The long awaited (or not…) sequel to Burn.

Fool

By Junaberry Pop

I have no father, figuratively that is, and no family other than an overzealous, slightly paranoid mother. My name is insignificant and meaningless; Isabella. Could my mother think of no other name that she had to resort to naming me after her? Were her genes so important that I got stuck with the same brown hair and pale skin? The only thing that minutely sets me apart from her is not falling down every three seconds.

"I DON'T LIKE CHEESE!" My scream was rude and obnoxious, but I could not have cared in the least. I love my mother… a lot, but on occasion, she never ceases to annoy me. I shouldn't be so violent, so stony; my mother isn't young anymore, she's almost 66, but… I have no excuse, I'm just a fool; ungrateful for everything she gave up to raise me.

"But, sweetheart, everyone likes cheese! How can you not like cheese? That's just ridiculous…" she continued to ignore my outcries of… uniqueness one could say. Her hand was clutching the knife, a thick wedge of cheese just inches below the deadly sharp edge.

"I just don't like the taste; it's too strong, too salty."

She sighed in exhaustion and let the knife slip into the once shiny sink. She was probably fantasizing about her old, perfect life… I highly doubt that she doesn't blame me for it; if it wasn't for my unexpected birth, then she'd probably be enjoying a well earned holiday in the Bahamas with her husband of 30 years. Stupid me… a fool. I just had to be conceived, didn't I?

"I'm sorry, mom." I pulled her into a loose hug and stroke her slightly graying hair. I knew those long locks so well; in her early thirties, when I was just a kid and she would cry over a glass if wine, drowning herself in tears as she reminisced the "old days." I would sit next to her, leaning protectively over her as she downed her third or fourth bottle of Shiraz. I couldn't fully understand, but I guess I just blamed myself because it was convenient. Of course, Bella would always assure me it was her choice, and I wasn't to blame in the least…

"I'm sorry too, my lovely… I'm so sorry. I'm so stupid," she shrieked, and hit her head on the wall maniacally. Just once, then she turned around and slid down the wall and onto the floor beneath. Her soft sobs were disturbingly real; genuine. "You're stupid father… how could he be so stupid…"

"Tell me, mom. Why won't you tell me?" I pleaded with her gently, slouching down beside her myself.

"Because I'm ashamed. Can't you see that, Isabella? Why can't you see it? My past isn't straight forward… it's so… so damned complicated." Her words rang in my head; too complicated for me to understand is what she meant. I was too naive, 48 and still too naive to grasp anything. I needed to prove to her that I was there to protect her, share her troubles with… whatever she needed.

"I can understand, mom. Please tell me." I stared straight into her wide, anxious eyes. They glittered with youth and yet the rest of her body was withering worryingly quickly. I took her hand and rubbed them to ease her.

"Fine, okay, Isabella, I'll share all my long forgotten secrets. All my little snatches of the past that I have tried so hard to hide from you, to protect you!" her voice was rising steadily; she was becoming more expressive, thrusting her hands in awkward directions as she explained her inner crisis.

"I don't care if you had an affair with Hitler, but I need to know." I stood my ground, still searching her eyes for answers.

"You're a foolish girl, Isabella. You shouldn't dig up the past… But you want the truth?"

I nodded easily and shuffled closer to her, ignoring the cobwebs and dust collecting in the corner between the wall and kitchen cabinet. Her eyes had clouded over and I could tell that she would spill the shadow of everything any second now. Her grip on my hand was loosening and she was falling into her own fantasy world.

"I was raped…"

My shock was visible on my face and my mouth formed an "O". I couldn't believe it. I was the child of a rapist; I have the… rape gene in me… I shook my head to clear my thoughts. How could this be? How could someone willingly violate my own mother? The most gentle and soft of all beings… My safe harbor, the only person I trusted with my whole heart…

"I'm sorry, mom."

"Keep quiet and let me get on with the story. I was raped by my boyfriend's brother, Emmett," she scowled and it pleased me to see her so… alive again. "As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, it was a month or so after that terrible afternoon…

"Rosalie, what are you doing?" The blonde goddess is sitting on her bed, rummaging through a white box, her nose crinkled; bad odors are my proposition; the box looks like it hasn't been touched in decades. She doesn't look up when I repeat her name, vying for her attention. Am I not more interesting than a box? I walk over to her and let my fingers slide gently on her arm. Quite obviously, it doesn't work; her vision does not even once flicker over to me.

"Rose, what's troubling you?" My question lingers in the air subtly. In that dead silence, she lifts her head to meet my curious gaze, her cerulean blue eyes wide, innocent and her plump lips apart slightly. Her eyes glaze over as she continues to simply stare at me; not a word is spoken. Her numb gaze is unnerving and I almost scream at her to say something, blame me for everything if she must but before I open my mouth she turns away swiftly and closes her eyes. At first, I don't notice it, but I refuse to let it drop as I know she so desperately wants, for each of the Cullens to simply forget her, let her drift to the back. Something is troubling her, more than just the absence of her lover, her Emmett. A thin red line that starts from the base of her earlobe travels down along the tendon along her neck and stops at her shoulder blade. I am only able to see it because of the flimsy, white night dress she is wearing.

"Who did this?" I ask tentatively, my hands just inches from her skin as I follow the angry mark. Since the day that Emmett left, Rosalie has been more than forlorn, barely leaving the confines of her room, never speaking more than a few necessary words and hunting only when Carlisle brings her with him, his hand resting protectively on the small of her back. I cannot help but bestow part of the blame on myself, despite assurances from the rest of the family.

"It was Edward." She's not being harsh and I know her lips have not spoken cruel lies for years. It can only be the truth. I sigh, not knowing what other reaction is suitable for the tense atmosphere. "Rose, come with me." I don't know what I'm saying; the words just seem to tumble from my mouth as I continue to look at her distraught expression, the way her mouth droops despite my wasted efforts to console her. "Leave all of this behind, come with me. We can make our own life away from here!"

"Bella, you love Edward. I can't make you leave him for my own good. Stay here, I can endure it." She remains adamant, taking my hands onto her leg and promising me that she'll be alright but I know she won't be.

"Rose, if Edward really did do this to you, then I don't love him anymore. And I believe you. Let's do it tonight! Pack a bag and we'll leave tonight." My pitch is getting higher and higher as I become more excited, more nervous. I love Rosalie, now more than ever and I refuse to allow such violence against her. Has she now suffered enough pain? "Rosalie, meet me at my house, tonight, at ten. Bring a bag and we'll… we'll leave. I love you, Rose," I whisper into her ear and she shivers erratically. She doesn't respond and as I slip out the door, I can swear I see her eyes turn white, reveling in the silence.

I know now that I will never see Edward again, never indulge in his regal presence or discuss the society in which we live. Ever if he searches the entire world for me, I will never speak to him again. Satan's child.

OoOoO

It is six o'clock and I am sitting at the flaking wooden bench posing as our dining table. Opposite me, Charlie sits sullenly, spearing peas on his fork. My only guess is a bad day but I daren't probe him for information of any kind. The bowl of salad between us is acting like some sort of barrier. Neither of us are looking at each other, only interested in the plates in front of us. Charlie clears his throat loudly and sips from his glass of water. "Bella, I'm afraid I need to go out after dinner. There's been a breakthrough in that big investigation I was telling you about the other day." His eyes light up as he informs me about his work; his love. I'm barely interested in the police force but still manage to scrape together an encouraging smile. "Hm. I can't actually remember you telling me about that…"

"Well, don't worry then. But I'm going to have to leave straight after dinner which is probably around… now." He chuckles loudly, the sound bouncing off the walls. I smile at him then stand to collect the dishes.

Beads of water splash off the faded white plates as I rinse them under the rusting tap. I hear Charlie call a good bye to me as he reaches for his coat. "Goodnight." My reply is slightly late and I doubt he has heard. "Love you." I look as his stout figure hurries to the cruiser waiting idly at the curb; the last time I will ever see my father and the last time I speak to him. My mind continues to wander as I stack the dishes in the washer. I want to scream, wake myself up from the daze I am in.

"Bella." My scream rouses me and I drop the last plate I am holding onto the linoleum, cracking it into hundreds of shards, scattering in all directions. Rosalie is standing by the front door, her expression slightly amused. My hand is thrust onto my chest and I can feel my heart beating erratically. "You scared the crap out of me, Rose," I breathe. She sings her reply and with one swift motion, collects all of the tiny pieces of china then dumps them into the bin. "Ready?"

"Nope, come upstairs with me to pack. Where's your stuff?" She hasn't brought any bags in from the light sprinkle of rain with her and is only dressed in a thin blouse and slacks. Of course, she won't be susceptible to the weather, but in the interest of not attracting attention, I would have assumed she would be wearing something thicker. "Oh, I left it in your room. I hope that's okay." She doesn't sound worried in the least; she has obviously only added the last sentence to sound casual; polite. I must admit, that I cannot remember Rose going upstairs but a vampire she is. "No need for the charades, Rose," I turn around on my way upstairs and call to her but find that she is only two steps below me. Stupid, inhuman speed…

"You have such a measly wardrobe." She has a part smirk, part scowl on her face, and her eyes are aligned into disapproving slits as she thumbs quickly through the clothes hanging inside the clumsy beige closet opposite my bed. I walk beside her and grab her hand. "Why don't I do the packing and you sit on the bed and look cute, Rosalie?" She glowers at me but fortunately slouches, if vampires are even capable of doing so, towards the bed and sulkily sits down. Despite being an essentially tolerant person, there is a line even for me. I grant her a grateful smile and turn back to my closet. My duffle bag is waiting by my feet, only containing a towel, toiletries and underwear. "You really need some new things; an update to your room is much needed." Rose is scanning my room with a brutally honest eye, picking out aspects of it that she doesn't approve of. I ignore her and renew my interest in my collection of clothes.

It takes ten minutes for me to scrape together all of my belongings and fit them into the open bag. There is very little left for me to do in the house except write a final note to my beloved father, who is to return in the new few hours or so. Rosalie advises me to make it a concise letter, only outlining my intentions. She agrees that my sudden absence will indeed trouble Charlie, but I see no other way. "I'll be right back," I whisper and slip downstairs. My mother tore Charlie's world apart so many years ago and I am doing the exact same. I have no excuse; I am doing it for my own benefit if not for Rose's. I am a foolish daughter, not worthy of anything. In the draw by the telephone is a pad of crimson letter paper with a matching pen. This is what I write.

Charlie,

When you return from the station, I won't be here anymore. I'm leaving Forks to see what lies outside of her. Life isn't going to plan and lately it's been too much for me. You won't see me again but know that I love you and will always be thinking of you.

With all my heart, I love you.

Bella.

OoOoO

My mother sat next to me with a forlorn smile, staring into the distance. I couldn't say I fully understood just what she was saying but I attempted to. Who were the Cullens exactly? From what my mother had just said, all I could gather was that they were a family of orphans living in the same town as her, Forks, but somehow, the use of the description "vampire" was slightly disturbing and something to be taken into account.

"Vampires?" My voice was flat, dull and a tiny smile adorned my mother's mouth. I could almost see a screen above her head playing reels of these vampires she loved so dearly. As I continued to connect every detail of the woman in front of me, searching for something behind those frantic globes, I died a little; disintegrated, because as I discovered more and more behind the shadow that is Bella, I realized she loved that family of vampires more than me, her own daughter.

"Yes." I coughed loudly, disturbing the perfect peace and turned my head to look outside the window to the pathetic garden outside. A lone tree sits in the centre of it with withering grass surrounding it, like a sea of soldiers protecting their king. The wooden fences are rotting leaving splinters of dead wood lying on the ground beneath. Like the essence of my mother, it is fading. "What happened next?"

She sighed, as if my continued probing is tiring here. She seemed to contemplate complaining that she was tired, and would explain everything else at a later date, but I knew that if I let her leave our dingy kitchen then, she would never return to me with the answers that I needed. "Please."

"The note seemed so heavy in my hand as I left it on the dining table…