Time passes. Even when it seems impossible. Even when each tick of the second hand aches like the pulse of blood behind a bruise. It passes unevenly, in strange lurches and dragging lulls, but pass it does. Even for me.

February

Charlie's fist came down on the table. "That's it, Bella! I'm sending you home."

I looked up from my cereal, which I was pondering rather than eating, and stared at Charlie in shock. I hadn't been following the conversation–actually, I hadn't been aware that we were having a conversation–and I wasn't sure what he meant.

"I am home," I mumbled, confused.

"I'm sending you to Renee, to Jacksonville," he clarified.

Charlie watched with exasperation as I slowly grasped the meaning of his words.

"What did I do?" I felt my face crumple. It was so unfair. My behavior had been above reproach for the past four months. After that first week, which neither of us ever mentioned, I hadn't missed a day of school or work. My grades were perfect. I never broke curfew–I never went anywhere from which to break curfew in the first place. I only very rarely served leftovers.

Charlie was scowling.

"You didn't do anything. That's the problem. You never do anything."

"You want me to get into trouble?" I wondered, my eyebrows pulling together in mystification. I made an effort to pay attention. It wasn't easy. I was so used to tuning everything out, my ears felt stopped up.

"Trouble would be better than this… this moping around all the time!"

That stung a bit. I'd been careful to avoid all forms of moroseness, moping included.

"I am not moping around."

"Wrong word," he grudgingly conceded. "Moping would be better–that would be doing something. You're just… lifeless, Bella. I think that's the word I want."

This accusation struck home. I sighed and tried to put some animation into my response.

"I'm sorry, Dad." My apology sounded a little flat, even to me. I'd thought I'd been fooling him. Keeping Charlie from suffering was the whole point of all this effort. How depressing to think that the effort had been wasted.

"I don't want you to apologize."

I sighed. "Then tell me what you do want me to do."

"Bella," he hesitated, scrutinizing my reaction to his next words. "Honey, you're not the first person to go through this kind of thing, you know."

"I know that." My accompanying grimace was limp and unimpressive.

"Listen, honey. I think that–that maybe you need some help."

"Help?"

He paused, searching for the words again. "When your mother left," he began, frowning, "and took you with her." He inhaled deeply. "Well, that was a really bad time for me."

"I know, Dad," I mumbled.

"But I handled it," he pointed out. "Honey, you're not handling it. I waited, I hoped it would get better." He stared at me and I looked down quickly. "I think we both know it's not getting better."

"I'm fine."

He ignored me. "Maybe, well, maybe if you talked to someone about it. A professional."

"You want me to see a shrink?" My voice was a shade sharper as I realized what he was getting at.

"Maybe it would help."

"And maybe it wouldn't help one little bit."

Friday, February 23, 2007

To anybody on the outside, it was just another Friday. To anybody on the outside, I was normal. Well, as normal as I had been any other day in the last five months, anyways. But to me, today was different.

There was something excitingly dramatic about comitting suicide on the five month anniversary of my own death. Mental death, that is. When the Cullen's left, they took my soul with them. Each day it gets harder and harder for me to go on because I'm not truly living without my soulmate here.

I woke up at five just like I did every other day, no alarm clock needed as usual. I mechanically made my way from my bedroom to the small bathroom just down the hallway, where I stepped into the scalding shower and scrubbed at my skin until the water ran cold. Charlie always showered before me, so it didn't matter.

Depression is a war. You either win or you die trying.

I tried to live my last day on Earth as normal as possible. I made small talk with Charlie at the breakfast table as I had been doing since he threatened to send me to therapy at the beginning of the month and made sure to clean up after myself. Just before I left, however, I made sure to kiss my father on the cheek, even though neither of us were really prone to showing our emotions. I'm sure it was a bit suspicious, but not enough to set him off. Then I drove to school and got there just before the bell rang.

As he did every Friday, Mike Newton paused before making the walk to our Spanish class to ask if I would be at work tomorrow.

"Of course," I replied, giving him a small smile that didn't reach my eyes. "I'm there every other Saturday, aren't I?"

I almost felt bad about lying to him.

Before leaving Forks High School for the last time, I paused to clean out my locker, that way my father wouldn't have to. I didn't need to burden him any more than I had these last few months, especially not after I was gone. Then I stopped to look at the school one final time, internally leaving a goodbye. This school hadn't treated me too badly this last year.

She can paint a lovely picture, but the story has a twist. Her paintbrush is a razor, her canvas is her wrist.

On the drive up to the Cullen household, I gave my mother a call. She was surprised to hear from me, probably due to the fact that we'd only talked when she'd bothered to call me recently. I regretted the call almost instantly because Renee freaked out and insisted that something was wrong, and then it took me ten minutes to calm her down enough to let her go. She deserved to hear my voice one last time, though.

I parked the car not to far down the road and hiked the rest of the way there, hoping someoone would find it sooner, rather than later so that my father wouldn't have to send a search party. Or who knows, maybe Alice had a vision and is on her way here now.

Wishful thinking, I suppose.

I'm alive, even though part of me has died.

I climbed the stairs to the mansion slowly, taking in every last sight and sound around me. There's something so different about the air right before you know you're going to die. It's strangely peaceful,

I came face to face with the familiar door I had been behind so many times and threw it open, surprised by the fact that, unlike the rest of the house's previous furniture, Edward's bed still sat in his room untouched.

I set my schoolbag onto it and spilled the contents out onto the cushioned surface. There was a stack of letters, one for everybody that meant something to me, and my father's gun that he kept hidden in his closet for safety precautions. Not like he had three others in the house or anything, right?

I lied down in the bed and inhaled the scent I had missed for so long. It was faint- but it was there, and that's when his voice appeared. It was urgent, begging me not to go through with this.

"Bella! Bella you can't do this!" His golden voice rang out, breaking the silence of the room and bringing nothing but a smile to my face.

The first genuine smile I'd had in months.

"There's nothing else I can do, Edward. I died when you left me."

"What about Charlie? Renee? You promised me nothing reckless!" He said angrily.

"And you promised forever."

"Goddammit Bella, stop this! Go home! Be safe! Live the life you deserve to have!"

"Goodbye, Edward. I will always love you." I whispered as I brought the gun to my temple and pulled the trigger.

The click that I heard in place of the gunshot surprised me. I hadn't thought to check whether or not my father had the gun loaded, I'd just assumed he did. It never occurred to me that he'd hidden the bullets months ago, afraid of this exact situation. I sat up straight and stared at the weapon in my hands with disbelief. I tried to pull the trigger a few more times, to no avail. The only sound that could be heard was the 'click' of the gun that signified it was empty.

It was then that I heard the downstairs door burst open and frantic steps growing closer to me.

I decided to end it there so that it would leave your minds open to whatever ending you so desired. Whether she's just imagining things, or she's saved, or whatever. I hope you enjoyed! I was feeling... Inspired.

Review and let me know? I'd love some feedback, this is the first time I've ever published something like this...

Love Always,

Stela.