UNDER THE COVER OF FALLING DUSK AND DARKENING GREY CLOUDS, SARA FIELDS STOOD IN THE SAND OF LA PUSH BEACH. She held her arms outstretched as the spray of the ocean in front of her splattered droplets of cold water onto the open bottle of of tequila she held in her hand. It wasn't her favourite drink, if she were being honest, but it would have to do for now.

Her mind felt hazy as she stumbled briefly through the sand, but it was a feeling she had learned to welcome when she was 13. Now at sixteen, she was so much more than used to it. She liked to know that she was drifting somewhere between reality and somewhere much better, somewhere more comforting to those who needed it. Somewhere that, unlike on the planet she lived on, people like herself could find peace.

The people who spent their life holding themselves together with duct tape and safety pins and all the glue one could find, just to wake up in the morning. Life was a terrifyingly difficult thing for anyone to accomplish, and Sara Fields was no exception. If anything, she was an example.

She took another swig from her half empty bottle and, while ignoring the way it burned at her throat, sat down on a log behind her. As much as she knew her Aunt would be worrying about her if she wasn't home before her shift at the hospital in Forks ended, she was too tipsy to care. If anything, she knew she cared more tipsy than she did sober.

But when telling the truth, she didn't really care what her aunt thought because she was only staying with her for a week of the spring break and then going home. Back to her mother and step father, who couldn't give a shit about her or what she was doing. So really, it didn't matter where she went or what she did because only one person in her life showed any concern about it, and it was someone who had no say over what happened to her.

Sara knew the dangers of sitting at the beach while drunk when a storm was growing like this. But seeing the bruised blue-purple clouds and the waves crashing to shore like fists landing on a table, sea spray like shattering glass, she couldn't remember when she'd last felt this peaceful. She couldn't remember any other time in her life when she hadn't been the angriest thing around her.

Haphazardly she ran a hand through her salt tangled hair and ignored the way the knots tugged up pain at the roots. What did it matter anyway? Thunder and lightning briefly lit up over the ocean and she sighed closing her eyes.

She imagined herself as the rage of the sky, smashing and breaking everything around her in a fit of agonized raged and something in her chest opened before slamming closed. Over and over it happened, and over and over she drowned in the feeling of absolute certainty that she would never find this feeling again.

Sitting so close to the ocean with waves growing closer and closer to the soles of her shoes, wind blowing over her face and damp hair, she couldn't remember the last time she'd felt so calm and collected. The beat of her heart was steady, and so were her hands as she tilted the bottle up to her mouth.

The way it burned the back of her throat when she swallowed it was comforting now, as she looked up at the dark cloudy sky with hooded, sombrely peaceful eyes. Mist from the trees splattered across the back of her thin long sleeved shirt and made her smile. Very slowly she glanced up at the cliff face behind her, and felt a lazy grin slowly cross her lips.

Her fingers were numb now, thanks to the sea spray and mist running off the side of her bottle. Trying to keep herself from falling over, Sara rose to her feet. Those feet carried her through the trees and up the incline of roots and brush until she was standing with her toes over the edge of the rock, bottle chilling through her fingertips completely.

After a moment she sat down so her legs dangled into the nothingness beyond her little cliff. Periodically she would take sips from the bottle and dribble a bit down her chin that would make her laugh, but she didn't care. Her mind was nowhere near the right place for it.

Sara had no idea how long she'd been sitting there until finally laying down and closing her eyes. Those bruise coloured clouds began sprinkling a cool mist down on her, thicker than the fog but not enough to be rain. Her hair was damp and probably full of leaves and twigs from the ground. She curled her knees up to her chest while rolling onto her side, and she hummed contently.

It was peaceful in La Push, she could admit that much.

When the ground got too uncomfortable she stumbled to her feet again, giggling when she nearly tripped over the edge. She opened her arms wide and walked close to the space where the rocks and dirt began crumbling into the water. Wind whipped through her hair.

Smiling easily to herself, Sara stared down where the land gave way to the crashing water and felt her mouth pull over to one corner. Her heart rate slowed down and for a moment, she felt utter clarity.

I'm up high enough...maybe...

"Are you okay over there?"

Briefly she decided that the guy speaking must be addressing someone else before slowly realizing she was the only one there. With less than half the wits she'd normally have Sara turned to face him.

He didn't look much older than she did, maybe just a year. But it was hard to tell by how scrawny he was; she could tell even through his jeans and hoodie. Firm and obvious cheekbones, nose slightly crooked as if he'd broken it before, wide brown eyes with long lashes.

Drunkenly, she admitted to herself that he was pretty.

In a gentle, relaxed sort of way.

" 'm fine," she hummed easily, forcing the lazy smile crossing her lips to stay a little longer than it wanted to.

It looked like he didn't believe her in the slightest, but the moment his eyes made contact with the bottle in her hand he seemed to go into a mind of nothing but panic. She couldn't fully process it, but she felt hands grab her shoulders and gravel dig into her legs and then she was five feet away from the cliff.

Vaguely, she felt herself flush with anger but she was tired, so instead of fighting him about it she simply curled onto her side. Her arm pillowed her head and with nausea rolling through her, Sara just closed her eyes. The wind was cold now, and she could feel it seeping through the dampness in her clothes. But the ground was better than home so she couldn't care any less.

"What the hell are you doing?"

The words didn't make any sense at first, but when they finally clicked into place she let out a scoff. "The fuck does it matter to you?"

"You're gonna get yourself killed!" He gaped at her, those wide brown eyes set firmly on her.

Even with the concern in his voice, written all over his face, Sara couldn't bring herself to give a shit. He didn't know who she was. Didn't know what she'd survived. What she'd have to go through once she went back home.

He didn't understand.

How could he?

The crinkles around his eyes, faint but permanent dimples in his cheek, told her just how carefree he was. The looseness in his shoulders. Cleanliness of his clothes. Just the way he was watching her told her everything she needed to know; he wouldn't get it.

So, forcing an ounce of sobriety into her mind so she could focus long enough to speak, she glared down at the hands still sitting on her shoulders that we're sending a wave of nausea rolling through her. "Don't you fucking touch me," she snarled at him. Albeit the words were mildly slurred, she got the point across.

He didn't have the chance to move before she was wrenching herself out of his grip, gaze drifting up to his.

Something changed in those brown eyes, from concern to confusion, and it had him reeling back. Her stare didn't waver.

"I didn't mean anything by it," he said finally, surprise in every line of the expression on his face. "I just thought — I didn't want you to fall. You shouldn't be drinking up here, it's not safe."

Forcing herself to be firm, Sara stumbled two steps back, not caring that it was moving her further towards the cliff face behind her. "You don't know what's safe for me. Fuck. Off."

Then, with her bottle of tequila gripped tightly in her numb fingers, she shouldered past him and stalked back into the trees. Away from him, from the brief thought that had crossed her mind when she'd been standing up at the tippy top of that cliff, from what would've happened if that annoying shit head of a kid hadn't interrupted her.

SEVEN MONTHS LATER

Sara stepped out of the car, her Child Protective Services officer and adoption case manager climbed out of the front seats, chatting. Their voices were soft and expressions gentle as her Aunt Gayle exited her house, tears streaming down her face. She saw she was dressed in her nursing scrubs, which she took to mean that she was either getting ready to leave for work or just got home after a shift.

"Gayle Fields?" Mark, the CPS officer called gently with lifted brows.

Her Aunt sniffled while crossing the front yard to meet them on the driveway. "You must be Mark, and—and Gina?"

The conversation carried on from there while Sara just dug her duffel bag out of the trunk. There weren't many things in it; just a few clothes, a winter jacket with newspaper clippings stuffed into the pockets, her needles along with a few different colours of thread, and the grey blue sweater she took with her everywhere. Sure, there were probably some other things she'd tossed in, but she didn't care.

Blatantly ignoring the adults conversation going on ahead of her, she let herself look at her surroundings.

Not much had changed since she'd been here last, which was just over half a year ago. The one story house was small and still painted brown. Potted flowers of various colours lined the front path and the railings of the porch. The grass was thinner and mixed with gravel towards the edge of the road and as it had always been, the property was bordered by the forest.

"Can I show you your room?" Gayle asked her gently, drawing her into the conversation she'd been avoiding.

Sara exhaled through her nose.

The only difference was instead of staying for just a week while her mother and step father visited Gayle, she was going to be spending the rest of her life in this house. However long it was.

"Sure," Sara muttered quietly.

She nodded to Mark and Gina as she passed then followed her Aunt inside. Apparently she'd also ignored the conclusion of the conversation. They followed her through the front door.

The inside was how she'd remembered it as well; beige walls with hardwood floors, bookshelves on either side of the hallway, a trio of paintings in the living room. Gayle brought her up the hall to the only door on the left hand side just before the hall ended and twisted the handle open for her.

It was where she'd stayed for the week eight months ago.

Nausea briefly rolled through her at the memories it brought it but she forced it down. Now that Kevin and her mother were in jail, neither of them could do anything to her. She stuffed her trembling hands into the back pockets of her jeans and stepped through the door.

The same navy bedding on the queen sized bed, white walls, white and blue curtains over the window. The fluffy white rug over the hardwood floors at the end of the bed. "We'll change whatever you want, I don't want this to trigger anything," Gayle murmured, arms folded over her chest.

"It's fine like this," Sara shrugged quietly. "Thank you, though."

With a small smile, her Aunt left her to sort out her things in order to have her final conversation with Mark and Gina, who'd taken to ensuring the house would be a safe place for her. The door was most of the way closed to give her privacy, which she appreciated.

Slowly, she settled a hand over the bed spread and closed her eyes.

His rough hands pushed and grabbed at her body, cold eyes looking directly into her and daring her to make a sound. To cry out for help.

She didn't.

A tear rolled down her cheek and she pulled her hand back. She dropped her bag on the floor under the window and pulled out the blue grey sweater out. Whatever image had been put on the front had long since faded and chipped away, but it didn't matter. All she would ever see was her dads sweater.

So she wiped at her tears with the sleeves after she'd put it on. Sara settled herself on the floor beside her bag and drew her knees up to her chest where she then set her chin. When Mark and Gina peaked in to see how she was doing, she simply nodded her head to them and made herself comfortable again. She really wasn't in the mood to talk.

She wasn't sure how long she'd been sitting there before Gayle came in, but it had taken long enough that her neck had stiffened up. Her aunt didn't say anything, just started pulling all of the blankets and sheets off the bed. "We're going to go out and buy new ones in about ten minutes, if you feel up to it," she stated firmly, though her voice held a slight waver.

Sara managed a smile and she nodded.

Unable to bring herself to touch the bed sheets again, she waited until Gayle was finished before rising to her feet. It was another five minutes before they were ready to go.

It had begun raining by the time she stepped outside, and her hair wound up damp as she waited. The clouds were deep blues and purples again, with the occasional rumble of thunder sending tree branches rattling. Yet Sara still found herself smiling numbly up at the sky. Droplets of cool water splattered on her face and she closed her eyes, just taking a moment to really appreciate the fact that she was somewhere Kevin could get to her. Somewhere her mother couldn't get to her.

"Hey! Long time no see!"

Sara slowly refocused on her surroundings, looking around until her eyes settled on the tall lanky figures of a pair of teenage boys standing in the middle of the street. The one who had spoken was wearing jeans that looked slightly too big for him and a brown hoodie the colour of tree bark.

For a moment, she couldn't figure out where she knew him from. He was so utterly familiar in a way that irritated her because she just couldn't figure it out.

Then, he spoke again. "You okay over there?"

It clicked. "Fuck off," she glared at him.

Gayle stepped out of the house and locked the front door as his friend snickered at him, giving him a light shove to make him continue going up the street. "I see you've met Jared?" Her aunt smiled ruefully, nodding her head in the direction of the small, well-used Chevy impala parked in the driveway.

Vaguely, Sara remembered her dad saying it had belonged to their grandpa, who had bought it just before he died and then it was passed down through the family until her aunt won it in a Rock-Paper-Scissors battle.

"Jared?" She asked unhappily, clicking her seatbelt into place.

"Jared Cameron," her aunt confirmed. "He lives down the street; the blue one-story on the corner."

"Fucking hell...Jared Cameron needs to learn how to mind his own business," Sara muttered to herself, raking a hand through her tangled hair. "He's...irritating."

The keys twisted in the ignition and the engine sputtered to life. "He has that affect on people," her aunt mused quietly. They backed out of the driveway. "But he means well."

They pulled out of the driveway and headed down the road where the two boys had been going, and wound up passing them just before they crossed the street. Jared Cameron — the boy from the cliff, who had stopped her from making the decision to do something irreparable — lived down the fucking street from her.

He waved sarcastically as they passed. Sara just rolled her and settled back in her seat, and allowed her eyes to closed again.

Fucking hell, indeed.