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Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight or any of its characters.
A week of bedrest was miserable. And long.
Much to my dismay, I had spent about 80% of it trying to talk Charlie off the ledge. I wasn't much for manipulation and certainly wasn't any good at it, but it seemed to have the desired effect on him when I would play up my injuries and loneliness to ensure he wouldn't leave the house.
The other 20% was spent calming down Renee. During all of our conversations, I had to hold the phone about a foot away to protect my ears from her high-pitched screeches. "How dare you not tell me about this, Bella!" she had screamed. "I knew I shouldn't have left you behind! I never liked that boy! I can't believe this!"
"Mom, I swear, I'm fine now," I had said about a thousand times. I had to have sounded robotic after saying those words so many times in a row. It took an entire day to convince her that she didn't need to fly up here. I had told her Charlie was taking extremely good care of me and that I didn't want her to see me like this. After I had gotten her somewhat calmed down, I had changed gears and convince Phil that using a baseball bat as a weapon was not in their best interests.
As time passed, Charlie seemed to grow more furious by the minute. And that was hardly an understatement. I assumed the initial shock had worn off from me plopping myself on his doorstep looking the way I had. Now, he was almost constantly beet red in anger.
But, my time on bedrest was up, and I planned on using my newfound freedom to prove that everything was going to be alright. Of course, laying in a bed for that long had rendered me fairly dizzy and weak which was to be expected. While I may not be as convincing today, I still had to start somewhere.
My first plan of action? A shower. A real, hot shower. It was fairly close to what I imagined heaven to be like. I had been stuck with daily sponge baths for those seven days. I took care of that myself. I figured I would spare Charlie the horror of having to help his 19-year-old daughter keep up with her hygiene.
I carefully put on my favorite pair of sweats. I wasn't really in any pain. Or maybe my pain tolerance had increased by an alarming amount and I just didn't notice. Either way, I was thankful.
After half-heartedly yanking a brush through my wet hair, I caught a glimpse of my face through the steam on the mirror. You could barely tell that I had been brutally attacked last week. Now, my black eye looked more like a dark circle from exhaustion. I was surprised by how much better that made me feel. It was like seeing a shadow of my former self. I couldn't remember the last time my face was free of bruises.
It was Saturday and I half expected Charlie to be heading out for his weekly fishing trip. Much to my confusion, he was on the couch in his blue robe watching what I assumed was ESPN. His face was still a deep shade of red. I wondered if he would ever return to a normal color.
"Hey, Dad," I said, paying extra attention to each step as I made my way down the stairs. "No fishing today?"
"Morning, Bells." He took a sip of coffee, but it was clear that it hadn't really kicked in yet. His eyes were still swollen from sleep. I sat down in the recliner across from him. "I don't go fishing anymore."
"What? Why?" I asked, shocked.
He sniffed and looked down at his lap. "My fishing buddy had a heart attack last year."
I gasped. "Harry died? I'm so sorry, Dad. I didn't know . . ."
"Don't worry about it," he said, holding a hand up to stop me. "We haven't had much time to talk the past couple of years."
I suddenly felt horribly guilty. Not only had I severely neglected my family, especially Charlie, I was continuing to put them through hell with my current situation. My throat burned.
"How about you and I go fishing?" I suggested.
Charlie's eyes shot open wide and his jaw dropped. Maybe he didn't need the caffeine anymore after all. "What did you say?"
"Why don't we go fishing? It could be fun. We have a lot of things to catch up on." Charlie remained silent, still dumbfounded by my offer. I sighed. "I feel awful that you've had to take care of me all week and I am sorry I just kind of dropped my problems on you the way that I did. It's the least I can do."
"Do not feel guilty about any of that, Bella. You know I am more than happy to have you here and stay as long as you need to," he said, his face growing redder. "I'm not happy about the circumstances, of course."
"So . . . is that a yes?"
He snorted. "You just got off bed rest, Bella. And you hate the cold and the wet. Fishing in Forks is a whole lot of both."
"You just sit and cast the line out over and over, right? No big deal. I'll be fine."
He waved his hand, dismissing me. "I appreciate the gesture, Bells. Really I do. I'll get back into fishing one of these days."
I nodded, sighing. He was right. I probably would despise fishing. I brainstormed a few other ideas to find a way to say I was appreciative. I stood up and headed towards the kitchen. "I'll make a good breakfast for you instead, then."
"You really don't have to do that. Just because you're off bed rest doesn't mean you're healed. Don't push yourself, Bella."
I ignored him and continued on in my search for ingredients. To my surprise, there was nothing but a box of Cheerios, a half a gallon of milk, one egg left in the carton, and more frozen meals than a human being should probably have.
"I don't have much of a choice, do I?" I said, laughing. "Is this all you eat?"
He grunted. "What's the matter with Jimmy Dean? You got your meat in there and some dairy. Plenty of protein. It's good stuff. Perfectly adequate for one person."
I rolled my eyes and turned to glare at him. "How about you drive me to the grocery store and I pick up some things? I used to do all the cooking back in Phoenix anyway."
"Please tell me you didn't learn your cooking skills from your mother."
"Of course not. I learned from watching Emeril and Bobby Flay, of course. The Food Network is extremely informative. I'm practically a professional," I joked. I could swear I saw a hint of a smile. The red tinge in his face seemed to dissipate the slightest bit. "Please? I have a terrible case of cabin fever. It'll do me some good to get out of the house."
"Alright," he sighed. "But we make it quick and come right home, deal? I don't want you hurting yourself."
During the short drive to the Thriftway, Charlie was silent. Neither one of us had ever been particularly talkative, so the quiet wasn't uncomfortable. And for the first time, it wasn't somber or negative.
I was happy that he was starting to destress. I could tell he was still incredibly worried, but I couldn't blame him. Things weren't going to go back to normal anytime soon and I had accepted that.
The grocery shopping trip was short. Having been in bed for so long, I didn't have a whole lot of energy. I simply grabbed the basics and that seemed to be just fine with Charlie. He occasionally would glance over at me as if he was worried that I would pass out or something. My legs felt like Jell-O as I explored the aisles, trying to get used to the layout. I had tried to cover up the intense fatigue as much as I could, but Charlie could see right through it. I could tell he wasn't comfortable with me being out and about just yet. Frankly, I regretted it. I shouldn't have been so quick to throw myself back into the swing of things.
The pain had returned by the time I threw together some ham and cheese omelets. I truly looked forward to getting off of my feet. Charlie couldn't have been more right. I definitely wasn't as healed as I thought.
We sat down at the dinner table to eat together, which was something I could tell was pretty foreign to Charlie. I wondered how long it had been since he had company here. Or how long it had been since he had even sat down to eat somewhere other than the couch.
Charlie devoured his omelet in what felt like under a minute. He leaned back in his chair and let out a sigh of content. "That was delicious, Bells."
"Thanks, Dad," I said. I gathered our plates and rinsed them off in the sink. I wasn't really up to putting in any effort into washing them. "So I was thinking," I mused, sitting back down. "Will you help me look for a car?"
"A car?" Charlie said. His tone was slightly higher; I could see I had surprised him.
"I'm going to look for a job around here and I've saved up some cash. I just have no idea where to start."
Just as he opened his mouth to protest, I heard a car pull into Charlie's driveway. He looked at me and smiled before he got up to open the front door.
My heart began to race and a lump formed in my throat. I felt a sheen of sweat begin to cover my forehead as I shook in pure terror. He found me.
I leaped off my chair to run and tell Charlie not to go outside, but I was too late. I was also incredibly wrong.
"I sort of already got you a car, Bells," he said. My jaw dropped.
There was a pick-up truck parked behind Charlie's police cruiser. It was a very faded red color and had to have been at least 50 years old. It was practically a tank.
The boy who was driving it hopped out onto the gravel. He was incredibly tall, at least six feet, and very attractive. I was pretty amazed that he even fit behind the wheel of that Chevy as his muscles resembled that of a bodybuilder. He had short, glossy black hair and russet skin. No doubt from the reservation. Even though it had to be no more than 15 degrees outside, he was wearing an extremely tight t-shirt and jean shorts.
As the boy walked towards us, I couldn't help but notice how graceful he was. It was odd considering his height. Once he reached the porch, he grinned and reached out to me for a handshake. "You probably don't remember me. I'm Jacob Black."