Just a warning...this chapter is all sads. There is no happy. I cannot write happy. (Well...not right now, anyway. Sorry.) Oh, and:


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Vivaldi glared at the computer screen, tapping her fingers nervously on the desk. She spun around in her chair, trying to ignore the annoying sign: loading...please wait. that marred the center of her screen. She watched silently as the opaque bar slowly turned green. Glancing around the library quickly, she checked to make sure no one was watching her. This was taking too long. She would need to make a complaint to the school-the Internet service wasn't nearly fast enough. Finally, after what seemed like forever, the website popped up.

Impatiently, she ignored the message at the top of the screen, which warned her that what she may discover is 'completely and utterly restricted' bla bla bla. If she had wanted a lecture on safety, she would have gone to her annoying older brother's house. Instead, she typed in a name: Liddell, Alice. She didn't actually think her friend would show up on the website...but maybe, just maybe it would have some sort of explanation for the way she had been acting.

It's probably, Vivaldi guessed, that she's being bullied. That's why she doesn't want to talk about it...

She frowned slightly. The last time she had seen Alice's bruises, she had come to the same conclusion. It was the only reasonable answer, after all. Vivaldi couldn't help but flinch as she remembered Alice's injuries. They had been horrible. Bruises, scars, and small cuts had covered her small body, shockingly noticeable against her pale skin. Vivaldi had made an effort to talk to Ace, Boris, and Peter about not mentioning the odd number of little wounds on her hands and legs...without mentioning the bruises on her the girl's stomach, of course. It wouldn't do to have Peter freak out even more than before. She had also told them that once everyone saw that Alice was friends with Vivaldi, it would stop. And that was the part Vivaldi didn't understand. It was supposed to stop. It should've stopped.

But, apparently, it hadn't.

Vivaldi shook her head, peering once again at her computer screen. She moved quickly through the names, (there were lots of people named Alice Liddell) until she reached one that caught her eye. Beside most of the names, the felony had been committed in there twenties, forties, or older teens, which was shown in the little number that rested directly beneath their names. But on this one, the number was twelve. Sure, Vivaldi knew this was a crime website and that it did not, most certainly not, have age restrictions on the people it showed its readers. Still, it made her curious enough to click on the name. The page soon finished loading, showing a pretty girl with blonde hair that had grown past her shoulders, so it was even with her chest. Aquamarine eyes stared blankly at the screen. She was unsmiling; she looked distant. It was unmistakably Alice.

Vivaldi held her breath in anticipation, before glancing down to the police report beneath it. Her narrowed her eyes in confusion.

There must have been some kind of mistake.

She glanced at the photo again. No, it was definitely Alice.


Vivaldi stood up quickly, too quickly. She ignored the curious stares of the people around her and swept her way out of the library.

She didn't even realize she had forgotten to close the webpage.

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Alice's body ached all over, especially her back. It seemed as if everything hurt. She could barely move.

Well, that's what I get for spending the night in a tree.

She glanced around at the leafy canopy, which enveloped her in a cocoon of various shades of green. Probably not the most intelligent of decisions, but, as far as her choices went, it was really her only option. Carefully, she sat up, the course bark scraping her arm, causing her to flinch.

Unless, of course, she was willing to endure going back inside and making her family angry. Again.

She glanced away, recalling the events that took place earlier that night.

I shouldn't have said that.

No, she agreed with herself, digging her fingers into the rough bark of the branch she was resting on, I really shouldn't have.

But she had been so angry, so confused. Not about the realization that her family was, well, abnormal in a bad way-oh no. She had figured that out a long time ago, when she young, when she found out that no one in her class besides her had fathers that sometimes, not a lot, but often enough, came home smelling horrible and, fists swinging, proceeded to get very, very angry. But now that mother was dead, he was angry every day, and couldn't keep a job. Alice was the one taking care of the family, Alice was the one making sure they got food. And true, this was partly her fault, but it was her father's fault, too. The only person in he family that was blameless-truly blameless-was Lorina.

A point that has been made clear to me plenty of times, Alice thought angrily, pulling a handful of leaves off a branch before ripping them into pieces in her hands. And she should have remembered that, and left well enough alone. But she hadn't. When she had asked for his signature, her father had gotten angry. Of course he had. He always did. Then he had proceeded to yell at Alice, because 'this was all her fault.' But it wasn't 'all her fault'. It was his, too. And he thought he was 'sick of this'? 'Sick of her'? Well, she was sick of him, too. And she had had enough.

So while her father got angry, Alice got furious. All she had wanted was his signature! And why did he have to ruin all of this for Lorina, wonderful, sweet Lorina, who hadn't done a thing? So Alice did the unthinkable.

She punched him in the face.

Sure, she had gotten mad at her father before. They had exchanged harsh words-but then again they always did-and Alice would get beaten up perhaps a little worse than before. But no matter what happened, no matter how angry she got, Alice had never hit her father. Ever.

And she had paid for it, too. Her father had gotten up off the floor, a stunned expression on his face, and, blood dripping from his nose, grabbed for the for one of the knives in the kitchen. Then he had lunged blindly forward-his eyes half-closed from pain and confusion-and soon, even though Alice had managed to dodge the worst of it, scored a cut to Alice's forearm.

But Alice wasn't an idiot. Her father had been drunk, for one thing, and he had been hurt, true, but that look on his face...She had heard of it before, but had never quite imagined that was what it would look like.


She shivered, staring blankly at the ground beneath her.

What is like, she wondered, To come home to a happy mother, a smiling sister, and a kind father?

Shaking her head, she attempted to force herself out of her daze. She was getting dangerously close to the edge. To the point of no return. The place that she dare not go, but where she had always yearned to be.

But you did go there, once.

Yes, she thought bitterly, of course I did. And I regretted it, didn't I?

She had learned a long time ago that she wasn't-couldn't-be the main character. That was Lorina. It was Lorina who deserved to be saved, who didn't deserve...this. If Alice left, if she told someone-anyone-it would hurt Lorina. Whereas if she stayed, the only person she would hurt was herself. She had known that, yet she had told him anyway. Even though she knew it would hurt Lorina.

"What kind of monster would do that?" His hand jerked away from her, his expression one of pure revulsion.

Sweet, kind Lorina. It wasn't her fault this had happened.

"What kind of monster would do that to her own sister?" He glared at Alice, furious, before grabbing the sobbing Lorina's hand and pulling her away.

Leaving Alice far, far behind.

It wasn't Lorina's fault. It was Alice's.

Stay, and the only one you hurt is yourself.

She clenched her hands into fists, pretending like the pain in her forearm wasn't getting worse, pretending that tears of anger and hurt weren't pooling in the corners of her eyes and slowly sliding down her cheeks, mixing with her blood.

It's just as well, Alice.

Pretended like it was bearable.

It's just as well.

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Anger hung over Black Joker's head like a dark cloud. He stomped his way swiftly through the halls, pausing only to scowl furiously at a first year who was staring at him, mouth agape.

Stupid little sh*ts.

He didn't have a particular reason for being in a bad mood. Well, actually, he did.

But he didn't care about that. No, he didn't care about that at all.

He was Black Joker, the bane of the school. Black Joker, the heartless heartbreaker who didn't give tears a second glance, who couldn't care less who got hurt, who didn't care less who hurt themselves.

But he couldn't get the image of White out of his head.

He couldn't get the image of that f***ing little red pill out of his god dammed head!

His vision seemed to turn a little hazy, a little red, as he yanked open the first door he saw. Which happened to be the library.

Just what I f***ing need.

He skirted around the heavy bookshelves, heading straight for the computers. He still didn't care, still didn't care at all, but that wasn't going to stop him from seeing what, exactly, he twin had been taking.

Something illegal, probably.

Something deadly, probably.

That was the thing about White-he didn't do things halfway.

But when he arrived at the computer, he couldn't help but frown in surprise. Because there was already something pulled up on the screen. A file. A prison record. Of some girl, some chick who had tried to commit suicide. She had failed, of course.

But White is smarter than her.

He swallowed hard. But that was when he saw that name at the bottom of the screen.

White won't fail.

But at least, at least now he had something to do, something to take his mind off of it. Casually, almost as if he were bored, he slid the mouse across the table and clicked on the button at the top of the screen. Scrolling down, he carefully selected the option he was looking for.


Questioned the screen, it's shining blue light making his eyes ache.

White, carelessly reaching to pop the pill into his mouth, "What are you standing in the doorway for? Do you need something?" He feigns boredom, shooting Black a devil-may-care smile.

But his hand is shaking too much, and the pill bottle clatters to the floor. The little red pills skid across the ground like blood.

Black's eyes narrow, his nails digging into the palm of his hand. Then, with a single, fluid motion, he selects the option on the left of the screen.

"Oh. Whoops." White shrugs. Black doesn't have time to reach him, doesn't have time to keep his unconscious body from hitting the ground with a sickening 'thud!'.

And then, the next morning, they act like nothing happened.


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I know, I know. Here, I'll throw a book at my head for you. XD Yeah...I just kinda wanted to help point out that Alice isn't ta only one with issues...so basically, this whole story is going to be kind of sad BUT THE ENDING NEVER THE ENDING I AM NOT VICTOR HUGO OH GOD. XD Kudos to you if you know who is is~! And...sorry for being useless and not going on my account ever. But I shall do better! Probably!