For months Alice had been dreaming about a strange boy, his piercing blue eyes staying with her even in her waking moments. She knew they had never met, and they probably never would, so her heart grew to live with that fact. Then one day he turned up in her real life, changing everything forever.

Alice was one of the least popular girls at school, a position she didn't want to fill. She ignored everyone, her mind filled with finding the man she dreamt about, the one with the dark hair and the piercing eyes. He was quite literally the man of her dreams. She knew she'd never meet him, but then something changed. Her life was saved by an unseen force, something no-one could remember seeing, or feeling. Alice was quite literally brought back from the edge by love. 

By her Angel.

Everyone possesses a guardian angel, few know about it, even fewer meet them, and no-one has ever fallen in love with them. Ancient laws state that if it ever happened, a human and an immortal falling in love, then something would tear them apart, and that something wouldn't be pretty. 

Would they fight through everything to be together? Would Finn risk his wings to be with the one girl he truly loves? 

They say that the first cut always hurts the most.

That's a complete lie, faked to make people feel better as they pull the blades over their skin repeatedly, the blood welling up, dripping down their arms as they watch, transfixed.

Every subsequent cut after the first one, the blade, the knife, tearing through old scars and even older wounds.

Every cut that goes over the flesh, leaving raw scars that have to be hidden, blood trails that have to be cleaned, pain that has to be disguised.

Every memory that I tried to forget, every single thing I hid behind the walls, they were all brought back when I looked at the scars. Everyone thought that, because I fit in and I had friends, that nothing could ever be wrong, but that's not true. That's a lie. I've seen the most popular people break down, I've seen them lay there, their hearts broken as they bleed. It's never my choice, I always seem to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. I've never let them die. But I can't forget it. I can't forget what I saw. The cuts are like the bruises, but I do these myself, I do it because it means I can control the pain. It means that I can choose when I hurt and not leave it to my parents, it means that I can finally do something to cope with everything that has ever gone wrong in my life. 

It all started when I tried to protect my little brother. I didn't manage. He died in intensive care at the age of five and I couldn't save him. The bruises are my parents way of blaming me for the loss of their favourite child. It's their way of reminding me that I am a failure and that I can only do things if they want me to, and I guess that's why I do what I do, why I am what I am.

My parents paid for me to go on this trip so I wouldn't be there when my Grandmother came to visit. They were worried, it was obvious when the signed the forms, the relish in their eyes. It was so that I couldn't tell her what was happening to me. My bags were packed before I'd even gotten home from school and I was shipped off to some remote forest somewhere where we had to learn to live without any of the day to day necessities that people have grown to live with. I guessed I could cope with it. It was unusual for my parents to let me do what most other teenagers these days did, so it would be a breeze for me.

I'd kept all my things near me while I was away. It meant no-one would be able to get my things, the things I kept close to my heart, and it meant my deepest secret was closely guarded. Underneath my pillow sat a tiny box, barely big enough to hold the phone that was supposed to have come inside it. I knew different, I knew what was in there. The pills and the hip flask and the blades. My salvation when things got rough. The invited me in, pulling me close to the decision I knew I wouldn't want to make, but a decision I already knew the outcome too. 

With a shaky hand, I grabbed a blade and weighed it on the end of my finger, watching the way it caught the light, the flash of light as the sunset speared through the blinds. I took a deep breath and turned it over, ignoring the already dried blood as I looked down at my wrists, running my fingers over the relatively fresh cuts. One more'll do it. I thought to myself as I angled the blade over my wrists. One more and they won't be able to hurt you again. Before I could chicken out, I pulled the blade across my skin; watching as a red line appeared, joining my elbow and my wrist. I winced as the blood bubbled before sliding almost peacefully down my arm.  

I didn't really pay attention to what I was doing as I dragged the blade back and forth across my skin, enjoying the sense of peace it brought me. The sense that I'd soon be with my brother, or that I knew what I was doing was wrong. A tiny bit of hope in me waited for my parents to tell me they loved me, that they'd miss me. But I knew I'd never hear those words. I knew that I'd never head those words said to me. Not out here in the middle of nowhere.

With a confused sigh, I settled down under my covers, clutching a teddy to my chest, my breathing steady as I waited for what I knew was going to come, for something I'd dreamed about for a long time.