A/N: This is a one-shot that I created for a fanfic contest on . It is from Charlie's point of view during Bella's 'zombie months' in New Moon. If you like it, please review. There's nothing I love more than reviews. Thanks!

You see the world in black and white, no color or light.
You think you'll never get it right, but you're wrong. You might.

–Low by Coldplay

I watch as she stumbles down to the kitchen, half asleep, hair a mess, sweatpants and oversized tee-shirt practically falling off of her. She has not been eating the way she should. Not that she ever ate much- but lately it seems like it hasn't been at all. She pours herself a bowl of cereal, grabs a spoon out of the dish drainer and sits down at the table with me, all without saying a word. I glance up from the paper and notice that the dark circles under her eyes are continuing to get worse.

"Mornin' Bells," I say quietly, before taking a sip from my coffee mug. She does not even glance up in acknowledgement that she heard me. It is not uncommon for this to happen. She usually doesn't answer unless I ask her a direct question. Common formalities have become scarce in this house.

I don't know how much longer I can stand to see her waste away like this. She is nothing but skin and bones. Hollow. Devoid of anything but the flesh sitting across the table from me.

I can hear her shrieks of terror still ringing in my ears when I look at her. Her screaming woke me up again this morning. Although I don't go charging into her room anymore, it has been my morning alarm every day this week; 5:38 like clock-work. I can see what a toll it has taken on her; body and mind both a shell of what they used to be. It breaks my heart more than she will ever know.

When I held Bella for the first time, I was afraid she would fracture into pieces there in my arms. I had never had much tolerance for children, but the moment that the doctor put her into my arms, I felt my heart swell with more love than I had ever thought possible. She was my light and joy and the protective instinct that I felt at that moment made me vow to never let anyone close enough to hurt her. To think that eighteen years later my promise would be challenged and broken to such an extreme was insufferable.

I have spent the last several weeks trying to come up with some solution; some way to help Bella. I have considered psychiatrists, ministers, anything to give me some hope that my daughter will break out of this depression. On several occasions, Renee and I have discussed sending Bella down to Jacksonville to live for a while. The last thing I want is for her to move away, but looking at her there across the table, what choice do I have?

Her mother came to get her the week after the Cullen's left; but after the tantrum that Bella threw when we started packing up all of her things, who knows what she would do if I suggest it again. The worst part is I have a feeling that Jacksonville might be the only way to fix this. To get her away from Forks and the memories of what that jackass Cullen did to her. I want to kill the punk for hurting my little girl this way. I don't care how much good Dr. Cullen did in Forks; that son Edward of his has a hell of a lot of explaining to do if he ever dares show his face in this town again.

Bella pushes her cereal around the bowl when she thinks I am not looking, taking one piece at a time onto the spoon before letting it fall back into the milk bath. I still do not understand how she can act this way. It has been months since their family left, months without a single word from the Cullen's. I hoped that she would have been getting over things by now. That she would decide to move on and start to heal.

I have always known my daughter was stubborn, but I am starting to feel like her mourning is too much for a break up. She has been acting more like the Cullen kid died. Like the whole family had passed away instead of just moving down to Los Angeles. No, I knew that this was not stubbornness. Bella's grief was real, in every word she refused to speak and in every flinch she made at the sound of their name, and in every remark that reminded her of them.

It was worse than walking on eggshells in this house. I never knew what to say; or what not to say. It was impossible to know what would spark a reaction from her- what would send her into silent but heart-breaking hysterics. I would see the tears welling up in her eyes, and in the next instant she would be gone, the door to her bedroom closing almost silently. Her quiet sobs filtered down the stairs as I cleaned the kitchen, or as I tried to pay attention to Sports Center. There is nothing in this whole world that is worse than knowing that you opened old wounds. Nothing except knowing that there is nothing at all you can do to stop the hurt of the one person that means more to you than your own life.

"Any plans for today, Bella-honey?" I ask her, my tone quiet.

There is a brief shake of her head, and I wonder if she will give me any more of a response. After the last couple of months, I honestly don't expect any more than that. "School, work, laundry, dinner, homework," she replies. It is a stock answer. I have heard it every single one of the last one hundred and one days. I've been counting.

"There is no school today."

I clench my jaw, waiting; hoping that my words will not ignite some unknown fire of anguish within my daughter. I know that the last few months she has been trying; putting up the most normal front she could muster. I don't know if it is for my benefit, or something else, but sometimes it is painful to see how hard she is trying. Trying to be normal, trying to answer questions, trying to keep me fed and in clean clothes, trying to keep the house spotless. I have never seen anyone make such an effort.

She looks confused for a brief instant. "It's not Saturday already," she says; her statement almost, but not quite coming out like a question.

"No," I answer slowly. This was the moment I was dreading. I don't know how she will react to this. "Today is Christmas, Bella, sweetheart. I thought we could open presents this morning. Your mother sent some up from Jacksonville."

I watch as her brow furrows in confusion once again. Perhaps she was counting back the days to September 16, the day that Edward had left her. Perhaps she was just trying to register what my words meant. Either way something clicks after a moment and she raises her eyes to look at me, taking a spoonful of Cheerios into her mouth. She nods her head slowly as she chews.

"Okay," she answers after swallowing, returning the spoon to the full bowl of cereal. We sit in silence for a long moment, both our eyes downcast on the table.

"I…don't…." she stammers. "I don't think I got Renee anything…" Her voice is quiet, harsh from inactivity.

"Don't worry about it, Kiddo," I say quietly, allowing a smile to pass to my daughter. "I signed your name to the card two weeks ago."

Bella stares at me, bewildered. "You didn't have to do that, Dad."

"Well, I didn't want you being upset over not getting your mother anything. I picked up a few cook books. I know how Renee likes to experiment."

I watch as she runs her hand through her hair. Had it been four months ago, she would have sent presents off three weeks prior to such an occasion, or reddened at the blatant oversight. Now she just fidgets nervously. And the smile she looks up at me with is all wrong. It is forced and unnatural, and not at all Bella. There is no flush to her cheeks, no betrayal of emotions. It just feels and looks strained, obligatory.

"Thanks," she mumbles quietly. The word is almost lost in the breath she lets out. "I… don't think… that I got you… a present either," Bella replies after another long moment of silence. I can see in her eyes she honestly does not know whether or not she has gotten me a present. The expression on her face makes me want to rush to her side and wrap my arms around her. So full of pain; and this was what I was trying to avoid.

I swallow the lump in my throat. "That's alright Bella. Renee sent one for me from the both of you." Besides, I have you here. What more could I ask for?

Bella nods her head silently. And the pain that betrayed her face a moment ago is gone; pushed down beneath the surface, leaving a blank stare to echo on her features. The empty face I have come to know too well over the past few months.

As I pull the paper up to re-read the sports section, I see her stand up from the corner of my eye and dump her still full bowl of cereal into the sink, rinsing it down the drain. I cannot allow this to go on for very much longer. There has to be some way of getting through to her. Because I will not just watch her kill herself like this, slowly; each day drawing out the pain into each night. Each night, a new nightmare to wake her up to another zombie-like day; it has become a vicious merry-go-round every twenty four hours. I know that Edward meant a lot to Bella, and I know that Bella is more like me than her mother would care to admit. But even I was able to handle my loss when Renee left and took Bella away with her. I at least pushed through the grief. Bella is constantly immersed in her heartache; never moving forward or trying to get over him. I just don't understand.

When Renee left with Bella, I thought it was the end of my world. The two of them were everything to me and losing them seemed like more than I could bear. Their bags were packed when I got home early from work one afternoon. Renee was heading for the front door when I caught her and asked her what she was doing. My mind had reeled when she yelled about how she was leaving. I can still hear the memory of Renee yelling about how she didn't want to be stuck in this town and how she was meant for bigger and better things than Forks, than me. I can still recall the sound of the door slamming behind her as she left. It had made not only the whole house shutter, but also every fiber of me down to my very core.

I had called out of work for two weeks straight, didn't leave the house; hell I barely left the couch. Billy and Harry took turns checking on me, and Sue stopped by every night with food. But I knew that I could not live like that forever. I eventually made it back to work, I moved on with my life. I knew that I would never forgive myself if my little girl grew up not knowing her father; I had vowed to never let that happen.

I clear my throat, pushing the memories to the back of my mind to escape the emotional confrontation that I know I do not need right now. I fold the paper and place it down on the table, standing up as Bella makes her way toward the stairs.

"Want to grab your camera and meet me back down here, Bells? We can take some pictures for your Mom, and for your scrapbook."

I don't notice right away how she tenses at the suggestion. But as soon as I see the look in her eye I know that there is something wrong. I know that I have just blown another hole wide open in her fragile little heart. And I have no idea what it is I said or how it relates to him. But it is clear as day that it has something to do with Edward.

"Bells…" I start off saying. I want to tell her that it is Christmas; that I want to spend time with her today and that I want to do something to make it better. "Please Bella…" I catch her hand as she takes a step up the stairs and she turns to look at me, tears welling up, spilling over and running down her cheeks.

I gently lead her to the couch in the living room and sit down, pulling her close to me. To my surprise, she doesn't pull away or try to resist. I rub her back in an attempt to calm her down but my soothing seems to have the opposite effect as her tears rupture into sobs. With each intake of her ragged, weeping breath, I can feel my heart breaking a little more.

"I know Bella," I whisper quietly, having allowed my own memories to escape from their tightly stored box in my mind just moments earlier.

I clear my throat, trying to push back my own emotions. It hasn't been an easy few months, but this is the first time that Bella has ever let me close to her when she has been upset. Looking down at her, I cannot imagine how I am supposed to get through this with her. I cannot imagine how to pull her from the seemingly irreparable depression that has befallen my daughter.

"Shhhh," I coo, trying to soothe her again. "I am here Bella. I am here for you." I am sure the words don't mean to her what I hope they would. They will not lessen her pain or dry her tears or quiet her nightmares.

But still, I will hold her in my arms; arms that cradled her as a baby. Hands that wiped away the tears of a scraped knee now wipe away the tears of a shattered heart. For now, it seems as though the best thing I can give to Bella is my arms around her, holding her tight, letting her know that I am here for her. It may not be the grand Christmas scene that I had pictured in my mind, but this moment of bonding and vulnerable trust means more to me than anything in the world. All I know is that for the first time in three and a half months, I can feel a brief glimmer of hope.

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