•{°More Than Emotions°}• A sequel To 'The Good, the Bad, and the Crazy'

Chapter 1: Alice

I want to start by saying that you don't have to have read the first book to understand this one, though I do recomend it. I also want to say how much I appreciate everyone who read the first book, and is here right now, reading this one :)

Hope you like it!

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It was a Wednesday, I was sitting in my room bored out of my mind and wishing I had soemthing to do. That's when my phone rang. I scooped it up and moved towards that mirror to fix my hair.

"Hello?"

"Alice, baby! Where you been?" A deep voice greeted me on the other end. I winced, it was Tristan. Don't get me wrong, he's a nice guy and all, one of the good ones actually. I just didn't like him like that.

"Oh you know," I said "around." The thing is we are firend. Good friends. That's why I won't go out with him.

"You wanna hang tongiht? We could go out!" He chuckled, "Come on doll, it'd be fun."

I laughed with him, "It's 9:30 on a school night. it'll take you 30 minutes to get here and then it'll be 10. Where we gonna go?"

He sighed heavily, murmered something about me being a buzzkill, then he let out a great groan and said, "Alright, fine. How about we just study then. Don't we have a test for something or some other tomorrow?"

"Algebra and biology. Be here in 30."

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever." He said and then I hung up.

I laid down on my bed and closed my eyes, but not before glancing to my left to see a framed picture of Tritan and I. We were much younger in that picture. I remember that day exactly, we were at the beach, flying kites and swiming in the ocean.

I peeked one eye open and looked to my right where there was another framed picture of Tristan and I. This one was much more recent. Junior year of high school, maybe. We're at a pep rally with my face and his chest painted bright blue and gold. I know the two of us might fight often but it doesn't mean he's not my best friend.

"Just stop it, okay?!" I heard my mother hollar to my father, who hollard right back.

Usually my parents were so in love that you would think they never fought. And usually they didn't, but when they did, god it was hell.

Something you gotta understand about my parents is that they had a difficult past.

My mother is survivor of child abuse. They never really sat down and told me the whole story, but I got the idea. Her mom skipped out, her dad abused her, he got taken away, she got given to a foster mother. Grandma Cross, is what I call her. My mom also dealt with some mental problems in her youth. She was scared and alone, and that's when Papa showed up and saved her.

Okay so maybe it's not all that simple but it's something like that. There was this woman though, her name was Layla. It was a big story in the newspaper about 18 years ago before, right after Mama foud out she was pregnant with me. Layla had told some great lie and got Mom locked up in a mental institution. But my mom is a fighter. She--somehow don't ask me, I don't know--snuck out.

Papa don't like telling this next part of the story but it's Mamas favorite. She was standing on a bridge at night; she was going to jump. All her friends, what was left of her family and the police were all standing at the bottom telling her, no screaming out, trying to get to her. But none of their voices broke through the barrier that was strangled around her mind. Until my father arrived. He called after her and dangerously, seriously began to scale the side of the bridge. "There was a moment," She said, "when he was not five feet from me and I was taking my first step towards him. My foot slipped, my feet came out from under me, and we both thought I was going to fall...but then he caught me, like I knew he would, like he always does."