Forks Washington.
I knew as I saw the sign that welcomed me to the tiny little town that it would never be my home and that I was never going to enjoy living there.
But I was here.
In my father – Charlie's - police cruiser. Making my way to the house that I was now being sentenced to live in, a house that I hadn't even visited in the past five years.
Thankfully the drive had been mostly silent, with Charlie driving quickly through the streets and to the little white house that I would now be required to live in while I carried out my sentence. A sentence imposed on me by Renee – my mother – and her new husband Phil who had remained happily in Arizona. The two of them far too happy to finally have me out of their lives, no longer spoiling the bliss of their honeymooning period.
We pulled up to the little white house and I groaned internally at the memories that assaulted me as soon as I saw it. Memories of a little girl playing by herself in her bedroom while her father ignored her, preferring instead to zone out in front of his television for hours at at time. I quickly shut down that train of thought and my hand twitched nervously towards the small metal object in my pocket. Feeling the outline of it there I resisted the urge to pull it out right at that moment as I stood in the front yard and reminded myself that I had later on to do that. It wouldn't be long until I would be alone.
"A couple of rules I want to remind you of Isabella." Charlie's gruff voice brought me out of my own thoughts and I nodded slightly for him to continue. "First is that there are absolutely no boys, no boyfriends. You go to school, you make good grades, you come home. You're old enough to take care of your own needs, clean up after yourself. And I got you a job at Newton's. You start Saturday." he told me sternly as I followed him in the house and upstairs to my room where he deposited my luggage and then turned around to leave before pausing, "oh... and what happened in Phoenix stays in Phoenix." he added before promptly making his way downstairs where I heard the old recliner groan as his weight sank into it and the television clicked on. At least I knew he wouldn't hover.
Forks.
Great.
It's only for another year... then I can move out on my own, get away from them all. I thought to myself and then I shuddered. Only one more year of Hell.
I pulled open my messenger bag that served as a purse, a knapsack, and a junk drawer. Flipping through the stacks of books and papers I pulled out the small envelop, opening it to reveal the single picture and gently traced the outline of his face before setting it on my nightstand. Before I sat down on the bed my hand felt down my hip until it got to my pocket, the cold metal touching my fingers and I could already feel the release before I yanked it out and rolled up my sleeve, just one more scar to add to the collection.