DISCLAIMER ON PROFILE.

THE MAFIA MISTRESS.

Chapter Two: The Daughter's Grief

Isabella's POV.

Drops of his Heart's Blood

THE nightingale with drops of his heart's blood
Had nourished the red rose, then came a wind,
And catching at the boughs in envious mood,
A hundred thorns about his heart entwined.
Like to the parrot crunching sugar, good
Seemed the world to me who could not stay
The wind of Death that swept my hopes away.

Light of mine eyes and harvest of my heart,
And mine at least in changeless memory!
Ah, when he found it easy to depart,
He left the harder pilgrimage to me!
Oh Camel-driver, though the cordage start,
For God's sake help me lift my fallen load,
And Pity be my comrade of the road!

My face is seamed with dust, mine eyes are wet.
Of dust and tears the turquoise firmament
Kneadeth the bricks for joy's abode; and yet . . .
Alas, and weeping yet I make lament!
Because the moon her jealous glances set
Upon the bow-bent eyebrows of my moon,
He sought a lodging in the grave-too soon!

I had not castled, and the time is gone.
What shall I play? Upon the chequered floor
Of Night and Day, Death won the game-forlorn
And careless now, Hafiz can lose no more.

From: Teachings of Hafiz

Translated by Gertrude Bell 1897

With a heavy sigh, I snapped the book shut as the tears continued to pour down my face.

It had been six years.

Six years since my father died.

Six years since anything had been right.

Six years….and a lot has happened since.

With a trembling hand, I lifted my glass of wine hoping the bittersweet drink would sooth me and help to bring back my slipping composure. Burying myself further into my couch, I set my glass down and picked up the picture of my father that was next to me. My fingers lightly traced his face as memory after memory of my childhood and the love I had for him, began their assault on my mind; on my heart.

In Forks, where I no longer reside, no one took my father's death lightly. We all mourned for his loss, some more than other but if there was one thing that all the inhabitants agreed upon, it was that I was to be blamed for my father's death and that became my cross to bear. I was hated and shunned and by the time my father's grave had been covered over, I had been completely ostracized from the only home I had known and was left cold and alone

I never regretted what I did that night but that did not stop me from hating myself for what happened. In some sick and twisted way I always found some way to blame myself. The reasons and endless justifications as to why my father's death was my fault was a constant record playing in my head. The reasons were always the same: I shouldn't have gone to school in Chicago. I shouldn't have insisted on him coming to my graduation. I shouldn't have made him go to dinner with me. I shouldn't have chosen that restaurant. I shouldn't…..

But I did. I made all those choices and in return I lost my father; a father who I loved, who I cared for dearly, who was the only thing that mattered to me.

A playful meow pulled me from my musing and I turned to look at the other two inhabitants of my apartment, Clarity and Muss. Clarity was my eight year old cat that I got as a present from an acquaintance in college. She was a wise cat but was undeniably spoilt. Muss was my five week old Rottweiler puppy. I had found him in an alley thin, weak and alone and had taken him in without asking a single question. Like anyone else, I was a bit afraid to introduce these two; after all- they were supposed to be mortal enemies but they proved me wrong. Their friendship and camaraderie was beautiful to look at. I had spent hours just looking at their friendship; so pure and untainted by anything. When you saw one, the other was not far behind. Where Muss was playful, somewhat mischievous and always seemed to be getting in trouble, Clarity was calm, docile and tried to keep Muss out of trouble. The contrast of character between these two was astounding yet one could not live without the other. They both needed each other, just like I needed my father.

Suddenly the apartment seemed too small; suffocating. I could not stay there. I had to get out. Jumping to my feet, I literally ran to my bedroom. As quickly as I could, I threw on a randomly chosen dress; some shoes grabbed my purse and car keys before speeding down to the car park of my apartment complex.

I drove like a crazy person, weaving in and out of cars like the devil himself was chasing me. But it wasn't the devil. It was my demons; the demons I never faced. I knew that night that even though I gave closure to my father so that he could go and to Rosalie so that she could move on with her life, I, in no way, had accepted what had happened. I lied to myself and everyone else that night by putting on a façade of being fine. I was never fine. The only person I had left in the world was leaving me…how the hell was I supposed to be fine with that? Was it selfish of me to want somebody to notice I was hurting? That I needed to grieve? That I needed someone to be there for me?

Probably but damn it: I was twenty years old. I was now getting ready to face the world. That, in no way, meant that I neither wanted nor intended to face it alone.

I was so caught up in my thoughts that I jumped slightly in shock when I found myself parked in front on the local church that was about twenty minutes from where I lived. After ensuring that I did not look like too bad, I got out of my car and walked in.

The lights were dimed. The mood, like always, was somber. With a heavy heart, I went forth and lit a candle for my father and then moved to sit on a pew to the back of the church and away from any one else. I needed the solitude, the separation.

My father really was the one who was religious. He was the one who insisted that I go to church every Sunday with him. He was the one who made sure God was in our lives and now, even in death, he made sure that I had some sort of peace by me returning to something so familiar; something untouched and untainted by what happened that night.

I closed my eyes as I listened to the church choir. The hymns were soothing, like a balm placed on my heart. I knew I was crying. I could feel the salty tears leaking down my face but I made no move to stem their flow. I allowed myself to become lost in the ever so familiar pain; the pain that had become my only constant since my father's death. It was all I had when it came to feeling something; anything and that was probably why I held on to it.

Or was it the fear of forgetting; of forgetting who he was and the love I had for him?

Or was it just simply the act of goodbye and admitting for once that I , Isabella Marie Swan, was truly alone in this world: no family, no parents, no friends, no one?

What made it so hard for me to move on? It was the question I kept chanting over and over in my head and sadly I had no answer.

I had no idea how long I sat there but I was aware that time had moved on and that I need to leave. Grabbing my belongings, I rose up and walked out to the church only to be stopped dead in my tracks. Quietly I chuckled at my reaction because it had been the same when I first saw him because there leaning against my car was none other than Carlisle Cullen, Head of the Cullen Mafia Family.