A/N: Here we are on chapter one. Please note that while I have done extensive research, I do not have any experience with photosensitivity and only very little experience with bipolar disorder. I ask you to forgive any errors, and just know that I have tried to make it as realistic as I can. Not much else to say here, so we'll just get right on into it. I do not currently, nor will I ever, own any of this.

Give Me a Sign

Chapter one

Until the End

Why give up? Why give in?
It's not enough; it never is
So I will go on until the end
I've lost my way
But I will go on until the end

- Until the End - Breaking Benjamin

Renesmee

What do you do when the world as you knew it ends without a warning? When something unexpected happens that turns your life upside down and inside out in a matter of seconds? How do you continue on with your life when nothing is the same anymore?

I was still trying to figure that out.

It had been nearly two years since the accident that killed my father. Almost two years, and I still hadn't figured how I was supposed to live. Life around me continued—the clock kept ticking, and the sun still rose and set on its schedule. My heart kept beating, and I kept breathing, but it was all meaningless to me.

I squeezed my eyes shut; I didn't want to think about him right now.

The memories came anyway, and I grabbed my pillow, crying into it as I tried to just keep breathing. My chest was closing in on itself, and I had to fight for every breath.

Deep inside, I knew that it was wrong and pathetic to still be mourning my dad. He wasn't the only person I'd ever lost. Grandpa Charlie had been my friend, too, and I didn't cry over him anymore. My dad was different, though. My dad had been my only friend for so many years, and I relied on him far more than I should have. He protected me, sheltered me, comforted me, and fixed me when I was hurt by taunts from classmates.

Now that he was gone, I was so lost.

I cried until my tears ran out, and I just lay there silently. I sniffled and made myself numb—my only real way of dealing with anything.

I don't know how long I was there before my stomach growled, bringing me back to the present. I looked up at the clock. Two-thirty…. Shit.

I slowly got out of bed and dug out my best 'responsible adult' clothes. They were a little big on me since I'd lost some weight, but they looked okay. I still had some curves, so I figured I was doing alright. I looked at myself in the mirror and scowled. My skin was pale—much paler than any other person in Phoenix. I'd been called a ghost and a vampire before because of it.

There was a reason I was so pale. I had inherited my mother's photosensitivity; her allergy to the sun. I suppose it could have been worse; I could spend some time in the sunlight. More than a few hours, though, and my skin would break into a rash and sometimes blister. A whole day in the sun could kill me. The allergy was one of the reasons I never had any friends. Everyone at school would either laugh and make fun of me or just ignore me altogether in fear they'd get whatever I had.

The dark circles under my brown eyes resembled bruises, brought on by crying, oversleeping, and generally not giving a shit about my appearance. My hair was stringy, not as healthy as it would have been if I'd had any motivation to take care of it better. It was dark red, and some used to tell me the contrast of it against my skin made me look gothic. In truth, I looked like a drug addict. I turned away from the mirror and pulled out my ancient makeup bag, hoping I could still use some of it to look like a human being today.

When I was done, I turned back around and looked in the mirror again. I sighed and ran my fingers through my hair. I didn't know what do with it. It never did what I wanted it to, anyway. I gave up and just pulled the brush through to work the tangles out, wincing when I hit a particularly stubborn nest.

Hair finished, I went to the living room and found my shoes. There was some deep, almost-hidden part of me that was excited about today. It had been so long since I really did anything important, and today was important.

As my dad's only living relative, I received the life insurance money once I turned eighteen- only a week after the accident. It wasn't any great amount, but it was enough to live off of for a time. That time was just about two years, and now I was running out. Two months ago, I'd started rationing what I ate so I could keep what little money I had left. The house was paid off, so thankfully I didn't have to worry about house payments. But I did have to worry about utilities, food, and the property tax on the house. The inheritance had paid it last year, but this year I'd gotten a letter sometime in January saying I owed twenty six hundred dollars. I ignored it. Now it was February, and I'd just received another letter telling me that I still hadn't paid it. I didn't have a car, so I didn't have to worry about gas.

But money did not reproduce on its own, and I was very soon to be completely out of it. I didn't particularly like the idea of living without food and electricity, so I made a very important decision and started applying for jobs in the area. I went to the library almost every other day to fill out applications online and submit my laughable resume. I had no job experience; all I had was a high school diploma.

Luckily for me, some of the companies I applied for didn't require any experience. One of them even called me for an interview. It was not something that I would enjoy doing and I knew it, but at least it would—theoretically—provide a steady income. My interview was today at three o'clock.

The building was only fifteen minutes away if I walked quickly. I took a deep breath and walked out of the house.

As I walked down the streets, I made another decision: once I had enough money, I would leave Phoenix. I would go somewhere with as little direct sunlight as I could get. Somewhere in the northwest would be good. I knew Seattle had a lot of rain.

I finally reached the building and walked in. A blast of cooled air hit my face, and it felt wonderful. The front office was quiet except for the clack of fingernails on a keyboard. A large desk sat close to the wall on my left with a sign above it that read 'Debt to Wealth' in fancy script. A woman in a dark suit sat behind the desk with a nameplate that just said 'receptionist.' Her dark brown hair was pulled back into a bun so tight it looked like she should start screaming from the pain at any second. She was typing away at the computer and ignoring everything else around her.

I looked around the room to give her time to finish whatever it was she was doing. I was a few minutes early anyway. The room was large, but not uncomfortably so. The walls were light gray with a few paintings hung sparsely, and the floor was covered in generic, dark gray carpeting. The wall behind me was made of windows, and the light poured in, making the room bright and comfortable for anyone not allergic to the sun.

I sat down by the desk in one of the chairs that were offered for just this reason. They were wooden chairs with stuffed leather cushions. The near silence of the room amplified the sound of the leather creaking beneath me. I crossed my legs and waited, looking around some more. There just wasn't enough to look at in here.

Finally, the clacking stopped and the receptionist turned to me. "Can I help you?" she asked kindly.

I stood up and walked to the desk. "Yes, I have an interview today at three with Mr. Brock."

The woman turned back to the computer and clacked again. "What's your name, hun?" she asked. I wanted to tell her that my name was not 'hun,' but I refrained. I really wanted this job. Sort of.

"Renesmee... Renesmee Masen."

"How do you spell that, hun?" She smiled politely.

I smiled back and spelled my name out for her, pausing after each letter to make sure she got it.

"Alright, have a seat again, and Mr. Brock will be with you shortly."

"Thank you." I went back to the creaky seat and waited. She started typing again, clacking away.

A few minutes later, a door on the opposite side of the receptionist opened. A man with short brown hair peeked out.

"Renesmee?" he asked, looking right at me.

I stood up. "Yes, that's me." I kept chanting to myself, I need this job; I want this job; I need this job. I had to at least make an attempt at making a good first impression.

"Great. I'm Chris Brock," he extended his hand, and I shook it. His was almost limp. "Let's go ahead and go back, and we can start your interview."

I smiled and nodded, following him through the door.

I looked around as we walked the perimeter of the call center. The cubicles weren't really cubicles, they were much more open than I had originally pictured. The rows were set up diagonally. Each placement had their own space, but the walls didn't extend to the edge of the desks. It made me excited and nervous at the same time. I would be all but forced to socialize here; I couldn't hide in my cubicle. Then again, I would probably just be ignored.

A few people looked at me as we passed, and some of them smiled. I tried to smile back. Even the small interaction made me feel strange. Over the last two years, I hadn't really been around people. I had had very little interaction unless it was going to the store or ordering some sort of takeout. At the same time, it felt sort of good to be acknowledged by these strangers.

We walked for what felt like miles. Chris kept saying hi to people that walked by, and I chose to watch the desks that we passed. Some people had a few of their personal things at their desks with them, and for some reason that made me smile. One person had a picture of a child covered in chocolate and looking at the camera like they knew they had just been busted. Another person had a collection of Hot Wheels sports cars spread around. He held one of them in his hands as he talked casually with the person on the phone.

We finally reached Chris' office and walked inside. It was cluttered, and I tried to ignore it as I sat down on one of the chairs in front of a large mahogany desk. He sat behind the desk and turned to me.

"So tell me a little bit about yourself, Renesmee."

Half an hour later, I walked the fifteen miles back to the front desk. I felt sort of optimistic about the job. Chris said he liked me, and he would just need to submit his opinion to his boss and wait for approval to hire me. He said I should hear back within a few days to a week.

I was in a fairly good mood—for me, that is—that I actually smiled a genuine smile to the receptionist.

"Good luck, hun," she said as she clacked away at the keyboard.

"Thanks," I said, not feeling sour about the 'hun' thing. I opened the door and the outside heat hit me like a slap in the face.

I stopped at the store on my way to grab some more packages of Raman noodles. While a part of me was already starting to rejoice the end of the Raman noodles, I'd had them and canned soup so often in the last few weeks that I was sure my system would go into shock if it ever got anything else.

When I got home, I put the noodles away before digging out a can of soup. I heated it and poured it into a bowl before going to sit down on the couch. I grabbed a book off the bookshelf and read as I ate. I found my mind wandering to the things I could eat if I got this job. It paid fairly decent. I'd be able to splurge at least once a month on something that wasn't a dire necessity. I'd buy steaks and cook them using a recipe from the book my dad gave me. He had often commented on my mother's cooking, saying she had been a great cook and even made a book with all of her own recipes. He gave the book to me for my seventeenth birthday, the last birthday I celebrated before he died.

I pushed that thought away, trying to ignore the gnawing pain in my chest that accompanied thoughts of him.

I finished my soup and closed the book, taking a deep breath as I got up to put my bowl in the sink. I rinsed it out and set it down before leaning over the counter, resting my weight on my hands and letting my head fall down between my arms.

I wanted to believe that I was healing—emotionally anyway—getting better even just a little bit. Everything as I knew it ended when he died, and it had taken a while to even accept that it had happened. After nearly two years, I wanted to believe that I was starting to rebuild myself. But it was moments like these when a simple memory of him would shatter what little I had been able to rebuild that told me I was only lying to myself. I wasn't healing. I wasn't even trying, really. I only told myself that I was so I wouldn't feel so pathetic.

I raised my head back up and sniffled before going into my bedroom. It was still early but that didn't mean anything to me these days. I had slept a lot of the time away anyway, why stop now?

I stripped down to my underwear and climbed into bed. Clinging to my pillow, I let myself remember him. I sobbed as the memories washed over me in rapid succession. My dad and I going to visit Grandpa Charlie in Seattle every summer; my dad and I going camping; my dad brushing my hair; my dad singing me to sleep when I'd have a nightmare; my dad hugging me tightly as we both cried when Grandpa Charlie died. The very last words I'd said to my dad...

Fuck you.

I must have finally cried myself to sleep, because when I opened my eyes, it was one o'clock AM. I sighed and got up to turn off the light, running back through the darkened room to my bed. I leaped onto it and pulled my covers up to my chin as I closed my eyes. By now I was somewhat of an expert at going to sleep on demand.

The first day after the interview, I stayed inside and awake all day hoping for a phone call. I tried not to be too discouraged when I didn't get one. After that, I resumed my routine of walking to the library to surf the Internet for the allotted half hour and look for any books I hadn't read that looked remotely interesting. I'd bring back the books I'd checked out and take others home with me in my old backpack from school.

A week and two days passed with no call. I was considering calling them back or just giving up hope, but I couldn't decide which one I wanted to do. I was walking back home from the library when I decided that I would call them if I still had the courage to do it when I got to my phone.

The phone was ringing when I opened the door. I didn't rush as I closed the door and set my backpack down. I went to the kitchen and picked up the phone.

"Hello?" I said, expecting a telemarketer.

"Yes, may I please speak with..." they paused, probably trying to figure out how to pronounce my name. "...Ren..." he paused and it sounded like there was someone talking behind him. "Renesmee," he finally said, actually pronouncing it right.

"May I ask who's calling?" I said, feigning interest.

"Yes, this is Frank from Debt to Wealth. She had an interview with us last Monday, a week or so ago."

My interest was piqued. "Yes, I remember; this is her."

"Good. Chris gave your resume to me and had a lot to say about you. Could you come in for a second interview?"

Seriously? "Sure," I said, feeling a little better. I listened as he rattled off different times that were available and asked me to choose one that was best for me. Friday at two o'clock. I could do that.

We hung up, and I found myself starting to panic a little bit. I was somewhat excited about having a second interview, but suddenly I was terrified. I was almost twenty years old and I'd never worked before. I hadn't even been around people very much for two years. I took a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves. Today was Wednesday, so I had the rest of today and tomorrow to prepare myself.

I kept to my routine until Friday. I walked to the library and back the next day. The days seemed to be getting hotter already, and I hated it. Thankfully, everywhere I needed to go was within walking distance and didn't take more than a half an hour to get there.

Friday at one o'clock, I was ready to go. At one thirty, I left for my second interview. With any luck other than my own, I'd leave with a time to come back Monday to start training.

I walked into the front office to see the same receptionist sitting at the desk. Instead of the painfully tight bun, though, her hair was loose and hung just past her shoulders. She lifted her head and smiled at me when I came in.

"Good afternoon," she said pleasantly. "Can I help you?"

"Um, I'm here for another interview. Renesmee Masen."

She smiled again and turned to type something into the computer. I noticed that her fingers didn't clack the way they had before. She must have clipped her nails. "Alright, he'll be out in just a second," she said after a moment.

I thanked her and sat down in the squeaky leather chair. The office seemed eerily quiet now that her fingers didn't clack. The sound of the keyboard still resonated throughout the room, but it was much quieter now than I remembered it. I took a deep breath and looked at the scarce paintings on the wall. There were two, both of them Monet from what I could tell.

The door finally opened and Chris stepped out. I stood up and followed him wordlessly. We hiked the seemingly unending journey to his office, and I wondered for the third time why in the hell anyone would want their office so damn far from the door. When we finally reached the office, I didn't even get a chance to sit down before Chris pulled a cord from his desk drawer and turned to me.

"Alright, Renesmee. We've decided that we do want to hire you, so instead of the traditional second interview today, we're going to have you listen to some calls. You can see for yourself exactly what we expect from you as a sales rep, okay?"

"Great," I replied. I was suddenly nervous. What if this turned me off and I just couldn't work here? I pushed that thought away and followed him out to the call floor. We went down a row fairly close to his office, and he tapped a young woman on the shoulder. Her nameplate said Vikki Swanson.

"Vikki, I was wondering if Renesmee could sit with you and listen to a few calls. She'll be our new hire."

The Vikki lady smiled again and nodded. "Sure thing." She took the cord from him and started setting it up. Chris pulled an empty chair over for me and I sat down.

"I'll come get you in about a half an hour, okay?" he said.

I just nodded and turned to Vikki. She got the cords set up and looked up at me.

"I'm Vikki," she said brightly, holding out her hand. I shook it and smiled at her. "It's nice to meet you... I didn't catch your name."

"It's Renesmee." I smiled and wondered if she might end up being my friend. She was a tiny little thing with wild black hair and frosty blue eyes.

"Okay Renesmee. Well, I've got the wy-jack set up, so let's start taking some calls!" She turned back to the computer and clicked on a few things. Nothing happened, and she leaned back in her seat and turned back to me. "So how did you hear about the company?"

"I heard about it online; I was submitting applications to different companies in the area and they were one of them." I shrugged. It wasn't some life-altering thing that made me chant their name in my sleep; it was just an application.

"Oh... Nice." She turned back to the computer and pulled up a game of Solitaire. I figured they must be slow today. I looked around the aisle. Two guys were talking to each other across the aisle about some girl they both thought was hot. Apparently her boobs were big, too. There was another girl at the end of the aisle, and she was actually on a phone call. There were a few empty seats, including one right next to Vikki. I noticed that the computer at the empty seat was on, but the person had been away for a while and the screen was black. I looked up at the nameplate and read 'Jacob Black.'

I turned back to Vikki to see that she had almost won her game. I felt like standing up and singing 'hallelujah' when the phone finally rang. Vikki spoke quickly, getting through introduction and asking for the caller's name. She followed a script that came up on her computer, only straying when the person asked a question. She would pull up various boxes and read the answer almost verbatim. I could so do that.

Halfway through the call, the person named Jacob returned to his desk. I took a peek at him and if I hadn't been sitting down already, I might have fallen down. To say he was not what I expected was a bit of an understatement. Call center guys were supposed to be generic, somewhat-nerdy guys who couldn't get a date if their life depended on it. Like the two other guys on this aisle. They were call center guys. Probably taller than me (not hard to do; I was only five foot three), but not much stronger. I could probably open a jar of pickles before they could.

Jacob was not this guy. I hadn't been secluded long enough to forget my natural reaction to hot guys, and Jacob was hot. He had dark hair cut short, his skin was dark tan, and from what I saw of his eyes, they were dark as well. He looked like he would be strong, too. Even through his tee shirt, I could tell that he had some muscles. He probably had the type of six-pack that made girls like me start drooling unconsciously. I licked my lips to be safe.

He looked over at me and smiled before putting on his headset and turning back to the computer. His smile was broad and friendly and somehow eased some of the tension in my gut.

Well, dammit! Why couldn't I have sat with him?

Vikki finally ended the call and smiled at me. I smiled back, although my attention was on Jacob as he leaned back and stretched his legs.

"Hey, Jake," Vikki said. I wanted to smack her. "How was your lunch?"

He smiled that comforting smile and sat up. "Not bad. Who's this?" he said, looking at me. I think I blushed. What the hell was wrong with me? I never blush.

"This is Renesmee. She's a new hire and is sitting with me for a few calls. Renesmee, this is Jake."

Jacob chuckled. "Having any luck with that?" he asked sarcastically.

"I've had one. I probably won't get another one before Chris comes back, though."

I sat back and watched their exchange. It shouldn't have bothered me that she could talk so easily with him. After all, they sat right next to each other every day. How could they not start talking? But I still felt a twinge in my gut of something I couldn't identify as I watched him smiling at her. Whatever it was, it hurt and I didn't like it.

"How do you like it so far?" he asked. It took me a minute to realize that he was talking to me.

"Um, it's okay I guess." I shrugged. He nodded and turned when his phone rang. Damn phone.

Chris came back and Vikki unhooked the wy-jack. I thanked Vikki for letting me sit with her and took one more look at Jacob before walking away.

"So what did you think?" Chris asked.

"It was great," I said with more enthusiasm than I felt. "I could handle that." We went back to his office and we set up a time on Monday for me to start my training. I was nervous and excited in a way that made me feel like I could throw up. I wondered briefly what I was getting myself into. Whatever it was, it didn't really matter because I needed the money.

A/N: Thank you for reading! Let me know what you thought.

I'm on Twitter, SheeWolf85.