I found my New Moon copy and I'm ready to go ;D

READ THE FIRST CHAPTER BEFORE READING THIS ONE.

THERE IS VERY IMPORTANT INFORMATION FOR THIS STORY THAT YOU WILL MISS, AS I HAVE REWRITTEN THAT CHAPTER BEFORE WRITING THIS ONE.

"Don't worry, you're human - your memory is no more than a sieve."

Time passes. Even when it seems impossible. Even when each tick of the second hand aches like the pulse of blood behind a bruise. It passes unevenly, in strange lurches an dragging lulls.

Time passes when you no longer want for it to pass at all, longing for the clock to stop, the stage lights to dim, the curtains to close. It passes when you want the play to be over, the costumes to be put away, the seats to be emptied.

Time passes, and drags, like the waves of the ocean crashing down upon me, each one getting stronger than the last, just barely above the surface but unable to catch a breath for relief. It passes when the emotions you are feeling are so far past anguished that you wish there was another word in the English language so you could convey it to someone.

Time passes even when there's nothing left of your soul to keep putting into your time being alive.

Oh, pass it does.

Even for me.

Life with Charlie was simple, but I found comfort in the simplicity.

Since graduating high school, I had found myself growing stagnant. With not much left to do, I had dove headfirst into the books on my bookshelf, finishing each book within months. I had filled every notebook I could find with poetry, and neatly written down memories and stories from when I still had the Cullens here, so that I would hopefully never forget them.

I had become a dreamer of sorts, immersing myself in whatever art form I could find next to actually be productive while high. In the back of my closet, I hid the barely finished paintings I had attempted of the Cullens on numerous occasions, features skewed slightly and none of them were quite right because of my faulty, human mind.

I had draped a white sheet over them long ago, deciding not to even look at them for as long as I live in this house. They were all wrong, and would forever be all wrong, so they were no good to me.

I had searched endlessly for the photos I had of them, hoping to find them and fix the paintings once and for all, but they were ripped out of my book, along with all proof that they had even existed. With only my memories, I would sometimes feel insane, trying to remember their faces but knowing it would never be exactly right. I could no longer remember the exactly way his hair looked in the sun, but I often hopelessly try.

Life had lost its luster for me, and I had begun to face my own mortality with every passing day. I had longed for their life, but without Edward I had come to accept my own death, and had often wanted to take it into my own hands for good measure.

You wanted me to be human, I thought, watch me.

"Bells! Are you up to a task?"

I look up from the painting of a deer I had just barely begun, "depends?"

"I need you to go out shopping tonight, I have a long shift and won't be home until five," he paused, handing me a list scrawled on "we don't need that much."

Shopping would give me time to be with my thoughts, which wasn't favorable, but it gave me something to do, "will do."

Charlie smiles, before shrugging on his jacket and grabbing his keys, "thank you!"

I peer out the store window after checking out.

Rain.

I had grown to love the rain in Forks. I felt comfort having surroundings that seemed as dreary as I felt.

Someone collides with me, almost knocking me over before a feel a grip on my arm steady me.

"I'm so sorry!" Her voice chimes. I take a glance at her. Before me stands a petite blonde girl, just a few inches shorter than me, with bright blue eyes. But what sticks out to me is her ghostly skin, pale even for someone living in rainy Washington.

"Are you okay? My name is Jane, I'm so sorry about that!" She says in her angelic voice. She reaches her hand out, and I take it to shake it, to be met with cold, smooth skin.

"Bella," I say, shakily, clutching at my bags. My blood pounds in my ears, eyes wide.

"I'm sure we'll be seeing a lot of each other," she says ever gleefully, before turning to go, "I have a lot of.. shopping to do. Bye now!"

She leaves me standing there, like a deer in headlights, and I all but sprint to my truck.

I jam the keys into the ignition, pulling out of the parking lot as fast as I can.

The ride home is spent looking out the window, paranoid I'll see any of the others. The Volturi.

I recognize her, from a painting that was in Carlisle's study before they left, dated at hundreds of years ago. She is in the background, just slightly to the left of Carlisle, but was clearly from the Volturi, and not an ordinary outsider like Carlisle was.

In the forefront of the picture, I vaguely remember three figures, dressed in fine clothing of the century; two with black hair, and one with blond.

Their gazes pierced into you, even just from viewing a painting.

If she was here, would there be more?

I shook my head as I pulled into the driveway, Charlie's cruiser was in the driveway.

He's not supposed to be back yet.

I open the door to the house, peeking inside, "Dad?"

There's no answer, and I shrug my coat off hanging it on the rack, right next to his police jacket.

"Are you there?"

The silence is deafening, and I am terrified in an odd sense. He isn't as young as he used to be.

I pull my phone out to check the time and see that it's now 11:33 at night; he'd originally left for work hours ago.

I walk to the kitchen with our groceries, calling his name out again, but what I see as I turn the corner makes me choke on the word, forming a strangled sob.

Charlie's body, mangled and twisted in impossible ways, blood soaking the white linoleum tiles. His tendons, ripped from their rightful spots, exposing his crushed joints. Shards and dust from his crushed legs litter the blood soaked floor around him.

My world comes crashing down around me, my every being ripped out of my body and laid across the ground to be steamrolled.

Drawn on the floor in Charlie's blood, is a single word.

You

Crashing to the floor, dialing 911 on my cellphone, I let out another sob, and then a scream, pressing the phone to my face.

"911, what is the address of your emergency?"

Life with Charlie was simple, but this.

This was not simple.

Time passes, even when the strings attaching you to this Earth are gone.

Oh, pass it does.

;0; Please leave your thoughts in the reviews, I'm really nervous coming back to writing this story after all this time.

Thanks for reading ;u; more to come soon.