The dread sitting in the pits of my stomach had been there for days. Ever since Renee, my mother, told me my father had died. My real father, Charlie, that is. My mother's new husband Phil was right as rain. I hadn't seen Charlie in 3 years, since I moved away from him to live with Renee at the ripe age of 16. Although I detested the sun and crippling heat that came with Phoenix, nothing could have kept me in Forks. And I was so sure that I would never go back. Until Charlie went ahead and got shot in the chest, it would seem.

"Honey, you don't have to go. It's going to be a small funeral, Phil and I aren't even going!" Renee stated for what felt like the hundredth time. I notice Phil subtly roll his eyes and I can't help but agree with the notion. You would think that me standing in the airport, passport in one hand and carry-on in the other, would kind of cement me going back. I needed a proper goodbye. "I need to go mum. Besides, I've missed…all the green" I finish, cringing at how utterly ridiculous that sounded. I didn't miss the green at all. I didn't miss anything about that god-awful place, and I certainly didn't miss the vermin that lived in and around the area. Before I can think too deeply on what I haven't missed about the asshole of the world's proverbial body, my mother is wrapping me up in a lung-crushing hug. "Be safe Bella. I mean it", is all she offers before nudging me towards the gate with a stiff smile. I breathe in deeply, steeling myself from any and all emotion as I make my way towards the hunk of metal about to deliver me right into Satan's scantily clad lap. I can do this.

I hated flying. Anything that weighs more than a kite should NOT be airborne. I mean really, we are just dancing with death now. Next we'll be sending up masses of metal to the moon with actual humans inside. Oh wait, sorry, we've done that too. God, humans are scary. I hail the waitress over and request another travel-sized bottle of Vodka. Downing it in one gulp, I place it tidily next to my other 4 empty cases, ignoring the look of disapproval from the old bitch next to me. She smells like mothballs and Chanel No.5. Another drink should settle my churning stomach, and hopefully dull my sense of smell. Liquid courage is what I keep telling myself. Liquid courage.

I couldn't see anything but dull cloud looming ahead. We must be getting close. Just as I am about to demand another Vodka, the captain dings his little bell and announces that we are about to land. The alcohol has made my head feel a little light, but I still feel my stomach fall straight out my ass. I was actually here. I have willingly subjected myself to my worst nightmare. I suppress all the vile memories poking at my brain, and instead give a violent shudder. Charlie, you better be proud of me. Or you better send down a pale ghostly hand to smack the living hell out of me. Either would be appreciated.

Even the scent of Forks had my eyes watering in disgust. I hated every little thing about this shit-hole. And don't even get me started on the state of the goddamn airport. Collecting luggage has seriously never been so difficult. I find myself scanning the crowd, out of habit of course. I knew Charlie wouldn't actually be here to pick me up. The thought of seeing his moustache covered smile one more time was warming, until realization hit me between the eyes and reality dug its way into my heart. I fucking hated Forks. I can do this!

Hailing a taxi was possibly the easiest part of my entire journey so far. That includes the car ride TO the airport. Renee was running around like a maniac 2 minutes before we were supposed to leave because she 'would not be seen in public without her Choo's'. Who wears heels to the airport anyway? Ridiculous.

I honestly tried to take a nap on the ride to Charlie's old place. Or at least soothe the heart trying to forcibly push its way out of my chest. I managed neither. Instead I focused my brainpower on not hyperventilating when I spotted the 'Welcome to Forks' sign. I needed to throw up. The taxi driver kept shooting me worried glances through his front mirror, but I ignored him completely. Only making eye contact when I slapped $100 in his hand and quickly tore out of the car to grab my shit from the back. Seeing the back of that Taxi was kind of a monumental moment for me. It was like seeing all my happiness and livelihood galloping away into the sunset, whilst making out wildly. Disturbing.

Turns out I did actually vomit. It was my first port of call as soon as I opened the front door to my childhood home and my father's cologne invaded my nasal passages. All of the days breakfast was soon flushed down the drain and sleeping with the fishes. What a shame. I felt weak. Emotionally, physically, mentally. Just over-all weak. The thought of Charlie's looming funeral, being held tomorrow at 2pm to be exact, was making my head spin. If I could sleep through the night, it would be a miracle. I wasn't sure what to expect tomorrow, apart from tears and the occasional condolence from an unknown face. I was certain however, that if I came face to face with the reason for my Forks-specific hatred, I would not survive the next few weeks.