A/N: Thanks to EscapingGreatly for your review.
Time for chapter 1, and it's by reading this that you'll understand some of what this story is really about.
Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight or any of its original characters - all credit goes to Meyer. I do own the Brown family, however, and other OC's that may show up later in the story.
Warnings: Rated M to be safe. This story contains mentioning of alcohol abuse, self-destructive behavior and cursing.
Chapter 1 – A Little Piece of Past
We'd be all right this time. That's what my adoptive parents had told me the day they came home holding a sheet with black letters adorning the surface, telling of their latest purchase. A picture of a house with white wooden walls, grand windows and a cute little front porch was situated on another sheet, showing what looked like a place where a happy family with an apple-pie life would live. That was not us, or so I'd thought, but my parents must've disagreed as they now presented me with a brand new future. Our new home. Wasn't it great? They'd asked, and I had to agree – the estate in itself was a fine sight, the large garden and dark forest stretching around it alluring somehow. But great for us? That, I wouldn't know.
Seeing the place with my own two eyes was a peculiar experience, however. We'd waited until I'd finished my junior year in High School before packing our belongings and hitting the road. Well, hitting the plane was more like it; there was no way I'd agreed to driving all the way from Phoenix to Forks, even though my parents suggested we could make a family-vacation-slash-road-trip out of it. I could be stubborn if I put some effort into it, something I'd already done on numerous occasions. There was no need to repeat past mistakes however, because my parents were obviously dead-set on making me as happy as possible, throwing their foolish suggestion hastily aside. I was glad, although a little guilty – they seemed to have really liked the idea of a road-trip. Good thing my attention span was short in the middle of all of my exams, or my bad conscience would've feasted on my brain.
The place was peculiar in the sense that I liked it almost immediately. Normally, I was more skeptical when it came to stepping out of my comfort zone. Maybe it was the fresh air, undisturbed and clear, nothing like our previous home. I imagined I could even see the stars at night, a prospect I found promising. I'd always loved the stars. My approval must've showed on my face, because as I slammed the car door shut, my mother was at my side instantly, all but jumping with excitement. I found it endearing.
"It's nice," I said before she could even open her mouth, and she flung her arms around me, hugging me tightly.
"I knew you'd like it. I knew it!"
I rolled my eyes and carefully pried her hands away from me, taking a calculating step back; all the while making sure the motion wouldn't upset her. She always hated it when I pulled away from her. Her brown eyes dulled a little, but I guess her childish joy outdid any insecurity her mind possessed, and she simply pulled on my hand. I followed politely, walking around our red BMW so that we could get a better view of the house, stopping next to my father. Mom went around him, and he pulled both of us to his sides, grinning as we craned our necks to take in the sight in front of us.
"Welcome home, guys," he said.
"Welcome home to you too," my mother replied happily, pecking his cheek.
I smiled, my eyes travelling over the exterior of the house. It was clearly old, but well-kept. Surely, it must've been renovated at some point, probably going through a major transformation in the process. One thing was for sure, however: the pictures hadn't done this place any justice. Because I had school, and my father couldn't get time off work, we'd relied entirely on the information handed to us by the real estate agent. My parents had let me in on their plan once the house had been bought and paid for, but they'd still been apprehensive. What if it had all been a big beautiful lie and the place was nothing like what we'd been told? Maybe the pictures had been taken a long time ago and no longer represented the truth? It was safe to say that it was even better than any of us had ever pictured it, and my parents' instincts had been proven right once more. It represented everything they'd ever wanted: a place for us to heal old wounds, move on and start an entirely new life. The garden surrounding both the house and the driveway was deep green and covered in several flowers, all of them thriving in the moist atmosphere. My mother was probably itching to get some much needed work done, her green fingers practically twitching impatiently. Dad would find his refugee out on the lake where he could spend his alone-time in total peace and quiet while trying to catch our dinner in the process. The rainy weather was a welcomed addition, because the fish always ventured to the surface when it rained – or so my father said anyway. I, on the other hand, felt a sudden urge to go hiking, despite my clumsy nature. The forest stretched from the back of the house, surrounding the entire estate and it would be a shame to let such scenery go unnoticed. Living here would be an adventure, indeed.
I was woken up from my reverie by the jingle of keys as my father teasingly shook them before my eyes.
"Bella, would you do the honor?"
I silently accepted them, pressing the cold metal against my palm, taking comfort from the sensation. Walking at a slow pace, I heard my parents speak excitedly to one another as they followed suit, our feet making a thumping sound as we walked up the stairs and onto the front porch. An old fashioned garden swing was situated there, its pillows worn out by the weather and what could only be frequent use. I knew mom would uphold the tradition, and I could already picture her sitting there during lazy Sunday mornings, the newspaper in her lap while sipping a cup of coffee. I smiled adoringly and found myself wishing for that day to arrive sooner than later. Inserting one of the keys into the lock, I turned it around and an audible click announced that I'd chosen the correct one at first try.
"Go on!" Mom urged, pushing impatiently at my back. I obediently did as I was told, and stepped into a huge hallway. I heard my mother inhale sharply at its size before walking further into our future home. I was met by a set of stairs, the wooden banisters carrying carved patterns atop of their surfaces. The decoration was beautiful and old, and I let my finger trail a flowery pattern slowly, feeling the smooth material glide effortlessly under my skin. Turning my head, I saw that I had two options to choose from: there were two doors situated in the space, one to my left and one to my right. I chose the latter one first, as that was the one my parents had just existed through. I found them gushing and laughing in a huge kitchen, a counter separating the space from the dining room.
"Finally, a kitchen worthy of your talent," dad praised, letting his hand rest on a countertop – much like I'd done with the banister a few seconds previous.
Mom smiled at the compliment and rested her head on his shoulder lovingly.
"Thank you for doing this for us," she whispered, and I knew they had yet to notice me standing in the doorway. This was obviously turning into a private conversation.
I cleared my throat and stepped into the dining room, noticing with awe a huge table situated in the middle of it, its material matching the banisters'. It must've come with the house, and was probably the same age as well.
"What do you think, honey?" Mom asked as she became aware of my presence.
I could almost feel both of them holding their breaths as they awaited my verdict. Letting my face soften into a genuine smile, I turned towards them, giving them an honest reply.
"I love it, although I still have some exploring to do,"
"Well then," mom beamed, walking around the counter and joining me by the table," let's go exploring together,"
She linked her arm with mine, and this time I didn't shy away. My mother's smile was far too beautiful and carefree to vanish.
The next fifteen minutes were spent going through every room the house consisted of, and I noticed – to my delight – that I had a bathroom all to myself. My bedroom was bigger than the one in Phoenix, but not large enough to make me feel naked and vulnerable when entering it. The walls were painted in a bright color, making it look twice its size. My parents' room was the largest bedroom, and my mother spent a good five minutes gushing over the wallpapers. When I finally managed to drag her away from it, we walked through two guestrooms, a master bathroom, and a living room. It was there that we found another piece of furniture that originally didn't belong to us, but who brought another smile on my parents' faces. It was a grand piano, black in color and situated by one of the windows that overlooked part of the garden, the driveway as well as the garage.
"I can finally teach you how to play," mom said, and I quite liked that idea. Piano was the most beautiful instrument by far – at least in my eyes – and I would love to be able to make some good use of this fine example.
All throughout the house, we stumbled upon boxes containing our belongings that the moving company had placed in different rooms after bringing them from point A to B the previous week. We quickly went to work and unpacked the most important things, such as the kitchen and bath supplies. It was already quite late, and the rest could wait until tomorrow. Being bored by all the unpacking, I volunteered to take the car and go groceries shopping. Getting my wish granted with a final "be careful" speech and road directions, I skipped down the front stairs and towards the BMW, eager to lay my eyes on my new home town. A small part of me was actually curious as to what it would look like, having never ventured out of the Arizona area before. Although my parents hadn't brought up their motive for moving to this exact town, I was well aware of the fact that this was the place where my biological father had spent his earlier years – how many, I had no idea. For the first time, I would get a glimpse of my fathers', and therefore my own, past. It was scary bust strangely thrilling at the same time. I sped down the deserted road, noting how the wild forest towered on each side of it, dark and mysterious. I'd always loved the dry and warm climate in Phoenix, and I knew the humidity of this place would require some adjustment from my side. So far I wasn't complaining, though. Driving through the quiet streets of what made up the town, I realized how small this place actually was. You could drive through the entire area at one go, and it would only take you about ten minutes. How strange. Stopping by what could only be the only grocery store in town, I killed the engine. Three other cars were situated on the parking lot, all of them older than dad himself. Snorting, I threw the door open and quickly clicked the alarm on – which was probably quite unnecessary – and walked towards the shop. The moist wind made my hair curl at the ends, and I fastened it in a bun to prevent it from turning into the disaster it actually was. I hadn't had time to unpack my flattening iron yet. Entering the double doors, my eyes swept over the cash register. A middle aged woman sat there, her hair badly dyed and probably done by herself; what was meant to be blonde looked close to orange in the sharp light. She greeted me with a nod of her head, in which I politely returned before grabbing a basket and diving in between the aisles. The selection was nothing like back in Phoenix, but at least they had all necessities in order. Grabbing what I knew we would need to survive the next couple of days I faced the woman once more.
"Good evening dear," she said as she counted up the groceries, the outdated machine beeping loudly.
"Good evening,"
"Haven't seen you around here before. Passing through?"
Of course, in a small town like this, everyone would know each other – they were all probably on first-name-basis.
"Just moved her," I answered, willing her to speed up the process so I could get out of there.
My reply made her pause her actions however, and she looked at me more closely.
"You're part of the Brown family?"
She'd heard of our arrival, and I grew more uncomfortable by the second.
"Yes," I nodded.
"Well, nice to meet you dear!" She said, her mood instantly lifting considerably.
I muttered a silent thanks as she finished up and handed her a couple of bills.
"I guess we'll be seeing a lot of each other, then. I'm Daisy,"
"Bella," I answered while accepting the now full bag of food.
"That's a beautiful name, dear,"
"Thank you," I shifted my weight from one foot to another, whishing the conversation to be over.
"Well I won't keep you. You say hello to your folks from me,"
"Will do,"
"Bye Bella," Daisy smiled, waving her red nails at me.
"Bye,"
As I stepped out of the store I gulped in some much needed fresh air. If shopping required this much socialization, what would be expected of me once I started Forks High after the summer? I dreaded the thought and pushed it away – for now.
During the next couple of days I managed to unpack all of my clothes and belongings. My mother and I ventured out of Forks to buy some new furniture, seeing as our new hometown didn't offer such supplies. The smiles on my parents' faces stayed put as they decorated the house, asking me to help placing certain objects from time to time. I was more than glad to help, and after they were done with the living room, I suddenly had a strange urge to rearrange everything they'd done. It felt as though the whole setting looked out of place. My parents wore puzzled looks once I explained this to them, and offered to let me place the furniture to my own liking. The result left them speechless – it was clear that my solution outdid theirs and made the room look more right somehow. More homey. We kept it that way, and I was happy. I didn't find this strange at first; this need to place everything on certain spots. But when I disagreed with my parents as they were about to set up the double-bed in their room, however, they firmly stood by their decision.
"Don't get me wrong honey, I'm glad you're trying to help, but I don't want the bed underneath the window. It's too drafty there, and you know how easily I catch a cold," my mother pointed out.
"But mom," I whined, pointing at the offending position of the bed, "it doesn't look good standing there. Trust me; it fits better beneath the window,"
"A no is a no, Isabella," dad said, his voice stern but cheerful all the same, "go mess up your own room if you want,"
"I'm already done with my room," I sighed.
"Well, why don't you go set up the master bathroom, then," mom suggested.
"But it's boring. The only thing that room needs is toilet supplies and they're already in place,"
"Fine," mom finally sighed as she helped dad lift the mattress up from the floor and onto the awaiting, misplaced bed, "you can go finish the kitchen, we still need to set up the dining table,"
I frowned, "What do you mean?"
"I mean that we have to unpack it, rebuild it, and place it," mom laughed.
"What about the one that's already there? The one that came with the house?"
"That old thing?" Dad asked.
"It's not that old," I replied grumpily.
"You didn't think we'd actually keep it? Honey, we're already keeping the piano,"
"Why can't we have both?" I asked, silently wondering why I found the thought of throwing away the table this upsetting.
"Because one can rarely have both, Isabella," dad said, his patience clearly growing thin.
"Well too bad," I said, pointing my nose high up in the air, "because we're keeping it,"
My parents adjusted the mattress before turning towards me, both looking startled.
"Why is this so important to you?" Mom carefully asked.
"Just because," I murmured uncertainly.
"If it's that important to you…" mom paused, stealing a glance at my father. He nodded his consent, eyes never leaving me in the process, "I guess we could keep it," she finished.
I beamed happily, "I'll go online and search for matching chairs!"
"Err…" mom frowned.
"That's fine Bella," dad interrupted, a small smile playing on his lips, "go have fun,"
I skipped out of the room, bouncing through the hallway on my way to my laptop. They would all have to be a rich brown color, just like the table, and maybe cushioned…
By the end of the week, the chairs were situated in their respective places. I'd been afraid they wouldn't match the table, but my nervousness had been for nothing; they fit perfectly. We had our first meal at the table that very evening, and I'm sure my eagerness must've showed. Mom and dad kept their comments to theirselves however, merely rolling their eyes and smiling happily. Happily because I was happy, no doubt. I'd always known that my moods affected the two people closest to me, but it wasn't until now that I realized just how much. I decided then to make more of an effort around them, to make their lives as easy as possible; despite having a hormonal adopted teenager in the house. Our first week in a new home had finally come to an end, and I bid my parents goodnight before slowly walking upstairs. Everything was in order; every furniture placed in their rightful spots – besides that damned bed in my parents' bedroom. I didn't really let that last detail bother me anymore, I'd gotten to keep my table and was content with that. I'd also talked my parents out of moving the piano around. Yawning widely, I removed my clothes and hurried into my old pajamas before burying my tired body beneath the covers. My bedroom was perfect, decorated to my exact liking and I felt truly at ease in here. Sleep came easily, and it wasn't long before I slipped into peaceful oblivion, leaving all troubles behind.
My eyes fluttered open tiredly. The room was bathed in complete darkness, the massive color pressing at my eyeballs. It must've been pretty late. I was still exhausted and nowhere near fully rested so I turned around and burrowed my face in the pillow. Just as I was about to fall asleep once again, I sat up in my bed, frowning. So, I hadn't woken up by myself after all. Drifting through the floorboards came muffled notes, the sound so weak it was almost impossible to hear. Mom was playing the piano, of that I was sure. I strained my hearing, trying to make out the song. After a few seconds I smiled contently: I'd always loved Clair de Lune. My mother knew this and had probably chosen it in case the sound would wake me up – which it had. Deciding I was too tired to make my way downstairs at this ungodly hour, I laid back and let the music lull me to sleep, thinking I might as well postpone complimenting her skills until the morning.
But, when I finally did mention her playing over breakfast the following day, all I was met with was a confused look and my mother telling me it must've been a dream; she had most certainly not played the piano during the night, and if she did decide to wake up the whole house later on, she would not choose Clair de Lune to do it with – a song she'd never bothered learning how to play.