So this is my 1st story with ideas I've been kicking around for a little. I haven't written in forever, and I've had an itch to get something out so let me know how it goes.

Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight. Just a copy of it. It's sitting in my friend's closet.

It's funny how the gray, rainy weather of Forks used to be so foreign and depressing to me. The constant gloom never matched my optimistic spirit and love for vibrancy, but now the damp air created a chilling embrace for my beaten spirit. Watching the rain stream down my bedroom window made me feel less alone. The weather, which had formerly filled me with dread, gave me an odd sense of comfort because the world finally reflected how I felt. Even pressing my cheek to the cold glass allowed me to breathe deeper and relax my travel-weary muscles. The sun and blue skies that I used to love just seemed to sicken me now. They taunted me with all the emotions I couldn't feel anymore. Joy, happiness, light-heartedness were all gone.

I glanced around my room and sighed at the stacked cardboard boxes. With so much time on my hands it would be the perfect opportunity to unpack but I couldn't bring myself to care. Besides, unpacking the remnants of my life in Phoenix would just make it blatantly obvious that the most important piece of that life was missing. No matter how many boxes I unpacked, I wouldn't find my mother. It would just be the reminders of her.

My mother. The images of her face swirled around my thoughts in a never-ending cycle. I loved her with all my heart, but even that wasn't enough to keep her from abandoning me in her quest for excitement and happiness. It wasn't enough to stop her partying, her visits from strange "friends," and definitely not enough to stop the drugs and drinking. I always thought of her as my own Edie Sedgwick, but it still felt like the world was turned upside down when I was told the tragic beauty had overdosed leaving a club. So in a daze I had packed up my home and flew back to the town I only spent a handful of days each year visiting to live with Charlie, my quiet yet kind father.

Now that the memories had yet again resurfaced I felt the familiar pain settle in my chest, filling me with a sick emptiness. Renée was definitely a free spirit. When I was younger, her antics consisted mostly of spur of the moment vacations with me to dip our toes in the Pacific Ocean or registrations for random classes like scuba-diving. I remember my eight year old self telling her how ridiculous it was to be scuba-certified in Arizona, but she smiled and did it anyway only to quit two classes into it.

It wasn't until later when I became more independent that she started staying out at night, leaving the house in metallic dresses with the odds and ends of Phoenix's population. It thrilled her, and I never protested because she seemed so alive when she waltzed out the door with the confidence of a few glasses of champagne running through her. And when she stumbled back in with a cocktail of toxins in her system, I would wait for her to pass out on the bed. I would admire her delicate features, partially hidden by smudges of eyeliner and mascara, as I pulled off her disheveled clothes and dressed her in a t-shirt. The roles would reverse when I tucked her into bed and kissed her cheek. Whenever I did that she would buy me something from the bakery after she finally gained consciousness in thanks, and I'd forgive her for whatever hell she had put me through the night before. Tears began to trickle down my face as I recounted my former life, and I almost smiled at how much I must have looked like the damn bedroom window.

My gaze drifted back to the boxes. I would have to put away all my things before school on Monday. I knew I would be exhausted from the curious stares and probing questions the teens of small town life would surely provide for me. For a place with no movie theater or mall to entertain the population, I was the star attraction now. It was the mysterious return of Isabella Swan, daughter of Forks' police chief and the wild woman who ran away with her twelve years ago.

I heard the front door shut, alerting me to the return of Charlie, and I was relieved for a distraction from my thoughts. Even in my near catatonic state I still felt bad for so abruptly altering his life, so I peeled myself away from the seat at the window and headed downstairs to make dinner I probably wouldn't eat.

"Hey Bells, everything ok while I was gone?" he called out from the kitchen table as I made my way off the last few steps, swiping the dampness from my cheeks.

"Yeah, fine. I'm assuming it was another quiet day for the Forks Police Department?" I saw him crack a smile from behind his newspaper as I entered the kitchen, but his eyes knowingly assessed my presumably puffy eyes.

"Just the usual," he replied softly as I grabbed a can of crushed tomatoes, garlic, and olive oil, "But are you sure you're ok being alone?"

"I'm perfectly capable of entertaining myself for a few hours," I tried to say with a smile to ease his worried expression as I filled a pot up with water, "You like spaghetti, right?"

"Yeah, but you have to be exhausted, Bella. I can order take-out for us. We may be small town but we're not that small town."

"I know you can, but I'm really fine. I like cooking. You know, some people find it similar to meditation. Besides, making spaghetti sauce takes like five seconds and it's so much better than canned." Not like I could even tell the difference between cardboard and chocolate cake at this point, though…

I honestly did like being in the kitchen. I could focus on the soft simmering of the garlic and bubbling water instead of delving back into recent events. And being around Charlie was not as tense as I anticipated either. In fact, I had probably been offering him more information than any other person I had talked to since the death, even if it sill felt as if I was talking on autopilot. I guess it was the fact that he never pushed me to say more than I wanted. He was never overbearing as I tried to cope. I felt safe here, isolated by a shroud of rain and woods with only the quiet conversations with him to keep me connected to some form of life besides my own. That was all I wanted, and I wish it could remain that way for a little while longer.

The spaghetti was done and I served Charlie his dinner, assuring him I wasn't hungry when he asked if I was going to eat. Then I slowly and methodically washed the dishes to burn time, but it still didn't last long enough. All I could do was climb back up the stairs and face the cardboard towers. They mocked me with their dull brown exteriors, as if they were harmless stacks of meaningless junk.

I promised myself I would attempt to open them tomorrow, but tonight I threw myself on to my bed and fell into a pit of nightmares.

After the weak rays of light filtered into my room and woke me up, I lay on my bed and stared at the popcorn ceiling. I'd watch different shapes come and go with a sort of detached interest, waiting for the strength to move. I really didn't want to. I used to though. Mornings were fresh and new, a blank slate for me to fill with whatever I wanted.

Saturday mornings I would wake up early and sit on the porch with a cup of green tea to listen to the birds chirping. When the last drops of liquid in my mug had chilled I would slip on my Converse and walk down to the library to be comforted in the quiet halls of books. There was always one spot I read my books there. It was a little leather arm chair that was angled so you could see the fountain outside the window, and the sun would light up the pages of the book just right. I loved it there.

Here there were no pretty fountains or cozy libraries. Everything was green and grey and wet. It didn't matter anyway. Cozy libraries couldn't offer me any solace anymore.

Slowly, I ripped my body away from the sheets and followed the chilled path to the bathroom so I could return to some form of personal hygiene. I brushed my teeth while staring at my sullen eyes. They changed so much. And now my cheeks had lost their pearly glow and turned sallow. I combed through my hair and was disgusted at how the strands near my scalp had stuck together in even, greasy clumps where the comb had separated them. Isabella Swan, it is time for a shower.

After reluctantly entering the shower, the steamy warmth felt so foreign to me, as did the herbal smelling shampoo that was in there, but I quickly got through the routine anyway. Not only had I successfully removed the grime from my hair, but I even managed to eat toast and a banana afterwards. Progress. The day's activities gave me a small confidence, and I finally settled on my floor with a box in front of me and a pair of scissors in my hand.

I ran my hand over the top like I was trying to use some non-existent supernatural power to figure out what was inside before I cut into the packing tape. That had obviously not worked so I started to cut the tape anyway. I pulled back the flaps and reached my hands into the newspaper to pull out the first object. My stomach lurched when I realized what I was grasping but I forced myself to still peel away the wrinkled paper. The sheets fell to the floor unceremoniously as my eyes watered when they found the conch shell in my hands.

The sand was gritty under my toes, and my legs burned from walking in it for so long but I never wanted to stop. Every few seconds the cool water would rush around my feet as I scanned the ground I was walking on, hoping to find a shell. The sun had turned my skin an ugly pink but when I glanced at my mother she was turning a golden tan. Her blonde hair was shining in the sun, setting it on fire, and her smile was so big. She looked radiant and natural, and I wished she could stay like that forever.

"Mom!" I cried to the sun goddess, "There are no shells here! We can't go home without a shell!"

"Bella-boo, we'll get you one. We'll get a big, beautiful shell, and when you hold it up to your ear you'll be able to hear the ocean all the way in Phoenix."

And with that we strolled off the beach and into gift shop after gift shop to look for my big, beautiful shell.

"It doesn't count if you don't find it on the beach. It has to be an adventure!" I whined. I was still so determined to scour the shore for my prize.

"This is an adventure! Look at all this exciting stuff that was at the beach. We can get you this!" She held up a blowfish suspended from a string.

"Um, no thanks" I replied smiling. I walked around to the next aisle and instantly saw a pale conch shell with a small patch of little tan speckles on it. I've never seen a shell that big in my life, and I scooped it up to make sure it was mine. "Found it!"

My mother walked over and clapped her hands with almost as much excitement as I had. "That is a Bella shell if I ever saw one. Look it even has tiny little freckles like you do."

My breathing came in gasps as I was jolted back to the present. That trip had been one of the happiest memories she had. Everything was perfect. And now everything had been so monumentally shattered.

I let my head rest against the floor and sobbed. Why was this happening, why was this happening, why was this happening? My body was shaking so violently. Everything was hurt. Everything was pain. Right there I felt absolutely nothing but complete and utter despair. I couldn't even open my eyes when I heard the door open and heavy steps approach me.

Charlie knelt beside me and awkwardly laid a hand on my back. Now my cries had turned into heavy breaths and my body felt like concrete. Seeing this Charlie whispered, "Come on, Bells, let's get you in bed," and gingerly helped off the floor, steering me towards the mattress.

My body plunged into the blankets and sheets and there I stayed until the gray sky deepened to black. Once night came I moved my stiff limbs so I could flick on the television and prepare myself to move towards the plastic bags sitting on my floor.

Like a robot I watched the Kardashians prance around night clubs and shuffled over to the bags, bringing them back to my bed. I had to roll my eyes in disgust at these girls. Why was this damn show always on? Who watches it? I wondered how many viewers this show raked in who were like me, shells looking for an escape. Shells hoping to lose themselves in idiotic girls' escapades. I couldn't even imagine fully functional people putting this on. Ridiculous show. I internally complained about it the whole time I ripped school supplies out of white plastic and organized it in a backpack.

School was starting tomorrow and I wanted to crawl under the sheets and die with the thought of it. So many people.

After my backpack was sitting by my door and the talentless sisters had thoroughly pissed me off after an hour – 'cause this show never fucking ends—I turned off the TV and rolled over. It seemed impossible for me to sleep any more than I had, but I guess emotional trauma does that.

A/N: Good? Bad? Yes? No? It's not that original, but hey what can you do.

Songspiration:

Fool – Cat Power

Worried Shoes – Karen O and the Kids

Sea Anemone – Jets to Brazil

Fake Plastic Trees – Radiohead

Parking Lot - Mineral