was about to tell her parents. Linda took a deep breath and steadied herself.

"Can I ask you something?"

She could almost feel him rolling his eyes again, but he sat up and looked at her. "What?" he responded, his voice condescending. She did her best to ignore it and chalk it up to his personality, even if she didn't know much about him.

"I know you're not a doctor, but you have to know a little about this…" Closing her eyes, she tried to make the words materialize in her mind, but it wasn't working. "And I—I really don't know who else to ask."

"Get to the point already, Reid."

"What…What happens to you after you get an abortion? I mean, you probably don't know a lot, but anything's more than what I know, and—" She paused, measuring her words. "I guess it's a big deal right now."

He was staring at her, and she didn't like that. It wasn't surprised, annoyed, anything at all; it was completely blank. Tilting her head to the side, she wrapped her arms around her midsection, waiting for a response.

After a few awkward moments, he huffed in frustration and sunk back into his seat. "Shit finally hit the fan, did it?" he inquired offhandedly, raising an eyebrow.

Linda tried not to look shocked, but ultimately failed, turning her head away. "The how is none of your business."

"I wouldn't give a damn anyway."

"You're avoiding my question, then."

"Do I look like a fucking gynecologist? How would I know anything?"

She probably looked sufficiently crestfallen at that moment, because he just groaned and resumed his intense activity of looking out the window.

She resolved that if she had nearly an hour to waste before she even got close to home, she would might as well get a head start on her homework. Not particularly in the mood to strike out calculus yet, she settled for music theory and pulled out her notebook, turning to a fresh page.

Draw the harmonic, melodic, and natural minor scales in each of the following keys:

A, G#, Bb, F, A#, D#, D, Eb, G

Using the appropriate key signature in each case.

"Damn…" she muttered, chewing on the tip of her pencil. It would be agonizingly easy, but time consuming all the same. As she began to outline the staff and filling in the appropriate answers, she felt someone staring over her shoulder.

Turning, she scowled at Victor, who was apparently vaguely intrigued by what she was doing. "Can I help you?"

"Are you seriously putting any effort into that?" His voice truly did succeed in making her cringe this time around, if only because he was insulting the very thing she loved the most.

"What are you saying? That I'm wasting my time doing this?" she said harshly, but she's glad for this distraction, because otherwise she would be either stuck or her mind would drift to topics that she honestly did not want to think about.

He folded his arms with an arrogant smirk, the very image of 'conceited asshole.' "You are. Those kinds of things are wastes of time."

"Who the hell are you to say that?"

"I think I'm in a much better position than you to say anything I wa—" He stopped dead, for reasons she didn't know, but something told her that it was one of the few times he did done so.

Victor was incredibly lucky to have caught himself in time before he said something that would make the rest of the ride unbearably awkward.

But he was only telling her the truth. Wasting her time on a petty things like music wasn't going to help her at all. Still, he was curious to see if this was where her talents lied.

Plucking the notebook from her lap, he ignored her protests and opened to the fifth or sixth page, and already he had a headache. Just by glancing at it, he could tell that the utmost attention had been paid to whatever assignment it was. Turning a few more pages, he noticed a comment written towards the bottom of the page.

"Linda,

I wish I could tell you this in person, but that won't be possible for some time, so I'll let you know here that in my thirty years of teaching at this school, I have never seen such prodigious skill displayed by any individual student. From what Annette recorded, the piece was mysterious, yet passionate, with the emotions transitioning smoothly between intervals. I was doubtful when I heard that it had been arranged for the acoustic guitar with a percussion accompaniment, but you completely proved me wrong yet again. You never cease to amaze me, and I truly believe that this piece is something you can take even further, perhaps becoming a modern masterpiece, as it were. I hope to return to school soon, but for now, I trust that you've been faithfully conducting the evening concert band. Don't forget that you have my utmost respect as a growing musician, and this year is critical in determining your future. With work like this, your dreams of Berkeley are indeed very likely to come true."

He had been so used to receiving laudatory remarks from his teachers, but on one hand, science was a completely different subject compared to music. He didn't think that there was much to praise, but this teacher could apparently find many reasons to do so. He turned back a page to look at the source material before giving up, the key signatures and dynamic markings giving him a headache. It was too late for this, anyway.

"Hn." Victor handed the notebook back, and she recoiled slightly before taking it.

"My teacher overestimates me," she said quietly, placing the notebook back into her bag. "I don't know why. I mean, I'm pretty good at what I do, I guess, but he thinks everything I write could pass to be a work of Mozart." Her hands were folded in her lap, and she looked as though she was trying her damned hardest to make eye contact, but she was failing.

He shook his head. First Reid was defensive when he dared to criticize the fact that she was wasting her time on music, and now she was attempting to be modest?

"You want to go to Berkeley?" He couldn't do small talk worth a damn, but he didn't want to put up with one of her spastic breakdowns.

The teenager looked a little intrigued by the fact that he would bother to ask this, but she answered carefully, "Yes, why?"

Victor stopped slumping over; it was beginning to be uncomfortable, or maybe that was just the direction of the conversation. "Those are pretty high hopes."

"Yeah, I know, but nothing will happen if I don't try, even if I probably won't get in," she noted, a hint of disappointment in her voice. She had already resigned herself to the fact that she wouldn't be good enough.

That one subject hung between them like a brick wall, but, to be frank, he didn't want to go there and she probably wouldn't be too appreciative of his attempts to pry into her private life, anyway. Then again, she was the one who had asked him, and there really wasn't anything better to do, so he decided to at least try to satisfy his curiosity.

"So what happened to you that you felt the sudden urge to ask about abortion?"

Reid visibly tensed, shoving her hands into her pockets. "I…well, that's not really any of your business, is it?"

He assumed his initial position of looking out the window. "You're right, it's not." He chose not to press the subject further, knowing that reverse psychology would work wonders in this situation. Sure enough, after a few silent moments, she lowered her voice to a weak whisper and spoke.

"You're not really the type of person who seems as though they would listen, but…" She was trying to make eye contact with him, he could feel it, but he still didn't turn around. "I think I'm pregnant."

"Obviously, if you asked me what happens if you get an abortion."

Victor wouldn't let it on, but he knew as well as anyone that it wasn't this fact that mattered, but the aforementioned 'how' surrounding the circumstances.

She wasn't sure if she could do this. She had been so prepared to keep everything inside, but there was a sudden urge to tell the man in front of her—one she hardly knew—everything. Maybe he wouldn't listen; that would be even better. But the words threatened to spill over at any moment, the words that she should've told someone weeks before.

"It wasn't my fault," she said, the words coming out much softer than she intended.

"Hey, it's just as much your fault as it's his."

"I didn't want to, and I told him so. But he made me take it anyway, like the good girlfriend I'm supposed to be." Her arm instinctively wrapped around her abdomen, and she felt strength spread like fire in her chest, and she said the thoughts she had so long wanted to say.

"And now I have to carry the burden? That's bullshit. That's not fair! Why can't he get what should be coming to him for once?" She bit her lip, reluctant to continue, but she had to get her feelings out there. If she stopped now, she wouldn't be doing a complete job. Linda didn't even care if Victor was listening at this point, it just felt so good, so liberating to acknowledge these feelings. "I fucking hate him! If I didn't actually care about my life, I'd kill him, I really would!"

After this passionate confession, she looked up to see Victor staring at her, surprise turning into amusement as he smirked and told her, "So you have more backbone than I thought you did. Or is it just because you're tired?"

She felt her cheeks redden and mumbled, "I, well, um…"

"So you're in some pretty deep shit. You know what you do then? You get out. Amazing, right?"

In spite of herself, she laughed, and for a fleeting moment, she could forget about her problems. No matter how misanthropic or bitter he seemed, Victor was company, and that was all she needed.

They had both missed their stops by thirty minutes.

I am so terrible for putting this off for months. I didn't mean any harm by it, really! Life got hectic, and writer's block seemed to hit me at the worst possible time. But I haven't abandoned this story, don't worry—much the opposite, actually. The plot's (what plot?) going to thicken soon, I promise. This chapter was yet again, setting up a few things and furthering Linda and Victor's relationship, even though I expanded on her misfortune. I'm so terrible. To be honest, I'm afraid that I'm not keeping Victor and Linda in character…in that case, I'd appreciate it if you let me know so I could fix it! It should inspire me to pick up Second Opinion again, as I've lost Under The Knife. D: Bad fan is bad!

My god, I talk a lot. I'm sorry for wasting your time! I hope to have the next chapter up sometime in May, because I'm off to Boston towards the end of April for my band trip. 8U It shall be loads of fun. Anyway, thank you, reviewers, for being ever so faithful and giving me the courage to march on! Until next time.~