Author's Note: I own nothing and Stephenie Meyer owns everything. Thank you all so much for reading. This'll be about the usual amount of time it'll get me to put chapters out. About 1-2 weeks. I'm in college, so things are busy. Please feel free to give my any feedback. I appreciate it.
xXx
Grief is a funny thing. It doesn't feel quite like how the books and movies describe it. In fact, the only way I can describe it is as a lack of feeling. It is like there is nothing left inside of you. Everything is dead.
I have become quite familiar with grief, seeing as how my mother was brutally murdered just over a week ago. While I was off at cheer practice, she and my stepfather, Phil Dwyer, were killed within the confines of our home.
I was the one who found the bodies.
Since then, I've been numb. I can hardly remember anything that has happened. The police questioning me. The funeral. Getting on the plane that I am about to exit. All of it is a blur.
As I walk off the plane, I try to hide the fact that I am dead inside. I do not want to worry Charlie, my father, any more than necessary. I spot him waiting for me at the greeting area in the airport.
I walk until I am standing in front of him, both of us awkward and not knowing what to say. Neither of us is good with emotions.
Finally, Charlie breaks the silence. "Hey, kiddo," he says, gripping me in an awkward one armed hug. "How're you holding up?"
I shrug out of his grasp. "I'm fine," I mumble, not quite meeting his eyes.
I can feel Charlie's piercing gaze on me. He's great a reading people, despite his own emotional deficits. It's what makes him able to perform his job as police chief of Forks, the small town he (and now I) lives in.
I finally give in and look at him, waiting for him to say something. He stares at me for another moment before sighing, apparently not having anything to say at the moment. He gently takes the duffel bag that I'm carrying from me and motions for me to follow him.
The ride from the airport in Seattle to Forks is long and filled with silence. It's a comfortable silence, though. Occasionally, Charlie will ask me questions about my life in Phoenix, but I barely answer him. It's partially because I don't want to think about the place I've just left and partially because I'm exhausted.
Lately, during the day, I've been feeling tired. I've been trying to get more sleep at night, but failing. Sometimes, I feel even more energized during the night than I do during the day. It's just one of the strange changes that have been happening to me in the last few months. I meant to ask my mom about to take me to the doctor, but now I can't, obviously. I would ask Charlie, but I don't want to be any more of a burden on him than I already am. His job keeps him busy and I don't want to take away from that.
I start to think about the other odd changes that I've gone through in the past few months, but the abrupt stopping of the car pulls me out of my thoughts. I look up expecting some sort of emergency, only to find that we've pulled up in front of Charlie's house. For some reason, knowing that Charlie still likes to slam on the brakes is a comfort to me. Despite all the things in my life that have changed, this hast not.
Charlie's house is still the same as the last time I saw it, too. It's a modest two story colonial with chipped white paint. Charlie has never been the type to care about appearances. So long as he has four walls, a roof and a television to watch the Mariners on, he's happy. Like Charlie, I am a person who appreciates simplicity.
I step out of the cruiser and start to head up the walkway towards the house. I stop walking when I hear Charlie call, "Bella!"
I turn around to find Charlie leaning against a rusted red Chevy pickup truck. I was so stuck in my own thoughts that I had walked right past it. Now, I give it a closer inspection. It looks old. At least fifty years old, if not more.
Charlie smiles one of his rare, full smiles at me and reaches out to press something into my hands. I feel the rough edges press into my skin and realize that it's a set of car keys. Charlie's smile widens. "Welcome home to Forks, kiddo," he says.
I look at the truck and it finally sinks in that it is supposed to be mine. It doesn't look like it goes very fast, to be honest, which is something that would not have bothered me in the past, but lately I've developed a need for speed. I have three unpaid speeding tickets back in Phoenix. Still, this truck clearly has character; something that I can appreciate. I feel my mouth turn up at the corners. "I like it, Charlie," I tell him and put my arms around him in a hug much tighter than the one I gave him at the airport.
Somehow quiet Charlie always knows the right thing to do. He squeezes me back and says, "I know about those speeding tickets, Bells. I don't expect that to be a problem driving this behemoth. I had my friend Billy's son, Jacob, fix it up, but even with all of the tune-ups I wouldn't drive it any more than 50 miles per hour, if I were you."
I step back from Charlie's embrace and smile sheepishly. "Don't worry, Charlie, I won't be speeding," I promise. I'll have to find another way quench my thirst to go fast. Maybe I can go for a jog in the mornings.
"Good." Charlie starts towards the house and I follow him. "Come on. I'll show you your room."
The inside of the house hasn't really changed either. The kitchen, living room and small dining room are on the first floor. When we walk upstairs, I can see that Charlie hasn't added on at all. There are still three bedrooms and only one tiny bathroom.
Charlie and I go into the bedroom closest to the bathroom. It is the bedroom that has always been mine when I've come to visit him.
I cannot control my gasp as I enter the room. Unfortunately, it is not a gasp of excitement, but one of horror. Charlie has repainted the entire room and redecorated. There does not seem to be too much of a theme, except the color pink is prominent in every corner of the room. It looks like Barbie's dream house exploded in here.
Charlie shuffles awkwardly in the doorway. "So, uh, how do you like your room? I thought it would be nice for you to have some new scenery," he tells me, scratching the back of his neck.
I force a smile. "It's great, Charlie, really. Thank you for putting in so much effort. I really appreciate." And I do appreciate it. Despite the fact that this is the bedroom of my nightmares, it is clear that Charlie worked hard on making my transition to Forks as smooth as possible.
Charlie nods and taps his fingers on the dresser next to my bed. "There's just one more thing that I have to show you before I let you settle in for the night. I know that it's getting late and you probably want to get to sleep early so that you'll be ready for school tomorrow, but this'll be real quick," he promises. He kneels down next to my bed and pulls out a shoe box, which, of course, is pink.
He pulls an item out. It is silvery and pretty small . . . it's a gun. Oh my God. Charlie is giving me a gun. "W-w-what the hell," I stutter. Has Charlie gone mad?
Charlie stares me down with a look more serious than he's ever given me. "I want you to be able to protect yourself. There is evil out there, Bells. I might always be here to fight it off."
"But, Dad . . . this is Forks. Nothing bad ever happens here," I reply, stunned. He wants me to fight off bad guys with a gun? Seriously?
Charlie breaks away from my gaze and looks at the floor. "There are dangers that lurk out there that you don't even know about. I just want you to be safe." Just like he did with the car keys, Charlie presses the gun into my hands. Except this time is different. This time he's giving me a gift that I don't want.
The minute that the gun touches my skin, I feel a shock. The gun feels like it's giving off weird vibes. It's as if I feel a connection to it. I shake my head in order to clear my thoughts. I must be going crazy.
Charlie interprets this as me disagreeing with him and forces my hands onto the gun in a certain position. It feels odd "That is how you hold a gun," he grumbles at me. "You may never need to use it, but I just wanted you to have it. Just in case."
My shoulders sag in defeat and I put the gun back in the box and the box back under my bed. "I'll use it if I have to," I reassure him.
Charlie nods and walks towards the door. Before he leaves he says, "Just because I might want you to look harmless doesn't mean that I actually want you to be harmless." Charlie looks around my pink room, smirks and makes his exit.
It is then that I realize that he made my room this way on purpose. Charlie is much smarter than I ever gave him credit for. No one is ever going to suspect a girl with a pink room to be able to wield a gun.
As I begin to get ready for bed, the shock of Charlie's actions wears off and the numbness of my grief settles back in. It has been a long day and I simply wish to lie in bed and hope that the sleep that has been eluding me at night will finally come to me.
Before I climb into bed, I hear a rustling in the tree outside my window. It is probably just a squirrel, but Charlie's words and actions have made me super paranoid, so I decide to peek out the window to have a look.
I do not find anything, but I can feel a presence. Someone and not something was in my tree. For some reason, I know that whoever was in my tree is long gone. What is even stranger is that the thought that they were here comforts me. It is a warm, comforting presence. Something about it makes me feel safe.
For the first time in a long time, I feel as tired as the dead. I lay down in bed and the minute my head hits the pillow, I am fast asleep.
