Wow, it's been long... too long. Sorry everybody! Gah, I don't know what had me putting of this story for so long... okay maybe lazyness was a bit of a factor but I've picked up the ball and now I'm going to finish what I've started.

I hope that there is still some interest in this story even though I've been a lazy authoress.

But here, at last is chapter two;


Even now Owen could not believe the horrible luck that seemed to smash into him every time he walked out into the world. The young man had opted for becoming a hermit. After all he couldn't help wondering sarcastically if maybe he refused to show his face then nothing bad could possibly happen.

Owen Matthews never though his life could crumble like it began doing with his first arrival at Westlake Prep. Who knew the second time around would be worst than the first. Well, maybe deep inside he realized it would end in throes of battle or death after all, Dodger was set on getting her way.

Owen's awakening had been beyond unpleasant. He hadn't been surprised, no that would have taken something more like the conversation he'd heard his father having with his doctor outside of his door when they both believed he was still unconscious.

"Sir, I know that must be very hard for you but I assure you that your son will make a full recovery."

Owen's attention had perked up at the woman's voice. He curiously turned his head towards the door and closed his eyes to concentrate on what was being spoken.

"He'll be fine then?" Mr. Matthews asked almost casually.

There was a definite sigh before regretful words were spoken.

"Physically he'll be fine."

After the slight pause Owen could almost imagine the thick brown eyebrows rise on his father's forehead.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

The tone was harsh and Owen winced at his father's 'business' voice.

"When I contacted his school, they informed me about the teacher, and the young woman that was killed…"

"They had no right in telling you that! Everything concerning my son is strictly confidential unless its coming from me or my lawyer. Do you understand?"

Then there was an air of aghast silence.

"I'm sorry," the woman spoke abruptly but quite rudely. "But I think you should look beyond the legal drivel and open your eyes to the fact that your son just tried to commit suicide!"

Owen sucked in his breath and looked down at the white bandages that covered his arms and wrists. It was so painful to hear the words flow from her mouth so convincingly. And Own had no choice but to take his father's silence as acceptance for the lie he'd just been told.

"What should I do? Huh? Tell me, because I've done all I can for my son but he refuses to snap out of the stupor he fell into after he killed that man."

"Let him talk to a psychiatrist to help him deal with the guilt and grief. It's better than letting him drown into it. Obviously he's shown us that damage he can do to himself."

His father had come inside the room then. Not realizing that Owen was well awake and aware of everything.

"Owen," Mr. Matthews breathed and looked at his son impassively.

Owen had painstakingly pulled rolled his eyes up to look at his father. "I didn't try to commit suicide," he told his father softly.

Mr. Matthews looked at his son in disbelief.

"I didn't," Owen snapped. "I was attacked!"

Anger shown through Mr. Matthew's eyes. "Really? You were attacked. That's what happened?"

"Yes," Owen breathed. He knew instantly that it was a lost cause, his father didn't believe him and chose to stand with all the other people that believed he was a suicidal invalid. "It was Dodger."

Owen's head jerked back from the impact of his father's powerful backhand. "Don't you dare accuse anyone for your stupidity other than yourself."

The young man turned his head from his father and stared at the door.

It really was hopeless, he was the sheep and Dodger was the wolf that was going to gobble him whole. The read-headed bitch had won.

"You're going to see a psychiatrist," Mr. Matthews informed his son once he calmed down enough to speak civilly.

Owen didn't dare open his mouth again, but that didn't keep him from cursing his father, the doctor, Dodger, and everyone else in the fucking world for his position.

It wasn't fair.

A few days later:

"Mr. Matthews," the nice young secretary beamed at Owen from her desk. Her bright white teeth and the headset she wore made her look a bit brainless. "Dr. Lallatin will see you now."

Owen nodded and gave her a thin, tightlipped smiled as he passed her and pushed open the dark maroon door.

The room was finely furnished with dark green walls and a blue floor that seemed to distract from the rooms' beauty. There were lamps standing on alluring desks as well as the characteristic leather chairs that took up most of the space in the room.

"Ah Mr. Matthews, please, come take a seat."

Owen had to admit that Dr. Lallatin was a beautiful woman with a finely tailored suit to go along with her finely tailored hair, shoes, and makeup.

She was holding a writing pad and pen in her hand. But what really caught Owen's eyes was the tape recorder that sat on the glass table separating them from each other. When she reached forward to shake his hand, he fought to roll his eyes but willingly gave his hand to her.

"It's nice to meet you," She gushed.

Owen remained silent, hoping silently that she'd realized he wasn't as happy as she was to see him.

She frowned and picked up a manila folder and opened it, examining a couple pieces of paper. "You attempted suicide?"

Owen fought a snicker and the impulse to scream in her face. "No."

She smiled knowingly and leaned forward so her elbows were resting on her knees. "That's the first step," she announced.

It was in those words that Owen realized he had no idea what she was talking about. "Excuse me?"

"The first step to healing," she began with a large smile, "is denial."

"Okay," Owen growled.

"Lets really get into it then." Dr. Lallatin coaxed. "So Owen, tell me about your life."

"Are you going to tape this?" Owen asked as he eyed the tape recorder.

Dr. Lallatin looked down at it and squinted slightly as if considering it. "I never tape the first session."

Owen breath a sigh of relief and let his shoulders go lax.

"Your life Owen," she reminded him.

She was eyeing him almost as if she could accuse him of lying if the false words came from his mouth.

"I have no life," he told her stubbornly.

Dr. Lallatin let out a sharp laugh, leaning back and then scrolled something down on her notepad. "Then tell me about your friends."

"I have no friends."

"Really?" Dr. Lallatin eyebrows rose high on her forehead. "What about the group of kids that were at the hospital after your accident."

Owen snorted and crossed his arms over his chest. "They're just a bunch of rich snobs who pity me and feel guilty for everything they've caused."

"So you blame them?"

Owen glanced around the room uncomfortably. "Maybe," he said softly to himself.

"Do you feel guilty for what happened?"

Owen glared daggers into her. "What do you think?"

She put the pen to her lips and shrugged. "It doesn't matter what I think, I want you to tell me what you think."

"Yes," he snapped.

"Yes what?" Dr. Lallatin asked remotely. Her face showed nothing but fake innocence to his emotions.

"Yes, I feel guilty."

"Guilty for Rich Walkers death?"

"… yeah."

She sighed and leaned forward again. "Guilt is one of God's cruelest emotions placed on the human race. Don't you agree?"

Owen rolled his eyes and squeezed at the bridge of his nose, knowing that a migraine was going to erupt soon. "I guess."

"Good," Dr. Lallatin approved and once again scrolled something down on her notepad. "I think that's good enough for today. I'll be seeing you again same time next week alright."

"Fine," Owen conceded as he shook her hand again and walked from her office.

His head was down as he his elevator reached the ground floor. Lord knows he wasn't expecting…

"Hey Owen."

Owens head shot up at the familiar voice.