Disclaimer: If I owned Twilight, or any of it's characters, I would NOT be writing this little piece of fanfiction, now would I?

Such a lonely day
Shouldn't exist
It's a day that I'll never miss.

Such a lonely day
And it's mine
The most loneliest day of my life.

-Lonely Day - System of a Down.


She slowly made her way back towards the spare bedroom, her insides seething, churning with rage. Somewhere deep down, she knew better than to be shocked by Jacob's drunken aggression towards that angelic figurine. He had hated it on sight, for the very same reasons she, herself, had loved it. They were both painfully aware of who it reminded them of. Painfully in two separate uses of the word, of course.

Masochistically, she had kept it, placing it on the mantle where her eyes couldn't help but be drawn to it every time she entered the room. After awhile, she almost relished the feeling of a wound reopening within her chest every time she glanced it's way, which was quite often. It was her only reminder of him, and as desperately as she wanted to forget he had ever existed, just as desperately, she yearned to remember every detail in painstaking clarity.

True to his word, she had neither seen hide nor hair of him since that nightmarish day in the woods behind her house. He had been careful to make sure there wasn't even proof of his existence. There were many days that she had often wondered if it had all just been a dream. After all, she had always been a very vivid dreamer. If it wasn't for the scar located on her arm, concrete proof of the events that had taken place on her 18th birthday, and the OTHER scar, the one that seemed to feel just a few degrees cooler than the rest of her body, she may have gone on believing just that. Just an exquisite dream with a horrifyingly painful ending.

But now, now that the visual reminder of him was gone, now that the scars were the only thing she had left, (and quite honestly, what was two scars compared to the others her body was now riddled with?) what did she truly have to assist her in remembering everything with infallible clarity?

She flipped on the light in the spare room. The room in happier and more delusional times that would have served as a nursery. She shook head as if to clear that thought immediately. It did no good remembering those things. She was neither happy nor delusional anymore. She was all too aware of how her life really was. She didn't bother to close the door behind her, to conceal her actions from the precariously sleeping Jacob. Perhaps, she'd later speculate, seeing that broken angel on the floor had released a sort of reckless abandon within her. Maybe, and more likely, she had just placed much faith in the alcohol that held Jacob in that comatose state. Either way, shutting that door would be insinuating that she cared if he found out what she was doing, and that was the very last thing she was concerned over at this point.

Instead, she went straight for closet, bypassing the luggage set she and Jacob had purchased together a year ago for a failed trip to Rio. ("The pack needs me," he had explained. "Just because I don't live on the Rez anymore doesn't mean I don't have a duty to my people.") She reached for her old duffel bag, doing her best to ignore the memories it was plagued with.

Crossing over to the dresser on the other side of the room after depositing the bag on the double bed, she began opening drawers, retrieving the extra clothes and necessities she kept in there just for this occasion. Part of her, the foolish part, wanted nothing more than to find a baseball bat, take it in the room where Jacob was passed out, and beat his slumbering body until he felt a fraction of the pain he had inflicted on her for all these years. The sensible part, the part that kept her alive she was sure, knew that it was better to just pack her bag, and leave. Take the cash she had religiously hid away, and make her way... somewhere. She wasn't sure where yet, but anywhere would suffice at this point.

She was consumed in her task, transferring those clothes to the rapidly filling bag on the bed, and thinking of the things she'd have to do before she left. Come morning, she would see the fault in this, she'd wish that she had paid a little more attention to her surroundings. In that moment though, she was preoccupied, something filling her heart that seemed dangerously close to hope, though not close enough to actually be called hope.

She finished packing her bag with her essentials, and zipped it up, taking just a moment to admire her handiwork. Grabbing a set of clothes that she had laid next to the bag, she slowly removed her robe, careful to not agitate her still sore elbow. Pulling on the jeans and making quick work to fasten them, she reached for the hoodie, her hand stopping halfway there abruptly.

"Going somewhere, dear?" Came the rough voice from the door to the room.

Slowly she turned around, cursing herself internally for the look of shock that was no doubt on her face.

Standing there, filling up the doorway, stood Jacob, clad in only a pair of plaid boxers. The air around him quivering..

A/N: Again, Cookies in the shape of your favorite Cullen for those that take the time to review.