"How was the skiing trip?" Ellie asked her twin brother, spread out on his bed as he typed away at his desk.

"It was good," he said, "Cold." He added, not looking away from his essay.

"How was Jackie?" Ellie asked, again. "Um... she was there," James shrugged, pulling his hand through his messy black ink hair as hew typed.

"I thought you liked her?" Ellie asked, frowning at her twins back through her own messy, ink black hair. "I do. I mean, Jackie is really cool and pretty."

Cool and pretty? Jackie was so much more than that, Ellie thought to herself. Jackie was one of the most popular girls at school, like James, but she was still one of the nicest people Ellie had ever met. And pretty didn't begin to cover Jackie, with her Audrey Hepburn dark brown haircut, perfect white teeth and big, bright blue eyes. Not to mention Jackie's smile which seemed to light up the entire room.

"Did you guys hang out at all?" Ellie asked, squeezing the pillow on the bed next to her. "Not really, she's never skied before so she kept falling behind so we didn't really talk." He explains, chugging his coffee.

Ellie shot up at this, her eyes going wide. "You left her... behind?" she choked out. James turned, confusion all over his face. "No, she fell behind. It was her first time skiing." He explained, again, as Ellie groaned before falling backwards onto the bed.

"What?" James commanded.

"You left her behind, James! You say you really like this girl and then you ignore her, don't help her and leave her behind. That says you don't like her, or at least it will make her not like you." Ellie sighed in frustration at his stupidity.

"Huh... I didn't think about that..." James stuttered as Ellie choked on a laugh, "You don't think about anything." She reassured him.

"What do I do now?" he asked, worried now. Ellie wanted so badly to tell James the wrong thing, to make Jackie hate him even though it wouldn't change anything for Ellie herself, but looking into her brothers pleading, desperate eyes, she couldn't.

"Take her flowers, not roses tulips are her favourite-" James interrupts her as he grabs a pen and notebook, "One sec!" he cries as he jots it down quickly and then motions for her to continue.

"Don't give her the flowers in public, invite her somewhere private first. Present them and tell her your'e very sorry about the skiing trip this weekend, but you really like her so you get nervous around her. Then, ask her if she would like to go after school to a coffee shop of her choice with you an study for the calculus midterm coming up." He writes down every word and then looks up at me, grinning.

"Gee, thanks, Ellie. Your'e the best," he says as he reaches over to mess up my hair even more until I slap his hand away as a small grin formed on her face too.

Even is she couldn't be happy, at least her twin could.

All of her life, everyone had told Persephone how perfect she was. With her perfect long black shiny hair, almond shaped blue eyes and athletic build. With her perfect grades, shiny clean record and wall full of awards. Persephone was the apple of her parents eye with her white smile and easygoing personality. "My Persephone is going to be a surgeon, you know. So many science awards, and perfect marks too." Her mother would gush to even strangers. Her mother would brush her hair for hours as she did her maths homework, this was when her little sister Rachel had begun getting jealous of her older sister. It was always Persephone, all about Persephone, whatever Persephone wanted. It didn't help that Persephone was far more beautiful than Rachel who her parents called their little dumpling, while calling Persephone their angel. Every feature Persephone had seemed perfect and unmatched, and her face almost glowed when she smiled, which got rarer as she grew up. Once, Rachel looked right at her perfect sister as she did her hair in the morning before school, curling the dark silk into big curls with her iron: "Why are you perfect?" Persephone had looked down before answering, burning her finger with the iron but not caring, "I'm not perfect, no one is. I'm just me." So when one night Persephone vanished into the night, Rachel was the only one who wasn't surprised. What surprised her was the baby left on her doorstep a year later, a baby with the same eyes as Persephone looking back at her.

"Are you nervous?" her voice echoed all around him; inside him. "I'm not the one who should be nervous." He avoided her question because he was, in fact, extremely nervous as he stood in the dark alleyway, smoking and waiting. Waiting for her to slip up, finally.

Her laugh boomed out, crackling and crazy. "Your cute. Adorable even, what's your name?" Her question hung between them as he pondered if he should lie or not. If she was asking his name it meant she already knew it, she was the faceless gang leader after all. She knows everyone but no one knows her, except her gang members of course, but they are more loyal than dogs.

He decided to take a risk instead.

"I'll make a trade; my name for yours." He called out into the dark.

"I'll counter your offer; your name for your life." The second she finishes her sentence a bullet whizzes past his shoulder, barely missing him. His breath hitches as he looks into the direction it came from, only to find nothing and nobody.

"My name... is Mort." He hated his own legal name, and rarely went by it. They used to call him "Mort the Wart" in school so he told everyone his name was Blaise.

"Not Blaise?" she mused as he felt his palms go warm with sweat. How did she know that?

He took a deep breath before answering but it didn't help. "I changed my name when I was fourteen, after my mother drowned herself in the local lake. I didn't want any... reminders." His heart was beating faster than it ever had before. Maybe telling her a secret would make her trust him.

"Drowned herself?" the question eats him alive as regret grabs hold of him; he hasn't spoken about his mother for years.

"My mother was always... troubled. After my father left her, she refused to leave the house until eventually she snuck out of the house in the middle of the night to the lake after leaving a suicide note. She look the rowboat out into the middle where she drilled holes into it and laid in it until she drowned, unable to swim to save herself if she wanted. Are you happy now?" he demanded, angry now and no longer caring about catching her. He wanted to kill her.

"I'm delighted." Her voice was flat and before he could even move, a second bullet came out of nowhere; this one went straight through his heart. He dropped to the floor with a disturbing thud.

She jumped off the roof and grabbed his dead body, holding it close as she studied him. Yes, it was definitely him. Mort Bernard, the son of Alice and Claude Bernard. All three were dead now.

First, it had been Claude. She had killed him after kidnapping him on his way home from work, and dumped him into the ocean.

Then, it had been Alice. Oh, poor, sweet little Alice. She had been the toughest to kill because although her husband "leaving" had crushed her, she loved her son enough to keep her going. So she had called Alice and changed her voice on the call, telling Alice she knew where her husband was and gave her details only Alice would know.

Alice had been so happy, overjoyed as she hung up the phone with the promise to meet at the lake that night. She had held Alice at gunpoint as she forced her to write the note she would leave on the kitchen table for Alice's son to find in the morning. She had then forced Alice onto the boat, promising Alice she would not touch her son if she did exactly as she said.

It was only once the row boat was in the middle of the lake that Alice realised it had holes in it and that she would die. Alice had screamed until the lake had drowned it out.

Now, she had gotten the last one.

And as she watched Mort's body drown into the same lake she was reminded of why she set out to do this in the first place. How, years ago, her father had thrown both her and her mother into the ocean off of their boat and only she had survived. He had wanted to start over with his mistress who was expecting a son, so he had tried to bury them in water to drown them out of this world. Now after years of planning her revenge, she had been the one to bury them all in water so they could be punished like her and her mother had been.

She spits in the water where her half-brothers body had been before taking off her black mask and throwing it in after him; her life of crime was over, for now.

A pink ribbon is tied in her short golden brown hair, she must have tied it in haste as it looks half undone as she takes coffee orders from the line in haste. She seems anxious today, her voice is more shrill than usual, her hands shake as she types the orders and her name tag is ascrew: Aurora. Even her eyes dart around nervously as I watch her.

I wonder if she's expecting someone, or afraid of someone.

I survey the room but I cannot determine if her eyes land on anyone. I feel my fists clench around my mug of coffee as I think about someone being in here who might hurt her. I look at her anxious elf like face, hoping that she will sense that someone here would die to protect her.

In my feverish dreams she will suddenly turn and lock eyes with me, her rose petal pink lips turning up into a smile and a light warm blush covering her lightly freckled cheeks. Her thin brown brows would scrunch together like they did when she was listening to a order as she would take off her apron, throwing it at at her coworker, "I'm taking my fifteen!" she would call absentmindedly as she walked straight to me.

People would jump out of her way as he walked slowly towards me, our eyes locked, and blind to everyone else.

"Aurora..." I would whisper as I have imagined so many times before and she would smile shyly, tucking a short strand of golden hair behind her pointed ear.

"What's your name?" she would ask, her dark green eyes softening, and I could finally tell her the five words that made up my name, to share a small part of myself with her.

Then, she would take my hand and --

"Sir, more coffee?" her voice brings me back to reality. Aurora is right in front of me except her dark green eyes are sharp and tense as she grips her pot of coffee. Someone has taken over for her at the front as she walks around giving refills.

She raises a brow, and I realise I have yet to answer but my throat has gone dry at the sight of her so close to me, close enough to touch.

"Sir?" she asks again, motioning to my empty mug.

"Oh yes, please. Thank you..." I pretend to read off her name tag as if her name hasn't been haunting me for many weeks now, "Aurora ." She smiles politely at me as I extend my mug for her to pour.

She is too perfect for me, but who could blame me for trying?

"What time do you close?" I ask her, trying to not sound as nervous as I feel. "We close up at eight." She's almost done pouring, so it's now or never.

"Would you, uh, like to get dinner after? With me?" I smile at her, pulling a nervous hand through my hair. "Oh," her smile falters and I know I've messed up. "Only if you want to." I quickly say. Her eyes dart around, nervous as she finishes pouring the coffee.

"I, um, I think I have plans."

"Oh alright, maybe another time then."

"I-I have a boyfriend. Sorry." She walks off to the next table but I can see I've spooked her as her shoulders tense. I pack up my things slowly as she walks up to her manager, speaking in hushed worry so quiet I only catch a few words: "Creepy letters," "Staring at me" and "Asked me out".

They both look at me but I don't look back as I get up to leave.

I try to walk out calmly, smiling at them both before I do, as anger takes full hold over me. I can't believe she would think of me like that. I remember our first conversation a few minutes after the coffee store had opened, before I had fallen head over heels in love with her. "Do you like working here?" I had asked as she put my chai tea together.

She had looked down and blushed before lowering her voice and leaning in towards me, as if telling me a secret. "Not at all. I have severe social anxiety, but my parents though I should try and get more out of my shell during my gap year. If I can build up enough confidence, I'll break up with my boyfriend." She had laughed but I hadn't missed how when the light hit her just right there was the outline of a bruise under her cheek.

I had waited, waited to see her boyfriend. I had come everyday for months until I had seen him. He had walked in as if he owned the place with blue scrubs on and walked up to her as she was making coffee refill rounds, grabbed her waist and kissed her so hard she almost spilled the coffee all over herself.

I had waited for him to leave and followed him out as he got into his blue sedan. I followed him to the hospital, two cars behind to make sure he couldn't tell. I parked a few spaces away from him and watched as he ran out to get back to work.

It was five hours until he came back out; dark. Perfect.

With my car, I can over him sixteen times before fleeing the scene. I drove a few miles East on the back road's to where I knew no one would be and security cameras would see before I set my car on fire and walked eight miles back home.

I had started writing to her, telling her I was her secret admirer.

Now, I wait in my car once more as they close up while my finger taps impatiently on my car wheel. Aurora shouldn't have done that, she shouldn't have lied and called me creepy. My enture body is buzzing with pain and I can't wait to show her that pain. I can't wait to show her how it feels to have your insides pulled out and smeared all over you. I can't wait to show her how much I love her because if I can't have her no one will.

I know she always leaves last. I had watched her so many nights before, making sure she was safe before I left.

Everyone else files out first, just as I thought. They have all already left by the time she comes out, her purse slung over her shoulder and her other hand untying her pink ribbon from her short golden hair.

I make a note to keep that pink ribbon once I'm done with her.

It had been two weeks since Eliza had failed all five of her midterm exams. She had been the straight A girl all her life, the one who never got anything under 90%. What happened to her? It had been the pressure. It had crushed her and broken her instead of turning her into a diamond like her parents always told her. So who could blame Eliza when she took the credit owed to Billy Jean? He wouldn't care, he didn't care about anything. Eliza hadn't planned on lying about it, and she hadn't really. All she had done was not reveal the truth. It wasn't as if anyone had point blank asked her, "Was it really you who put out the school fire?" No, they assumed it was her when she was found coughing in the ashes. Billy had been there too but after his foul three year record, no one would think of him as the true hero. No, of course it was Eliza. Perfect little Eliza who could do no wrong and was about to receive yet another award but this time for something she didn't do. Eliza had meant to tell the truth, she really had. At first. That was before her parents found out and had become so proud after months of disappointment since her sudden burn out. Eliza had thought it was her last chance to win something, to watch pride in her parents eyes. Besides, Billy Jean's parents had died. He had no family to be proud of him and Eliza did. She had even worn her best dress, a long and modest green dress her mom had picked for her as an award for receiving an award in every class last year. She wouldn't win any this year, Eliza would be lucky if she even passed. Eliza wasn't sure she could withstand someone else getting her awards. What would everyone think when the "gifted" student wasn't given any awards? If Eliza wasn't a winner, what was she? Nothing. It took herself forever to come to terms with what she was doing. It was stealing the award from Billy Jean, but he would say something, right? "... We now welcome our school hero, Eliza Preleen." Everyone clapped as Eliza took the award, shaking the Mayors hand for pictures. She made eye contact with Billy Jean's dark green eyes as she looked into the crowd. She looked away, memories of the last time she had seen those eyes rushing back to her. After all, she owed him more than just the award. She owed him her secret. If someone else would get her award, what was the point of school? She had thought that before lighting the match for the wood work classroom where she hadn't noticed Billy hiding in, writing his stupid poetry. What did it matter it was Billy Jean's award after all? She was the gifted one after all, not him.

If I look at him, even a peek, I'm afraid I'll melt into a puddle. It's just my luck that the elevator broke while I'm here with him. My boss. Who just fired me for being "too stupid for a brunette," whatever that means. The silence is too loud, choking me as he scrolls his phone. I press myself to the wall opposite him, looking straight at the metal door, willing it to open. If the floor opened up I would crawl in and die. After he asked me to hold the door for him I felt awkward but I told myself it would be over soon and tried to hold onto the little dignity I had left, clutching my brown box with all my office supplies. Two pencils, a notebook, the framed photo of my cat, one of my mom and the small lunch of an apple and grill cheese sandwich I had packed myself but I was fired before lunch. Maybe I'll find a lonely park bench to eat my lunch and cry a little if this elevator will ever go down. It's already been fifteen minutes since he called for help yet no help has come yet. Damn, I was so ready to cry on this elevator ride down. The tears are ready to go. Now I have to wait as my lip trembles, my eyes sting with unshed tears, my stomach grumbles in hunger and my knees feel weak from running around all morning for the job I no longer have. If he doesn't say anything I swear I'll die. "Shouldn't be much longer," he says flatly. This is the longest I've been in a room with him without his talking my ear off with demands. I wonder if he feels awkward, probably not. I didn't call him stupid or compare him with a lab rat with the intelligence of a goldfish. "Hmmm," I hum back in response as it feels I need to say something, anything. I finally give in, collapsing on the floor in the corner and grabbing my grilled cheese. I'm not even going to offer to share, see if he likes that. Hell will freeze over before I offer him any help in any way ever again. If he were on fire... actually I'd probably help him. But if he was in need of coffee, I would not get it for him. I unwrap it carefully as he too sits down. I watch from the corner of my eye as he watches my grilled cheese. "Would you like half?" I ask before I can stop myself. "No," he laughs. He straightens his dark hair, and then his navy blue suit that matches his stupid blue eyes. He probably thinks he's too good for my grilled cheese. I can't tell if I'm happier or more humiliated by his answer. I shrug, taking a big bite as he watches me. "Actually, yes. I'll take half." I turn so I'm making eye contact with him before shoving the whole thing in my mouth and chewing violently. His eye twitches in disgust. Then he laughs, but not at me. He laughs wildly, throwing his head back in childish delight as his body shakes with laughter. Soon, I'm laughing too. I don't know why. Maybe that's how sad my life has gotten. We both laugh so hard we start crying, falling on the floor in heavy breathes just as the elevator doors and pulled open. I shoot up quickly, grab my box and run out as he calls after me. I keep running. I want another grilled cheese.

"You are going down." At least that's what I think he mouths at me from across the room despite his teasing smile. I glare back at him, as I have this entire week of competing against him for the cooking competition we are both in. Yet I don't feel as much hate as I did now, in the final round, as I had in the start. "In your dreams," I mouth back at him, making a face. I don't need to win this, but I'd like to. I also know I deserve to. Now it's just him and me, the final round. He puts his meal together first, twenty minutes early while I use every second I am given. I watch the seconds tick by as I garnish my lamb, making sure it looks perfect. A four course meal: salmon puffs, pumpkin garlic soup, a lamb leg, and to finish it off a beautiful tiramisu made from scratch. We had to do one free choice starter, a soup, a meat main dish and a desert of choice. The alarm goes off and I step back, holding my arms in the air. He smiles at me as the judge tastes his food, plenty of compliments given for his simple salad, tomato soup, roast chicken and red velvet cupcakes. So simple, just like him. I've only known him for four days, the duration of this contest yet I can easily read his face: he thinks he'll win. I don't listen to the judges words but he smiles proudly before they come to me. Each course they go through feels like an eternity. They start with the salmon puffs. The first course makes me think back to the first day of meeting my competition. After the cooking part, I went fishing in the lake a few miles away to calm myself. He was there too, but we didn't speak and stuck to our own sides of the dock. Neither of us caught anything. The second course, pumpkin soup. Like the pumpkin patch I went to the second day, looking for a good one to perhaps buy as an additional ingredient. He was there too, but for the tomatoes. "Fancy seeing you here," he had said and we had had a tense, awkward and forced conversation about this seasons vegetables and he reminded me a tomato is a fruit. I told him to put it somewhere he didn't appreciate me saying. They move onto the third course, the lamb, the main part. I ran into him walking to my hotel, he nodded tensely at me as we both remembered my tomato comment and the carrot I threw at his head after the competition that day after he said I looked like a swollen and baked tomato. "I'm sorry," the words slipped out as he had passed me, making him pause and turn. "About the carrot. I'm sorry about the carrot." He nodded, "Me too. About the tomato comment. You don't look like a tomato, a potato maybe..." I glared at him as he laughed and raised his arms in surrender. "Joking! I'm sorry." We exchanged a few more words before trashing each other and heading our seperate ways. The last course, the dessert. Last night he asked me if I wanted to get coffee with him to ease the stress of the final round. Just him and me left. Despite that and all our heated words before, it was fun. We talked, we shared and we laughed. I can't remember the last time I enjoyed myself so much. We make eye contact as the judges discuss. I don't glare, he doesn't mock me. We are not rivals anymore as we watch each other, waiting to see who will win this round. We simply are.