I really really really shouldn't be starting a new story again when I have so many others to update...but I figure this one will get a lot less attention and therefore I'll have a lot of time to develop really, really, intensely cool plot lines for it. Which would be sweet :D

----

Chapter One: Between Movie Quotes and Story Lines

--

I woke up today feeling like today was going to be either really really great or just totally, crash-and-burn, why-was-I-born, kill-me-now bad. I'm usually pretty good at deciding what kind of day I'll have, so I don't doubt myself, but that's really a very wide range of possibilities. And the smallest thing could either make or break my mood, 'cause I'm emotionally unstable like that.

"Good morning, earth!" I say aloud, smiling at my room in general.

Oh.

It's still dark.

I look at my clock, more than a little confused, and read the big flashy bubbly green-now-red-now-blue numbers.

2:29 A.M.

Oh.

"Oops," I say to the earth, wincing. "My bad."

And with that indicator of my day already in place, I pull my covers back up and go back to sleep.

---

I woke up again to the proper scenario: sunshine filtering in through my blinds, warm bed, faint noises from downstairs making the house seem lively. I check my clock again to be sure; and yep, it's right. Two twenty-nine P.M., thank you very much.

I have weird sleep patterns. Shut up.

"Good morning, earth!" I say, throwing myself into deja vu. But hey, it's a habit.

Judging by the good reception I've gotten from the chi in my room so far, I'd say it was going to be a really really great day. Maybe even super great, in fact.

I fling my covers back, swinging my legs from my cocoon. I can feel it in my soul--today's going to be stellar!

Smiling to myself, I forgo opening my window in favor of leaving my room to get light the natural way: by going outside. Tryptamines and vitamin D were necessary for me to avoid being emo! I made it a point to get at least a good twenty minutes of sunlight a day. Like a plant, almost!

I smile at the thought of myself with leaves, totally distracted for a second.

And somehow--I don't even know how, exactly--I trip over the family dog, Marley, and promptly crash down the stairs. For a few moments--though they stretched like minutes I knew it was only seconds--all I could see was black spots and pale yellow walls and that banister that was definitely coming for my head.

All I felt after I collided with that banister was..

Well, nothing.

------

"Eden--"

Black.

Why was it black?

As I came back into my consciousness, regaining at least some semblance of awareness, I came to the realization that it was because my eyes were still closed.

Huh.

I opened my eyes, immediately closing them again at the sudden, harsh intrusion of fluorescent lights against my retinas. I blinked hard, trying to adjust, and a voice I recognized as my mother's was squealing. "Oh my goodness, Eden--"

"Mom?" I tried out my voice; thick, rough, deeper than normal. Oh, that was odd. Definitely odd. To test my facilities I wiggled my toes, relieved when they were all in working order. My left arm worked well enough when I raised it, disguised as just shifting, but my right throbbed. That was also odd. "What happened?"

"Oh, sweetie," My mother simpered, leaning forward to clasp my hand. I felt like I was in a cheesy soap opera or something; my father standing by imposingly but still concerned, arms crossed, my little sister in almost the same pose. "You tripped over Marley and fell down the stairs."

"I did, didn't I," I said, a little redundantly. "What happened to my arm?" The bandages that I could see didn't look like bandages for a fall...and if I'd tried to stop myself from falling wouldn't I have used both arms? (Which raised another question: why didn't I try to stop myself from falling?)

"Well, Marley--you know how he gets defensive sometimes," my mother said, wincing slightly. "He--well--oh, sweetie, he bit you when you got to the bottom."

"I'd always said that dog was going to be the death of someone," My father reminded us all, but his face wasn't serious. "I'm glad you're okay, son."

"Oh..did I hurt him?" I asked, frowning. My father rolled his eyes and I scoffed at him on the inside; he thought I was a pansy (quite clearly) because I cared for that dog (and because I wore skinny jeans), but I thought it was perfectly normal to wonder about the safety of your beloved pet. Even if he did tend to attack you when you slept.

"No, he's fine," my mother said, smiling fondly at me. She didn't think I was a pansy! My mother actually appreciated me for who I was. Thank you, Mom.

"You're lucky Marley didn't get hurt or I would have beaten your ass," my sister Estella spoke up, glaring at me. I smiled at her widely.

"Hi, Stella! I didn't think you'd come to see me!" That was the plain truth. Estella hated me with the Passion of the Christ, and had since she caught me checking out her boyfriend eight months ago (and she'd seen him smile at me later so that didn't help at all) and for other assorted reasons. She thought I was a pansy (evidently) just because...well, she just did. And quite frankly she cared for Marley more than me. And I'm not even kidding; my family takes rotations cooking, and while my father only burned my food a little Estella tended to give it to the dog.

Needless to say I've learned to just feed myself.

"I didn't want to," she said bluntly, her eyes wandering to my arm. "It looks sorta like you tried to cut yourself again."

"Estella!" My mother and father both hissed, whipping around to face her. My father still loved me, even if he did think I was a pansy, and neither of my parents liked thinking about that.

Okay. I wasn't always the happy-go-lucky bouncy rainbows-and-sunshine-and-the-occasional-prancing-unicorn boy I am today. In--when was it? Like, ninth grade, I think..okay, we'll go with that--ninth grade I'd actually tried to kill myself. It didn't make sense to me at all now why I would have tried; but I remember it had been starting high school, making new friends, dealing with the jerks that pervaded my school, things like that. Estella, my twin, had adjusted much more easily than I had. She had been home when I'd decided the kitchen knife would work better than a razor (for some strange reason) and had taken it to my wrists. And Estella, the busy teenage girl she'd been and still was, hadn't noticed until my parents arrived home and wondered where exactly I was.

She sort of blamed herself after that. I blamed myself; she'd been traumatized by the whole thing. After she started hating me, she learned to blame me too.

"I don't mind," I said brightly, smiling. I really didn't mind, actually; I loved Stella and I'd admit, most of the reasons she hated me were very validated. Quite odd. "Actually, I'm a little excited. Can I see myself?"

My mother and father exchanged a "who-kicked-my-son-in-the-head-at-birth" look and my father found a rather healthy-sized mirror in the depths of my mother's handbag. "Are you sure...?" My father trailed off, gesturing to my face. Or what was the general area of my face.

I nodded. Was it morbid to be a little hyped to see your 'battle scars'? I didn't think so...well, it probably was. Oh well.

"Okay," my father said, reluctant still, and handed me the mirror. I hefted it with both hands and angled it towards my face.

"Oh!"

My face was mostly unmarked but for an almost artistic splash of bright cobalt on my right temple, extending a little to brush my eyebrow. Meeting my eyes was a little strange; they were cloudy and unfocused even though I was focusing and wow that's a confusing thought process, so I looked away and there was an odd bruise on my jawline. But they all matched up with falling down a staircase, so I'm guessing Estella didn't kick me in the head just for...kicks and giggles. Haha.

"I like it!" I declared, and my father shook his head again and my mother just smiled.

"It's not that bad for a fall like you took," she said. "Eden, you could have actually died."

"Really?" That was more interesting than it should be. "That's...well I'd like to say neat but it's not really, so I'll say frightening. That's frightening."

"Yes, it is," my mother said, one of her hands reaching to pat my elbow. "You'll be home soon though, the doctor said it was alright for us to take you home when you woke up. No broken bones, no concussion, no lasting damage. You'll just be sore for a while, but we've got medicine for that."

"That's swell," I said, sitting up fully. "What time is it? I think I'm hungry."

"It's about five-thirty..." My father said, checking his watch. Unconscious for three hours? Probably another strike against me on his list of things about me that he considers pansy-ish. "Stell's turn to cook tonight."

My mother looked at me sympathetically before turning her gaze on my father. "We'll get takeout tonight."

---

"Marleeeey--" Estella set off into the house in search of the dog as soon as we arrived, cooing gently. I followed my parents inside, making plans to greet him and apologize later. I still felt bad for landing on him...

"Sit down, Eden," my mother bade me, pulling out a chair at the table. I sat, thanking her, and folded my hands, feeling like I was forgetting something...

What could it be...

What could it possibly be...

Maybe something like--OH DEAR GOD MY PHONE.

I shoved my chair away, banging my knee on the table, and ignored the worried look from my mother as I ran towards the stairs.

"Eden Archer Owen!" I stopped dead, wincing. When my mother called me by my full name it was time to listen.

"Yes, Mom?"

"You had better not be running up those stairs!"

"I'm not, Mom," I called, and made sure my foot hit every step surely on the way up. I'd definitely be careful without a warning when coming down, needless to say.

My room was still dark because I hadn't yet turned on the lights, and I could clearly see the bright beam of light my phone cast against the black of my bookshelf. But for safety's sake I turned on the lights.

"Aghhhf--shootwhyisitsobright," I--well, you could call it a hiss but it sounded more like a gurgle to me--gurgled. Yay for brightness and safety, though!

Picking my way over my desk chair, laundry basket, clothes that weren't in the laundry basket, and around the corner of my bed, I decided the lights had been a good idea. I definitely could kill myself on any of these things easily; it was a wonder I hadn't done it yet.

"Phone!" I chirped happily, popping the charger off and flipping it open. "Tweeeelve--no, fourteen new messages," I counted, grinning. "People love me!"

Sliding my precious--err...my phone...--into my pocket so I wouldn't be distracted by texting while I walked down the stairs, I went back out onto the landing. As if my mom had super hearing or something she yelled, "Do you want me to help you down the stairs?"

"No thank you!" I yelled back, gripping the banister tightly as I descended, hugging the wall. There were small spots of blood dotting the wall, probably mine, and there was a definite dent in the banister that my fingers dipped into as they slid along. It was almost morbid, but at least I wasn't reliving it or anything. It was just a coincidence that my arms throbbed painfully as my fingers clenched at the banister.

I definitely did feel better once I'd gotten to the bottom of the staircase and the ground was solid and flat again, and I made my way back to the dinner table. My mother looked me over like she was afraid I'd fallen again, but silently and with much less damage than before. I rolled my eyes a little and sat down, whipping my phone out to check the messages.

"Leo, Tyce, Leo, Rhett, Galen, Jay, Hil, Remy, Leo, Leo.." I scrolled down, reading the names aloud to myself. They made me feel happy on the inside and sort of like drawing smiley faces on my fingers. And taking pictures of them.

Yay!

Although seeing the texts from Leo were because she was freaking out because I hadn't texted her back and usually I didn't ever ever leave my phone ever anywhere but in my pockets (ever) and that was rather disconcerting, there were only about eight other texts that counted. Is that a bad thing that people assume my phone is like, permanently attached to my hand? I think it might be.

Making a mental reminder to call my bestie (another reason why my father thought I was a pansy: I used the word bestie instead of best friend. And the one in question was a girl...apparently that wasn't manly at all) later and tell her that I hadn't died, I flicked through the other messages. Not important, not important, 'do your homework', 'you wanna go out tonight', 'we're going out, do you want to come', 'i need you to come shopping with me', not important, 'are you alive', not important, not important. Sweet! I'm gonna go somewhere!

Looking for a time--seven-thirty, said Jay and Remy--I checked it against the clock. It was only about six-fifteen, so I had ample time to get ready...looking down at my gauze-wrapped arm, I decided that it was definitely cool enough that a jacket wouldn't be amiss. So I was set to go--except for my face.

Uh..

"Mom, can I go out tonight?" I turned my eyes on my mother, who looked up at me. She was pretty loose in letting me do what I wanted, and normally didn't give me restrictions unless they were for a good reason. I saw her look from my arm to my face, and she bit her lip.

"Are you sure you're feeling up to it..?" She questioned, and I nodded vigorously.

"Yeah! Please, Mom?" I gave her the puppy eyes I knew she couldn't resist, pushing my lip out to avoid a grin. She hesitated, lifted her shoulders, and then sighed heavily.

"Take your medicine and call Jay, you're not driving anywhere tonight. Wear a jacket, it's cool outside, call me if you're going to be out past one."

I loved my mother.

I smiled, got up and went around the table to kiss her on the cheek, and skipped into the living room. Thankfully all I really needed was my wallet, which was usually always on the kitchen counter; my phone, which was in my hand (like always...); and my jacket. That was folded over the back of the couch; lucky for me it was the cute blue and green and white one, which made me happy and I wouldn't feel unsexy for wearing. Yay!

Ooh. My face. Forgot about that.

"Eden, let me fix your face before you go!"

I really, reeeeaaallly loved my mother.

I knew she was calling me from the downstairs bathroom so I skipped there, sliding the jacket on over my arms carefully. Was it odd to feel so extraordinarily...chipper, after falling down a flight of stairs?

"Come here," my mother said when I entered the bathroom, beckoning. She held a jar of thick concealer in one hand. "And hold still," she reminded me, giving me her 'no-nonsense' look. I obeyed readily, closing my eyes as she reached out and softly pressed her fingers to my face.

Out of instinct I flinched, expecting it to hurt like hell--but for some reason it didn't. I could feel the faint idea of pain, but I guess that was the medicine working. I should probably take it again if I didn't want to hurt tonight.

"Now, don't touch your face with your clothes, because it'll rub off after a while. You're lucky you're the same color as me," Mom told me, holding her hand next to mine for comparison, and showed me her wrist. When I followed suit I could actually tell I was just as tannishly pale as she was...which was pretty tannishly pale. Darn.

"Don't make that face." I pouted, then stuck my tongue out at her and let her dab the cream over my jawline. Maybe if it was a real bruise from a fist like it sort of seemed like it was, my dad would think I was more manly!

...I wasn't willing to be punched in the face for manliness, though.

Oh well.

"There you go," Mom said, smiling at me. "Now go call Jay because I know you haven't yet, and tell him to be careful tonight. Take your medicine, too."

"Okayyy," I said, not skipping this time so she wouldn't think I was crazy, and went to go find my medicine. Sitting on the counter by my wallet; I smiled, popped two in my mouth like it said to, and grabbed a random glass of water from the counter and swallowed. Then I dialed Jay, bouncing in place anxiously. Or excitedly, whichever you'd prefer.

"Hello?"

"Jay!" I--okay, this sounds girly and nerdy but whatever--squealed, running my hands through my hair. I moved in front of the hallway mirror to check it; surprisingly, it was still cute. Odd, but pleasant. "Hey!"

"Eden!' He sounded somewhat relieved, and somewhat cross. "What the hell happened to you?"

"Oh, I fell down earlier, and I went to the hospital, but I'm fine now. You wanna pick me up?"

"Fell down? Fell down what?"

Uhhh..."Stairs, but that's not important--"

"You fell down a flight of stairs!?" I winced a little at the incredulity in his voice.

"Uhh...yes, but that's not important. At all." I paused, and when I heard him inhale I added, "Whatsoever."

"I can't believe you want to go out after falling down a flight of stairs--you went to the hospital?!"

"Yesss...I'm fine, Jay, it's no big deal--"

"You fell down a flight of stairs!" I could practically see him pulling at his hair on the other end of the line. "You went to a hospital!" His tone softened. "Ugh. Are you--stupid question...how bad is it?"

"Not that bad!" I said emphatically, examining my face in the mirror. All you could really see was a little bit of shadowing under the makeup. He probably wouldn't notice. "Just a little bruised. Nothing major. But for serious, you wanna come get me? My mom won't let me drive tonight."

"I'll be there in ten, then..you're sure?" He waited a beat while I nodded, forgetting I was on the phone, and then sighed. He'd most likely guessed I was nodding. "Fine."

"Bye!" I said cheerily, and he hung up. I shut my phone and slipped it back into my pocket, looking myself over again in the mirror. I was acceptable, which was good even if I didn't look amazing. I was suitable to go out. Surprising, considering all the trauma I'd been through today. I imagined it was something of a miracle I looked even halfway acceptable after falling down a flight of stairs.

"He'll be here in ten!" I yelled, turning in the general direction of the kitchen where I knew my mother would be. "I'm going to go sit outside!"

"Be careful," my mother called back, and I grabbed my keys off the hook by the door and went to go sit outside.

It was cool outside, enough for me to put my hands in my pockets and be grateful it wasn't humid or my hair would be frizzing so bad. And some part of me wanted to go ask my mom for her concealer just in case I touched my face or something--or her compact, so I could check it?

It's not that I'm (really horribly) superficial, it's just that I don't actually want to look like I'd fallen down a flight of stairs. I wanted to have pain-free, unconcerned fun!

Although if I knew Jay he'd spend half his time trying to get me to avoid every set of steps I saw from now until...I died. Eww. Dead. I just hope it's not from falling down stairs.

I heard the kitchen window, conveniently located right next to the front door, slide open and my mother lean out, elbows perched on the windowsill. "Eden, if you get into any sort of trouble you call me, alright?"

"You know I will, Mom," I said soothingly, nodding. She smiled weakly back; I didn't mind the attentiveness. She was a mother, she was allowed to worry. And worry she would unless I was out with friends--the responsible ones, she said often. Generally my mother approved of my friends, and in certain cases it was a little more than approval.

"Jay!" His car rolled into the driveway and my head turned, just as excited as my mother sounded relieved. One of my beeeeest friends in the whole wide world popped open the door and slid out, striding up the driveway and cutting onto the lawn. Courtesy, which was one of the reasons my mother liked him so much, dictated that he greet her first, which he did. She shook the hand of my oldest friend, whom I'd known since about third grade, and smiled.

"Thank you so much for agreeing to take Eden out at such short notice," she said. Jay just smiled.

"No problem," he replied, and then turned to me.

There was a moment of silence in which he looked me over and I got the feeling it didn't matter whether I was wearing concealer or not because he could probably tell what I looked like under it, let alone under the jacket.

Jolie Owen ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head, and then closed the distance between us to hug me.

"You're an idiot!" he exclaimed suddenly, pulling away. "You could have died! Eden--Jesus, what am I gonna do with you?"

"Take me out?" I suggested innocently, and he made a face at me.

"I'm tempted to leave you here," he began, and when my expression changed from excited to pouty he sighed. "But I won't. Get in the car."

"Roger dodger!" I said, snapping him a mock salute and scampering across the driveway to obey his order. I spared his car a glance before I stepped in; I'd always loved it. Dark blue, shiny and sparkly, a pretty Prius that suited him perfectly. I don't think he could've looked right driving anything else; Jay, who was like the chocolate power to my milk (I'm glad I didn't say that out loud cause it sounded kinda dirty), had never really liked big cars anyway. I myself was a truck kind of guy (notice how I didn't say man? Yeah...), and I suspect my mom wouldn't let me drive tonight because she was afraid I'd mow someone down by accident in the GMC Sierra I still called a 'car'.

"You are soooo lucky I'm really bored," Jay told me, grinning, and pulled out of the driveway. Jay, who was actually a responsible person, did like to have his share of fun. "And that you're not dead because I'd be so pissed."

"You think you'd be mad? Leo would kill me," I said, laughing, and maneuvered my feet onto the dashboard. "Is she coming?"

"Yeah, and you'd better get ready for her," he said. "You look decent though. Not stellar, but decent."

"Thanks," I said, smiling, and he reached over to punch me affectionately.

"And don't rub your face because I'm reasonably sure that's not just a shadow on it."

"...darn."

---

New project...yay!

I actually do like the way this came out, even if it was a little disjointed near the end.

Reviews are like the ocean for fish.