Chapter One:

Four months.

Four months and nothing.

I'm not waiting for anything, not really. I know nothing is coming for me. But it would be nice. If there was a sign that they actually cared.

A clean break.

Clean breaks are horrible. And painful. And the make me throw up.

I try, for Charlie and for myself. I smile when necessary and answer moms many emails on her fabulous trip.

But Charlie knows, he's home too much and his own smiles are strained. Always watching, his moustache tweaking with words he just can't seems to verbalise.

"Hey honey…" And then he'll shake his head and look down, "Eat with me."

I should be worried about him, but these days it takes me to change my clothes and remember to brush my teeth.

3:30am.

Just three more hours before it's socially acceptable to get up. I would get up now, but Charlie would know, he has a 'Bella-Censor'. I can't even hide my half eaten dinners from him anymore.

-WWGU-

"Bella, honey. You awake?" There's a soft knock on my door and I twist my achy neck towards the noise. He knows I'm awake, he always does.

Peeking at the clock, the green letters glare 6:27am at me. Where did the last three hours go? My eyes are dry and grainy so I know I never slept, but I can't remember thinking anything either.

"Yeah." I croak just as he opens the door a smidge and sticks his head around the frame.

"Um, you won't need to head into school today. You… didn't look very well last night. Figured you could use a lie in." His eyes shift guiltily, his hands clawed around the wooden frame. I always look unwell, what's the change today.

But I don't say anything other than a grainy, "Sure." Before my head creaks back to its previous position, staring vacantly at the ceiling.

"Okay, see you at breakfast." He seems at a loss for more words and I can't find it in myself to give him some. So I stay silent as he stays in the doorway, his stubby fingers thumping against the wood in agitation.

-WWGU-

"Bella? Sweetie? Are you even listening to me?" My head is pounding and I'm staring down at a bowl of soggy Cheerio's.

"Bella?"

My head snaps up and I stare over the table to where Charlie seems to cringe at my sudden attention, clearing his throat and sitting forward in his chair.

"Um, well, I have some, possibly upsetting news for you, Isabella."

Charlie only uses my full name when I've done something wrong or he has. I know I haven't.

"You're leaving."

Silence.

And then my spoon clatters towards the bowl, I watch as the metal stem bounces against the glass rim and flips over the side, landing on the wood top in a pool of milk and one lone, escaped Cheerio.

Cheerio overboard.

"Bella? Are you even listening to me?" He's upset, but I can't look at him, so, digging one of my savaged nails into the grainy surface, I sniff and squeeze my eyes closed.

"I'm not leaving. You can't make me and plus, where would I go? Mom's off in Italy and I'm not going there and she's not coming home. We already had this conversation dad."

At first I don't think he even heard me and I almost repeat it in fear that the whole sentence was simply one I had in my own head. It wouldn't be the first time.

Then Charlie lets out a bitter chuckle, "That's the most I've heard from you in two weeks. Two weeks." His words are heavy and I think he might be crying, I can't bring myself to confirm or deny my suspicions.

"I can't… I can't do it Bella. I can't sit back and watch you waste away. Not my own daughter. Not my baby. I can't watch as you pine over something that's long gone-"

"You do." I interrupt, throwing in words that might make or break my last leg, "You're still waiting for mom to drive up and throw herself back into your arms. You sit and pine in Podunk Forks, Charlie. I'm just leading by example." My words cut through my own heart.

But I can't leave. I can't leave his memory behind. It'll kill me.

He doesn't blow up, he doesn't tell me I'm being immature – and I am, he just sighs a fatherly sigh and I listen as he pushes his own bowl away and his chair.

"That is true, but as your father, it is my job to do what's best for you," his scruffy hand comes over and fold over my skinny one, my knuckles protruding shamefully and my nails brittle from lack of proper nutrition.

"You are… so much better than him. He is a coward and I can't let you stay here for a coward." Salty tears squeeze free from my stinging eyes and I sniffle, trying my damndest to keep them at bay. "You are worth more than Forks, pumpkin."

"I can't leave." Is all I can sob forth and his hands squeezes mine tight.

"I'm not good at this stuff, but… I'll give it a go.

"When you were little, you fell down a lot. And so, I kept plasters on me at all times, you'd demand that I have them. So that, when you fell over, I'd always have some on hand to patch you up." His hand disappears from mine and is back moments later, in his palm are crumpled, flesh coloured bandages.

"I used to love that you relied on me to make you feel all better. But now, I don't know what to do, Bella. I can't kiss your cut all better and it is killing me. And it might be selfish of me and you might think that I'm pawning you off. But I can't look at you every day and feel so hopeless.

"You've got three months. I'm toughening up. Three months away will do you good elsewhere. I'll call every day. And plus, you used to love it there. Renee and Francine said you had lots of friends in Mystic Falls."

My tears run dry and I slide my hand free of Charlie's.

Mystic Falls.

I remember the sunny summers and the barbeques. I remember Elena and Caroline and Bonnie.

I remember blushing when Tyler Lockwood and Matt Donavon tugged our pigtails and homemade oatmeal cookies.

Every memory I have of Mystic Falls is good.

I don't want to go there and sully those memories with my broken heart.

Looking up, I'm ready to defend my right to stay.

But then I see Charlie. I really see him.

His slightly greying hair is now twice as grey and the wrinkles around his eyes are thick, heavy purple bags puff out under them both and it all making him look ten years older.

And it's not just that. He looks so thoroughly broken.

My mouth snaps shut. He takes that as admission, nodding happily and sitting back.

"Your plane leaves at three. I've already packed most of your things. Finish up; we're leaving in two hours."