Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight and I don't own Leah.
When I hear somebody sigh, "Life is hard," I am always tempted to ask, "Compared to what?"
Sydney J. Harris
The Angry Girl Series
I don't need another friend / when most of them, I can barely keep up with them / perfectly able to hold my own hand
Wye Oak, "Civilian"
The Angry Girl
(or, Wherein Leah Likes Being Alone)
Leah likes being alone. She has a place to escape her demons, some space to breathe. Some space to think.
So, she thinks.
She thinks about those bloodsuckers. It's their fault. Everything. The legends that are real. The normal life she should have. Sam and Emily, Emily and Sam. This is their fault too.
But, above all, she loathes them for having everything she longs for, for stealing everything she once had.
She thinks about that pale girl, that Bella—ray of fucking sunshine—Swan. Even her thoughts are laced with bitterness at the memory of her name.
Not that she and Mr. Lovesick Boy aren't a match made in heaven. No, on the contrary, they were born for each other. Both so unbearably dumb and sad and pathetic. It would be a shame if they didn't end up a couple. Just don't reproduce, don't reproduce. The world has had its fair share of unbearably dumb and sad and pathetic human beings.
She thinks about him and her and she blames everyone she can think of; her brother, the pale girl, Jacob, the whole damn town.
She thinks of the family she will never get to have with him.
She thinks of her father and she misses him so damn much.
Leah takes a long drag of her cigarette and exhales into the bright evening air, watching the smoke fade into the dimming sky.
A life lived in love will never be dull. Life is meaningless only if we allow it to be. Well, fuck that. If Leah knows one thing about life, it's that it sucks.
It doesn't take her too long to catch the irony.