"Hey, do you know what?" Dad suddenly bursts, as we accelerate round a tight corner.

"What?" I immediately respond, my eyes lighting up as they always do when Dad has a suggestion to make.

Mom just rolls her eyes and sighs, "No more races with SUVs on the highway, John."

"Okay." Dad sighs, slumping his shoulders. I chuckle. Dad clears his throat, "Actually, I was thinking we should eat out. You know, save you the trouble of cooking us a late tea."

"Oh, right." Mom looks surprised that Dad has said something faintly sensible for once, "Yeah, we should. Do you know what I'm thinking?" Mom's face lights up as she turns to Dad expectantly.

"Valentine's Day?"

"Exactly. That take out was amazing." Mom giggles and Dad gives her a wink.

Hhhmmm. Seems as if the take out wasn't the only thing that was amazing. But let's just pretend I didn't see that. I look out of the window as Dad turns left.

There's the sharp sound of air whistling and then I'm being pelted around the car, my body being twisted into strange positions. It's as if I'm flipping over... no, the car is flipping over. We forgot to put our safety belts on, that's why we're being thrown around like rag dolls in a cardboard box. I cry out in pain as a shard of glass lodges itself in my lower leg. I hear mom's screams and Dad's horrendous cries of agony as we roll to a stop... upside down. I feel a hot, sticky, liquidy substance running down my cheek.

Everything is blurry. I crawl out of the car and reach down for the shard of glass, hot tears of pain rolling down my cheeks as I pull it out of my leg. It's pitch black. I can't see a thing. I look around, trying to make out Mom and Dad's shapes in the blackness. Then I see them as my eyes adjsut. Blood splattered and pummelled to bloody pulps, they both start dragging themselves closer to each other, a hand outstretched to meet the other.

One last attempt at unity.

I try to get up and go over to them, try to tell them it'll all be okay. Tears are streaming down their faces; I've never seen them filled with so much grief. Then they stop moving altogether. They lay there, their faces slack, glassy eyes wide open, hands motionless, outstretched to each others'. Dead. "NO!" I screech, "Mom! Dad!" I struggle against everything, I try to stay awake. Fatigue weighs me down and I slump to the ground, unconscious...

"Mom!" I jolt upright in bed, sweat making my hair stick to my face. With a shaking hand, I push all of the loose strands back. Ever since that night, these nightmares have haunted me. Made me restless even in my sleep. I untangle myself from the silky sheets and go over to the window. I push the curtains aside and watch the sun rise. At nine thirty am, there's a knock at my door. Aunt walks in, her expression one of fake joy. I've seen a lot of that in the last two weeks. "Good morning, Nikki." She says, "Do you want to come down for breakfast now? We want to discuss things with you."

I stand up and follow her downstairs into the kitchen. I look around the clinical room, feeling nothing but numbness and trailing terror from my nightmare. Uncle is already sitting down, his hands clasped on the table. I sit down opposite the two of them, looking down at the table. "We've decided to send you to the local high school. Everyone's really kind there and this village is small, Nikki. So small, it's not even on a map. Everyone's excited about someone new. We don't get many new people. So you might find yourself the centre of attention."

"I don't want that." I declare, as if saying it will change it.

"Yes, you probably wouldn't." Uncle cuts in, "But there's not much your aunt and I can do about that. People are going to talk, it's what they do. We can't really stop that. You're just going to have to put up with it, Nikki."

"That's okay." I say, "I've been putting up with a few things these past weeks. A few more weeks won't hurt."

Unknown to sarcasm, Aunt Delilah breathes a sigh of huge relief, "Thank you, Nikki. I appreciate this. I've invited Shaun Simpson up to the house, he can show you around."

"I'd rather stay in."

"And do nothing?" Aunt sounds incredulous, "We brought you here so you can improve your life, not so you can lock yourself in and waste the youth years of your life. Sweetheart, I know this is hard. I know you're breaking inside, but darling, listen to me. You have people who care about you and they will help you." I don't reply: I have nothing to say to that. "Nikki, look. There's no way I can make the hurt go away but I can promise you one thing. Your uncle and I... We will try our personal best to make you feel at home here. We want you to have a new start."

"I'll try." I mumble, running a hand through my hair, feeling the feathery strands of it.

I look up to see Aunt smiling, "Thank you, Nikki. That's all we want from you. Here, have some breakfast." She pushes an omelette over to me. After fifteen minutes of picking at my plate, Aunt finally asks me if I'm going to eat it or should she feed me instead. Then I quickly finish it all, hating the idea of anyone but Mom shovelling food in my mouth.

Two hours later, the doorbell rings. Aunt goes to answer it. She walks back in with a boy around my age. He has brown coloured hair, striking blue eyes and plump lips. This must be Shaun Simpson then. His gaze rests on me and he smiles, showing a set of pearly teeth, "Shaun."

"Nikki." I don't smile back. It gives them false hopes.

Shaun averts his gaze and turns to Aunt, "Are we ready?"

"Yes, Nikki is ready. I'm not coming, something turned up. You two will be okay, won't you?" Aunt looks doubtful.

Shaun smiles in a charming way, "Of course we will, Delilah. Right, Nikki?"

"Of course." I say in a monotone, standing up and wiping my jeans down.

"Come on then." Shaun spins on his heels and flounces out of the house. I shuffle in his footsteps. He bounches into a Chevrolet truck. I go over and slouch into the passenger seat, wrapping my belt around myself like a shield. "So, where do you want to go first?" Shaun asks, with the energy of a two year old.

"Wherever." I reply, looking out of the window.

"You're a chatty one, aren't you?" Shaun teases me, chuckling slightly.

"I don't see the point of talking." I say. He is beginning to grate on my nerves and no one has done that for quite a while now. Two weeks, to be exact.

"Why not? By talking, you get to share what's really in your heart. You get to share your feelings. You should be doing that more now." Shaun advises.

I snort and say sceptically, "Okay, who are you? My guide or my psychiatrist? If you're so keen on showing me around, show me around! Don't play mind games with me, okay?"

"Whoa, tiger!" Shaun chuckles, "I didn't mean to offend you. Seriously. Start over?"

"Fine, whatever." I shrug, still not bothering to look at him. The old me, the original Nikki, would have been casting flirtatious looks in his direction and making him fall for her, but not any more. There's no 'flirty' Nikki here, just new and empty Nikki Seville. "So...?" Shaun trails off awkwardly.

"What?" I snap and then sigh as my phone buzzes. It's Linda. My psychiatrist. I press the keyboard and the text opens up.

Remember. Your aunt and uncle are trying to help you. If you feel as if you're going to have a replay, take deep breaths like we practised at the centre. I'll be visiting soon. We can talk then. Be polite and curteous. If you have any nightmares, take it in stride like you learnt here at Santa Monica. Ok? Linda.

I roll my eyes and stash the phone in my jacket pocket.

"Who texted you?" Shaun asks, glancing at me momentarily.

"Someone who minds their own business." I reply sarcastically.

Shaun snorts, "You're just a bundle of happiness aren't you?"

"Take it or leave it." I offer.

Shaun looks at me with a hint of confusion in his eyes, "I think I'll take it."

"Shaun, can you just show me around already? I have things to do and you are just wasting my time." I snap spitefully, folding my arms in a huff.

"Okay, okay." Shaun turns a corner, "Here we are. The arts and crafts store. Home to dedicated artists, Mr and Mrs Rolleston-Jones. Come in."

I follow him into the store, my arms wrapped tightly around myself. The store is well-lit, and portraits of people and landscapes are hanging on the walls, or propped up against an easel. The walls are painted a beige colour, making the splashed paintings jump out at you even more than usual. At the back of the store, behind a counter is a bespectacled woman sitting on a stool, looking at us patiently, a warm smile painted on her weather-beaten face.

She has lanky mousy brown hair, grey eyes and a grandma look about her. The kind of woman you would help cross the street. "Shaun, dear. And you must be Nikki Seville. I'm Hilda Rolleston-Jones. It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm sorry about your loss." I nod curtly in response. "Is there anything I can help you with, Shaun?" Hilda walks over to us. She's really tiny, coming up to my shoulder. I go over and look at the supplies; the charcoal, the oil paints, the water paints, the pastels, the pencils, the sets.

I pick up a sketchpad, "May I please take this? How much will it cost?"

"Of course, darling. And it's on the house, courtesy of your first visit." Hilda smiles, showing her yellowed teeth.

"Thanks." I say and then head for the entrance, the bell dinging as I leave.

Shaun catches up and starts up the truck, "Where to next?"

"I don't know. You're the one who lives here." I look out of the window to see Hilda peering out of the display window, waving at me. I try to smile and turn awy, looking down at the glove box. We tear away from the arts and crafts store.