Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight or Brandon Rogers.

Chapter 2

The next morning I wake with a killer headache and am surprised that I did not have a nightmare. I must have been too tired for my mind to make me relive another bad memory. Nightmares have invaded my sleep for as long as I can remember. Lately, I've been trying to stay up late so that I might avoid them. Suddenly, the night before comes back to me and I groan. My door squeaks open and my younger sister, Jane, with her yellow glasses yells, "Get up! It's 1:00." Thank goodness for weekends. She then walks out…without closing the door. I groan once more at the intrusion and grab my emergency bottle of aspirin and douse a few without water. Swinging my legs off the side of the bed, I lumber to the bathroom to brush my teeth and hair until my arms hurt from being held up for so long. I pull out a pair of jeans, some green tennis shoes, and a random t-shirt. The sun contrasts my eternal mood as it shines brightly through the window. I am surprised to see that it is not raining as usual. Even though I feel like staying in my room for the rest of the day, I clump downstairs and into the living room. First thing I see is the television blaring the word, "ALERT" in big, red, capital letters.

"Our dear Prince Edward Cullen is currently bedridden. We asked him if he knows what illness has disabled him and he responded with devastating news," says the orange, barbie newscaster. "Prince Edward had found his patch just the night before, but once he had caught her standing on the side of the downtown bridge, she proceeded to run away from the him and onto a subway out of Port Angeles." I sit unceremoniously on the gray couch and melt into the cushions beside my mom, but I cannot pull my eyes away from the screen to greet her. A picture of the prince with his bronze hair pops up on the television and my heart aches, but I know that I should not be feeling anything for this well known stranger.

The only thing that comes out of patching is despair and sadness. I would know.

"Keep your eyes out for the prince's patch. We have very little information on her, but we do know that she is about about five feet and four inches tall, brown eyes, shoulder-blade length brown hair, fair skinned, and is lightweight." I catch my mother glancing at me for a moment, but then shakes her head and looks back at the television screen.

The newscaster looks straight into the camera. "Prince Edward Cullen is requesting that his patch come to him and has said that the doors of the palace will be open to any lady who thinks that she is his patch. But to hold a meeting with the prince, you will be required to answer this question correctly. Only those who have answered the question correctly will be taken to the prince so he can determine if you are his patch or not. I'm sure you're all hanging on the edge of your seats, so here we go. Are you ready ladies? Your question is…What is the first word that Prince Edward's patch said to him? Good luck, and if Prince Edward's patch is watching this, please come heal our beloved prince." Her voice is sincere and will no doubt bring hundreds of women to the front gates of the palace immediately.

My head spins despite the earlier Advil. While my shoulders become heavy, my brain throbs. I close my eyes and wait for the illness to go away, but that relief never comes.

I've heard the stories of patches dying from their own patch resolving not to see them or even be near them. Of course, those are just stories. Right?

I take a seat at the kitchen table, my forehead propped up on one hand while the other drums a frantic rhythm on the hard wood in front of me.

I already long for the Sunday to be over, because without school as a distraction, my thoughts become violent. This is how I've been ever since I was a little girl. When I was ten years old, my father, Charlie Swan, died of a heart attack in the front yard while I was at school. I was in a really bad state of mind afterward for about a year after his death. Then I became even worse. I was diagnosed with depression when I was eleven years old. It was at that age that I realized that there is no happy ending to life. The only difference between now and then is that I had never had a reason to commit suicide, and I have more problems now than I did back then. After Dad died, it was easy to see that relationships do not last forever, and now Jacob has left me just like my dad did.

Now, thinking about how close I was to ending my life last night, I start to feel ill, like I am about to vomit. Not that there would be any contents in my belly for me to regurgitate, seeing as how I haven't been eating lately. Yet the thought still makes me feel ashamed at how I would even consider leaving this world.

Huh, how odd. I haven't felt this opposed to death in years, it'll probably wear off later.

"Bella, please walk the dog. This is the last time I am going to tell you!" Oops, I must have dozed off again. Sometimes I just go to a different place and imagine a better life, a skinnier me, a healthy relationship, a complete family…

"Yeah. Okay, Mom." I grab the long, blue leash while my lovable doberman pinscher named Billy wags his tail excitedly near the door. I hook the leash to his collar and hold on tightly with both hands, making sure I have a firm grip before starting the journey down the driveway.

Last summer, Billy had gotten too excited when a bat flew by and decided to pounce, pulling me along with him and into the forest. He had jerked so hard that his leash slipped right through my hand and he took off like a bat out of hell. I then had to chase him all the way down to La Push beach. The bat finally flew into a cave where Billy couldn't jump high enough to snag his jaws on the wretched creature. I had to pull the scruff of his neck with all of my might and ended up spraining my wrist from the force exuded to reign in the dumb dog.

Weaving my way through the streets helps clear my mind for the time being. I peregrinate with Billy around Forks High School, in front of the diner, and then along the edge of the tree line until we circle back to the house. Though as I walk, I keep my eyes open for the prince's numerous guards just in case they remember my face and try to take me. It seems silly, but you never know what is going to happen until it has already been done.

The prince and the rest of the royal family did not always always live in Port Angeles.

We used to have a president who lived in Washington D.C., but then Congress decided that America would do better as a monarchy. The president soon became the queen and ever since then, all of her descendants became the bobble heads of United States of America. About 50 years back though, King Aro, who has since stepped down, thought that he was too exposed in Washington D.C. and moved the capital to Port Angeles, Washington, so he would be closer to Canada. After the move, guards were posted in the neighboring cities, including Forks, so that any and all threats close to the king would be extinguished quickly. But in recent years of King Carlisle's reign, there has been less patrolling of power hungry guards it is still a good idea to keep my ear to the ground and my eyes wide open.

We make it home about half an hour later without trouble and start to cook my Auntie Fee's leftover deluxe for my mom and sister. My mother used to be able to cook dinner for us every night, but ever since my father passed away, she has become mopey and distant. I am mostly okay with it because cleaning the house gives me something to focus on, and I need all the distractions I can get these days. After fixing dinner, I mop and vacuum the floors and before I realize it, the sun is setting and Mom is sleeping on the couch again while Jane is probably skinning a squirrel or something. I hop in the shower and think about my younger sister.

Jane probably has just as many problems as me. The difference between us is that she has always been like this. My sister is so violent in everything she does. I am convinced that she is a sadist from the way she acts. When we were littler, she pushed me off of our play set and I broke my arm. Another time we were at our grandparents and she forced me in between the treadmill and the wall. She then turned the treadmill on high and just about skinned me alive. Ever since that incident, I have tried to distance myself from her. To this day, I always make sure to keep out of her way.

My shower doesn't take long because Mom said that since we only have one main source of income, we have to take five minute showers to keep the water bill down to a minimum. Afterwards, I sleepily pull on my black and blue pajamas and make my way to my barren room. I try to stay awake as long as I can so I can tire my mind enough so that I don't have the brainpower to create a nightmare, but I have no such luck and fall into a deep sleep.

"Oh, Bells." Jacob chuckles kindly as I stumble away from a kiosk selling flowers and into his long arms. I blush, look way up into his big brown eyes, and smile because I know that he will always be there to catch me when I fall, as corny as it sounds. My blush becomes more prominent after that last thought and I bashfully look away, my hands gripping his biceps hard.

Jacob waits until I am balanced on my feet, and then takes my hand in his warm palm. We swing our joined hands between us as we tread. His height is monstrous compared to my little frame, but we fit together like a ball and a glove and I could not be more happy with our relationship. I admire the beautiful Friday afternoon. It is one of those rare, sunny days in Forks that we always take advantage of by taking long walks through the city or in the dense forest.

Today, we happen to stumble across a festival and decided to see what the venders were selling. As we wander aimlessly through the crowds, I feel eyes on us and start to feel exposed and vulnerable, so I wrap my arms through Jacob's left arm. He notices my discomfort and looks around us for the threat, but when he looks behind us, his eyes glaze over and his hold on me loosens immensely.

I follow his gaze and see a girl around my age with short-cropped hair and tanned skin. She is wearing a yellow sundress that brings out her dark brown eyes that look glazed over, just as Jacob's are. Of course. I immediately recognize what has happened and cover my mouth with both of my hands to try to conceal my gasp.

No, no no no. This cannot be happening.

Sorrow fills Jacob's eyes as he looks at me. I can see that he does not want to hurt me, but he does want to be with his patch, a girl whose name he doesn't even know. His hands lightly grip onto my shoulders, but he does not remove his eyes from the girl.

I feel my heart breaking all over again as he says, "I'll get your brother to pick your stuff up from my place." He steps away from me and starts toward her. I try to grab Jacob's hand again, but he shrugs me off with a disapproving shake of his head. I fall to my knees on the ground while a crowd gathers with sad gazes directed at me. I stay in my position as the love of my life walks away, shredding my heart with every step he takes. He does not turn around to even say 'goodbye'. I watch mournfully as Jacob grabs his patch's hand, smiles at her, then leads her away and out of sight.

Silent tears stream down my face as I get to my feet and I run into the forest aimlessly and cry on the ground. Surrounding me are trees, and trees, and more trees and I don't know where I am. I don't care either because the only thing I can concentrate on are the tears falling on the ground and the seemingly unrepairable, dead heart that lays in my chest, acting as if it is still works. But my heart is not really there. My heart is now the ground under Jacob as he steps and grinds it beneath his foot as if I never meant anything to him. I guess I really didn't mean anything to him if the way that he strided away so easily as if I am trash was anything to go by. If Jacob could cast me away so easily, who's to say that my family and friends won't do the same once they are done with me and all my problems.

"Bella!" I hear from the woods enclosing me. "Bella! BELLA!"


I can't believe that y'all actually read this story at some point. Looking back and rereading all of my grammar mistakes just makes me want to vomit. Y'all must have guts of steel to keep on with this story without a paper bag on hand.

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