Disclaimer: Not even.

Rated T for some violence, character death(s) and possibly emotionally triggering material.

PROLOGUE
Beck's POV

I entered our house quietly, stepping into the dim gloom of the living room. The door closed silently behind me, thanks to the repairman that had come by earlier in the week and greased the formerly rusty hinges. I took a quick glance around. It was empty of people; my lovely wife was nowhere to be seen. But that didn't worry me too much. She never left the house nowadays, and it's not like she got out that much before, so I was sure she was around here somewhere, in our modest one-floor home.

The worn curtains fluttered by the front window ominously, casting creepy shadows against the scratched hardwood floor. The faint ticking of a clock echoed eerily, and I followed the noise over to the brick fireplace, carefully maneuvering around the coffee table, couches, and lamps we had set up in the most random locations.

I stopped and took a close look at the cluttered yet precious objects on top of the mantle. I knew exactly what was what in the dark, the unique outlines causing my heart to race as the memories came back to me. I placed a finger on the edge of a particular picture frame, running it down the smooth side and feeling the rose-vine design carved into the surface.

Even in the obscurity, I could still see the pretty face standing out like the sun on a rainy day. It had been a long time since the photo had been taken and the colors were starting to fade, as well protected as it was. The girl was smiling huge, looking as if her life was perfect; something that we later learned was quite the opposite.

Seeing the happiness plastered across her face, eyes shining and lips pulled back into a bright gleam, I couldn't help but turn up the corners of my own mouth, smiling back. The memories whirled in my mind faster and faster the more I stared, causing my heart to throb with every beat.

It's been twenty-five years, Beck, I thought to myself sadly.

The emotions tightened up in my throat, and I felt like I couldn't breathe. I had loved that girl like a sister and a good friend, although I never once had the thought of wanting to date her. She belonged to someone else, or at least should have.

I looked away, struggling pathetically to control the grief that swept over my body like a tidal wave and drowned out all of my thoughts. I closed my eyes, hoping to restrain my wandering mind, but it wasn't like I could get away from those memories. No one could.

I slouched away from the fireplace and headed into the kitchen, blinking the whole way.

The lights in the new room were a welcoming sight, and as soon as my vision had cleared I saw that the sliding glass door leading to the backyard was slightly open. The cool breeze blew over my face and I shivered, but not from the cold.

I walked over to the door and looked outside.

On the back porch was my wife of fifteen years, sitting on the small steps, gazing up at the pinkish-orange sunset in the sky. Our pitiful lawn wasn't even green anymore, but almost all brown with patches of yellow and soil sticking out awkwardly. She had promised to take better care of it, especially when she stayed home all the time, but she obviously had problems following through with her promises.

We even had a little garden against the far fence wall, but she always had trouble getting up the ledge (interestingly she could walk up stairs just fine) and I didn't want her to get hurt while I was out, so that area was neglected for quite a long time, and still is.

Softly, I slipped through the opening gap and approached her.

She heard me coming up before I could get too close to her and turned around sharply. Her right eye bored into me deeply as I sat down, the left one clouded white, unseeing forevermore.

In the silence, I reached out and touched the left side of her face, my fingers tracing over the pattern of heavy scars that marked her once-beautiful skin, twisting her expression into a permanent scowl.

"What do you want, Beck?" she whispered, pulling away and drawing her knees up to her chest. Her voice was hoarse and raspy, and just listening to it pained me. She sounded like an eighty-year-old when she was half that age. But of course, we were lucky that she even could talk, although her scorched vocal cords made it extremely difficult, and she couldn't sing anymore, something that broke her heart and still did.

I scooted closer to her, saying, "I wanted to see how you're doing."

"I'm doing just fine," she croaked, trying to move away from me.

"Are you thinking about her again?" I asked.

My wife shook her scarred face. I saw tears running down and knew that she was lying to me. She hated admitting that she thought about that certain girl all the time and I had no problem with it, but she seemed to be indifferent.

I wrapped my arms around her body as if I could keep her from thinking about the past. Her hands came out of her long sleeves and grasped my own.

I know we've been married for fifteen years, but every time I saw her hands, wrinkled and misshapen, barely able to hold a pencil, it scared me. The wedding ring on her finger slipped up and down like it didn't quite fit. I'd offered to get the size changed many times, but for some reason, she always refused.

"It's okay, you know. I think about her all the time too." She leaned into my chest, the top of her head scratching my chin. I didn't like the way that felt. Her hair had the texture of straw and the scent of plastic. But I guess that's what wigs are supposed to feel and smell like, and it was more comfortable to look at than lump of warped flesh that's what was left of her head.

"But yesterday, when all the guys from Hollywood Arts came…it brought back the memories worse than ever," she sniffled.

Yesterday, our close friends Tori, André and Robbie had visited our home. They were all doing great thankfully, and Tori and André were already expecting their second child and their music company was booming. Robbie still lived with Rex, and was one of the best ventriloquists in the world.

It had been a little bit awkward as we exchanged stories of our current lives. I noticed that Robbie still had the necklace with the dark green bolt pendant slung around his neck. My wife didn't say a word throughout the entire gathering, even when she was asked questions. As frustrating as it was, we all had a weird understanding of her actions. She was, after all, the one who had been most affected by what happened back then.

I sighed, holding her closer.

She looked up at me, her one blue eye staring into my own. Immediately, I felt mesmerized by the sight, and it was like I could see and feel the pain and trauma she had gone through during that time. It was a truly chilling feeling.

A tear dripped down from the corner of her good eye. I wiped it away with my finger quickly. It made her look completely helpless and like she had given up on everything, especially now.

"Don't cry," I pleaded, feeling my eyes start to water. "It's okay."

"No, it's not," she replied, looking down at her hands. Her eye scanned over the disgusting scars, and another tear fell from her face. "I just can't believe how sick some people can be. Ruining lives, and not even feeling guilty." She brought her hands up and they closed around her neck, covering up the wavy disfigurements that climbed along her throat and then blossomed across her face.

I thought she was going to choke herself to death for a moment. It wouldn't have been the first time anyway. I had to hide all of the knives and razors in a locked shed, store any rope or string away, and ask the neighbors to keep an eye on her at all times that I was away at work.

But she looked up at me, her hands revealing once again the scars as she grabbed my arms tightly. The tears were flowing freely now, not only on her face but mine.

I kissed her without thinking. Her mouth molded perfectly against mine like we were made for each other, even though they were now thick with scars that popped out and made them look deformed.

We broke apart, and I saw the agony in her eye once more.

"I love you," I said, changing the topic.

"I'm glad you still love me," she rasped, her hands locking behind my neck as she sat back across my lap. "Because if you didn't, well, I guess no one would."

"Why would you say that?"

"You can figure that out just by looking at me, Beck," she said dully. I glanced down at her exposed skin, looking at the physical scars and realizing that there were many more that I just couldn't see, nor did they have true existence.

"Your mom loved you too," I reasoned.

"Yeah, well, she died a long time ago, so that doesn't count. She could hate me now and I wouldn't know. She never had to see me like this either," my wife argued.

Silence. I didn't know what to say. You could tell a girl a thousand times that she was beautiful and pretty and perfect and she wouldn't believe you.

"Let's go inside," I suggested as we looked at the setting sun.

"Fine."

My wife eased herself out of my lap and I stood up, still holding firmly onto both of her hands. She rocked back and forth on the steps for a few seconds before I pulled her forward, grabbing onto her waist immediately to keep her from falling over.

"I might be forty-one but I can still walk, Beckett," she muttered at my help.

Hesitantly, I let go of her, standing there mutely as she tried to get steady. Finally she did and took a step, self-assured, although her whole body was shaking and wobbling precariously. But before I could reach out and keep her from falling, she had gained her balance and took another stride.

I followed her to the door, moving at snail's pace. It wasn't her fault of course, and I had gotten use to her slow movements over the years. She limped so heavily it looked like she was going to topple over at any second, but she never did. I'd offered to get her a wheelchair or cane, but she always refused.

We made our way into the house to the family room. She trudged over to the couch and I turned the television on, not even bothering to see what the channel was. I sat next to her and she didn't object. She snuggled up and put her head on my shoulder.

I held her closely, like I was afraid that I might lose her forever. I almost had actually, and I had no desire to be reminded of that terrible day.

She started touching my throat with her cold fingers, probably jealous that her skin would never be smooth and clean like mine ever again. I saw her fingers retract back to her own throat, touching the scars and frowning.

"I don't deserve to have someone as handsome as you," she said simply.

"And any guy who would be with you would certainly be the luckiest man in the world," I responded, pressing my lips into her hair. I knew, a long time ago, that she loved it when I did that. But after that day, she had lost all of her hair and probably most of the feeling up there.

"You're just saying that."

"I mean it, babe. I really do," I persisted, hearing the soft noises coming from the TV, but my brain wasn't registering them. "I loved you twenty-five years ago and I still love you the same now."

Her distorted face was shining with please. "That's a long time to love someone."

"Yes it is." Sometimes I had the feeling that we weren't even married because of the way we acted. We talked just like we did back in high school, and it made me feel like we were just dating, not committed to each other for life. But that's not to say that I wanted to leave her, because she was just perfect the way she was, no matter how she looked.

"No matter what you do. No matter what anyone else does to you. No matter what happens, I'll always love you the same," I replied in a normal tone. I always said that to her, and for some reason, it always made her calmer.

She smiled at me, and for a moment I could see her old self.

Her young, sixteen-year-old self.

The girl that wasn't afraid of anything.

The girl that was fierce but caring.

The girl who went to the end for her best friend, and ended up with physical, mental, and emotional scars that not even years and years of therapy could fix, no matter how hard anyone tried.

The girl that I fell in love with.

I pulled her into a passionate embrace, unaware of my surroundings. I fell back onto the couch, her sitting on top of me, her lips against mine in the glowing lights of the TV screen. It might not have been a very romantic setting, but just being with her made everything all the better.

She lay down on my chest, looking straight into my eyes.

I stared back at her, seeing past the scarred, outer shell and looking deep down into her soul.

"I love you, Jade. Forever and ever."

I hope you're interested in what will eventually happen. Please review. :)