5. DOOM AND GLOOM

WHEN I WAS finally satisfied with ice cream—I had gotten three cups of cookies and cream—I decided that it was time to finally leave this lonely place, and go somewhere that would distract my mind. But I was tired, my legs ached for some unknown reason, and I was too damn lazy to get up from my comfortable seat, to actually move.

Yeah I'm lazy sometimes.

"Hey," said an unfamiliar, female voice.

I instinctively jerked my head to my right, which was the direction that the voice came from, and my eyes wandered up to see a scarred woman. She was badly scarred from the right side of her face, but other than that, she was a pretty. . . nineteen year old? Her brown eyes looked down at me kindly, and a smile formed on her lips—a part of her lips was sort of scarred too. My face warmed when I noticed I was gawking at her features, so I looked away, ashamed.

"Sorry," I mumbled quietly. I'm not sure if she even heard me.

The woman laughed, and it didn't sound at all forced. "It's alright," she said softly. "Mind if I seat here?"

A part of me did mind; I was ready to leave already. And also, I barely knew this woman—and something told me I should know her, but I wasn't sure why. I shyly looked up, and I noticed that her kind eyes were observing me. Now that made me feel self-conscious.

"Um," I began, my cheeks warming even more, "n—no, not at all." I lied, of course. At least I was being polite, right?

I watched as she sat down on the seat in from of me—the smile on her lips never leaving.

"So," she said, "my name is Emily Young." she introduced herself.

Formalities.

I hated those.

Not too long ago, when I was in Kinder, or in Second grade, I remember when the teachers would makes us introduce ourselves to our new classmates, even if we already knew each other. I remember thinking it was dumb and humiliating when I had to come up with an animal name that starts with the letter "A".

All I had been able to come up with was: "Hi I—I'm Ana." Then I would look at the teacher, and see her shaking her head. So, I would correct myself, "Um, I'm a A—" the words would get stuck in my throat, and my face would heat up, "I'm Applebees!" I always said that, and I have no clue why.

Realizing that Emily was waiting for me to talk, I looked up, and tried to smile easily. "I'm Ana." To me, saying last names are dumb. I only say my first name when I introduce myself to someone. "And it's nice meeting you, Emily—" I cut myself off.

This was the Emily Young who took her cousin's fiancé away!

Trying not to act out of the blue, I made my eyes wander away from her face.

Emily was quiet for a moment, as if waiting for me to finish my sentence. When she saw that I wasn't, she cleared her throat quietly, and let out a long sigh. "Thank you," she said in a kind voice—I wondered if this was all a pretense; she had after all, taken her cousin's man away! Who the hell does that? That's just nasty. "I've actually been wanting to meet you, Ana."

My first thought was: Huh?

"Wha—?" I said, confused. My head cocked to the side, and my brows furrowed. "You, erm, wanted to meet me?" But I didn't even know this woman.

Emily nodded. "Yeah," she said. "Paul talks about you a lot."

"Paul?" I repeated in a high-pitched voice. "What?" I asked a bit too rudely, wanting to know what he'd said. Then I blushed, and said in a more polite voice, "I mean. . . why? What—what has he said about me?" Now this can't be good.

Her eyes widened. "Oh, no, no!" she said while shaking her head quickly. "Nothing bad!"

Though I didn't relax. "Why would Paul—of all people—talk about me to other people?" I found this utterly absurd. I looked around, feeling more than self-conscious now; I was uncomfortable. "I mean," I said, a little breathlessly, "there hasn't been any good things to talk about me."

Now that was the truth.

Emily frowned at me. "That's not true," she said softly. "From what he tells me," she paused, a wide smile appearing, "you're gorgeous—and he's right."

"He said I was gorgeous?" I spluttered, eyes widening. "But—but—" I wasn't. I was plain, everyone knew that.

"Of course he did!" she giggled.

I grimaced. "Oh." I didn't want to lash out on her; I barely knew this Emily. And she seemed nice, even if she had taken her cousin's fiancé—or so my mom told me. I watched Emily closely, observing her reactions. "Is, um, that ass—I mean," I paused to clear my throat, "is. . . Paul your cousin or something?"

She stopped giggling, but a smile was still on her lips. Her face softened considerably, and she nodded. "Well, not really, but I think of him as a cousin or a brother."

"Hmm."

An awkward silence filled the air. I began to bump my right leg up and down—something I did when I was nervous or just uncomfortable. I avoided looking at Emily, because then I knew I would begin to stutter, and therefore embarrass myself. I looked around, and a watched the window; Jacob and his best friends were coming.

Unavoidably, a smile crept up my lips.

I watched him for a moment, pausing to observe his laughing face before taking my eyes off him, and looking back to Emily's scarred face, who—I noticed—kept on staring at Jacob, then back at me. When she saw that she had my attention again, she smiled a little, and cleared her throat.

"So," she began in what she presumed a casual voice, "Jacob, huh?"

Trying my hardest not to show any emotions, I nodded. "Yeah."

Silence.

She broke it though. "Do you like him?"

I felt like this was a personal question. Besides, who the hell did she think she was asking me? Did she honestly expect me to answer? From what I've heard, Paul and Emily were close. So, what if I did tell her—which, obviously, I won't now—and went off to tell Paul? I wouldn't hear the end of it from Paul.

I shrugged.

Easy response, right? She could either think I did; or think I don't.

"Oh," she murmured. "Well, he is handsome, right?"

Again, I shrugged.

"Right." Emily nodded, looking a little awkward now. "Do you think Paul is cute—"

"Sorry, but I really need to go." I said a little too loudly, and pushed myself away from the table. My lips were pursed, and I was positive that my face was a vivid red that was a bright contrast from my dark hair.

With a face like fire, I stood up, feeling Emily's eyes on me all the while.

"I'm sorry," I repeated myself, a little quieter and more rationalized. "I hope I, um, didn't make a bad impression?" Ha! I knew I did.

Emily was quick to shake her head. "No, you're a really nice girl, Ana," she said in a soft voice. And then she paused, which made me look at her troubled-looking face. "I'm sorry if I annoyed you," she said sheepishly.

"Nope," I half-lied. "Nice meeting you, Emily." I forced a smile.

Her smile didn't seem at all forced—or was she an expert at acting?

"Bye!" she called after me, as I walked towards the door. Then she paused, frowning. "Go home, Ana. It's late."

"Oh. . . Okay." I lied. Then I opened the door. "Bye," I said, waving as I closed the door after me.

Emily Young.

Who was she, really?

A nice woman, or a back-stabbing cousin?

I shuddered. "Don't get involved with any of that crap, Ana," I told myself quietly. "That's mum's job." I let out a quiet laugh, knowing how too true my statement was. She was like the Mega-Gossiper of La Push. . . but Elena's mom, Ms. Sheila Castle, was her rival.

Ironic, wasn't it?

My mom hated Sheila, just like I hated Elena.

"Hey!"

I continued to walk, not even knowing if someone was calling for me.

"Hey, Ana!"

Finally, after realizing that it was me, I turned. I was surprised at seeing who was calling me: Jacob. It shocked me so much because I didn't even recognize his voice—which I should've of! I was a terrible crusher if I didn't even know how my crush's voice sounded like. . . anymore!

A small, embarrassed smile tugged on my lips. "Hey," I said a little loudly, as I watched him run to me.

Jacob grinned, stopping when he was right next to me. He inhaled sharply, before exhaling quietly. "Hey," he said again. "How are you?"

I was still too startled to say anything. "Fine," I half-lied. Because I was still too oriented to actually say I was 'okay'. "How about you?" I asked conservatively.

He shrugged, the grin on his slightly falling. "Not too good."

"Oh?"

"Both the idiots I call friends, almost chucked me in front of a car." he didn't sound too pleased about this. He was glowering now.

My face fell. "Damn then," I said under my breath, not meant for Jacob to hear.

Yet, he surprised me by laughing. "Yeah, damn them, alright!"

"You—you heard me?" I gaped.

He looked surprised, now, too. "Yeah. . . you said it loud." He gave me a questioning look.

I blushed. "Oh yeah, silly me." I laughed nervously. "So," I began, looking up at him, "wow, you're huge!" I gasped, just realizing how tall he was.

Jacob flushed. "Yep. I'm a bean pole."

I giggled. "And I'm a midget compared to you."

He laughed.

"What are you doing, all by yourself?" he asked.

I shrugged. "Being a rebel, actually," I said truthfully, grinning.

"A rebel?" he asked with a raised brow. "Mind if I join?"

"Not really," I said gleefully. "I don't want to go home—I want to disobey someone."

"Sounds good!" he exclaimed, a smiled spreading across his face. "So where should he hang out? I would take you to my garage"—at this, my heart swelled hopefully—"but it's messy," he said sheepishly. "I haven't gotten around to cleaning it."

"That's alright," I lied.

Jacob nodded. "We can hang at the beach?"

I pondered this. "Sure," I said slowly, "that sounds good." Unless, we saw Paul—which I already knew, would make a big deal out of me being at the beach with Jake, when he'd said to go home. But honestly, had he really expected me to comply to his orders?

He should've known better.

We walked in silence—a little apart from each other, making me a little glum—and nodded here and there when one of us would ask a question. It should have been awkward, I kept telling myself in awe, but it wasn't. It was nice being in the presence of someone normal, who wouldn't yell, or want to force me into painting my nails. Jacob was nice. He made me comfortable.

Anyone could say that at first glance, First Beach looked absolutely gloomy. But it wasn't for me. It was beautiful, in this sort of exotic way that made it one of a kind; with gray water, big, wide cliffs that I have only once jumped—after a dare in freshmen year—trees surrounded the beach. The sand was a pale, peach color. But I loved it like this.

First Beach was marvelous in my opinion.

"It's pretty, isn't it?" Jacob asked me, observing me.

I nodded, smiling. "Definitely. Even if it is a little boring looking." I admitted sheepishly.

We sat on some logs, and watched the ocean in silence, until I asked something that had randomly popped into my head.

"Hey, d'you know the Quileute legends?"

"By heart," Jacob said. "Dad tells them good."

"True," I agreed. "I, erm—"

"—forgot them?"

I nodded, embarrassed.

He rolled his eyes at me. "Ah, who hasn't forgotten about them?"

"You." I pointed out.

He gave me a mocking look. "Right—me." He laughed. "But they're like, our histories, you know."

I rolled my eyes. "So, expert?" I probed.

He narrowed his eyes. "You want me to tell them?"

"Please?" I asked, widening my eyes, even though I knew it wouldn't help.

"The histories we always thought were legends," he said. "The stories of how we came to be. The first is the story of the spirit warriors. . . "

His tale began, and his voice drastically changed into mystic-like; like his dad, I remembered. I listened intently to his story, awed here and there, gasping at the right places, and filching when we came to the part where the Third Wife had sacrificed herself. I was wowed when Jacob finished, looking up at me uncertainly—he had sat down on the sand.

"Well?" he asked. "I know I'm not as good as my dad at story-telling, but—"

"But you were amazing!" I squealed. "I can't believe I forgot about—about that!" I gasped, eyes widening.

He blushed. "Thanks, I guess."

"Thank you!" I exclaimed. Something inside of me was fresh; happy at hearing these legends that happened to be my history, sort of. "I mean, wow. . ."

"Yeah, I know, but do you believe in them?"

I hesitated. "Not really."

"Me either." he said. "I mean, men changing into wolves? Cold ones—vampires—existing?" He chuckled.

"I see your point," I said. But a part of me wondered. . . What if all those legends did happen?

Of course I didn't say that I slightly believed in them—what would Jake say? I'm a retard for thinking that something like that might of actually happened? I shuddered to think what he'd think of me. . . I mean, what did he think of me now? Was I in his good books, or bad books?

"It's getting late."

I nodded. "Yeah, it is." I sighed. My mind was preoccupied with the Third Wife, and how her husband had stopped aging just because he felt a strong connection for her. . . Strong love right there.

He took me home; which was very gentlemanly of him. I was blushing when we got to my door, and told him thank you and goodbye, and wished him a goodnight. He said no problem, bye, and wished me sweet dreams too.

My dreams, though, were not sweet.

Wolves were running behind me—quickly, but not quick enough to catch up to me—and blood was running down my face, obscuring my vision for a moment. I was screaming, terrified and also filled with vengeance; my insides were burning, and my whole body was on fire. It was like I was leading them somewhere gloomy that would end in their doom.

Everything around me was a blur suddenly, until darkness engulfed me whole.

Someone was screaming my name, and I screamed back, but no sound came out, except this long, loud sound that went unheard by me.

The scene changed, and I was kneeling in front of two beautiful women; their eyes were a ruby red. They were pale, and were smiling down at me sinisterly, before one of them slapped me across the face—hard. I felt the pain build in my face, and through squinted eyes, I saw wolves advance out of nowhere, and charge.

But it seemed like the wolves were loosing. A brown colored wolf went down, and stayed motionless on the ground.

I watched in horror as the silver wolf fought against one of the unscratched woman, while the other black colored wolf fought against the other. Both women pounced, and bit into the wolves' necks, making the wolves jerk to a stop, and their mouths opened wide to let out silent howls of pain.

A fire appeared out of nowhere, crackling. I watched in horror as the fire advanced at me—the fire was alive.

It's cackling was loud.

So loud. . .

And then the fire enveloped me into brightness.

My eyes flew open.

The first thing I instantly noticed was that I was sweating, and my hair was a tangled mess. The second thing I noticed that my room's light was still on. And third. . . something was tapping on my window.

My muscles were locked in place, and I couldn't move even if I wanted to, because my dream—more like nightmare, was still replaying on my head. The agony at seeing the wolves going down stayed, and the terror at seeing something so horrible like that. . . wouldn't leave me.

Tap.

I jumped up, startled. A small squeak escaped my lips, and my eyes shifted to my window.

Someone, or something, was out there.

Though I wasn't going to be stupid, and ask 'Who's there?' I think that's plain stupid when people in the movies do that. Like, what's the point?

Tap.

"Go away. . ." I plead in a whisper.

But the tapping wouldn't stop.

I laid in bed, hoping for the best that the tapping was just a tree branch, and that I shouldn't worry. But the tapping continued, and I was absolutely scared; who would miss me? I found myself thinking. Who would want to kill me? Kidnap me?

And then a voice, a familiar voice hissed, "Ana!"

"Paul?" I whispered back, surprised, knowing he couldn't hear me.

Again, he surprised me by saying, "Yeah, it's me! Now open your window!"

Aghast, I stared at my window, which had a blue curtain. "Why?" He's freaky. How did he know where my room was? My curtains were plain—my parent's bedroom also had the same curtains. And, how could he hear me perfectly?

"Just do it!"

"No."

"Ana!" he groaned.

"Why should I?" I challenged.

"Because I came to apologize."

That shut me up.

"So?" he asked a little too loudly, making me squeak.

"Shut up! My family might wake up!" I hissed.

I imagined him rolling his eyes at me, and that smirk was hearable through his voice. "It's not like we're doing anything wrong. . . Or are we—soon?"

My face heated up. "Hell no!"

He chuckled, then stopped. "Open up."

"No."

"Please?"

"Ha, no."

He paused.

"Don't make me break in."

My eyes widened. "You wouldn't!" I gasped.

"Oh, I would," he said cockily.

I considered this. "Um. . ." I sighed. "Okay," I said, almost reluctant. But a burst of excitement rang through me; a boy—even if it was Paul—was entering my room in the middle of the night, like in the movies and books. I shakily got out of bed, the nightmare's play still going through my head, and walked towards my window.

Opening my window, I saw Paul leaning against a tree. I hesitated, before staring into his hazel eyes, and I felt myself being locked under his intense gaze. He marched over to me, and in no time, we were standing front to front, my house's wall separating us.

I said nothing. He said nothing.

My anger at him earlier on was still there, but the scare from my nightmare was blocking the anger.

Finally, he spoke, a little worried. "You look horrible."

Well, I told myself, at least he was being honest, but why the concern?

"I know," I grumbled, my eyes alert. Then I got serious. "Why are you here?" I demanded.

Paul was silent for a moment. He kept on observing my face, and suddenly, out of nowhere, he grabbed my chin lightly, and made me look up into his eyes again. I shifted my eyes uneasily, and tried to move back, but something prohibited me from doing so.

"What's wrong?" he asked softly, ignoring my question.

"Nothing," I said defensively.

"Don't lie."

"Is that an order?" I said, my would-to-be furious voice was weak.

He frowned. "No."

"Okay then. Don't order me around."

Paul rolled his eyes, and let go of my chin. The warmth of his fingers soon disappeared.

"Well?"

"Well nothing."

He clenched his jaws and closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. "You're not making this easy," he growled.

Something told me to cool down a bit, if I wanted to keep Paul controlled, of course. "Calm down," I said uneasily.

Paul screwed up his face, and was silent for a moment, until he reopened them and was staring at me. "Okay," he said calmly. "It's just that—that you don't make any of this easy, ya' know?"

I shrugged.

He closed his eyes again, and for the first time, I noticed how tired he was. "You should get some sleep. . ." I said casually.

His eyes flashed open. "I guess."

Silence.

"It's a bit cold, right?" he asked me. "So why don't we go inside your room, and—"

"No way!" I quickly protested.

"—then I'll leave when we're done talking." he finished, as if I hadn't said anything.

I frowned. "Don't—don't do anything stupid."

"I won't," he promised me. "Cross my heart."

I stepped aside to let him in. Once he was inside, I noticed how big he was, and how small my room was when he was inside. And, as if he owned the place, he strode over to my bed, and sat down, patting the spot beside him. I hesitated; should I, or no?

"C'mon, the quicker we get talking and get to the point, the quicker I leave," he said, though not sounding at all too pleased about it.

So, I sat beside him, and my arm brushed against his hot one. I cringed a bit, and sighed. "I don't like touching people," I said, without looking at him.

"That explains it," he grumbled.

"So," I said, "what do you want to talk about that needed to be said now?" Not that I wasn't grateful. Who knows how my dreams would have gone—much more dreadful, was my guess.

"Why was your light on?"

"I slept without noticing, I guess." I pointed to the book I was reading.

"Why do you look terrible?"

"Bad dream," I admitted.

"What about?" he asked, twisting his body to face me.

"Wolves," I whispered. "The cold ones. . ."

He stiffened beside me, but I didn't pay much attention to that.

"The wolves. . . they were dying—and before they were off into battle with these two beautiful cold ones, I was—I was leading them to their doom and gloom, Paul!" I said quickly. I was looking down at my joined hands with wide eyes. "I mean. . . how horrible am I? And then this fire sort of, wrapped around me—that's when I woke up."

Paul was quiet. Quite so suddenly, he put an arm around my shoulders and pulled me closer to him. "Must of been awful," he said softly.

I fidgeted a little. "It was."

"But it's all over," he reassured me in a whisper. "I'm here now—I won't let any Cold Ones get to you," he snarled, his shaking began.

"Paul," I said panicky, "calm down!" I hissed.

It took him a few minutes to calm down. "Sorry," he breathed heavily.

"Don't worry—"

"I'm sorry for everything I've said, okay?" he interrupted me, and began to thread his fingers through my tangled my hair. "I'm sorry for saying that Elena's better than you—she's not. I hate whores. I prefer timid, quiet girls with weird fetishes and who have a weird. . . a weird something—like you."

I was quiet.

He continued. "You just got me pissed off. What could I say, to make you believe me? You're just so damn stubborn, Ana!" he yelled-whispered. "I mean. . . And then something turned up, and I had to leave"—I noticed the growl in his voice when he said something—"and I told you to leave; go home! But you didn't."

Caught red handed, eh?

"You went to the ice cream shop, talked to Emily," he continued his stalking-tale. "Then you left, and Black met up with you"—he sounded upset—"and you both went to the beach. He and you talked, and he then took you home. You were smiling and blushing like an idiot." he said, not sounding too pleased.

I glowered at him.

"So you stalked me," I summed up.

He shrugged.

Damn him—he didn't even deny it!

"What do you see in him?" he suddenly asked.

I was uncomfortable now. "I—I don't know. . ."

Paul scowled. "But when I told you to go home—because there actually was something bad lurking around—you didn't." he said, trying to keep cool. "Why Ana? Why not?"

"I was mad at you," I said simply. "Still am. But I don't have enough energy to argue."

He chuckled. "So. . . am I forgiven?"

"No," I said truthfully. "You're going to have to earn your apology, Paul."

"Fine by me." He paused. "I was going to tell you something else. . . but I forgot."

"Tell me some other day," I said, yawning.

"I don't hate you." he said suddenly. "And you don't hate me. . .?"

"No," I said, half-smiling. "I just don't like you at times."

A smirk appeared. "But then that means you like me, eh?"

"Paul!" I groaned.

"What?"

"We were having a good talk."

"Yeah. So?"

I glared at him.

"We still are!" he protested.

I giggled a little. "Eh."

Sleepiness began to creep over me, and I closed my eyes briefly. "This day had been just so doomy and gloomy," I said, thinking of the Legends, and gloomy looking First Beach, then Paul's and I's argument earlier.

"Doom and gloom?" he asked bemusedly.

"Yeah. . ." I said. Then I remembered something unpleasant. "When you said Elena earlier. . . you also said the word imprint. You said something about wishing you hadn't imprinted on me?" Earlier, I had checked my body to see if he had left any marks on me—I mean, didn't imprint mean to leave a mark, or something? "What did you mean, by that?"

He stiffened again, and grunted. "I was talking bull crap, Ana. Just ignore any of my bull crap talk, okay?"

"So that means. . . I have to ignore what you say each time you talk?"

"Ha. Har. You're sexy, but not hilarious, Ana." he sighed. I made a noise in the back of my throat. "Me, on the other hand, am sexy and hilarious, and etcetera," he said, sounding smug.

"In your dreams." I snapped.

"Also in your's, eh?"

I sighed, too tired to argue anymore. I had noticed that Paul had avoided the subject of imprinting, but he did talk bull a lot, so what could I expect from him? But my curiosity to find out what he meant wouldn't leave—which meant that I was going to continue searching for my answer. I mean, what if imprinting—on his terms—meant joining me to his gang, or something? I'm not brave or anything, so what good use would I do this gang he imprinted me to?

Something told me he wasn't talking about imprinting me into a gang, though. . .

But what the hell does he mean?

I yawned loudly, out of nowhere. "Hey I'm going to sleep. . . night. . ."

"Goodnight, you fine lady," I heard paul whisper, yawning too.

All was quiet, and my dreams did turn out to be sweet in the end.

The silver wolf was running alongside me, looking lively and healthy. It was a nice dream. Perfect. Warm.

"ANA!" I woke up to find my mom screaming at me.

I was sweating, too, which was odd since my window was open. "Huh? Mum? What's wrong?"

"You have a boy in your bed!"

She's kidding. . . right? If she wasn't, then that meant that. . .

That ass hole stayed.

And he had me wrapped around his arms, close to him.

Oh crap.

"Mom, I can explain—"

"Don't! You finally got yourself a boyfriend, honey! By time, too. I hope you didn't do anything bad though. . ."

"Mom!" I squealed.

"What?" she asked innocently, then winked. "I'll leave you two alone. Nothing naughty, do you hear me?" And then she left quickly, giggling as she did.

"Well dang," said Paul's croaky voice from right beside my ear, "nothing naughty." he sounded disappointed.

"Shut up!"

"Ooh, I'm being dominated. I like that." I could hear his smirk.

I quickly began to get out of his arms. "Let—go—of—me!"

"No," he said coolly. "I like having someone gorgeous wrapped around my arms. Don't you feel flattered that this amazing hot God is hugging you? And sleeping in your bed?"

"No." My face was on fire.

"Sure you don't." he replied cockily, then yawned. "I slept good. What about you?"

"Horrible," I lied, making a face. "I'm sweaty, my hair is a mess, and then I find myself being wrapped around—"

"Ooh, we were naughty." Paul taunted. "Oopsie."

My eyes widened. "Shut up! No we weren't!"

"In my dreams, we were." At my disgusted squeak, he went on, "I'm joking. Sheesh, can't you take a joke?"

"No."

He scoffed. "Why so serious?" he complained. "Well I gotta go and get ready." He got up, and finally let go of me. He walked over to my window, paused, turned around, and waved at me. "Bye, I guess," he said. "Thanks for. . . sharing your bed." He winked at my sour expression. "Oh liven up, Ana," he grumbled. "I'll see you later."

Then he exited out of my window.

Why couldn't he just be normal, like everyone else, and taken the damn door! But this was Paul I was talking about. . . so I couldn't expect much from him. I stared at the window for a moment, before shaking my head at his idiocy.

Paul was a mystery to me: I have no clue how he's going to act one second, or the other.

Guess I have to deal with him—he is, after all, Paul Lahote. Also known as the idiot, by me.

A/N: I'M SORRY! I think I've said this last chapter? Or I have mentioned this, but see. . . my laptop's charger failed on me. No biggie, right? Yeah, I know, but I really don't have any money at the moment to buy a new one. . . And a lot of things have been going on around me, which has really made it hard to write. I honestly tried—my older brother is lending me his lap top :)—to write, but it just wouldn't come. I couldn't write, even if I did ended up reading my final draft. . . it was horrible.

Ana sounded so depressed and monotone. . . so urgh. I hated the way I had written her, so I erased chapter five, and began to re-write it for. . . I re-wrote 5. DOOM AND GLOOM six times—and I was getting frustrated and all -.- So, then I pulled myself up, and ended up with this decent final draft.

Hope you liked my final draft of 5. DOOM AND GLOOM? I want to hear all you guys' opinions; if you want me to change something or anything, I'll be fine with criticism too. I think that sorta helps me improve! :D Also, I don't know if this was good enough. . . but there will be drama on Ch. 6 NEW DIVIDE :)

So. . . hi? And sorry for not updating early! It's been a pain in the ass knowing I haven't updated for so long! Sorry for any mistakes, I will correct them as soon as I can :D

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