Marmite-1: Thank you for your support! Here is the new chapter almost three months later… yeah, sorry.

xSiriuslyPadfoot: Glad to know you enjoyed the last chapter. No, this story is not on hiatus – I'm just a slow writer. And yes, you will have to wait and see what the truth behind Trixie's father is. :)

DominoDuh: Hopefully this story has been keeping you on the edge of your seat, as you put it, to this point. Sorry for the long wait again and enjoy this new chapter!

keikei313: Carlisle was basically going through the hospital report on her health, but… you never know. As for what is wrong with Beatrix, she could have just suffered from a basic fever due to staying out in the rain for too long and weakening her immune system… or it was something else, who knows. Better continue reading, if you want to know!

chellekathrynnn: I don't honestly think I need to give them much emotion when at certain points they are just having a basic conversation. Maybe that's why they sound like robots? I have never really thought they might, so your comment surprised me a bit.

Guest: Aw! Thank you! Have fun reading this new chapter, if you are still following it!

Every inch of me is trembling
But not from the cold
Something is familiar
Like a dream, I can reach but not quite hold
I can sense you there

-By Evan Rachel Wood, Indina Menzel (Show yourself)

Chapter 6:

Recovery

Everything is bright and white. You either turn left or right, every hallway in the hospital appears the same. All you can do is follow the red line beneath your feet as it trails along with the place, leading you who knows where.

I follow the red line.

It leads me up and down many stairs. Through rooms filled with the odor of chemicals and rubber. Every room has bright lights that stab the eyes and strip one bare of their skin quite literally. People lay on operation tables with their organs pulled aside, eyes staring up at the nonexistent ceiling and to the sky. They do not move and are mostly left alone.

Nurses and doctors are just white shadows passing by. They don't disturb me, much like I don't disturb them. We walk past and through each other. It is like we can't see the other one approaching, but it could be just me. My eyes only focus on the line on the ground.

It continues turning and twisting on the ground, the curves it does become more violent the further it continues. Almost like a blood-red snake that slithers its way in a violent frenzy. Eventually, others join it – thin red lines drop down from motionless operation tables and crawl in front of me. I watch as they blend and color the once white floor into bright crimson.

Finally, the insane red wave leads me to a halt and into a room with a single table in the middle. Like any other one I have seen, it has someone laying on it. As the pure red spreads across the entire length of the room and seeps up to the walls, the stark white cloth covering the body pops up like a candle in the darkness. The sideway silhouette of the body is a white landscape of a winter forest covering mountains.

Slowly, my feet start moving again. I ignore how there are a splattering sound and the way something like water surface starts rising up against my legs. The closer I get to the table, the higher it goes until I feel liquid touching my fingers.

I stop a foot away from the table and look down.

When my arms rise, they drag red water with them. It has stained me and drips down between fingers.

The white cloth tears, revealing the mirror image of myself laying lifelessly on the table.

The red walls melt away, as color starts draining from my own face. They pull back like curtains, revealing an endless shroud of a dark forest. It swallows me, drowning me. I can't escape from the roots that impale my feet…

I think I am still in a dream, at first, when my eyelids open and blink and there is light.

I am startled and immediately inhale sharply, fearing the worst. However, after feeling the tiredness in both the body and mind, I realize that the weak morning dawn has assaulted the room by going through a glass window and poorly closed curtains.

I am laying on the bed with the clothes I wore yesterday. And even after realizing this and the way my shirt has wrapped uncomfortably around the torso, I continue staying on the bed. My mind goes over whatever shards of memories cross its path.

The reason for the bizarre dream becomes clear rather quickly – I was at a goddamn hospital just yesterday and it has come after me through dreams. If I did not feel so groggy, I would shudder at the memories of those hours between the white concrete walls. As it is, I have to settle for merely going through the sceneries of the nightmare, like I still cannot believe what I saw. It is settled – no hospital visits for me for decades.

I stayed up pretty late last night and the reason becomes clear when I turn around and something falls down from the edge of the bed. I do not have to even look to know that it is the book of Wilfred Owen's poems. This very book made me think both gory wars from way back and my literature teacher who is secretly probably a vampire sucking out students' souls. After thinking for a while, the latter is definitely more likely.

School, even the word sounds bad in my head. And when I glance at the small clock on my table it becomes even worse. It is not even half-past five in the morning and I close my dry eyes tiredly. You have got to be kidding me.

The struggle between the desire to stay in bed and go up and fix a very early breakfast ends with me sitting up and glaring weakly at the window. It is not bright outside, but it is not completely dark either. The fact that I woke up to it is proof enough. As if mocking me, the wind blows outside and the trees wave and sway in it, almost like waving at me through that small crack. Whatever was going through my head last evening, it definitely made me unable to close my window properly and now I am paying the price.

More sour and bitter than the medicine I was fed before, I stand up, swaying like an unstable tree outside and march to the curtains with a frown on my face. Walking and facing even the little bits of light is complete torture.

The sun really has not come up yet, I think when I am standing right next to the glass. There are some lighter lines on the horizon and between the treetops, but that is where it ends. There are clouds in the night sky, but those are dispersing slightly and show a few twinkling lights.

I watch the nature, how beautiful it is even in this small town, stiff shoulders relaxing…

They jump up almost immediately when I catch sight of something moving between the trees.

I inhale sharply, backing away from the window. Because it is dark closer to the ground and the forest line, the form of the creature is close to being indistinguishable from its surroundings. All I can tell is that it is huge, and it is not too far away from where I sleep. However, whatever it is, it halts for a fraction of a second before bolting back to the woods. I only have to blink once, and it is gone.

My heart is pounding. In all my years in this place, the only animals I have seen near this premise or any human habitats are foxes and small rodents. This is the first time something larger than that has come out of the forest and it is startling. I do not know what to think or do – it all happened so quickly.

Nonetheless, I still manage to back away further from the window before opening my door and heading to the kitchen.

A bear?

It is when I am near the stove that the front door opens. Still startled from what I saw, I jump, heart leaping almost out of my clogged throat.

"Dad," I say, voice rough from sleep.

He halts with taking off his coat and looks at me under the brim of his cap. It is a new headpiece and I am momentarily surprised by it. He usually wears a beanie or something else he can use to hide his hair or at least most part of his head. The mere cap hides less – light hair is tickling his chin. The color is faded yellow, almost gold and it appears to be freshly washed, almost like he put too much conditioner on it and ended up with a satisfactory result.

We both appear to stop in our tracks from making eye contact. I really think I ended up inheriting my dad's eyes – ours are equally dark brown, almost ink black.

"You're up early," he states and is about to walk towards his room, as usual.

I end up standing in front of him, in the middle of his path. He stops immediately, not showing if he is surprised or not by my sudden boldness. "I saw something in the forest… Where were you just now?"

"At the garage," he answers easily like it is not even too early for that. However, I know from experience that he is an early riser.

There is small relief blooming in my chest from hearing that. It means he was out of sight from whatever lurks around outside our yard. "Why were you – never mind. Listen, I think… I think I saw a bear through my window."

He does not react to that as much as I hoped he would, but I also half-expected such a mute response. For one, there have not really been bear sightings like this for years. Second of all, this man before me has the worry level of rock. I used to think that a hurricane could start tearing mountains down and he would not so much as flinch. It is both concerning and admirable trait – I am not sure which one I would pick.

"Do you – do you know if there have been any bear attacks around here?" I ask, feeling stupid after the words are out of my mouth. I do not know anything else about bears, other than that they are huge and can cause damage.

After a short pause, the blonde man shifts his weight. "No, there hasn't been any."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

Goddamn, this man. I purse my lips, slightly irritated by how calm he is compared to how I am feeling. I end up inhaling in exasperation. "Can you just be careful from now on? I'm afraid the bear will come back – don't you think it is strange for one to come this close? Shouldn't they still be, oh I don't know, sleeping? It's only January!"

Instead of answering immediately, he merely fixes his eyes to the side, as if thinking something. I follow his gaze and it leads me to look out of the kitchen's window. Much like in my room, you can just barely distinguish the individual trees and I fear for a moment that what I saw might appear again.

My guardian's next words make me almost choke on air. "As long as it doesn't disturb us, we won't disturb it."

In a second, my attention snaps back to him. "Are… are you serious? So, you believe that it could be a bear, but won't do – What if it comes back and we can't go anywhere?"

He does not even blink, only tilts his head. "What do you want me to do about it?"

My face flushes a bit and I open my mouth, but pretty much nothing comes out. I have never been in this kind of situation before. Dad does not interrupt my thoughts, merely stays where he is like a statue as if that makes me feel any better. His stare is uncomfortable, I really do feel like a helpless child under it.

We live in a spot where thick trees are surrounding the premise. If a wild animal – be it a bear, or maybe even a cougar – decides to attack for some unknown reason, I would not be able to outrun it and none of our neighbors would see it. I have grown in this place for years. True, no attacks have happened so far. But for some reason, seeing a protentional predator so close to what is supposed to be my sanctuary is just… my gut turns around from just thinking about it.

Maybe I am this scared because of the dream I saw? I can only recall the blood that soaked me in it, even if the rest of the details are starting to slowly leave from memory. I can still recall how my own face was on that hospital table like a corpse.

Maybe it was a wolf? The thought diminishes immediately, despite how the thought of different animal brings comfort. What I saw was too big to be any other mammal that comes to mind.

In the end, I can only look back up meekly. "I am scared that it might… be aggressive. Bears aren't supposed to be awake yet."

"It won't cause us harm," dad says in a tone that one could almost call the firm, were it not for the still monotonous drawl in it. There is also something in his gaze this time – it shifts.

I huff and have to look away restlessly. "You don't sound so convincing. I could go out once and..." I trail off and bite down my tongue. This one sentence has causes my mind to pause, to actually think. This argument will not be getting anywhere. "Forget it. I'm not going to school today anyway. I will stay at home for a while… you know, since I apparently looked half-dead a day before. I should probably take it easy, right?"

He does not say anything, not that I expect him to. There is just a tiny glitter of hope that he might call for me, as I walk towards my room. That does not happen, though. Much like how I do not question his life, he does not question mine. We are content, so to speak, to let the other one have space.

I am not sad.

I am filled with pure exhaustion from waking up early and the man's attitude.

I am so out of it that I cannot even get a dramatic exit. The door is about to slam shut, but I halt and send the blonde man a look. "Inform the school that I will be absent for the rest of the week… Say that I am recovering or something."

"Excuse me, miss, your change?" The clerk behind the desk calls out and I look at her in surprise.

I look at her with a stupid blank expression on my face, before glancing down and actually seeing her holding money. I blanch and immediately reach out. "Y-yes, thank you."

"Have a nice day," the lady says with a friendly smile, not seemingly bothered by my strange behavior.

I purse my lips and then look down at the flier in my hands. I clear my throat and place it on the table. "Um, I saw this outside and could I perhaps apply for the job?"

The lady squints her eyes down at the small text and pulls out thin-framed glasses that seem like they could fall apart at any moment. She blinks and then gasps. "Oh, dear. I'm so sorry, but this was supposed to be taken down days ago – we aren't employing anyone anymore. Truly, I am terribly sorry for this mishap."

My shoulders fall, but I manage to give her a smile. "No, it's alright. Have a nice evening."

"You too, dear."

As soon as the outside air hits me in the face, I crumble the flier in my fist and throw it into a nearby garbage can. Unfortunately, my aim sucks and has always been pretty poor, so the lump of the paper hits the side and falls to the asphalt instead. I stare at it, totally unimpressed and contemplating just tearing it into tiny snowflakes. There goes another job offer.

In my opinion, Forks should be renewed for its limited job opportunities for struggling teenagers. While thinking this, I pick up the paper and let it fall properly to the garbage can – at least I am doing something right in my life with this.

I adjust the shopping bag on my arm, the weight of it cutting off the circulation from the elbow down. This is not exactly what someone taking a sick leave should do. It is reckless, stupid and if someone from school for some reason is loitering around at this hour in the middle of the day, then they would question my physical health.

That is what puzzles me the most – how my body does not feel any different from how it usually is. There is no heaviness in the limbs, shortness of breath, nausea nor haziness in my eyes. I feel great, nothing to worry about. But it is because of this that it almost seems like the nightmare from this week never happened. Instead of really being in the hospital, I have started perceiving it as a delusion, a dream, or a nightmare that I just saw and never happened. However, the bruises from needles on my arm tell a different story.

Another scary part of what has happened to me so far is how I recall things. I can barely anymore remember the details, or maybe I never remembered them in the first place. I recall how everything was spinning, how ill I felt during classes, and then seeing the car speed up towards Isabella Swan. Then, the events in the ambulance are a bundle of voices and lights. Following that the memories from being in a half-delirious state are simply puzzling – how could I think I was buried in snow? Being on drugs sure is scary.

Luckily, they did not cut into me. I would not want to walk around with stitches.

How can I be back on my feet so quickly?

I purse my dry lips. Better not dwell on these things, or who knows when life would throw something –

"Watch out!"

A bike crashes to me. I do not even have the time to react or turn around to see it. The owner of the contraption has pressed on the measly breaks that send the back wheel flying up. Their weight crashes on me – both the bike's and the rider's – and we fall down to the pavement with the sound of metal scratching the ground. The groceries slip from my hands and the distinct sound of them hitting the ground rings in my ears.

Pain shoots up and down the front of my body, as I have just fallen flat to my stomach and knees, luckily avoiding my face. The latter offers little relief, though,

I have no idea why I was worried that my body isn't aching from fever anymore. Now that it is from being brutally knocked over by another human weight and a bike, I wish I could take my wish back. It hurts and my eyes squeeze shut, but a teardrop manages to crawl out from underneath the lids anyway.

Puffs of air escape past my lips in an attempt to breathe. Every breath moves my body and it hurts.

"A-argh," the person responsible for our current predicament groans loudly and hisses. "S-sorry, a-are you... alright?"

My temper flares from the question, because how dare he? There is no traffic around this time, and I understand why he might have thought it would be okay to drive faster than usual, but it almost feels like he came at me with speed outmatching that of cars.

"N-no," I manage to mutter out and try sitting up. Again, my limbs scream at me to stay still and throb from where they were damaged. "W-watch where… you are g-going."

"I-I know, I'm really sorry," the person continues to apologize, stumbling up.

I roll to my side from the position of practically laying on the ground as if it is my early coffin. The person who collided with me does not represent the image I get from his youthful and clear voice. There is a frown so deep on his face that it could leave permanent markings. These marks come both from the pain he is enduring and the guilt he feels for making me experience the same. His brown eyes are fighting to keep themselves open and not to cringe shut from pain and I can further see how he feels remorseful for our situation from those warm orbs.

He is a teenager, maybe younger or older than me. I can't really tell, especially when the two of us finally manage to stand up and he towers over me like a gawky tree. His black hair is a bit longer than I am used to, reaching a little below his chin and brushing his shoulders. Basically, I can almost imagine a puppy dog, when I look into his eyes.

I am about to scold him – I am now certain we are about the same age – but pause when straightening my leg causes a stinging pain to spread. I look down only to find both of my knees scratched up. The fabric of the jeans has been torn open and drops of blood are gathering up the surface.

I want to cry.

This is exactly what I need at this point in my day. I couldn't fall even lower than this.

The boy follows my stare and his otherwise warm skin color turns into a cold paste. "O-oh."

Oh, it is exactly the type of speechless response I should be expecting. Instead of feeling remorse towards this reckless boy, I end up glowering at him.

"The. Hell," I curse, feeling my lips twist uncomfortably at the words. I rarely curse in front of anyone, merely inside my head. He stiffens from it, looking visibly ready to panic. "What's wrong with you? Don't you know how – what the hell?"

I don't know what to do, other than start cursing at him. I know myself enough to know that I will feel guilty and ashamed of this later, but I am so frustrated and angry that this is my pure emotional reaction. For one, I was just rejected from a potential job offer – for a good reason, I can give them that – I walked to this store for an hour to buy some snacks to go with my movie evening and this kid basically comes out of nowhere. He has ended up destroying one of my favorite jeans and now I will definitely have to walk back home – another hour – with my knees split open. I do not have any other comfortable jeans than this pair I am wearing.

This sour mood may also be fueled by the fact of how poorly I got to sleep and the early wakeup. Not to mention I am already hungry and only want to go home just now to relax. I have not felt this immense ire towards anyone, the least a stranger, in ages.

"I-I'm so sorry," he continues apologizing, flustered.

Not even having to energy to deal with this, I crouch down to check my groceries, ignoring the pain the bending of my legs causes. Luckily, I did not purchase anything easily breakable earlier. Seeing this, I calm down a bit and manage to get a hold on some part of my temper.

"Whatever," I sigh and take the first time to actually look if the boy is alright. To my further irritation, he does not appear to have a scratch on him. "Just start riding with a helmet and follow speed limitations, for fuck's sake."

"Do you need any help? I can buy you bandages – I'm truly sorry," he continues talking, even when I am obviously turning to walk away from this situation. "I can carry your groceries."

I pause at his words, a little bit surprised that he would offer such a thing. But considering how he has no idea where I live, it might be expected. So, I turn slightly to look at him. "I live an hour away by foot – you think you can carry these that far?"

The paleness fades, but the rustic color of his skin seems to glow now from how deeply it flushes to a darker shade. "Then… how about I buy you band-aids?"

It is rather obvious how his eyes slide down to look at the damaged jeans. I want to end this conversation by pointing out that even if he does buy me band-aids, my legs still hurt, my arms still hurt from softening the landing, too, and my jeans are ripped and will definitely turn out bloody at the end of this day.

A band-aid will not fix any of that and I am not in the mood to wait for him to buy me a pity bandage.

"Please," he continues and takes a step closer. I see how he winces from the movement but otherwise keeps his shoulders hunched in a guilty manner and eyes downcast on my short self. "I feel really guilty about what I have done."

Now he definitely looks like a puppy – a kicked puppy with little strength left to stand – and I literally can feel how the irritation is snuffed out from me. "How about you give me twenty bucks instead?"

His eyes widen and I immediately feel bad from the question. I should not have asked that – do I have that kind of right? A woman once demanded eight bucks from a guy who made her fall into a puddle, accidentally of course. It seemed like a crazy situation back then because she was literally screaming so hard her face was the same color as the McDonald restaurant's burger commercial's background.

I decide to squeeze money out of him at the end of my moral struggle. I am the one who has been injured, he was the one driving like a maniac down the road thinking that nobody was around to stop him, and this is what he gets. Besides, I am asking the amount of money I roughly spent on these jeans, too. If I really wanted to torture a teenage boy who probably has a measly allowance, then I would be asking eighty bucks similarly to that crazy woman I once saw.

To my bewilderment, though, the boy surprises me once again by reaching into his pockets and pulling out the money. His expression falls even further if that is even possible. "I only have ten bucks."

"That's enough," I say and reach out without missing a beat. He hands the money over without hesitation and for a moment I feel like a bully threatening a classmate out of his lunch money. And as if to mellow down that sense of small guilt, I end up asking: "Are you hurt?"

The brown eyes look at me with crystal clear bewilderment. The tips of my cheeks turn red and I lose eye contact from focusing on reprimanding myself inside my head. This is precisely why I suck at social situations, sometimes I am too slow and manage to blurt out something completely opposite of the mood I am giving.

Instead of continuing staring for too long, the corners of the boy's lips twitch up. He does not give off the impression that this is to mock me, though, but rather how he seems to be relieved that I did not throw another curse word at him.

"Nah. I'm pretty tough," he says and gestures at the bike which literally lays between us like a barrier. "Not the first time I have fallen."

I want to ask if this is not his first time colliding with a person either but control that desire. Before I can say anything else to add to my awkwardness, he reaches out his hand in greeting.

"I'm Seth Clearwater," he introduces himself with a small and friendly smile.

There is something about his smile. So young and free and only filled with good intentions that the tension that has been building up on my frowning face melts. I look at his large hand dumbly. It is the literal opposite of the rest of his lanky body, and I end up grasping it with a firm shake.

"Beatrix Stone," I reply and pull my hand back.

"Nice to meet you," he says and crouches down to pick up his bike. "Again, I am truly sorry. I-I'm not," he goes back to being nervous and stutters, color returning to his cheeks. "I'm not usually this careless."

And out of all days, times, and places, you are now.

"Seriously, dude, put on a helmet," I comment, but with more lightheartedness to my tone.

He looks up to me, corners of his mouth lifting up for the second time. "Yes, I'll try. I was only in a hurry."

"Then… shouldn't you be going?" I ask slowly, wondering how quickly my mood has changed. If he was in a hurry and still offered to help me to carry my stuff and all, then… the thought makes me feel so guilty that it is like a stab to the gut and the knife just keeps on turning and digging deeper.

He nods with a small laugh and finally manages to get the bike to stand up. Before leaving, though, he apologizes for the hundredth time and rides off. Out of all the days to pick that vehicle for a ride, he chose the worst one. The way the bike's tires slide over the ice on the walkway sheds light on how the accident like ours could have happened.

I frown again, the previous emotions of irritation rising now that the youngster's smile is not in my view. Not only that, but something else tingles my nerves when I start walking again. It is the sense that I am missing something…

The reason for the uncomfortable feeling becomes clear when I get home and start placing the groceries away. Besides basic food necessities, there was another reason why I left the house…

Alex's birthday present!

"Dad!" I call out for him, when I run out of my room, pulling on a hoodie. I end up running in front of his door and knocking on the wood. "Dad? Are you in there?"

No answer, and the next thing I know I am running out of the front door and opening the garage door. It slides up, revealing the messy space filled with boxes and trinkets that have never been used to fix a car. Much like with anything else in life, my dad has never been too keen on cleaning the mess. That is not what bothers me, though. The vehicle is also nowhere in sight, along with the man I am looking for.

This puzzles me for only a while, because of how I did not hear the engine starting. The old car is functional, but I could recognize the noise it makes from many other cars on the road. But given how I was focusing on talking to Alex, I can only guess he must have taken off a little while ago while I was preoccupied.

"That little," I start grumbling, hands tightening into small fists. The tire markings on the dirt road beginning from the mouth of the garage are just mocking me.

Why am I even trying?

A heavy sigh makes my shoulders drop. My dad could be anywhere right now – to work or some other business he has to take care of. The problem is that I do not know how long he is going to be gone. One day he has driven off somewhere and he can appear the next day, a week or even be only an hour later.

The idea of calling him via phone does not cross my mind. I close the garage and start heading back inside. Who needs him anyway? I can walk to the store and buy the present the entire store where I am thinking of buying Alex's present is around an hour away if I go by foot, again… And judging by those clouds in the distance I could be in for another shower. The air is slightly colder, too, so the chance of it snowing is higher than usual.

I blow a strand of hair off from my forehead tiredly, glancing towards the forest. The sun is shrouded by thick clouds, but that does not stop the natural light. The trees do not appear as ominous as they were at early morning hours.

Dad may have been right, I think, recognizing that I might have panicked a bit too –

A strange sound startles me from the distance. I visibly flinch and turn with hand on the door handle to look at the road leading to the empty yard.

It is the sound of an engine, but not the one belonging to a familiar grey Toyota. Comparing this sound with the noise I am used to is like comparing a cat purring and a goose croaking. That does not disturb me immediately, but when I see the front of an unfamiliar car turning around a corner and driving towards my house, cold sweat drips down my spine.

Nobody that I know – and that is a very microscopic amount of people – owns a car like what I am seeing. It is shiny, bright, and not something my elderly neighbors would own.

Understandably, at first, I think whoever drives this car is lost and will turn back at some point. However, when that does not happen, I become more worried. This is like a sketchy scene from a movie where a stranger arrives at your house in the middle of the day.

The car makes a turn, so its incredibly dark side windows are facing the house. And the window at the front slides down.

"Trixie!"

Lightning bolts travel up and down my entire nervous system at the sight of a smiling mouth filled with straight rows of perfect white teeth. Alice waves at me and opens her side of the door before climbing up. Either my petrified and flabbergasted face does not show as much – I have gone numb so I can't feel what kind of expression I am making – or she doesn't care. All I can think of how nice it would be if only the house could collapse and bury me beneath it right this moment.

I have not seen this pixie-like girl in over a week, maybe more. She has been out of school with no other explanations that she has not been feeling well. Yet, as she strolls confidently towards me with a spring in her steps, Alice Cullen is the very picture of health. I take note of her heels and how gracefully she can walk in them even in this kind of terrain and the small pink bag she has in her hands swings softly with her rhythm.

Compared to her, I look ready to keel over.

She further shows how whatever illness has been over her for the past few days has been completely lifted by wrapping her arms around me. It is a gentle hug, soft. I can smell the light scented perfume on her and feel individual strands of her short spiky hair just poking the side of my face.

Despite the way how she hugs me like a piece of glass, the wind is knocked out of my lungs. I am stiff and my arms hover between staying where they are and hugging her back.

The. Heck?

"I'm so happy to see you!" She says immediately after stepping away, bright golden-brown eyes meeting mine. "After hearing that you – what happened at school, I was so worried. How are you?"

The words take a while to come out of my throat. I can't believe she is actually standing here. "I-I'm fine… What about you? I was told that you were sick?"

"I'm fine. Just a little season flu, that's all," she says off-handedly and looks at me up and down. "Is it alright for you to be out here in the cold, though?"

She probably doesn't mean to embarrass me, I really think so. But she manages to both sound concerned and make my face flush.

I'm not wearing the most… fashionable clothes, compared to her. My face and hair are also a far cry from her smooth features, and I resist an urge to start untangling the knot of hair at the back of my head. I have a simple pair of old baggy grey pants that have a ketchup stain on the right thigh. It is quite visible. To add a finishing touch, I am currently wearing flipflops that show off my toes to the world. And lastly, a bright red hoodie with the word 'Hot-Dog' written at the front in big white font size.

I want to be attached to the IV fluids again, for some reason. There are about over five different whiteheads on my face right now and I curse myself for not taking care of my face properly for once in my life. I'm just a teenager – it is genetically impossible for me to look good with oily and dry skin like mine.

"It's fine," I say, laughing a bit awkwardly. "I was heading inside anyway, but… no offense, but why are you here?"

She luckily is not offended by the question and smiles again, holding out the pink bag that I now see has a small pink bow in the middle. "A present. My father told me you were admitted from the hospital, but you weren't in school, so I decided to come and give it to you."

Thanks, Dr. Cullen, I think sarcastically in my mind, not sure if he is even allowed to release that kind of information. However, mostly I feel overwhelmed by Alice's warm gesture. I look at the present for a while, before stiffly taking it from her.

I do not look at what is inside but look down at it a second longer before giving the girl before me a smile. It is not a stiff expression, at least I do not think so. Receiving a gift after going through what must be one of the most dramatic experiences of my life softens me up a bit.

"Thank you," I say, genuinely grateful for what she has done. But then my smile drops. "What about you? Shouldn't – you said school, right? Shouldn't you be there right now?"

She chuckles. "I'm taking a sick leave, too."

Just as she says that there is a distinct sound of the car door closing. My mouth grows dry because I know for a fact that if she is here there is another person with her. Over her shoulder, wave blonde hair peeks over the top of the car, as the person there rises to his full height. In a few seconds, Jasper steps forward.

I try remaining blissfully oblivious to his approach and focus on Alice.

"Jasper is the one who didn't want me to drive here alone," she says and steers the conversation to the moving object that is literally my walking enigma. "You know since I was sick just recently and so forth."

It feels like he is next to his adopted sister within seconds and my eyes keep on wandering around his face. I look at anything but his eyes.

"Good day Stone."

"… Hi, Hale."

The sheer amount of sweat sliding down my skin underneath the pants and the hoodie is enough to create a waterfall. It is the moment that I meet his eyes that all the memories of our previous encounters come crashing down on me – I blush from mortification. I have dropped paint on this boy, I have been rude and tossed a movie container at him, rejected his offer to drive me home in the rain, and finally thrown up in front of him. The latter is something I can freshly recall because it happened only a day before yesterday.

The worst of all is that this is a situation I can't get out of smoothly. This is the type of scenario, where you are stuck with individuals who do not know or have heard every predating awkward event that has occurred between two people. This is why, Jasper's perfectly calm expression is exacerbating, and Alice's smiling and obvious one crushes me on the inside.

Should I just say: 'Good day, thanks for stopping by, and bye?' Should I tell them that it is cold, and I need to get inside? No, they might follow me. Should I pretend dad is home? No! Alice could want to meet him. Do I pretend to be feeling sick? Should I start coughing? How do I pretend to be ill again? My heartbeat is growing too fast. The wild ideas are just coming into my head. They gather like air into a balloon and stretch and stretch it until –

As suddenly as tension rises to my shoulders, it just as suddenly stops. I feel like I can breathe again.

"Are you feeling better?" He asks, not unkindly and not intentionally trying to make fun of me by starting the conversation with how our last one went down.

I nod. "Yes, thanks."

The short exchange does not bring me enough comfort to be a hundred percent relaxed with these two siblings in front of me while looking like a hermit, but I do feel how my heartbeat is calming down. The calmer I become, the more puzzled I am, though.

There is no reason for me to be calm, so just why…

"Trixie, would you like to go shopping with me next week? We both should be feeling better by then," Alice's sudden question jolts me back.

I blink down at her. Even with heels, she does not even reach the underline of my forehead. Her eyes are large, though, and they look at me with a hopeful sparkle in them.

"Um, shopping?" I ask dumbly, heat beginning to creep back up my face from how unsure my voice sounds like.

When she nods, I bite my lower lip and fiddle with the handle of the gift bag. I can't help but look at the smaller girl up and down, from her shining black heels to the fancy white coat that hugs her petite figure. These are definitely not the kind of clothes you would find in Forks' clothing stores. With a bit of good luck, a flea market could have an old vintage jacket.

"Like… in town or…?"

"Port Angeles," she answers as soon as I start trailing off.

The name rings a bell, and not in a way where I realize the geographical location of a place that I have not heard about very often. It rings a bell because she has asked me to go there once before. It was in the public library around two weeks ago, where she had appeared out of nowhere and offered me a book. The very same book that is currently laying on my room's floor.

I am certain that the last time we had this conversation, I told her that that place is too far away. I can't drive, I don't have a driver's license nor am I too keen on the idea to jump on a stranger's car. Alice has been nice and all, but…

"Alice," I begin with a steady voice and lock my eyes with her firmly. "It's too far away."

I do not say: 'I've told you before.' For one, Jasper is here, and I do not want to bring up that this subject has been discussed before. And I do not want to make it apparent for Alice, because that would sound like I am accusing her of forgetting. These are all scenarios that come to mind when I think of it. I have always mostly been a pushover when it comes to people being nice to me, but this is where a line must be drawn.

At my words, the smaller girl's expression falters a bit. "Oh, right… But would it help if I drove us there?"

Excuse me? Exactly how long have we known each other, is what I would like to say, but I bite the words down. Not even her once again hopeful expression makes my resolve waver and I shake my head. "Um, no. Look, I really don't… "

I do not want to go shopping – I hate shopping. I do not want to go to Port Angeles – it is too far away. I do not want you to drive me there – I do not trust you enough to let you be behind the wheel. You have given me the gift already – can you please exit the private area?

"Please?" She begs and reaches out to take my hand.

For some reason, I glance at Jasper the second she makes physical contact. Until this moment, I have done my utmost best to ignore his existence. When he spoke to me a moment ago, he had appeared to be relaxed, much like his female counterpart. However, I can see a small difference now. His face remains a perfect mask, but his eyes are obviously fixed on Alice's and my linked hands.

I want him to say something to make her let go of me. Her hand is covered in leather gloves, preventing the skin to skin contact. That, nonetheless, does not make me experience less discomfort. I may like hugs and touches between friends, but… somehow, I am not yet comfortable with Alice. She has practically invaded my personal space these past weeks from day one.

It takes everything within me to not tear my limb back, but like earlier, the stress and anxiety vaporize into thin air. I actually take my time looking into Alice's eyes. They almost seem to glow in this light and her white skin momentarily glows – she has got the looks of an innocent angel. Someone who means no harm.

Whatever power possesses me, it takes over my tongue. "I guess… I could take that offer."

The brunette's hand tightens around mine. She's positively beaming. "Great! How about we discuss this next week since we can't be too sure of your health?"

Again, I start seeing no harm in her words and relax even further. "Sure."

"See you next week, then!" She says and gives my hand one last firm and happy shake before letting go. Her arms wrap around Jasper's next and the two make their way towards the car. "Take care of yourself!"

"Thanks! You too!" I call out and watch both of them climb to the car.

Alice gives me one last wave from the window before the vehicle drives off.

I am left standing where I am like an idiot. An idiot who feels like someone has dumped a bucket of cold water on her the second the fancy car is out of sight. The birds' chirp, a chilly wind blows, but I continue standing where I am, staring at the spot the two people were at a moment ago.

Slowly, almost like a robot, I look down at the bag I was given. It has become an alien that I want to drop to the sidewalk and let it stay there.

What the hell just happened?

Inside the bag, I find a box full of chocolate and a flowery card wishing me to get better soon. It has been written in neat and curvy handwriting – it makes me jealous of the writer's penmanship.

I'm an idiot.

There is no logical explanation for what happened. Either my brain chemistry went wonky and started unwiring or I was still suffering from the hospital's drugs. I should have hit my head against the bricks to clear them out…

Why did I agree!?

I wish there were a medical procedure to prove idiocy. I may as well have hit my head when I collapsed this week, but there are just no visible signs to show it. This might explain what came over me when instead of continuing to reject Alice's request for a shopping date, I ended up agreeing. Buying clothes is not what I am most worried about, though.

How am I going to survive an hour ride with her? There this one rule that people back in Tennessee kept on preaching to me – do not accept rides from other people, besides your parents or siblings. I do not have the latter, but I doubt that getting dad to chaperone this trip would make things less awkward. Not to mention he has not even returned.

In a way, I am glad to have the house to myself for once. Nobody is here to see me panicking and acting silly, as I scrub my face raw. It took one look at the mirror to see what the two adopted siblings had seen – my face is completely covered in pimples.

I finally manage to sit down on the couch, body turning heavy and shoulders dropping down. "Why me?"

My laptop turns on not a few seconds before my phone starts ringing. Not expecting that, I jump and quickly fumble the device open.

"Hello? Trix?" Alex's voice comes out, not waiting for me to speak up.

I freeze, mind going back to how I failed to buy him a present today. "A-ah, Alex. What's up?"

"Are you alright?" He questions immediately.

I clear my throat, getting more comfortable, and tapping idly on the computer. "Yes, yes. What about you? Is your health improving?"

There is a short silence from the other end. "Yes. I'm doing fine… although mom's still fussing over me."

"Aw! Your mom is so nice," I coo and snicker at the exasperated noise he makes. "Now you know how I felt at the hospital."

A huff. "Thanks for the support. Anyhow, you do not have any strange symptoms?"

"Nope. I have just decided to take the rest of the week off and relax… Feels strange not to go to school, though," I shrug and scroll down my email, but stiffen for the hundredth time today. "U-um, could I call you later?"

The discomfort in my tone must be obvious. "Oh, sure?"

"Great, thanks!" I hang up on him quickly before more words can be exchanged and quickly toss the phone to the side.

All of my attention is now reserved for the text on the screen. I read the message more than a few times, before burying my face into my hands. Every bad or unlucky thing that has ever happened to me seems to come crashing down.

'Dear Miss Stone

Due to your sudden absence, you missed the math pop quiz. As I informed the entire class last week. This quiz will have a significant effect on your grade. However, because of your circumstances, I am willing to push your quiz to next week. Hopefully, you will be feeling better until then.

Additionally – '

Out of instinct, I close the computer and lean back on the couch. It seems like hanging out with Alice won't be the only thing I need to worry about next week.

The alarm of the clock goes off, jolting me awake and nearly tumbling out of the chair. I look up, neck muscles aching and tingling from the awkward position I have been in. It takes only two seconds for the pieces to click together and for me to close the alarm. Everything becomes once again silent in my room and I am staring down at the math problem resting on top of the desk…

Seeing that I have not even managed to figure out how to solve the math problem, I groan and let my forehead comically meet with the wood.

It is already dark, but I recall faintly how the room was filled with the golden light of the sunset the last time I was awake. The only thing that makes it even possible for me to see is the small lamp that nearly hits me in the face from sitting up so straight suddenly.

I give up. Who needs math anyway? I'm not going to become a math scholar or professor, so why do I need to know this stuff? They should be teaching me how to pay rent instead. I don't deserve this!

Deciding that math will not be worth a headache and loss of sleep, I close the book and slowly slump my way to the window. However, I end up stopping in front of it much like this morning, eyes freezing to the tree lines further away from the house. My heartbeat rises rapidly, it ignores the safe speed for blood circulation altogether.

Whatever animal I saw at the crack of dawn, it is now outside my window for the second time.

Cold. That is a word that fits everything going through my body. I feel cold, I am frozen like a rabbit.

It's fine.

There is almost nothing that a human eye can distinguish from the nightly forest. However, there is no way that those floating orbs are part of nature. They remind me for a moment of a cat and how one had scared me half to death when I was little. When an animal like that walks by in the dark and you have no idea what it is, being scared is natural.

Those two glowing points might as well be my imagination. I'm tired and frustrated, so those might as well be a good reason for being over the edge. But…

The dark is like a blanket, one that never lets you out. I hate it and am thankful for this one table lamp as I close the curtains.

Dad said it's fine.

By the time I manage to close even the small lamp so that the entire room turns pitch black, there is already sweat sliding down my back. I am shaking, the sound of my breathing is too loud for my ears.

The bear won't attack.

I crawl under the covers, wrapping them tightly around myself. My heart is pounding.

Just sleep and it will go away.

Unfortunately, I have lately learned that not even my dreams can grand me peace.