The salty breeze blows my hair. It's cold but refreshing. I sniffle a little and rub my nose with the cuff of my sleeve to warm it up. The air stings my eyes, which makes them tear. I let them. Maybe it's an excuse to allow myself to cry. Maybe not.

My chest is heavy, like the anchor of Killian's ship. The bell dongs as the vessel rocks. It sounds like a church bell echoing through town to alert people of a recent death. It could be mine. My hope, that is.

Why can't I let people in? Why can't I have friends? I try. All I do is try. I guess I'm not good at it. Delilah and I talked and laughed. We got to know each other, but I still couldn't open myself up. What's fucking wrong with me?

I blame Agatha. If she hadn't texted me, everything would've continued to go well. Perhaps it's my fault for charging my phone. It's not like I need it to call anyone. It's not like people will check up on me, either. But the system is looking for me. I knew they would. And I knew Curt would press charges. It's not a surprise. He'd have Chrys and Max arrested if he could—if it were possible. What Delilah said about Storybrooke not existing is absurd, but I hope it's true. That way, they'll never find me. I could stay here forever and begin anew like it's my personal Narnia.

I'm so close to finding my parents, too. There are people here who know them, like Ariel and Eric. I'd like to ask them questions since I let my pride get the best of me last time. I'll suck it up, get past the fairytale junk, and pull information out of them. I may not believe it, but I need to take every opportunity.

Sensing another human approaching me, I turn my head as Killian stands beside me.

I don't need this right now.

"How are you, love?"

"That's the million dollar question, isn't it?" I say as weak as I feel.

"You'll get through this. You'll be okay," he reassures, but it doesn't work.

"I don't know if I'll ever be okay. I don't think I ever was."

"This isn't the Isabella I knew."

"You never knew me," I snap, facing him. "Get that through your skull."

"Listen, love—"

"Don't call me that."

He bows his head, ashamed. "Force of habit. Bella. You have to look on the positive side of things."

"What's there to be positive about? I'm alone."

"You're not alone..." His eyes soften further. "You have me."

"And that's supposed to make me feel better?"

His gaze becomes dull, and he says in a flat voice, "You said we were friends."

"People don't always mean what they say. I thought you would know that since you're a pirate," I sneer.

"You believe that's what I am? I assume that means you read Henry's book."

"No. Because Henry's twisted tales aren't gonna tell me where my parents are."

"You don't need your parents to find happiness. You're forgetting to live."

"You sound like Dumbledore," I say, turning my shoulders toward the water.

"Who?"

"Never mind."

"We'll still be friends, whether you find them or not."

"No, 'cause if I don't find them, I'm leaving, and we'll never see each other again." His eyes glisten, but I say, "I wouldn't get attached to me if I were you."

"Too late," he breathes.

"People leave all the time. Sometimes without reason. Consider yourself lucky you'll be receiving my goodbye."

He angles himself closer, balling his fist with unwavering eye contact. "I'll search for you. Now that I know you're alive."

"You'll no doubt get arrested for the hook."

"I'd do anything for you," he says as though it's an absolute.

"You say that now, but wait until you get to know me. I'm a trainwreck," I say, my voice brittle.

"I don't care if you're a shipwreck. I will always stand by you."

I don't get it. Why the fuck does he care about me? I'm nothing. I'm worthless. I don't understand why anyone would worry about me—let alone someone I just met. This guy's crazier than I thought. It's not possible for someone to care about me. I know this for a fact. I'm unlovable. I don't know why I try to be. I'm not an actress. But I'd make a hell of a good one.

"I don't need you. Let's go back to me thinking you're an insane pirate man and you thinking I died."

"This isn't you. And if it is, the world is a dark place if it can turn you this way." Killian trudges toward his ship with his head low.

Why must I be this way? Why? What have I done to deserve this? No friends? Why was I designed to be alone?

I march to a nearby beach covered with driftwood. I stomp to the water, swipe a rock off the sand, and throw it far into the ocean. It smashes in, and the water flies up. I toss more and more stones into the sea as hard and fast as possible. Each time, I let out a grunt. My arm swings so forcefully, but it doesn't ache. It's like there's a fire raging within my core. I reach for another rock, but I've thrown them all.

Instead, I go to a wood pile, lift a piece, and whack the others with it. Some of them roll off and hit the sand. A prick on my finger makes me toss the piece of wood with my last blow. I remove the splinter, and a bubble of blood emerges from my skin.

* * *

My foot pushes hard on the gas while driving to Henry's school. This kid will help me find my parents, no matter what it takes. I need them. I deserve to be happy. If I find my parents, there's no doubt I'll be able to let people in and make friends.

I burst through the front doors and storm down the hallway. Kids stare at me while I pass them. My hair floats behind me and bounces with each stride.

Mary Margaret exits a classroom with a smile, carrying textbooks in her arm, and walks in my direction. "Bella? What are you doing here?" Her smile fades to concern.

"Where's Henry?" I don't stop for her. I keep going, and she tries to match my speed.

"I haven't seen him. What's wrong?"

"I'm picking him up."

"He must be in his classroom. It's over this way." Mary Margaret leads me to the room.

Some kids exit, making me stop in my tracks. I peer in with Mary Margaret. There're some students inside, but Henry's not one of them.

"Where else could he be?" I say.

"His locker," she says, over-willing to help.

"Take me there."

"That's Drew Kasinsky, one of Henry's friends," she says as we approach the locker.

When we reach Henry's friend, I say, "Hey, kid. Where's Henry?" and lean against the wall of student safes.

"I don't know," he jolts as though I'm accusing him of something. "He hasn't been in school all week."

"What?" Mary Margaret says, standing up straighter.

"He wasn't in school today, either."

"Why not?" I ask.

"I don't know. I assumed he was sick or freaked out about Neverland. Then, I thought," he points at me, "you did something to him."

"What?"

"No, he's fine," Mary Margaret says. Even when she's worried, her voice has a singsong quality.

"Do you know where he is? Has he spoken to you?" I say.

"No."

"Thanks, Drew. You don't want to miss the bus," Mary Margaret says, ushering him away.

"How have you not noticed this?" I say when the kid leaves.

"I'm not his teacher anymore, so I barely see him."

"Any idea where he could be?"

"Not a clue. I don't know how he's been pulling it off. And right under our noses."

I can understand how Mary Margaret didn't realize this, but I'm surprised that neither Emma nor Regina have. This doesn't add up—much like everything else.

I stride away, and Mary Margaret asks, "Where are you going?"

"To find Henry."