Prologue - Bella
My mom married Phil when I was 11. 5 years of utter hell. I didn't want her marry Phil. Or anybody for that matter. I couldn't see why it couldn't just be us two. It had worked for as long I remembered, even when we moved from Chicago, to New York, to Dallas, then Los Angeles, and finally Phoenix. It was just Renee and me. Everything was good. My crazy mom couldn't settle. She was a free-spirit. How could she have settled down? With Phil Dwyer nonetheless! The most boring guy in Phoenix, or the entire Western Hemisphere, and the way he tried to be my friend. Taking me on their dates, or take us to watch his baseball games and put us in luxury boxes, so I would like him back; fat chance baldy. I had a dad. Not that I had seen him in a while, or really felt the need to, but I didn't need Phil's lame attempts at fatherhood.
"Why don't you try to have your own kids." I muttered one Christmas when he showed me the three gift boxes his mother sent me. Courtesy gifts. Pity gifts. Whatever. Renee grounded me for a month after that, a routine that happened more and more after that. This man moved us from our cool desert bungalow with big windows, to some overly-air conditioned gingerbread house in a gated community across the county. And when I had to change schools because of it, well, that just helped my lashing out. Every attempt Phil made to make us some crazy Nuclear Family, I used as ammunition against him, and Renee. And this was only the first six months into their marriage.
I picked up smoking cigarettes in the 8th grade, sneaking smokes with my friends behind the gym when we skipped class, only because Phil always said smoking was a nasty habit. Funny, Renee was a smoker before she met him, and his ex-wife smoked too. I'd lock myself in my room and sneak out my window at night to hang out. I never did anything the rules of society found particularly acceptable.
Ciggs turned to beers, turned to vodka, turned to pot, turned to pills, turned to coke. My days and nights were blurred in a haze of powders, smoke, pills and people of questionable character. And that's how I ended up here. Sitting in the Police Station, watching my mom sign papers to release me, kind of enjoying the various versions of the lectures I'd surely get. How'd I know that sharing a joint with some dude at a party was going to turn into my being hauled in to the police station. Good thing I wasn't carrying anything other than the joint, not enough to press charges, but enough to be fingerprinted and thrown in the drunk tank for the night. Shitty part was, the narc got me before I was even drunk, so all I could do was be pissed off.
Renee walked past me silently, signaling it was time to go, and we got into the car where Phil sat idly.
"Well that fucking sucked." I huffed in an almost laugh and slung my bag over my shoulder when we parked in our dull driveway.
"Language." Renee followed me into our bland home, following me to my room. I kicked the door open with the toe of my boot and felt a blinding rage when I noticed the state of my room. Not only had it been pillaged, walls stripped of my posters and random paintings I drew when I was bored, but it was clean. My bed made. Window bolted.
"What the fuck Renee?!"
"Bella." She stood at my door, I hoped she wasn't trying to stop me from leaving, cause I wasn't against shoving her out of my way.
"You went through my stuff?"
"Bella." Phil's sunburned face appeared behind my moms shoulder. "Can you please sit?"
"Fuck off Phil." I spit. This was an ambush of the parental type. "I'm out of here."
"Bella." Renee began to plead as I slung my bag over my shoulder and shoved some random stuff from a drawer into my bag. My stash of money, stash of pills, and my notebook.
"God damn it Renee! She's your daughter..." It amused me that I finally got a reaction out of Phil. He never lost his cool. "Just tell her."
"Yeah MOM-" More emphasis on the word "mom" when I finally faced her. She was sandwiched between a fed-up Phil, and her pissed off on-the-verge daughter. "Tell me...what?"
"I called Charlie." Fuck. My dad lived in the same ho-dunk town in Washington where he and my mom were born, where I was born too, only one problem. He was the Police Chief. Shit, he was going to have a field day with this. I thoughtlessly fidgeted with the simple gold ring I wore on my index finger. Mom's wedding band I stole from her dresser. She never wore it anyways. "He wants you to come home."
"I'm am home!" I threw my hands up and twirled in the room, flinging my bag onto the floor. "Call him and tell him your druggie daughter is home. He can go on about his business and maybe so can I."
"No." Phil pushed his way past Renee, coming so close to my face, I could feel his hot breath. His face was red and shiny, I almost laughed at the thought of him losing more hair from the sad bald patch that had settled in the past couple years. My pulse raced at the thought of fighting Phil. I've fought a dude before, I could take Phil, or at least get a couple good licks at him. "He wants you HOME."
"You're kicking me out?"
"Honey, we're not kicking you out." Renee was crying, if I wasn't on an adrenaline high from the thought of punching Phil, I'd give two shits. "But Charlie thinks you'd be better in Forks."
"Forks..." I laughed. Or "Fucks" as I had started calling it. That shitty town I was forced to spend my Spring Breaks and summers with my dad. I didn't mind spending it with Charlie, but there was shit to do there, and Charlie talked about me to the town like I was the second coming. I'd love to show up, not what they'd expect, and really blow their small town minds. "Fine."
I laughed and picked my bag up, staring Phil down again, my mom began to sob. "You're plane leaves at 6 am tomorrow."
"Blow me Phil." The stare-down continued and I imagined Phil's nose bleeding, or maybe I'd give him a fat lip, until my mom spoke.
"Bella, just talk to me."
"Mom, please." I took a step to the side and threw open my closet. I was tired of her "Talk to me" spiels, riddled with guilt. "Let me pack so I can go, I'll sleep at the airport if I need to."
They left me alone as I started peeling my clothes from the hangers in my closet. Not much, mostly black, but making sure I took it all. I devised a plan to go to Forks, then high-tail it to Seattle once Charlie wasn't looking. I'd figure it out after then. I didn't mind fucking around with Phil and Renee, but I wasn't gonna torture Charlie for long. I actually liked him. Traumatizing him with the disgust of his shit-for-brains daughter would kind of suck.
"Christ, I look like shit." I had stopped for a brief second to inspect myself in the mirror. My hair was looking stringy and my natural curls that stopped below my shoulders were limp. The ten pounds of eyeliner and mascara I always wore had spread down, almost reaching my cheeks, and my dry pale lips made me look almost dead.
Once I was sure I packed all my shit in two large suitcases, I needed to get outside. I stomped past the living room, ignoring Phil's calls, and broke into a run at the door. I made it the seven blocks to a friends place. I downed two beers before I even said a word. He figured drastic measures were going to be taken. So he quickly gifted me some pot and coke and gave me ideas on how to sneak it on the plane. I was set for a good month with the stash he gave me. By then I'm sure I'd find out where to score in Fucks, WA.
I smoked a whole joint by myself before heading back to the Dwyers house. Phil watched me silently as I walked past him again and locked myself in my room. I spent all night peeling the lining of my suitcase and stashing my junk in three layers of ziploc, throwing in a dryer sheet for good measure. iPod fully charged, purse full of pills, I dragged my bags to the door around 3 am and sat on the floor by the door until Phil and Renee woke up.
They pulled up to the terminal and I snatched my ticket from my bag and took my suitcases from Phil at the curb. I wasn't in the mood for dramatics from Renee, so I just spun around and walked past the silent sliding doors. I heard Renee call out my name, but all I did was raise my hand, and hold out my middle finger. I didn't even turn around.