Disclaimer: Characters belong to Stephenie Meyer

A/N: I have decided to keep going with the story. I like that people appreciate what it is to not have a fairy-tale story on here, and below I'm giving you a song I found that is like completely perfect for this story. Listen to get "in the mood". Thanks and enjoy the chapter!

"Not an Addict" by K's Choice.

Breathe it in and breathe it out,

And pass it on,

It's almost out,

We're so creative,

So much more,

We're high above but on the floor.

It's not a habit,

It's cool,

I feel alive,

If you don't have it you're on the other side.

The deeper you stick it in your vein,

The deeper the thoughts,

There's no more pain,

I'm in heaven; I'm a god,

I'm everywhere I feel so hot.

It's not a habit,

It's cool

I feel alive,

If you don't have it you're on the other side,

I'm not an addict; baby that's a lie.

Slower now, I'm cold, alone,

I'm just a person on my own,

Nothing means a thing to me,

Oh nothing means a thing to me.

It's not a habit,

It's cool,

I feel alive,

If you don't have it you're on the other side,

I'm not an addict; baby that's a lie.

Free me,

Leave me,

Watch me as I'm going down,

And free me,

See me,

Look at me,

I'm falling and I'm falling.

It is not a habit,

It is cool,

I feel alive,

I feel,

It is not a habit,

It is cool,

I feel alive.

It's not a habit,

It's cool,

I feel alive,

if you don't have it you're on the other side

I'm not an addict; baby, that's a lie

I'm not an addict,

I'm not an addict,

I'm not an addict.

CHAPTER FOUR

SELF-CONCLUSION

"Leah?"

The voice was fading and I struggled to hear. Where was I?

"Leah?"

I winked open one sore eye and saw the person who was speaking very, very close to my face. It was Paul. He looked…concerned? No, he was just wondering why I was lying on his bed, wearing almost nothing. He would be pissed.

"What?" I snapped, getting my back up. I had no idea how I had come to be here, and it wasn't my fault that I was crashing his bed.

"Are you okay?"

"Where the hell am I?"

"You're at my house."

"I can see that," I scowled. "I meant how did I get here? And where are my clothes?"

"You don't remember?"

I frowned, trying to remember. I always hated when I couldn't remember where I'd been the previous night. It happened more often than I cared to know.

"I remember…going on duty."

"Oh."

Great answer. Paul was so damn expressive.

"Well, that clears that up, thanks for the explanation."

Paul didn't even snap back. What the hell? If there was one person who could be counted on to lose his temper, it was Paul.

"Leah, are you okay?"

"What the hell, Paul? Skip the Dr. Phil moment, just give me my clothes and I can get out of here."

"No."

"No? What the fuck do you mean, no?"

"I mean that you need help."

My face turned red. I wasn't embarrassed; I was angry. I remembered now. Paul has heard everything. I couldn't even hide it anymore. Paul of all people! How fan-friggin'-tastic.

"I don't need anybody's help."

"Leah." Paul's dark face was pinched together in seriousness. He looked angry now. Good.

"I told you," I insisted, "I'm fine."

"Leah, I heard everything."

"You don't know what you heard! I was messed up last night, I don't know where that came from."

"Leah, I saw. You're a drug addict."

No, I most certainly was not. I liked drugs, sure, but an addict? No. No fucking drug was going to have any power over me. I could stop any time I wanted to. It's just that using was so much easier.

"I'm not an addict, Paul. It's just something I do."

"You can't even function without it. Don't you remember last night? Your withdrawal was so bad, I thought you'd died for a few minutes, Leah."

Ugh, I did remember now. Thanks a bunch, Paul. I'd been in so much pain- my veins had literally been on fire, screaming for a needle. I'd puked so much that I couldn't breathe, coughing and screaming for some heroin.

"Why do you even give a shit, Paul?"

My question seemed to stump him for a moment. His eyebrows pulled together and he looked away from my face.

"I don't know," Paul whispered.

"Well, thanks for letting me crash here. But now, I am leaving. Where are my clothes?"

"Where are you going to go, Leah?"

What? How dare he?

"Wherever the hell I want." I was visualizing it right now. I was going to go to Adam's and get some heroin. After last night, I needed it more than ever. Who knew when my symptoms would return?

Paul knew, of course. "I'm going to tell Sam."

I laughed manically. "Right, sure. He knows, Paul. He's the one who did this to me! Do you think I was just perfectly happy until one day, I decided to fuck my life up and do drugs? No. I wanted to die. Sam knows, he still knows. So he can go to hell, I'm through doing what he says. He ruined my life, so I'm going to fix it."

Paul looked surprised, and then shrugged. "Leah, I can't let you go to Adam's."

"I don't care what you'll 'let me do'," I screamed, jumping from the bed and running for the door, wearing only a cotton shirt.

Paul wasn't giving up so easily. He blocked the door easily, his massive shoulders doing the work for him. Sure, I was a freakishly strong werewolf, but then again, so was he.

"We both know where you're going, Leah."

"Fuck you!" I screamed, losing control. "I don't care if you know where I'm going!"

"Leah, I'm trying to help you."

"I don't need your help."

"Fine!" Paul yelled back at me, finally getting tired of keeping this up. "Whatever Leah, ruin your life, why do I care? God, you're so far gone, you can't even see yourself anymore. I hate Sam for doing this to you!"

I froze on my way out the front door, for some reason not looking him in the eye. "Don't hate Sam- it's too late. Nothing will change."

"I don't like seeing you hurting, Leah."

"Why?"

"Because it makes me hurt, too."

I wasn't sure what I was supposed to make of that. And I couldn't care anymore. I ran down Paul's street, bare legs flashing in the mid-morning sun. I couldn't get to Adam's fast enough.

The needle slid so easily into my skin. Almost like it was meant to be there. I watched the glint of silver fondly, pressing down on the top part of the needle until it wouldn't move anymore. I sat back and waited for it to start. My body sighed in gratitude- we had really needed this. Everything just slowed down and shrunk, like I was the center of everything. And everything just floated around me, not crushing me under its weight for once.

School the next day was awkward. At lunch, I couldn't look Paul in the eye. I knew that he would know. We sat under the same tree the pack always ate at, and he just stared. I started to think that maybe he was counting the puncture marks on my forearms. Or perhaps the slender, pink slices across my wrists. I pulled my sleeves over my hands, hoping that I wasn't getting paranoid.

But maybe Paul had seen all those things. The moment I hid my arms, he examined my eyes. I couldn't hide how bloodshot they were. It looked like I had used red eyeliner this morning.

I was so freaked out about Paul that I couldn't focus on anything else. And I couldn't eat, either; my clothes were starting to fall off. I was so paranoid about Paul that I didn't notice the way everyone was unnaturally quiet at lunch. I didn't even notice if they were there or not.

Going home was even worse. Seth stared at me, too. I was beginning to think that maybe Paul had told everybody. Mom was oblivious, of course. But Seth just looked at me, like he was…disappointed? No. Seth was probably just pissed I broke his videogame. He didn't care about me.

When I was sick of the staring, I went up to my bedroom. For the first time in a couple of years, I pulled my old photo album out of the closet. The pictures in there were mostly of Sam and me. I looked completely different; I could have been another person. I was actually smiling- I didn't remember the last time that I'd smiled. And Sam had been looking at me like he loved me.

The album ended abruptly, with half of its expectant pages blank. The last photo was haunting- it was just one of Sam, holding me close to his body. And the photo album was blank because that was the last time that Sam had ever loved me.

Involuntary tears were sliding down my face. I wiped at them in an irritated, compulsive way. Right then, in that moment, I decided I was done crying over Sam Uley. Fuck him.

I reached into my back pocket to pull out my lighter. The window of my bedroom was difficult to open, but I managed. I held each individual picture outside the window, letting the lighter lick its edges. When the paper caught, I watched it turn to ash. Sam's face browned and shriveled before disintegrating into ash.

I saved the final picture for last. When the lighter touched the picture of my face, it didn't turn the paper black. Instead, it erupted into bright orange flames. I laughed out loud, enjoying the pretty burning colors. How fucking fitting.

I watched myself burn.

I burned the old me. The weak Leah was dead. I was done wishing for him back.

I let the photograph slip out of my fingers.

I wasn't going to try anymore. Life could go on without me; I was finished trying to fix myself.

I watched myself fall to the earth. Leah crashed.

Leah got up from beside the windowsill, and walked out of her front door. She barely paused to glance at the small pile of ashes, save for to whisper one sentence in a flat, indifferent voice.

"Here lies Leah, dead of a broken heart."

Then she walked down the street, leaving Leah behind.

A/N: Hmm…so let me know what you think of this twist. And yes, the last part is supposed to be in third person. Review, please.