A/N: Here is an updated version of the old story. As it was before, there will be five chapters, which hopefully come out quickly enough as this story was never meant to be very long. I hope you enjoy this version as much as you enjoyed the last version! Thanks for sticking around!
WARNING: This story deals with suicide.
Chapter 1- Bella
The ticking of the clock beside the sink echoed loudly in the empty, cavernous kitchen as I sat, still and unblinking, staring out the small window. The ticking was interspersed with the sound of deep, ragged breaths as my lungs sucked air, each one threatening to break and quaver, to release the emotion I had building up behind the blank façade. My mind, without conscious effort, went back to the phone calls that all ended the same way, my pleas and feeble attempts to bargain met with firm refusal.
"I'm sorry Bella, but Jacob can't come to the phone."
"He's very sick, Bella."
"No, he's asleep just now. I'll tell him you called."
"Please stop calling, Bella. I'll have him call you when he's feeling up to it."
"He's out of the house, Bella. Please. Sam Uley-" I hung up the phone, stomach clenching and tears threatening to fall. I jerked myself away from the wall where the spiral cord still swung from the force of the phone's return to the cradle and sat gingerly on a kitchen chair.
Somewhere, deep in my mind, I knew that Sam Uley was a likely catalyst for Jacob's abrupt and sudden disappearance from my life. From the moment Jake had revealed to me that he had a sinister suspicion that Sam was watching him, waiting, something in me had been preparing for something like this. Just like they did, Jake surely had better people to spend time with and better things to do. Just like them, I knew that Jake would leave me too.
But I couldn't bring myself to face it. I didn't want to face it.
"Bella?" Charlie's soft, tentative voice frightened me out of my stupor long enough for me to glance over to him, still in uniform and hanging up his work belt. When his eyes met mine, I knew what he must have seen etched on my face, as the spark of relief that had overtaken the concern he'd felt for months after my birthday was now burned out. In its place was a mask of concern and, if I was correct in reading him, worried recognition.
"What happened, baby?" he asked quietly, rushing to take off his boots and pulling a chair next to me.
"Nothing."
"Did you try Jacob again?" he asked. The hand that rested on the table in front of us twitched, as if to reach out, but he seemed to think better of it and kept still. Charlie was not adept at dealing with displays of affection.
I gave him a curt nod, averting my eyes and blinking hard to keep the tears at bay.
"And?"
"Billy says he's busy," I said, clearing my throat when my voice crackled and broke.
Charlie grunted. I frowned and took a deep breath, plastering a smile on my face that didn't fool either of us.
"Don't be mad at Billy. It's not his fault."
"Yeah," Charlie grunted.
"Maybe I'll go out to La Push and see what's up," I said, a sudden burst of inspiration taking hold. I shifted my eyes briefly to the holster on Charlie's work belt, which was hanging on the same hook he'd been using for almost twenty years.
"Good idea, kiddo," he said, his voice too gentle and eager to be genuine. "Spend some time outside. Might be good for you."
"Yeah."
"Want me to order pizza for dinner?"
"No, that's okay," I said. "I'm not really hungry. Get what you want."
"I'll grab you a small veggie for later," he insisted. "You can have some when you get home if you're hungry."
"Thanks dad," I said, shifting in my chair.
"Yeah," said Charlie, taking a deep breath and stretching his arms out above his head. "I'll just go shower then?"
"Sure."
"You gonna head out?"
"Yeah. Just need to find my jacket." The brief reprieve we'd had from the near constant downpour had ended just as Charlie walked inside.
"Right, right," he said. "See you later then, Bells."
"Love you, Dad." Charlie turned back to me, a peculiar look on his face before he smiled.
"Love you too, Bella. See you later on tonight."
"Bye, dad."
"Bye."
Charlie disappeared up the stairs and I sat, stock-still in my seat, hardly daring to breathe until I heard the unmistakable sounds of the shower starting up. Knowing Charlie often forgot his towel, I waited another two minutes before I finally moved, getting up from my chair. My backpack from school was still sitting against the wall next to the door, and I was quick to scoop it up, tossing the worn out textbooks and pieces of scrap paper onto the dining table. A pen fell out after all the books and debris, and I stared intently at it, wondering if I should leave Charlie a note.
Before I could hesitate, before I could break down and change my mind, I shoved the pen and paper away and wheeled around to the hook by the door. With a cop for a father, I had learned at a young age the proper way to handle and discharge a firearm, but even with the knowledge of how to work it, the shiny black metal frightened me. When I took it from its holster, making sure to adjust the belt so the missing gun was not obvious, it was cold and heavy in my hand. Knowing that Charlie always kept it loaded until he had a chance to clean it, I didn't worry about ammunition as I slipped it carefully into the zippered pouch of my school bag, wincing when it thunked loudly against the canvas bottom.
The shower was still running when I slipped out the door, pulling my hood over my head to keep out of the rain.
It was common knowledge that my truck ran slowly, but even so, my ride to La Push felt longer than usual. The backpack with the stolen gun sat obtrusively on the seat beside me, the orange fabric distracting me from the road. Whether it was because of the faulty heating in the truck or because of nerves I would never know, but the closer I got to the reservation, the harder my hands shook. One glance at myself in the rearview mirror showed a face devoid of colour, and red lips raw from nervous chewing. I quickly looked away.
When I pulled up in front of Billy's house, backpack slung over my shoulder, not even the tumultuous downpour of rain could mask the sound of the rumbling truck. I saw Billy, frowning as he turned his chair around in the big living room window, no doubt moving to meet me at the door before I could gain entrance.
"Bella," he said loudly, allowing me to stand under the overhang in front of the door to keep out of the rain. "Jacob's not home."
"I need to see him, Billy," I said, and although I had imagined myself going into this meeting with a strong and confident demeanor, my voice was small and quivering.
"He's out," said Billy, his eyes betraying his firmness with what looked like pity.
"Please, Billy?" I asked, the ever-constant ache in my chest growing more and more painful by the minute.
"He's not home, Bella. Go home to Charlie. I'm sure he's waiting on you."
"No," I said, shaking my head vigorously. Water flew off my hood and cascaded around me.
"Go home, Bella. Forget about Jacob. He's got responsibilities he needs to take care of."
"I'm sorry, Billy," I said, my thoughts racing. "I'll do better, I promise. I just need..."
"Honey," said Billy, his voice finally betraying the sadness he felt for me. "Go home. I'll call Charlie and tell him to expect you."
"But…"
"Jacob's no good for you, Bella," said Billy gently, and I felt his large, calloused hand encase mine. I jerked away.
"I'm no good for you, Bella."
"Go home, honey," said Billy one final time. With a great sigh and a shake of the head he wheeled himself backwards and shut the door behind him, leaving me shaking and wet on his front porch.
"What are you doing here, Bella?" I wheeled around at the sound of his voice, uncharacteristically harsh and, surprisingly, angry.
"Jacob," I said, taking a step forward into the rain. My heart fell when he took a step back from me, his eyes flashing and his entire body trembling.
"Jesus, you must be cold," I said, stepping to the side. "Come out of the rain."
Jake shook his head dismissively, his breath curling around him in wisps of white fog. His dark hair, once so long, was cropped short and plastered against his forehead by the falling rain. Despite the bitter cold and icy rain, he was shirtless, wearing nothing but an old pair of cutoff jeans.
"Get out of here, Bella," he said harshly.
"Jake," I started, but fell silent as he took an angry step forward.
"Go!" he shouted. "Don't come back here!"
"Jake," I said again, shaking my head as I fought to keep control of myself. "Please…"
"Just go, Bella," he said, brushing past me. He moved himself between me and his front door, ushering me away from his house.
"What happened to you?" I asked, shocked at the heat I felt radiating from him.
"I grew up," he said bitterly. My hands slipped from my pockets and my truck keys hit the muddy ground. Jake reached out and tossed them back to me, pointing me away.
"Please don't, Jake," I begged. "I'm sorry. I'll try harder…"
"I don't want you to try harder!" he shouted, a vibrating tremble running down his torso. "Get out of here before you get hurt!"
I didn't need telling twice with that threat of violence looming over me, so I scrambled into the truck and peeled away as fast as it would go. As soon as Jacob's house was out of view and the road to First Beach lay before me, I broke down. The backpack on my shoulder felt heavier and more cumbersome than ever as I reached in, keeping one hand on the steering wheel while the other clamped down on the cold metal barrel of the gun. Slowing down enough to make sure I didn't wreck, I made the final turn onto the stormy beach, sand spraying out behind me as I slammed on my breaks.
The wind was stronger here in the open air than it had been under the cover of houses and trees, and I narrowed my eyes against the sharp sting of icy rain and sand. Leaving my orange school bag back in the truck I sought out the familiar driftwood log some fifty feet ahead, falling down next to it with great, heaving sobs.
"I'm sorry," I said out loud, knowing very well that no one would hear me. I was alone on the beach today, the thunderous clouds and torrential rain my refuge from prying eyes. With brisk determination, I cocked the gun, the grinding metal loud over the rain and pounding in my ears. I waited one brief moment, eyes closed and hands shaking, before I heard the voice I knew would come in my moment of need.
"Please don't do this."
"I love you," I said, unable to open my eyes. I couldn't open my eyes in these final moments, only to see that he was not here, that he was a figment of my imagination made up to keep me sane.
"I love you," the voice said back. "Always, my darling. Please put it down and go home. Think of Charlie…"
And I did. With a sudden urgency that surprised me, my father's face popped into my head. The ache in my chest carved itself a little deeper, and I curled up next to the driftwood log, my head touching my knees.
"Go home to him, Bella. Please. I love you."
"I love you," I said again, speaking not only to the voice in my head, but to my father and mother, to Jacob, to the real Edward who was off somewhere enjoying his distractions.
"No, Bella," The voice spoke with sudden urgency as I stood and brought the gun up to my chest, holding against my beating heart.
"I'm sorry."
"Please, love-"
The soft plea was cut short by the sound of the gunshot echoing off of the nearby cliffs. For one brief moment, I felt a blooming pain spreading from the left side of my chest out to my stomach, to my arms and legs, my hands and feet, but before I could cry out, before I could make even the slightest sound, my back hit the sand where my feet had been just seconds before. As my eyes blinked, darkness creeping in, my breath grew short and the rain grew soft. The cloudy sky faded away above me and Edward's lingering voice faded to a mere whisper in my mind. I couldn't see. A moment later, there was no feeling, and one short breath later, there was no pain, no cold, and no sharp, wet rain against my face.