It's been so long since I posted on FF that everything has changed. I hope I don't mess this up. Any mistakes are mine.
I've always been a light sleeper, especially when I was a little girl. Some of my first memories are of being pressed up against my bedroom window watching Charlie leave for work. Sometimes he'd even come in and kiss my forehead before he left. I loved him with that all encompassing devotion that little girls reserve for their daddy. When I was three years old Charlie was my favourite person in the whole world.
The pinkish hue of the coming dawn filters through the space between my curtains as I listen to Charlie moving around downstairs. I glance at the clock; it's barely five am. I consider going down for a mug of coffee, but I think maybe Charlie still enjoys the solitude of his mornings, so I decide to stay put.
I don't remember the days, or even months, leading up to the day my Mom and I left Forks, but I remember that day as clear as if it was yesterday. They'd spent the morning screaming at each other and I'd sat on the porch watching Mom carrying bags and boxes out of the house, before loading them into the car. Charlie stormed around alternating between shouting at her and staring morosely from the living room window.
I knew she was leaving, because she yelled it a hundred times. But I didn't know I was going too, until she clattered up the porch steps and yanked me into her arms. I remember screaming for Charlie as my teddy bear fell to the ground. I had reached my little hands out to him as I kicked my legs furiously trying to free myself from my mother's grip. I didn't want her to take me away but, more than that, I didn't want him to let her.
I fought as she strapped me into my seat, my head craning to the side trying to see out of the car window. When I could finally see, I'd kept my eyes trained on the front door, willing it to open. Waiting for him to come and set me free, but she slammed the car door, and he was still there in the window, watching and doing nothing. Confused by his inertia, I stopped screaming and pressed my hands to the glass. He turned away.
For a long time after that I thought I hated him.
I must have drifted off to sleep again, because when my eyes reopen the light is brighter. It's not the bright golden light that slashes across my bed in Florida; it's a muted grey glow that serves only to depress me. I get out of bed, and deciding my need for coffee is stronger than my need to wash I head downstairs. It is almost lunchtime. God knows how I've managed to sleep this late. I am still on Florida time and it is already after three there. Renee will be at work, so I'll call her later.
I open the fridge and pull out the milk carton, frowning at it, because there is barely a teaspoonful of milk in it. I throw the carton in the trash and have my coffee black while I peruse the bottles in what has now become his medicine drawer. I read the names of the drugs but I don't recognise any of them. A rogue thought enters my head. Edward would. I slam the drawer and take a few deep breaths before making my way upstairs to take a shower.
I work Charlie's shampoo into my hair, and the scent takes me back. I could be living here again. If I could only be eighteen again, if I could go back and never have met him, and if I had, make a different choice. But, of course, that train of thought is futile, so I squash it down. The hot spray streams down my body, and I wish it could cleanse me of everything.
Shutting off the water, I step out of the shower onto the cold, tiled floor. I wipe the condensation from the mirror and look at my reflection.
Outwardly, I haven't changed much at all since I was eighteen. Though, when I press my fingertips to my cheekbones and stretch the skin, the tiny lines that are just beginning to form disappear. My dark-brown hair still hangs in loose curls, framing my face and shoulders.
Maybe I'm a bit curvier in places, though, my face is slightly more angular and not as rounded with youth, but I still look a lot like the smart-mouthed teenager I used to be. Of course, my smart mouth only served to mask the shit storm of insecurities I held inside. Insecurities I have long since grown out of.
Renee couldn't handle me when puberty hit. She was far too flighty and disorganised to deal with a teenager carrying a chip on her shoulder the size of Texas. I fell in with the obligatory bad crowd, and started working my way through a list of all the things I wasn't legally old enough to do. A list which was comprised mainly of everything that every parent dreads their child might get involved in.
I had only just turned fifteen years old when the police picked me up, along with three of my friends, a couple of miles outside of town. Billy Dunn had managed to hotwire a BMW, and we'd been joyriding through the town in it. Two very irate officers ranted at us down at the station for hours about the dangers of what we'd done, and I was only released because I hadn't actually been driving.
Still riding the buzz of cheap beer and weed, I'd puked on Renee's shoes when she came to pick me up at the station. When she screamed and ranted at me in the car, I laughed in her face. She'd phoned Charlie the next day, and, within the week, I was shipped off to Forks to live with the one man I held responsible for every bad day I'd ever had.
I turn away from the mirror, not allowing my thoughts to take me any further down memory lane.
I quickly get dressed into my usual attire of faded jeans and a plain T-shirt, and scrape my hair into a messy bun. Mindful of the weather, I grab a sweater before heading downstairs to search for the car keys.
Turns out the grocery store on the corner I used to frequent has closed down. The abandoned building is crumbling and has heavy graffiti-laden boards where the windows used to be. Beside it, the gas station has also been abandoned, and I eye the rusty metal plates, bolted to the ground, which cover the site where the pumps used to sit. At least something has changed.
I drive through town and park in the lot in front of the row of buildings that consist of; Delaney's Bar, Marshall's Mini-Mart, Crawford's shoes and Newton's.
A drizzle of rain is just starting to fall as I thumb the button on the car key and lock the door. I pull up my hood and hurry into Marshall's. It's the kind of shop where the aisles are too cramped, and the shelves haven't been cleaned in eons. The stale smell is an effective deterrent to any would be browser, so I head straight to the fridges in the back and grab a carton of milk. There is only one other person in the shop so, thankfully, there is no line at the checkout.
I put the milk on the counter, and start rummaging in my purse for my wallet.
The girl behind the counter has a shock of bright-pink hair and several piercings on her face. She doesn't even look at me as she reaches out and grabs the carton, slides it over the scanner and holds her hand out for the money without a word. I place the bills in her hand and she pops her chewing gum loudly as the register drawer opens and she makes my change.
I step outside, and I am just about to pull my hood up when I hear a familiar voice.
"Bella?"
I keep walking, hoping there is a chance I'll get away with pretending I didn't hear, but his voice is louder when he calls again.
"Bella Swan!" he calls, his voice full of happy recognition now. "I thought it was you!"
I still haven't turned around, but I know pretending not to hear is futile, so I have no choice but to turn and face him. "Hello Mike."
His face lights up when I finally look at him, and I remember that Mike was one of the good guys; he was never anything but nice to me, even though I played him terribly.
He looks more or less the same: his hair is still in the same style, though starting to recede a little, and he's carrying a few more pounds, but aren't we all? It's just surprising on Mike because he was a true jock back in high school, and I would have had him down as someone who would always stay in shape.
"Wow, I can't believe it's really you!" he grins enthusiastically. A little too enthusiastically in my opinion, but then again hadn't I always had that effect on him? "It must be... what..." he frowns, and I realise he's trying to work out how long it's been, "a good ten years at least. You know, I always ask the Chief how you're doing, he says you're doing good."
"Yeah, I am." I force a smile. I know it's only a matter of time before he brings something up I don't want to talk about. "Look, Mike, it's nice seeing you but I–"
"How long are you in town for?" he asks, ignoring my attempt to ditch him. "Maybe we could meet up— you know— go for a coffee or… or... a bite to eat or something, it'd be really nice to catch up?" he shrugs.
"It would," I agree, and part of me means it. "But I'm heading back home tomorrow so I really don't have the time. I'm sorry."
"The Chief never did say where you were living, anytime I asked." His brow furrows, and his words are coming out slower. I start to back away, but his feet move in tandem with mine, so I can't create any distance between us. "I know it's because of what happened, the whole thing with the case, I hated what they said about you," he looks down at me, and I can feel the heat in my cheeks. "It was that fucker Cullen's fault and–"
"It was a long time ago, Mike, no point going over it again now." I want to defend Edward, tell him it takes two to tango or some bullshit cliché like that, but that would only result in a conversation that I really have no desire to get into.
He sighs, and he's standing so close now I feel his breath on my face. "Yeah, I guess." He turns and stares off into the distance. "I heard he and his wife split; he comes back here from time to time, swaggering around like he owns the fucking place just because he's a hot shot CEO now-"
"Listen, Mike, it's great seeing you and all, but I..." My throat is dry and I hate the emotion evident in my voice. I don't want to hear about Edward Cullen, or his wife. "I have to go."
"I'm sorry," he says quietly, and I close my eyes. It was always like this between us, he is only trying to be nice and I am being a complete bitch. "You're right; it was a long time ago, no point in dragging it over the coals now." He offers me an apologetic smile, like he's asking for forgiveness, so I return it. "Come on, come into the shop with me, I'll make coffee and we can catch up, surely you can spare an old friend half an hour? And I promise, I'll only talk about me."
His grin widens, as does mine, and I nod yes as I punch him lightly on his shoulder. He leads me to the store I worked in for three Saturday afternoons before the shit hit the fan and I could barely show my face outside Charlie's front door.
"I own it now," he explains, as we pass through the doors. "Mom and dad retired a couple years back and passed it on to me."
He leads me through the aisles that are now wider than I remember, and the whole store has a light, airy feel to it. Gone is the disorganised chaos, along with the shelves that were overflowing with everything you could possibly need for a camping or hunting trip.
It seems that Mike has gone for a more specialised store than his parents. Newton's used to sell practically everything, but you had to search through the jumble to find it. Mrs Newton used to claim the chaos was organised, but often it could take upwards of half an hour to find what you were looking for, while she clucked around behind you muttering, "I'm sure it's around here somewhere."
He pauses, says a few words to the girl behind the counter, and then I follow him through the double doors into a small breakroom at the end of a narrow corridor. The small table in the corner has three chairs next to it, and there is barely enough room to move. Mike grabs two mugs and fills them with coffee from the bubbling percolator on the counter.
"Take a seat," he says, with his back still to me.
I sit down at the table which wobbles a little, and spot the out-of-date calendar on the wall. It hasn't been turned over since April.
"When did you get back?" he asks, placing a steaming mug in front of me. I sip it tentatively and even though he didn't ask how I take it, he hasn't added any sugar. I wonder if it is a fluke, or if he really does remember how I like my coffee.
He sits down opposite me and shrugs out of his jacket; he must have just been arriving at the store when he spotted me. He blows into his mug before taking a sip and looking up at me expectantly.
"Yesterday," I answer.
It's a little warm since we are sitting right next to the radiator, but I don't want to take my jacket off, which would suggest that I'll be staying longer than the time it'll take to drink my coffee.
"And you're leaving tomorrow?" Naturally, he's surprised.
I'm not sure it will be wise to tell him I'm coming back, but I can hardly avoid it. Forks isn't exactly a thronging city, so our paths will definitely cross again, and I really don't want to offend him any further than I already have.
"I'm going back to Florida..."
"Florida, so that's where you've been living," he says, nodding his head as if I've just revealed one of life's great mysteries.
"Yeah, so I'm going back there to sort a few things, and then I'm going to move in with Charlie for a while."
"Oh!"
"What?"
He shakes his head a little. "Nothing, I'm just surprised, I didn't expect you to ever move back here. "He pauses and his eyes narrow. "Did you get divorced or something?"
I smile. "You said you were only going to talk about you." I remind him, lightly.
He laughs. "Yeah okay- well what is there to tell - I got divorced, just last year." He rubs his neck self-consciously, "She took off with some guy she met in college, after having the girls- I've got two by the way- she said she wanted to go to college and do all the things she missed out on. Turns out she really just wanted to do all the guys she missed out on."
He sounds a little bitter but in a philosophical way. Like it was maybe something he'd expected to happen all along, and it didn't surprise him when it did.
"I guess that's what happens when you marry straight out of high school," he shrugs.
"Wait, Jessica?" I stiffen and my mouth pops open. "You guys got married right out of school?"
He nods and smiles ruefully. "Yep, pretty much, I think it was a few months after you left town. I'm surprised the Chief didn't tell you."
"We don't talk much about Forks," I mutter.
"Figures," he nods.
"So where is she now?"
"She lives in Washington D.C. with her latest guy. He's the ambitious type; wants to be a politician," he roots around in his pocket, and pulls out a worn leather wallet which he flips open to reveal a photograph of two blonde-haired, blue-eyed girls. "This is Amy and Louise," he beams proudly.
I take the wallet from him and look at their lovely faces; they really are stunning little girls, all wide-eyed and rosy-cheeked. They both have Mike's long straight nose and thin lips, but the bright blue eyes and silky blonde hair is all Jessica. I hand it back and tell him they are beautiful.
"What about you, you got any kids?"
I stare at him pointedly and he laughs again.
"You must miss your girls," I say, deflecting the attention back to him.
"Oh no, not at all, they live with me; seems Jessica is too busy making up for lost time to be a mom these days." He shakes his head. "Actually, I shouldn't say that, it wasn't an easy decision for her to make– leaving them with me– but I guess deep down she knew I could offer them more stability than she could at the time. She takes them for a month in the summer and visits as often as she can."
Having no desire to get into a conversation about Jessica, I drain the last of my coffee and glance at my watch. He catches me doing it.
"Well, it was really great to see you again, Bella," he says, standing up and I'm relieved that he doesn't try to talk me into staying longer. "Maybe when you get back we could have dinner sometime?"
"Yeah, I'd like that," I say, and his grin widens unbearably. "I'll stop by when I get back."
It wouldn't do me any harm to make a few friends here. God knows I have enough enemies.
"You make sure you do that," he says pointedly.
I drive back to Charlie's with my music on and the windows down, much like I do in Florida, and in spite of the cold here. But then I pass the Clinic, and an image of Edward comes unbidden to mind, and my mood instantly sours. I won't be able to avoid him or his family forever.
Once I'm back at Charlie's I make myself a coffee, with milk this time, and then I call Renee and tell her Charlie's news. She asks me a ton of questions— mostly the ones I already asked Charlie myself— and then admits she suspected it might be something like this. Her voice is thick with emotion as we talk, and it touches me, because, even though she and Charlie have had no relationship to speak of for more than twenty years— save for the times they had to talk about me— she still genuinely cares about him.
She questions the wisdom of me moving up here, and voices her concerns that it might be a lot more difficult for me than I realize. But I am resolute in my decision to do this, so she backs off eventually. I talk to Jacob briefly and explain everything to him, before telling them both I love them and I'll see them tomorrow.
Since I have a couple of hours before Charlie is due home, I go to my room and set about stripping it of all the memories of the girl I used to be. By the time he gets home, I have filled four sacks full of my teenage belongings, ready for the trash. The walls are bare, the drawers empty and for the first time since I got here I am satisfied, like I have a blank canvas on which to start again.
He shuffles through the door around five, looking positively haggard. His face is even paler than it was yesterday and it looks to me like there is a yellow tinge to it. I notice the lethargy in his movements as he takes his jacket off and wearily throws it on the back of a chair. His breathing is a little labored, and he leans heavily on the chair for a moment, before standing upright and pretending he is okay.
I move towards him, concerned by his appearance, but he stops me with a wave of his hand. I can see he doesn't want me to fuss, and, not wanting to make him more uncomfortable, I turn back to the stove.
"I'm cooking fish for dinner," I say with forced calm. "I thought I might as well start trying to make a dent in that fish mountain in your freezer."
His voice is full of apology when he speaks. "Sorry, Bella, I don't have much of an appetite tonight."
He looks like he might be in pain. I notice the tightening around his eyes and the slight whiteness beneath the skin around his lips.
"Can I get you anything?" I ask, laying a hand on his arm.
He shakes his head and opens the drawer. I pour him a glass of water while he takes his pills out and starts opening the bottles. He knocks them back and turns to face me.
"I'll just go lie down for a while."
I bite my lip as I nod. "I'll check on you in a couple of hours, in case you need anything."
He doesn't reply, and I stand in the kitchen with tears in my eyes as I listen to him slowly make his way up the stairs.
I take the fish outside and dump it in the trash.
A sudden noise wakes me, and, disorientated, I lie in the dark trying to figure out what it was.
I had checked on Charlie just after eight but, he was sound asleep and I'd figured if he needed anything he'd have woken up on his own anyway, so I left him sleeping. I'd curled up on the sofa with Wuthering Heights— which had survived the cull in my room— but by eleven I had been too tired to read anymore, so after checking on Charlie again, I'd given up and gone to bed.
I hear a low groan. I stop breathing and listen. It happens again. It's a low, pained noise that reminds me of a wounded animal. I come to my senses and realise its Charlie. Leaping out of bed, I hurry to his room as the groans persist. He is lying on his side, doubled over, and his face is scrunched into a tight grimace.
"Dad!" I yell in fright, as his groans increase in both volume and intensity.
I hover over him not sure what to do, as he clutches his stomach. There is a thin film of sweat covering his face, and his throat rasps when he sucks air into his lungs through his clenched teeth. His eyes are shut tightly, and his jaw gritted against his obvious pain.
My heart hammers in my chest, my brain stalling as panic sets in. His hand shoots out, and he points a shaky finger at his dresser. I whirl round and rush towards it, sure that he wants me to fetch something, but not knowing what I'm looking for.
I scoop up the pile of papers strewn across the top, and push them into his trembling hands. He shakes violently as he struggles to rearrange them, and feel less than useless as I fumble to help him. Eventually, he hands them back to me and the top one has his writing on it. I stare at it for a moment trying to make sense of what it is. In my panicked state my brain is suddenly having trouble coping with basic functions, and my blood is starting to feel cold in my veins. At first, I feel like I'm looking at hieroglyphics, but as suck in a few deep breaths forcing myself to calm down a little, it morphs into a telephone number.
I pick up the phone by his bed and dial. The numbers seem vaguely familiar as my fingers fly over the keypad. I listen to the recorded message informing me I have called the Medical Center, and am being put through to the on call doctor. After a pause, punctuated by mechanical beeps, a disturbingly familiar voice greets me.
"Dr. Cullen."
I am momentarily distracted, but Charlie's loud groan penetrates my senses, and I find my voice.
"I-i-it's my father, he's in pain!" I blurt, trying to focus on Charlie, and what I need to tell the doctor. "He has cancer, he just woke up and he's really in a lot of pain. I don't know what to do, he has some... It's Charlie!"
"I'll be right there."
The line disconnects, and I sit on the edge of the bed, gripping Charlie's hand and smoothing my fingers through his sweat-soaked hair. "Its okay, the doctor will be here soon," I promise, trying desperately to sound calmer than I feel.
He grips my arm tightly, and his mouth moves attempting to speak, but I place my finger against his lips and shake my head. I leave him only when I hear the banging on the door. I practically fly downstairs, and throw the door wide, feeling more relieved than I ever have in my life, and thanking God someone is here to help him.
Even if it is Carlisle Cullen.
Thank you for reading
Kat