"And maybe, you're gonna be the one that saves me.

After all, you're my wonderwall."

- Wonderwall, Oasis

"NOAH!"

I never thought that I would have to scream in order for someone 6 inches from me to hear my voice, but I'm both amazed and terrified at how incredibly loud the music is inside of this cabin. Lights are low, the room is packed with countless teenagers. Throbbing beats are coming over the dozens of speakers stratigically placed throughout the room, in order to give a party-goer like myself the loudest and most obnoxious musical experience possible. My friend turns to me and yells back, "WHAT?"

I shake my head at the sheer ridiculousness of the situation, and lean in close to save my vocal chords at least a tiny bit of strain.

"I'm going outside for a few minutes, okay?"

She nods her head, and I'm relieved that she has understood me.

And then she leans in and says, "Me too! I'd come back here any day."

I pull back and sigh. This is pointless. She's looking at me with expectation, and I point towards the first exit I see.

"Five minutes,"I mouth, and hold up my hand with the said number of digits. "Be right back."

She just smiles and turns away, leaving me wondering if she's understood anything I that I've just said. I throw my hands up into the air and let out a groan that nobody can hear. Why did I even agree to come here in the first place? Sidestepping a couple bumping and grinding in time to the music, I make for one of many exits, and don't look back. Fresh air sounds so good right now, and my ears are ringing. Practically falling through the door of my choice, I find myself outside on a balcony of sorts, with the night closing in around me. Giving the door a firm kick, it clicks closed behind me; and I find myself alone for the first time in hours.

Sanctuary.

Noah has always been pretty. I think she was one of those special people who God must’ve really had a thing for when He made her. In third grade, her infectious smile, bright eyes and smooth reddish-hair made her the object of almost every little boy’s affection.

And the bane of every teacher’s existence. Noah (who we all quickly discovered was very much a girl) was very flighty, and would talk to anybody - not even hours of schoolwork could stop that. Even in elementary school, she was a good student, don’t get me wrong; but strictly in the sense that her grades were passable. She simply hated doing work, hated picking up a pencil. And for that, I have no idea how we ever became friends. Back then, I was always more of the loner, turning my work in on time but not attracting a group of people to play or talk with. And I didn’t have her elfish, fiery beauty. My long brown hair had mostly been worn hanging in my face, and it would be years before I’d start to dabble in something the other girls called “cosmetics”. I used to hate standing next to Noah on the playground, because then one would look at me. She sparkled; and although she was radiant on the outside as well, it had always come from the inside.

Now, eight years later, she’s only gone from pretty to gorgeous. Her hair falls halfway down her back, having deepened in color to a warm ginger tone. Her eyes are brown but not quite brown; they have an auburn tint to them, and her skin is flawless. Having been born on the tail end of summer, she personifies an early autumn beauty. She’s still Noah Kristen Harvey, the girl I was jealous of in third grade – only grown up.

And this California girl has a claim to fame. My friend is dating Twilight actor Kellan Lutz, and has been for several months now. The former Abercrombie model-turned-actor and Noah met a while back; in high school, she tells me. I guess they were in the same drama class together, and were very good friends. Well, about a year ago (and the only reason I remember this particular event is because the emotional reaction to it had been so strong - I'm sure that I will never forget the sound of her excited screams when she finally hung up the phone), he called her to catch up a bit. He told her that he was actually auditioning for an acting job, putting his high school theatre experience to use; and Noah had been very supportive. I guess that had been enough for him. When he landed the role, she was the first person he told. They've been each other's other half ever since.

So, I'll bet you want to know what it's like. Everyone does. And I wish I could say that it’s awesome. I wish I could say that I love it, that its fun and I feel somewhat famous, being the best friend of the girl who’s won the heart of such a desirable man. But in reality, I don’t really like it at all. You end up at parties like the one I'm at right now, with people you don't know, completely out of your element in almost every aspect.

Yes, I am being selfish, and probably a little ungrateful. But you wanted to know how I liked it, and I don't. It's weird. So, Noah is a great people person. She attracts friends like free FunDips attract 8 year-olds. But she's so sweet and personable that she doesn't always know the difference between true friends and the people who are only after her title of "Kellan's girlfriend". I've always hated fake people, and I found out very quickly that once you become involved in the tangled web of Hollywood, fake people start to pop up all over the place. Kind of like the way that rubber sharks pop up out of those boardwalk arcade games, and you have the red rubber hammer with which to gleefully smack them back down. Only I don't have a red rubber hammer. I don't even have a say. I have my personality.

I'm what Noah affectionately calls, "Unrated and uncut." I don't exactly know if she made that up, or if she got it off of the cover of the Saw III DVD. But it suits me. The opposite of her. At the end of the day, I just figure that, as long as she’s Noah, I’ll be Luna; and she’ll be beautiful. I’ll just be me. Some people don't like me because I can be opinionated and sarcastic - the only reason I know that is because I've been told that to my face. By Kellan, actually; who's become more like the big brother I never had than Noah's squeeze or Twilight's Emmett Cullen - at least to me, in these eight months that I've known him. He's also told me that I'm lovely and that I bring colour to his life. I think I laughed in his face when he said that. Me, lovely? Colourful? I hadn't believed it when he'd said it.

Even though it had sounded nice to hear . . . and I think about it all of the time.

Tonight, the warm mid-August night was something out of a movie. Standing alone on what may have been the only quiet section of the cabin, countless silver stars are blazing overheard and penetrating the inky sky. With few ground lights, every aspect of nature able to be seen from where I am watching is defined a hundred times over. The dark shapes of impossibly tall, elegant redwoods stand out against the shine of the moon, and the far-away sounds of ducks making a landing reach my ears, along with the splash of a fresh water lake that was receiving them.

I have no desire to go back inside at all.

Looking back over my bare shoulder, I can see a bit of the impossibly fast flickers of numerous strobe lights though the semi-closed curtains that hung over the door leading outside. I'm on the back patio, the place no one wants to be. The peaceful place. The place where almost (but not quite all of) the pulsing techno music is blocked from hearing, and you can move without tripping on another rowdy dancer. Maybe even take a breath without inhaling someones secondhand smoke. I grin wryly as I think back to what Noah had said earlier this morning in an effort to bring me along with her to this party. Such a classic conversation - me being stubborn and a bit selfish, and Noah trying to bring me out of it.

"Another party?"

“It’ll be a blast,” she laughed, shoving hangers back and forth in her packed-out closet as I layed sprawled on her bed. “For who, Noah? Me or you?”

“Both,” she replied, and held up a strapless black number as she eyed her reflection in the mirror.

“I highly doubt that,” I moaned, grabbing one of her many pillows and putting it underneath my head, to get a better view of her being ridiculous. “I know how this goes. I come to support you and Kell, end up on the side, and overhear people whispering when they think I can't hear, about how unclassy or awkward I am.”

“Luna, you’d better come tonight; I really want you to meet the rest of Kellan's friends. My friends.” She paused,catching my eye in the mirror. “I think you'll really like one of them in particular. His name's Robert. He plays Edward Cullen. He's been asking about you."

That had caught my attention. "Asking about me?" I almost sqeaked. Noah grinned at my positive reaction, and I backpedaled. "He doesn't even know me!"

"You think I don't like to brag to people about you?"

I flushed scarlet. "Exactly how much time did you spend on that set, anyway?"

She laughed out loud, ignoring my slightly fearful expression. "We’re leaving at 7:30. It's 7 o'clock right now. Get the dress on and let’s go.”

I sigh, and look down at my black high-heel clad feet. Having been outside for at least twenty minutes, my legs are getting tired of standing. I think about perching atop the flat wood railing that runs the length of the balcony. Then I think better of it. If I were to lose my balance and fall, it would be a good 40 feet before I reach the ground and find myself in some serious pain.

Taking one last breath of fresh, cool air, I walk towards the closed double doors and reach for the handle. But before I can close my fingers around the brass door handle, it turns by itself, and the door opens inwards by a different set of hands.

In one swift movement, the barrier between me and the rest of the world is shattered, and I cringe - outwardly and inwardly.

Music pours out into the night, along with the rays of several multicolored dance lights and the sight of packed bodies on the dance floor. Stepping back, I watch as a head comes around the side of the door. I just stare at it. Besides the black top of this person’s head, I can't see anything else. Their body is hidden around the side of the door – they must be wrapped around it, I think, hanging onto the handle with their hands. Two grey eyes meet mine, and I scrunch my face in confusion.

“Um, hello?” I practically scream, unable to hear my own voice over the noise that came from inside, trying to figure out what is going on here. Was this a guy or a girl? I couldn't tell. The eyes just looked back into mine, and I lean forward to reach for the handle again, wondering what the hell this idiot was doing. Maybe they were lost or looking for the bathroom?

The top of the head disappears for a moment, before re-appearing, along with a visible full face. Oh, God. Yes, it's a boy. But what he was doing is still unclear to me.

"Kellan?" I venture, both relived and disappointed at the same time.

“Hey!” he yells, so suddenly and loudly that I nearly jump. There is something odd about his voice, I think; and even though I've only spoken to him in person a handful of times, it's quickly obvious to me that something was very wrong with him. The way he is looking at me is more than a little creepy. His grey eyes are wide and empty of any reasoning. I watch as he pulls himself around the door and tries to stand up - failing miserably. He's unstable, incapable of so much as getting himself onto his own feet. It takes me all of 5 seconds to figure out what was going on.

The boy is stone drunk.

"Aw, Kellan," I yell, as he leans against the door frame, his huge arms like wet noodles, looking very much the part of a college kid on the verge of a serious OD. My face is one of annoyance and shock, and I'm not quite sure of what to do. What does Noah do when I get like this, I try to think. And naturally, that mental quest ends abruptly when I realise that the reason she always takes care of me when I'm drunk is because I have no simple reasoning, let alone a memory, of anything going on during that time. I was going to have to take a shot in the dark with this one.

"Hey, dude," I say calmly - but kind of loudly, given that the door is still wide open - "Why don't you go on back inside and find a place to sit down? Get some water, ask one of your friends to check you out? You don't look so good . . . "

He grins, and it's was extremely unnatural looking. His face sort of gets this far-away look, and his glazed-over eyes are traveling up and down my body in a way that makes me want to have a sweater on instead of the short dress that I am wearing. I close my arms around myself protectively and take a step forward, anger beginning to stir in my stomach. "And what are you looking at?" I ask, not really sure what to expect as an answer.

Kellan laughs; and it's scary, honestly. I catch my breathe and bite the inside of my cheek. "You're hot," he replies, his voice devoid of any shame. "I wanna kiss you."

I can't believe what I've just heard. "What?" Is all I can say in response.

He just blinks, saying nothing.

"Move."

His head flops from side to side, as if he has no muscles in his neck. "Noooo, I don't think so. You can't go anywhere." His words are slurred and he sounds like he's speaking underwater; but at this moment I don't care if he's sober or hopelessly under the influence. I walk until I am within a foot of him, and I lower my voice to a hard, commanding tone.

"Kellan, I said, move."

Flop goes his neck.

I raise my hand and pull back. And before he has time to figure out what's going on, slap. Across his right cheek I hit him with enough force to stun him, but not quite enough to paralyze him. He steps back, shocked; and for one second, his eyes are clear. I decide to make a run for it. But he catches me as I try to get past him back into the cabin, holding my arms and pulling me towards him, with far too much force to be anything but violent.

"Get off if me!" I scream, tears of pure anger in my eyes, and I try to kick his shins. But he's strong, extremely strong, his arms hardened from countless hours at the gym, and my strongest kicks are nothing to his iron body.

"Stop it," he says roughly, and his breath on my face smells heavily of whiskey. I continue to struggle desperatly, but nothing is happening. Another sick grin mars his naturally gorgeous features, triumphant that I'm going nowhere soon. For one moment, through all of this fear, I feel as awful for myself as I do for my friend, who I know is just inside.

"Noah is going to be so hurt," I manage to choke, knowing that if anything was going to get a reaction from him, it would have to involve her name. He acted like he hadn't even heard me. The alcohol was still far to prominent in his system for him to be anywhere near reasonable. And I might have a different opinion of this new, scary, drunk Kellan - maybe a more liberal opinion - if he didn't have a death grip on me right now. I felt a fresh surge of fear as it began to dawn upon me that whaever he was planning on doing couldn't be too far from cosummation. I tried to look over his shoulder, but to no avil. He was simply too tall.

"Kellan, please," I cry, no longer angry, but terrified. My plea seems to have done nothing but pour more fuel on the flame, and he reaches for my face as I try to turn away. "Not so fast," he says, and I shut my eyes, trying to block out the nightmare. At any moment, I am going to be helpless, and have to endure the feeling of his lips smashed against my own . . .

"Hey!"

My eyes snap open at this new voice, and my eyes flit to Kellan's too-close face just in time to see it contort in pain. Before I can make sense of anything, I feel a subdued jolt; and suddenly, he is off of me. I fall to the deck, trying to breathe, and suddenly I realize that there is another person outside. In a flash, he has my assaulter up against the door, a hand gripping his throat.

"Are you out of your mind, Kellan? What are you thinking?!"

I crawl back from where I've fallen, which was very close to the scene now unfolding in front of me, and try to make sense of what is going on. I can see Kellan, who appears to be in a very uncomfortable position; and then I see another boy, presumably the owner of the beautiful, saving voice I've just heard. His face is away from me, talking to the restrained boy, but I can see him from the back. Dark jeans hug his lower body, and he's wearing a dark brown jacket over a longer white T-shirt. One of his pale hands is balled up into a tight fist at his side, as if he was about to strike the boy that he had in a chokehold with the other hand. His stance is defensive, both knees slightly bent, and he looks stiff with rage. For a fleeting moment, I wonder if this is all for me.

I don't stay to find out.

Trembling, I scramble to my feet, ignoring my stinging hands that have been scraped raw from my tumble on the deck. Fighting to keep from crying, I shove the two boys aside as I run back into the house.

"Wait!" I hear someone call, but I'm not waiting for anybody.

I weave through the dance floor as quickly as I can manage, through the house and right out the other side of it, the front door leading me to a steep winding driveway. Cars are parked everywhere, but not so close together that I can't get past them, and down the pavement. The tears are in my eyes, and I'm only more angry because I don't want to be crying. Crying is weakness. At least, that's what I've always been taught. And at this moment, I hate myself for being weak, for letting Kellan's drunken words get to me like they did. Reaching down, I yank my shoes off of my feet and throw them into the darkness. Sliding past a blue Mercedes Benz, I begin to run, run away from the cabin, away from the noise and the booze and the faceless people. I can't take it anymore. I don't know where I'm going, but I don't care. I'm just trying to put as much distance between myself and the rest of the world as I can.