Just, Breathe (Jasper Hale) (1)

Prologue

Moving is a massive step in anyone's life. Moving away from your parent's house, that independence that comes with adulthood, it's freeing. 

I didn't want to move.

Staring at the abundance of brown packing boxes dotted in random areas of the house, dulling the long gone happy atmosphere that would circle around, my heart was heavy in my chest. Every breath felt like a marathon, every step like cinder blocks in my shoes. 

I didn't want to move.

Los Angeles was my home, it's where I grew up. Where I learnt to walk, to cook, my family heritage. Everything. It's where they were, where they would always be. Even the walls had permanent light patches from where photo frames had stopped the light damaging the paint. Why did I have to give this all up? Why was I the one who had to move? It was my home, even if there was a lack of happy memories surrounding it at that time.

I didn't want to move. But it wasn't my choice to make.

Forks was always blue. And not in an emotional state either. The atmosphere always had a tang of water, rain ever falling. Sunny days are rare in the small town, light travelling through the clouds causing a blue hue over everything. If I had my way I would have stayed in LA, sadly the state of California doesn't rule in favour of minors, rather of that of their legal guardian.

Grammy.

Now, I adore Grammy. She is, and always will be, a piece of my heart. Yet even so, my stubbornness had to have come from somewhere. I had plans here, I knew where I fit in, where my spot in the world was. Couldn't I have decided where to move to at least? Find somewhere I wanted to be, not where I would be forced to go.

Something you should probably know about me: I have OCD.

Obsessive Compulsive Disorder is a wide spectrum, with multiple categories and a huge symptom pool. For some, it's cleaning. Others, repetition and patterns, like touching something with their left hand and then having to touch it with their right, multiple times until it feels right.

For me, everything has a place. 

It started after the accident, something I had no control over. It started with organising small things, like pens, or notes that had to be taken a specific way. Now, when my emotions go rampant, everything is taken from its spot and organised by colour, or shape, or object. When it gets too bad I start cleaning too. The doctor prescribed anxiety medication to help ease the 'itch', as she put it, but there's no cure. It's something I have to live with, learn to deal with, and carry on in my life.

I've learnt that not everyone see's the world in the way I do, that some people can work in chaos and disarray; I can accept that. But my home is my safe space, where I can let my OCD out and calm my mind. So why is that also being taken away from me? Too many things have been taken away, out of my control- No one seems to understand that.

Everything has a place, and now nothing would.

So where would I fit in?

Hehe, so for those of you who have this in your library and reading lists, a couple points.

As of today 23 August 2023, I am rewriting this story. 

I'm sorry that the promised second book hasn't been published yet, it is all drafted up and after also rewriting that it will get published. It shouldn't take as long as it is completed so I don't have to think about where my OC fits in.

I realised I can't make changes and save, that I have to publish them as I go, so I hope that I can do them as quickly as possible so that the amended version of this book is up completely in a suitable time.

I am working, and have a dissertation to write this year, so Wattpad isn't my main focus, but I will still try my hardest to complete this series as I too hate it with a passion when I can't continue a story because of slow or non existent updates.

Love all of you,

Author B.