DISCLAIMER: All original characters, stories, plot, and ideas are the sole property of Stephenie Meyer and The Twilight Saga. No copyright infringement intended. Just pure fan fiction satisfaction. Any form of translation or publication of this work is completely prohibited without my written consent. All Rights Reserved - Heartfelt-Pen© 2010
A/N: I may not own the rights to Twilight, but I do own the plot to *this* story! The first couple of chapters for this story are to basically introduce you to the characters. For those of you who are reading my other story... you know that this is common practice for me. However, I don't plan on drawing out the actually meeting of my Bella & Edward characters as long as I did for Where There is Love... There is Life. I
This story is a continuation story that I wrote for Fandom Against Domestic Violence, so the story in the opening chapter might touch a little too close to home for some people. Please know that I will not sensationalize the "abuse" and "violence" that I address in this story. The actual story from the first chapter is from my own experience from working in a safe-home. So, I promise that I mean no disrespect - in fact, this topic is very close to my heart. Please rest assured that my Edward character is not violent & he in no way physically or mentally harms Bella.
There will be emotional drama in this story, because when dealing with a topic such as domestic abuse... how can there not be. There will also be mentions and some descriptions of physical abuse, but I give you my word that I will try my best to keep it to a minimum. This story is ultimately a love story. A story about two people who are basically just traveling through life - lost... and then they find each other.
Typical Story/Plot/Character DISCLAIMER: I will be the first to say that I do not enjoy reading stories that are filled with a lot of angst and drama. Especially when the characters tend to go back and forth between love and hate from one chapter to the next. So, be assured that once the main characters become committed to each other their commitment will be solid. Sure there will be moments of doubt, but both of the "main" characters in my story are ADULTS - they are mature people. Therefore, I do not plan on having a lot of angst or drama in my story, especially angst. However, we all need to have a little drama in our lives, so be fore warned... there will be some drama in this story. But, this story is mainly going to be a story about two people who find each other, fall in love, and live happily ever after. It will have mushy parts, funny parts, sad parts, and lemony parts!
SPECIAL THANKS: Writing4Roses you're an awesome beta! Thank you for all of your continued support, ideas, creative brilliance, and your help with editing the following chapter.
Temporary Home
Chapter 1: My New Home.
"Temporary Home"
by Carrie Underwood
A little boy, six years old
A little too used to being alone
Another new mom and dad
Another school, another house that will never be home
When people ask him how he likes this place
He looks up and says with a smile upon his face
This is my temporary home; it's not where I belong
Windows and rooms that I'm passing through
This is just a stop on the way to where I'm going
I'm not afraid because I know
This is my temporary home
Young mom, on her own
She needs a little help, got nowhere to go
She's looking for a job, looking for a way out
'Cause a halfway house will never be a home
At night she whispers to her baby girl
"Someday we'll find our place here in this world"
This is our temporary home, it's not where we belong
Windows and rooms that we're passing through
This is just a stop on the way to where we're going
I'm not afraid because I know
This is our temporary home
Old man, hospital bed
The room is filled with people he loves
And he whispers
"Don't cry for me, I'll see you all someday"
He looks up and says
"I can see God's face"
This is my temporary home, it's not where I belong
Windows and rooms that I'm passing through
This was just a stop on the way to where I'm going
I'm not afraid because I know
This was my temporary home
This is our temporary home
BPOV
At the end of my sophomore year, my Dad received a promotion and as a result, our entire family proceeded to pack up our belongings into bags and boxes. My Mom was ecstatic; she was never truly happy about living in the country. While most people would get cabin fever from staying inside too long, my Mom had experienced her own form which had been going strong for seventeen years, after merely living in a small Podunk town. Therefore, I had found myself in the backseat of my family's Ford Taurus, huddled up against the window on the passenger side as my sister spread out and slept across the backseat. It was now the summer before my junior year in high school and we were heading to a small suburb located just south of Dallas, our final destination... and future home.
To say I was surprised when we pulled up to our new home would be a huge understatement. I guess I just assumed that with Dad getting a new job – a job that caused us to move to the "thriving big city," as my Mom called it – that we would be moving into a house that would be at least comparable to the one that we left. However, as I stepped out of our car, I found myself looking up at a much smaller house that appeared to have been squished between two other identical houses. The only noticeable difference between our house and the surrounding houses was that our front door was blue; outside of that, each house looked like its neighbor.
Being someone who never enjoyed being surrounded by people or even in confined places too long, one of the first things I noticed was that there was maybe two feet of grass on either side of the house, sequestered by its twin sisters. The front yard consisted of two small patches of grass that were separated by a small concrete sidewalk. It was a colossal contrast from the spacious, old farmhouse that we just left and the four beautiful acres of green, lush grass that it was nestled on. It only took a couple of moments of me staring at my new home for me to know that I was going to miss our old hometown immensely.
00~o~00
We had been in town for three weeks and we were finally somewhat settled in when my parents felt that it was as good a time as any to start visiting the local churches in hopes of finding our new home church. Since, we had been long standing members of the Baptist community now for... gosh... I don't know how long... at least since I had been born, I guess? My parents decided that we would start with the local Baptist church. As I suspected, Mom fell in love with the ladies in her women's Bible study group, Dad enjoyed his men's group, and my younger sister loved her Sunday school class. So, to be the ever compliant, never complaining daughter and older sister that I was, I went along with their choice and just decided that it shouldn't be too hard to just sit back and try to disappear among the nameless faces of my peers.
My life continued to move along at its new boring pace; there was nothing to be excited about. Nothing to giggle and talk to my girlfriends about, well... that is, if I had any. There definitely wasn't anything to look forward to, I missed my old hometown, I missed my friends, and I missed the quiet. However, this all changed two months into my junior year of high school.
It was the second Sunday of November and I was sitting in an old, metal grey folding chair in my Sunday school class. As usual, I had one of my books open and I was in the middle of reading the passage where Mr. Darcy had just arrived to check on Elizabeth after finding out that she was feeling ill. The passage in question had always been one of my favorite passages written by Ms. Austen. So, I remember being agitated when I heard someone clear their throat in an attempt to gain my attention.
With an exasperated sigh I closed my book, making sure to keep one of fingers within the pages to mark my spot, and glanced up at the offending person. As I did, I saw a middle-aged woman standing before me with curly brown hair that was cut short, so short that it barely ran past her ears. She had a welcoming smile and brown eyes that seemed to have a hint of grey... or maybe green in them. I was brought out of my perusal by her voice.
"Hello, dear. I'm Mrs. Weber, your new Sunday school teacher."
I stood up and greeted her with what I hoped was a polite smile as I shook her offered hand. Luckily, I didn't have to try to come up with anything to speak to her about because one-by-one the other girls that attended Sunday school with me each week began to make their way into our room.
After introductions were finished, Mrs. Weber went on to our lesson for the morning. Like always, I attempted to try to be interested, but honestly, the book that I had tucked within my purse was calling to me more. Finally, after what felt like hours, Mrs. Weber finished up the lesson and I followed as all the girls had begun to stand, so I could head towards the sanctuary. She caught our attention and asked us to wait and have a seat because she wanted to talk to us about something.
"Okay, girls, as I mentioned earlier, I'm a nurse. I've been a nurse for over twenty years now and I've loved every minute of it. However, being a nurse has also allowed me to see some of the horrifying things that other women, men, children, families, et cetera, have had to go through."
For the next ten to fifteen minutes, Mrs. Weber went on to tell us about some of the things she had seen. The events ranged from car crash victims to fire victims. As I continued to listen to her stories, there were times that I, along with the other girls, would cringe or cry. It wasn't until she started talking about a little girl that had come into E.R. one night, while she was working, that my emotions got the best of me. For so long, I had learned to keep myself guarded, protected; however, the carefully constructed wall that I had built around myself came tumbling down as Mrs. Weber continued on with her story.
The little girl was five years old and the spitting image of her mother. According to Mrs. Weber, she had a laugh that could cause anyone to join in and a smile that just commanded others to smile at her in return. At her last statement, I watched as two huge tears ran down her face.
Once she took a moment to calm down, Mrs. Weber continued to tell us that the little girl was brought in, with a woman, as a domestic violence case. It turned out that the woman was well-known in the E.R., that her being brought in either by a friend or by her own feet to receive treatment was a monthly, sometimes weekly occurrence. But, all of the regular E.R. nurses were beside themselves when they saw the little girl that was brought in along with her.
Mrs. Weber continued on with her story, about how everyone jumped into action to help both the woman and the little girl. She said that she didn't want to get too graphic with us, but that each of their bodies were beaten almost beyond recognition and that their faces also had extensive damage done to them by what they believed to be a knife.
In the end, she said that they were able to get both girls stabilized and bandaged up. As a result of the pain that each of them were experiencing, their doctors placed them under a medically induced coma in hopes that it would help them heal without the mental and physical stress that would most assuredly appear.
I remember how Mrs. Weber described in great detail the way she felt when she and the other attending nurses walked quietly towards the nurses station, took their seats, and just sat in silence. She said that it felt like time just stood still, as if it was waiting for their thoughts to catch up to the present.
Eventually, each of the nurses began to come around and they began to discuss what just happened without referring to the actual patients. But, they all knew whom they were talking about. Mrs. Weber then went on to explain that the thing that upset them the most was that it was the first time any of them realized that this woman, who constantly denounced their questions about her behavior and her injuries, wasn't alone. There was a possibility that she was the little girl's mother, and that this innocent child had seen the same cuts and bruises they all had been a part of covering up for years. Then, there was also the gut wrenching likelihood that the little girl could have possibly gone through the same abuse for the same amount of time.
She continued speaking to us, as tears streaked down her face. The joy was evident when she spoke about the woman waking up from her coma and how happy all of the nurses were that it appeared that she would be okay. Subsequently, the anger was also quiet evident as she described listening to the woman again deny that she was being abused.
In a voice filled with indisputable disgust and rage, Mrs. Weber went on to explain how the woman seemed to have a plausible excuse for every injury on her body. It wasn't until one of the nurses asked her to explain how the little girl that came in with her received the same injuries that the woman finally... finally broke.
Just as all of the nurses suspected, the woman's husband, who also happened to be the little girl's father, had been beating her for years. According to the woman, the beating would only happen in the beginning as a result of an argument, when they were just dating... and it would only happen on occasion. She rationalized this as it being her husband's way of ending the fight - like he was physically leaving a mark of his last word. She eventually left him; but after months of flowers and countless apologies, she went back to him. When she returned, she said that he was a changed man, he would dote on her and treated her like a queen... their life was wonderful. According to the woman, their relationship continued on this cycle and then everything became even better when they found out that she was pregnant. They were ecstatic; they were happy. Once they had their daughter, their happiness continued, but then right around the time that her little girl turned four, she noticed that her husband started staying out later than usual. Then, he began to come home smelling of cigarettes and alcohol. It had been almost two years since the last time he struck her, but it only took one question from her regarding where he had been for the nightmare to be reborn.
For a little over twelve months, the woman continued to take her beatings hoping that the evil that seemed to have taken over her husband's heart would dissipate again or in hopes that she could prevent him from unleashing it on their daughter.
During this time, the woman also had some cold, hard truths revealed to her. First, and foremost, her husband wasn't the man that she thought he was. Secondly, he was a member of one of the most violent gangs located in the city of Dallas. And, finally, that her little girl had a couple of siblings out there that were conceived by the women that her husband has been cheating on her with... for the past six years! Yep, even from before they were even married and during the time that she thought that he had come back to her "a changed man."
It was this last bit of information; the nurses found out, that resulted in both the woman and her daughter being brought into the E.R. this last time. The woman went on to explain that she had been accosted by one of her husband's "tramps" about him not giving her enough money to take care of his son. When she confronted her husband about it later that evening, he went crazy. He started accusing her of cheating on him, threatened to kill her if she ever left him, and then threatened to kill their daughter too if she tried to leave. The woman said that the threat that he made to her little girl was the last straw for her. She said that it caused her to fight back, but he was too strong for her. At some point, she was knocked unconscious and as a result she had no idea that he had attacked their daughter next.
Mrs. Weber changed tactics at this point. She started explaining to all of us the way the court system works and how in so many instances law enforcement's hands are tied when dealing with domestic abuse. To bring her point across, she began to explain that it was these very circumstances that ended up hurting- not helping- the woman and her daughter.
It turned out that because the woman had never taken pictures or photos of her bruises that there was no evidence of a pattern of abuse. Then, it turned out that the witness that had called the police the night of the attack was adamant that he never saw the husband, or heard the husband yell... that evening, or ever. Eventually, the husband's brothers hired an attorney and because they didn't have enough evidence to hold him, he was let go after being detained for only two days.
The fear and trepidation that Mrs. Weber described the woman going through once she found out that her husband was free was gut wrenching. As I continued to listen to her describe how the woman pleaded and begged the nurses to let her go, so that she could run with her daughter, I could feel my stomach churn with the need to purge myself of my morning breakfast.
I think that turmoil and grief we were all feeling must have been written all over our faces, because Mrs. Weber paused in the telling of her story and allowed us to just sit for a moment in silence... or as silent as it could be while we digested all of what she had shared with us.
After a moment's pause, she began to speak again. Explaining to us how one of her fellow nurses started meeting privately with the woman and then eventually the same nurse brought in an elder woman one evening to speak to the woman alone.
"I must admit to all of you that I was quiet curious. Nurse Mandy was extremely tight-lipped about what she was meeting with the woman about. When I asked her about the elderly visitor, she replied back to me that she didn't know who or what I was talking about." Mrs. Weber said with a huff.
"After watching this strange behavior for about a week, I went into the woman's room one evening to check on her vitals and she was gone. Myself and the other nurses on staff searched for her and eventually, Nurse Mandy told us that she was released to a relative."
From here, the story took another twist, and although I had thought it a couple of times, the question of "Why exactly is she sharing all of this with us?" I never voiced it and neither did anyone else. Luckily for my own curious mind, Mrs. Weber had mercy on us and finally answered our unasked question.
"I'm sure that you're all wondering why I'm sharing this with you," she said and then paused to give anyone of us a chance to reply. When none of us did, she continued. "The answer to that question is because I need your help."
"You see, Nurse Mandy was keeping a secret and it was a very important and dangerous one at that. Though, through my own stubbornness, she eventually let me in on the secret."
We were all so captivated by Mrs. Weber's story that we were sitting frozen in suspense just waiting for her to continue. If anyone had clapped their hands, yelled "boo," or jumped out from behind the door every one of us girls would have screamed.
"Here's the thing: As I mentioned before, sometimes law enforcement, family, friends, et cetera can't help someone in the situation that the woman and her daughter found themselves in. But strangers, who have no bureaucratic strings tying their hands... can."
After a pause she continued, "Sometimes it just takes people who are willing to help; people who are willing to step out of their comfort zones; people who are willing to go that extra mile; and Nurse Mandy is one of those types of people. She, along with some other self-less people help run what's called a safe-house."
Mrs. Weber began to explain to us the inner workings of a safe-house; why they exist as well as who stays there, and what it takes to make one run correctly, safely. She then went on to explain how she had started helping at the safe-house – the very one that Nurse Mandy assisted. The longer she went on to explain the concept, the more intrigued I became. The idea that so many people – people who possibly never met each other before had come together to help strangers made my heart ache. Not out of sorrow, or discomfort, but in longing. I wanted to be a part of something like this.
Then, to my great and happy surprise, Mrs. Weber gave me… all of us the opportunity to do just that. "So, girls, the reason why I've kept you all in here through our Sunday morning service, the reason why I called all of your parents this past week to make sure that it would be okay for me to keep you longer this morning, is because I feel like this would be a great opportunity for each and every one of you to grow, mature, and learn what it means to help others."
In the end, Mrs. Weber offered us all the opportunity to help the people at the safe-house. Whether it was through cooking, cleaning, playing with the kids, or simply listening, she was giving us the opportunity to do something meaningful. And, I jumped at the chance.
About three weeks later, myself, five other girls from my Sunday school class, and Mrs. Weber's daughter, Angela, all loaded up into the back of a van and headed towards the safe-house. I had no clue what I would be doing once I got there and honestly my excitement had been won over with apprehension when we were all told that we had to ride in the back of the van; a van with no windows, because we couldn't know where the safe-house was located, for the safety of the people hiding in it.
Seconds turned into minutes, and minutes seemed to turn into hours as the adrenaline and fear of the unknown and the unease I was feeling about my current situation took over. Thankfully, the van finally came to a stop and when the back doors to the van opened, it was clear that we were now parked inside of the garage of a house.
Individually, we filed out of the back of the van and followed Mrs. Weber and a gentleman by the name of Murray into the house. After a quick tour and an even quicker introduction to the other people working and helping at the house, Mrs. Weber divided us into groups and basically told us to just hang out.
"Don't be surprised if none of the kids or parents come to you today. They are apprehensive and slow to trust people. As they become familiar with you and see that you continue to come, they will eventually welcome you," Mrs. Weber explained.
On the first day at the safe-house, Angela and I sat at a folding table surrounded by paint supplies waiting to see if anyone would come talk to us. Nobody did and this pattern continued for a couple of weeks. However, just like Mrs. Weber said, little by little each of the kids began to warm-up to us; and the table that once sat empty with only Angela and myself occupying it, began to fill up with colored pages, glitter, glue, and laughter.
Sure, there were times when the laughter dissipated and it was replaced with tears, and there were times that even the tears were traded in for angry words being yelled, but all-in-all the time that I spent the fall of my junior year until I graduated high school was best spent at the safe-house. Being there, touching lives, and being touched by theirs was truly some of the best moments and greatest memories of my life.
Not only did I learn the difference between empathy and sympathy, I also learned what it means to be a true friend. That it's more than talking about the latest gossip, the latest outfit, or purse that you want to buy. It's about feeling confident that the person, your friend, would have your back no matter what - even if they don't agree with you. Because of this realization, this truth that I learned during this time, I became friends with Angela and developed a bond with her that was stronger than any bond that I had ever... and would ever have with my own sister or mother.
Angela Weber understood me and my desire to not be in the spotlight, and she understood and believed in me when even my own family didn't. Through the years while helping at the safe-house it became quiet evident to the people around me, and myself, that I had a talent and deep love for art, painting specifically. However, this knowledge wasn't well-received by my parents who felt that I would never be able to support myself, with a good career at least, if I followed my dreams and pursued a degree in art... a future painting.
It was during one of these "talks" that I was informed that my parents would not help me financially with college should I decide to follow my dreams and major in art. So, reluctantly I went along with them. I played the good little daughter who listens and obeys her parents, but on the inside, I was dying. It was Angela that gave me hope. She explained to me that her older brother had mentioned that the first two years of college you basically take just core classes that it doesn't matter what you're majoring in because everyone has to take these classes. Angela felt that if I did well in these classes and had a high GPA, I could then apply for financial aide into my junior year of college and at that point declare my major of art and I wouldn't need my parents' money.
Following Angela's advice, I did just that. I went to college, to the same college as Angela actually, and we ended up being college roommates for all four years. Mrs. Weber, Maggie, as she asked me to eventually call her, became more of a mother to me than my own ever was. And through their encouragement, I flourished in school academically and creatively. By the end of my senior year, several of my art pieces were on display in colleges and galleries around the U.S.
00~o~00
Life continued to move around me. Angela and I graduated from college to the cheers of her family and absent cheers of mine. Eventually, Angela moved back to Dallas and took a job as a second grade teacher while I moved to New York to start working at a gallery downtown as I continued working on my masters degree.
Throughout this time period, even though Angela and I were both absent from the safe-house during college, Maggie always made sure to keep us informed about what was going on. Once Angela moved back home, she started helping out again and she would periodically send me a letter or an e-mail containing pictures of the goings-on of the safe-house, it meant a lot that she was helping me stay a part of something that I believed in so completely.
A year after she had returned home, Angela called me one evening to tell me that she had met someone and that she was sure he was "the man she's going to marry." We laughed and giggled for hours about our dreams, hopes, and silly stuff that neither of us would ever want repeated.
Six months later, I had received another phone call from Angela but this time it was to ask me to be in her wedding. Ben had just asked her to marry him the night before, to which she answered with a resounding "YES!" So, after the squeals and the tears of joy died down to sniffling and intermittent burst of laughter, I told her that without a doubt I would be there to stand by her. I wouldn't miss it for the world!
It's hard to believe that I received that phone call over three years ago and that now, my feisty, silly, and slightly nerdy friend is the mother of two one-year-old twins. What's even harder to imagine is that I've only met them once and that was the day that they were born because unfortunately with my hectic business schedule, I've barely had a moment to even think for myself.
This now leads me to where I am right now; standing in line, waiting for my luggage to arrive at the baggage claim. For the last year, ever since I completed my masters, I've been traveling the world giving gallery showing after gallery showing of my work. Although the money and recognition I've received has been great, my mind, body, and soul are exhausted.
It was during a conversation with Angela, over a month ago, that she pointed out how I didn't seem to love it anymore... painting! That it used to be the driving force behind my spirit. That she could hear my love and devotion for it in the words that I spoke even when I wasn't talking about my art at all... I was just living and enjoying life.
She was completely right, of course. The best way I can describe how I was feeling was that my life had become monotonous and I was personally terrified because I was panicking about the fact that my art, something that used to be the driving force behind my happiness, had now become the something that was making me sad. And, I didn't know what to do about it, how to fix it.
But, as always, Angela did. She told me that I needed to stop for a while, so that I could catch my breath and re-evaluate where I wanted and needed to be. Knowing that I really didn't have a place to call home, because of my travels and because I couldn't go home to my family, Angela told me to come and stay with her and her family.
About eight months into being married, Angela called me to let me know that she was moving. Her husband, who happened to be a preacher like her father, got a job as the head pastor of a church in Washington State, so she and Ben were going to be moving up west to start a new chapter in their lives together. Turns out that Angela ended up loving her new hometown of Forks.
So, now I find myself standing outside of the airport terminal waiting on my best friend to pick me up. After sitting for hours on one flight after another, I'm exhausted, both physically and emotionally. Between the hours sitting in a stuffy metal cylinder with wings, to the hours I spent contemplating the past and how it lead me to this sidewalk that I'm standing on right now... I'm spent.
Just as I have that last thought, I notice a young woman walking towards me and as my eyes focus in on her, I realize that the woman is actually my best friend, my sister... Angela. She's pushing a two-seater stroller. Although, it looks more like a hospital containment bed with wheels at the moment with it's clear plastic guard that completely incases the stroller, I'm assuming to keep out the drizzling rain. Even though Angela has sent me countless pictures of her children, the sight before me warms my heart and I can't help the huge grin that takes over my face.
"Bella!"
At the sound of Angela calling my name, I take off in a quick pace to meet her halfway. In an awkward around-the-stroller hug, we both embrace each other and I can feel the tears welling up from the shear happiness of being in the company of my friend again.
"Oh, Angela, it's so good to see you."
"You, too, Bella. You, too!" Angela replies and I can hear the sound of her own tears in her voice.
Reluctantly, I release Angela from my hug and then kneel down in front of her stroller. "Hello, little ones! I'm so excited to be here because we are going to be such good friends!" I say to both of my god-children.
"I'm so glad you're here, Bella. It's going to be so nice to have someone here to help me with my two little rug rats." Angela says with a laugh as she turns the stroller around and begins to walk back towards the direction she came from, I assume to head back towards her car.
The drive from the airport in Port Angeles to Forks takes a little over an hour. The wear and tear of traveling for months has been taking it toll on me for a while now, and it seems that my body knows that it's finally going to get some much needed rest because I'm already fighting with myself to just stay awake.
At a little after four o'clock in the afternoon, Angela pulls her minivan onto a dirt and gravel driveway. After a few brief moments, the trees that line the drive part and a small farmhouse appears. Immediately, I recognize the house from the countless pictures Angela has sent me, its Angela's house. My new home.
00~o~00
WC-6,699
Published Date - 03/28/11
A/N: Thank you for reading! Please stick with me. I know that wasn't really really anything AMAZING with this chapter. We basically got to meet Bella & a little bit of Angela. The next chapter will deal with Bella getting settled in her new town & then by chapter 3 we will be meeting and getting to know Edward. I'm not sure yet how long this story will end up being, but I will say that the main focus of this story will be family and romance.
I have created page for this story on my blog. You can find out more information about the characters and also see what they look like, the types of cars they drive, and the places they visit, live, work, et cetera. Please feel free to visit each so that you can see teasers for the next chapter in addition to outfits, items, places, et cetera for each chapter as well.
My blog website is: http:/www(dot)heartfeltpen(dot)com
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There you go! Again, I hoped you enjoyed this first chapter!