Leaving Forks was the only way to escape. I could still feel his warm arms wrapped around me. I could still smell his sweet, woody scent on my pillow and hear him laughing at my clumsiness. I felt utterly alone. Without my personal sun, my best friend, I had no one.

.....

The bus smelled like cigarettes and dirty socks. I spent the five hour drive from Forks to Seattle breathing shallowly through my mouth, wishing my truck was strong enough to make the trek. I kept playing the conversation I had with Charlie over and over in my mind, wondering if there was some way I could have kept his heart intact. While Charlie had survived without female companionship for years after Renee left him, I still felt a twinge of guilt in the pit of my stomach for abandoning him. Especially when I thought about his culinary skills. I took some comfort in the fact that I had put together various meals, labeled them, and tucked them away in his freezer. They would last a month, at least. After that he'd have to fend for himself, or call Sue Clearwater and ask for some direction in the kitchen. He'll be fine, I repeated to myself like a mantra.

I took the deepest breath I could without getting sick and slowly let it out as I dug in my purple backpack for my iPod. After detangling the earphones I plugged in and tried to plan my fall schedule at the University of Washington. At least I was going anyway, I sighed. Jacob had encouraged me to go away to college, even though he couldn't follow for another two years. I felt my throat closing up as I thought about his selflessness. He'd planned to travel up to Seattle every other weekend to visit... Tears began to spill down my cheeks. I tried to take another deep breath to calm myself and wiped the tears on the sleeve of my ratty sweatshirt. The glass of the bus window was cool on my cheek as I propped my head against it and tried desperately to think of something, anything, else.

I was awakened by my forehead smacking the metal frame of the window as the bus came to a sudden halt. My backpack, another victim of inertia, crashed into the seat in front of me before falling with a thud to the dirty floor. I quickly retrieved it, setting it back on the empty seat beside me, and began to wind the cord of my earphones around my iPod. The university was only a few blocks from the bus depot and I intended to walk to my dorm. I silently thanked Charlie for buying suitcases with wheels and fought to stay upright as I was jostled to the accordion door of the Greyhound.

The driver was already unceremoniously pulling people's tattered luggage from the bowels of the bus and dumping it on the sidewalk. I saw the bright yellow strips of ribbon tied to the handle of both my suitcases sticking out from the bottom of the growing pile. Great, I thought as I pushed my way through the crowd and began pulling duffle bags and backpacks off my two suitcases. I earned a few glares as other passengers grabbed the luggage I'd not-so-carefully pushed to the side. I finally unearthed my two Samsonites and pushed through the crowd. I heard someone laugh when I tripped over a stray backpack but I was too busy craning my neck to see the university campus to care. Once I'd ascertained the direction of the campus, I pushed the straps of my backpack higher on my shoulders and began to wheel my suitcases down the street.

Charlie had insisted that I get a single dorm. Though he didn't say it, I knew he was willing to pay more because of my screaming. Since the accident, I'd begun to have a terrible recurring nightmare and my screaming had brought Charlie barreling through my bedroom door more than once. In the nightmare, I'm hiding in the trees and watching the rain soundlessly pummel the asphalt. After a few minutes, I can hear the drone of a motorcycle engine getting louder as it climbs a small hill and approaches my hiding place. From the other direction, a lumber truck silently comes into view. The motorcyclist rides over the crest of the hill and speeds recklessly over the slick pavement, closing the gap between himself and the truck.

This is the point that the dream changes each time. Some nights the rider looks behind him as if he heard something. Other nights a rabbit runs across the road. In some cases there is a pothole or gravel spill the rider fails to see. But the outcome is always the same. The motorcyclist swerves into the opposite lane and smashes head-on into the oncoming lumber truck. Then it is silent. The motorcycle's bent frame skids into the trees and stops about a foot from where I stand, and the rider flies into the air and hits the ground in a crumpled, bloody heap. That's when the screaming always starts.

Charlie told me once that Jake had died on impact; that he'd felt nothing. I'd gone into hysterics upon hearing this and refused to be comforted. He finally had to set me on my bed, wrap a blanket around my shoulders, and shut me in my room. I missed my high school graduation and spent the entire summer holed up at home. Eventually, I transitioned from hysterical to zombie. At first Charlie was relieved, thinking I was beginning to come back to him. I overheard him one day telling Renee that he missed the hysterics. "At least she was showing emotion," he'd said.

Toward the end of the summer I began letting Charlie back into my life. I could still picture the huge, silly grin that had plastered itself across his face when I asked him one day if he wanted to watch a movie. A few weeks after I started to come out of my shell Charlie mentioned my acceptance letter from the University of Washington. "Oh, right. Um, I hadn't really thought about it much," I told him.

"You should go, Bells. It'd be good for you to get out of this town."

I shrugged in response, not wanting to even think about leaving the familiar places I'd shared with Jacob. A few days later, Charlie plunked a packet of printouts in front of me while I fished the last few corn flakes out of my chipped cereal bowl. "What's this?" I asked suspiciously.

"I've called the university and they agreed to let you enroll this semester," he explained.

"What?" I stared at him in disbelief. It was so unlike Charlie to meddle. I felt a pang of guilt as I thought about how bad my behavior must be for him to go to such trouble.

"You've got to start living again, Bells. He wanted you to do this."

I stiffened and Charlie quickly changed the subject, "Look. I even booked you a single room for the semester. You'll still have to use a community bathroom, but having your own bedroom will be nice..."

That was how I ended up unpacking my two small suitcases in the middle of a cramped, generic dorm room, hundreds of miles from La Push and all my memories.

...

After a fitful night, I called the advising office and set up an appointment with one of the career counselors for that afternoon. Once that was finished I pulled my wallet out of my deflated backpack and went in search of a cheap place to have breakfast. As I explored the busy streets I made a mental note to go grocery shopping as soon as possible. There was no way I'd be able to brave the bustling Seattle streets every day for a bagel and cream cheese.

I located a Starbucks after walking a few blocks and ducked inside, eager to be out of the crowd and the wind. After ordering a blueberry muffin and chamomile tea, I settled myself into a corner table next to the floor-to-ceiling windows at the front of the shop. People watching was something I picked up from Charlie. Neither of us was comfortable with being the center of attention; we were both content to just observe. I watched a woman in a long black trench coat struggle with her umbrella in the door way of the shop across the street. When she successfully collapsed it she stuffed it into her bag rather angrily and pushed her way into the shop. A man stood on the corner closest to my Starbucks and failed three times to flag down a taxi. I saw him curse and stomp around the corner, probably in the hopes of catching someone more fortunate exiting their cab.

I pulled my iPod out of my jacket pocket and opened my "mind-bending metal" playlist. Concentrating on the rhythms of the bass drum, I tried to keep my mind from wandering into dangerous territory. Just then, a tall man in a gray peacoat entered the shop. He took of his rain splattered glasses and wiped them on his sleeve. Once he had put them back on, he moved away from the door and surveyed the shop like he was looking for someone. He shrugged his narrow shoulders slightly and stepped in line. The perky barista at the counter took his order and he moved to the side. He turned to face the door and leaned against the bar, clearly waiting for someone. Before I could stop myself, I was staring. The man looked older than myself. Maybe 23? His glasses were small, black rectangles that contrasted nicely with the paleness of his face. His messy bronze hair stood up at odd angles like he'd had loud sex and didn't bother to comb it. I felt myself blush from neck to hairline and looked away quickly.

A gust of wind fought it's way in as the glass door of the coffee shop opened and a short woman with spiky black hair danced across the stone tiled floor. I watched her graceful gait with envy, knowing that I could never move that beautifully. She made her way over to the man in the gray peacoat and kissed him on the cheek. Knowing I wouldn't be able to keep my eyes off such a beautiful couple, I gathered up my things and headed for the door. I didn't want to make them nervous with my rubbernecking.

The wind was surprisingly refreshing after the stuffiness of the coffee shop. I wondered down the busy street twisting my hair in a knot and looking for a book store. Finally, I came across a hole-in-the-wall shop with a painted wooden sign. I ducked in just as it started to drizzle again and let my hair tumble out of the knot I'd twisted it into. The store smelled musty, like the reference section of an ancient library. The lighting was dull and there were floor to ceiling bookshelves on three of the four walls. I browsed the shelves and found a few recent best-sellers mixed in with the vast array of used books. There didn't seem to be much of an organization system, so I wandered aimlessly between the tables in the middle of the floor and the shelves against the walls. My breath caught in my throat when I saw a book of Quileute legends. Jake's strong form floated in front of my mind's eye and I suddenly was fighting back tears. I all but threw the book back onto the table and wrapped my arms around my torso. I took a few steps backwards so I could lean against a shelf and fight to keep it together.

The elderly shopkeeper, dressed in a tweed vest and penny loafers, ambled around the corner of one of the shelves but quickly turned around when he saw the state I was in. If I hadn't been nearly gasping for air I would have been embarrassed to be seen in such a state. As it was, I could only think of Jacob. I pretended his arms were wrapped securely around my heaving body and struggled to get my emotions under control. When I was able to stand again, I studiously ignored the table with the distressful collection of legends and seized a novel off the shelf. It was a tattered copy of Jane Austen's collected works. I felt my heart lighten as I read the familiar first line of Pride and Prejudice, and immediately made up my mind to buy it. A little Jane Austen was exactly what I needed.

I dug a crumpled 20 out of my wallet and made my way to the register. The man behind the counter kept his eyes diverted from my face, instead focusing on my hands throughout the transaction. I politely thanked him and left the shop quickly, thoroughly embarrassed. It was still sprinkling outside as I walked down the sidewalk. Eager to lose myself in 19th century England, I flipped to the beginning of Pride and Prejudice and began to read the familiar lines. To be safe, I looked up occasionally and made sure I was still headed in the correct direction. I stopped at the corner across from my dorm and continued to read as I waited for a gap in traffic. When I heard a break in the line of cars flying past I looked up quickly and then back at my book, not wanting to lose my concentration. Without warning, I heard frantic honking and felt a strong hand pull me back to the curb by the collar of my jacket. Equally startled by the hand and the honking, I whipped around and looked up into a pair of bright green eyes framed by rectangular black glasses.

"Pay attention!" he ordered and quickly let go of his firm grasp on my collar. "You could get yourself killed!"

"Th-thank you?" I stammered, still in shock at what had almost happened.

"It's safe to go now, but hurry up and quit reading while you walk," he snapped at me.

I walked swiftly to the other side of the street, and turned to see the man in the gray peacoat disappear into a record store. Taking his advice seriously, I tucked my purchase under my arm and trudged across the grass to my building.

A/N: Hi! Thanks for reading! This is my first fanfic, so please feel free to leave any constructive criticism you can think of. I need all the help I can get. So let me know what you think.