Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight.

An: Ok, I'm trying something new here: daily updates. My goal is to posting something every day, or at the very least, every other day. Some chapters may be very short, some may be long, whatever. This will also be unbeta'd. I hope you enjoy it either way.

Can't Help Myself: Chapter 1

Our story has been told before. It's one of love and loss, of devotion and devastation.

It began when we were young, just barely into our awkward teenage years, and yet the emotions we felt were far more appropriate for that of an adult.

We were too young to understand.

Of course I understand now. The years have matured me and have given me plenty of time to analyze the finer points in our unusual relationship.

I've had more than a considerable amount of time to let go and move, to release myself of the past and all the emotional baggage it entails. I'd been foolish enough to even think I had.

The sight of you tells me just how wrong I really am.

You're older, yet very much the same as I remember.

Your hair is the same – wild and unruly, glowing with flecks of red in the sunlight that reflects off the silky strands. My fingers twitch with the urge to touch it, like I used to. You liked it, didn't you?

It's the suit you're wearing that throws me because I've only ever seen you in worn out jeans and t-shirts that were generally closer to scrap fabric than being considered presentable.

I can tell by the way you stand that you've changed as well. The posture is too stiff, too straight. It's no longer the slouching, carefree stance of a young teenager.

If it weren't for the more pressing reason that we're both in the same place, at the same time, for the first time in eight years, I might have taken in more than the obvious details. I might have even focused more on the electricity that seems to buzz between us.

It hasn't faded in the slightest.

But I do remember why we're here, why I'm dressed in my best, most formal black dress I own.

The tears flow freely, but they're not for my former lover. Instead I cry for a man much more important to me life: my father.

My hero.

My protector.

Gone.

I cry because I miss him, and I cry a little more because I've shut him out of my life far more than I should have. Part of me wants to blame the man I know still has his eyes on me, but it's more my own fault than anything. I only have myself to blame. I could never blame you anyway.

Pastor Weber speaks with kind words about the man in the casket before me. I smile, though half-heartedly, when he mentions my father's love of weekend fishing trips and Wednesday's steak and potato dinner at the diner.

My dad was a man of comfort and little change.

I think I'm like him in that way, never accepting the new because the old is familiar – easier.

It's just another reason on the list for why things are the way they are.

When Pastor Weber finishes he looks to me, but I'm not sure I can speak in front of all these people. We're outside in the one small cemetery Forks has, and it seems that the entire town has come to mourn their beloved Chief of police.

I know I should speak, if only a few words, so I swallow the lump in my throat and take my place at the head of the casket. My hands are shaking considerably so I ball them into fists in hopes that no one can notice. I know youwill. You know me so well.

"I'm Bella, Charlie's daughter," I start out, then chuckle, "though you all probably know that already." A few small laughs can be heard from the crowd. Their laughter eases some of my nervousness, and I force my chin up in order to make eye contact.

I will be strong.

"My father wasn't one to show his affections openly. We didn't say I love you every day, nor did we hug or have heartfelt conversations with one another. Charlie had his own silent way of letting me know he cared, and I never doubted his love for me." My eyes find yoursas I say this, and I will you to find the meaning behind them as I continue to speak. "We're a lot alike in that way."

"I wish we'd had more time together," my voice cracks slightly as I say this. "Living so far from him as I was growing up was hard, and I wish I'd spent more time with this wonderful man rather than on the petty teenaged things I found important at the time."

I look away from the crowd because this is getting too personal.

I take a deep breath, determined to continue even though my lower lip is quivering fiercely. "One thing I know for certain is that he will always be remembered as the respectable father, friend, and officer that he was."

I can take no more. The tears are coming in rivets down my cheeks making speaking coherently impossible. My feet feel heavy, disjointed from my body, and I wish I hadn't worn heels. I stumble slightly as I begin to walk away but thankfully I do not fall.

My fingers caress the casket at my side as I make my way around the side of it. It's simple, yet elegant; just as Charlie would've wanted.

I press my fingers to my lips briefly and then place them atop the cool surface.

"I love you Daddy," I whisper quietly.

The service is over, and everyone slowly makes their way back to their cars, though most stop to offer condolences before parting. I smile as best I can and hug more people than I am comfortable touching, but I know they mean well so I suffer through it.

You haveyet to make your way over to me. I would've thought you'd left already if not for the ever-present tingle I can still feel with your presence. I wonder if time will ever make it go away. So far, it has not.

Then I wonder if I will miss the feeling if it were to leave.

Now is not the time to ponder such thoughts, and I am forced to focus on shaking hands with yet another group of people who loved my father.

Eventually I realize that you have no plans to approach me, and I know I will not near you with so many others around. I seek you out with my eyes. It does not take long before I am held captive in your stare. Your eyes hold so many emotions, none of which I can decipher.

I have long since lost the ability to read your expressions. It makes me frown.

You tilt your head towards me in acknowledgement, offering me your own form of condolence, and I accept it for what it is. All past hurt and heartache aside, you know best what losing a father is like. You understand the emotions I am feeling at the loss of someone who held such a significant role in my life.

There is a lunch being held at Harry Clearwater's, my father's other best friend, and I would be expected to show up soon. Billy persuades me to ride with so I do. I follow him to his car, and I do not bother to look back until we are pulling away from the curb and onto the street.

You are already gone when I do.

An: Please review? I'd like to know what you think so far. ;)