It's really been a while since the last update, I know. I've been busy, as always. I won't bore you too much with A/Ns or little notes; I'll just let you get on with reading the chapter.
X
BACK TO SQUARE ONE
At first, I couldn't believe what I was doing—standing here on the doorstep of Jareth's house. I had to remind myself over and over again that I wasn't here to see Jareth—I was here to see his much more likeable and less idiotic little sister. Maybe it was my own stubborn determination, or years of practice convincing myself of things that maybe weren't true, but it was all I could do to stop myself from turning headlong and running back to Evan's.
As it was, I did feel kind of pathetic. Granted, Melanie's parents had asked me to come again, but I couldn't believe I'd agreed. This was barely the Leah Clearwater I recognized. I remembered a spiteful, bitter, sarcastic Leah, covering up for what was basically a wounded puppy dog inside. I didn't like to admit it, but Melanie was…growing on me.
Naturally, it was raining, so I had one of Evan's hoodies pulled up over my head. I'm sure it looked ridiculous, being about four sizes too big so that I had to roll up the sleeves six times just to have use of my hands. Also, it seemed like one of those trite boyfriend-girlfriend things, wearing your significant other's sweatshirt.
If that's what Evan was. Even after the incident last night—every moment of which was still burned into my brain and replaying over and over without my consent or control—I doubted that we were to that level of closeness yet. At least, neither of us had admitted any feelings.
Did I even have feelings for him, or did I just crave intimacy after years without it? The thought was complicated and I pushed it out my head. I raised my hand and knocked twice on the door. A few minutes later, it swung open.
Caroline stood in front of me, not looking at all like she had before. Her eyes were bloodshot, and dark circles graced the space beneath them. Her usually sleek, perfect hair was frazzled and tangled, tied in a loose knot around her neck. She was wearing old jeans and an oversized t-shirt with the name of some college printed on it. I blinked a couple of times before letting the image sink in.
"I'm sorry about this mess, Leah," she said, gesturing towards her bedraggled appearance. Her voice sounded quiet and hoarse. "Thank you for coming."
"No problem." She stepped out of my way and I stepped in. The house didn't have the same cozy, homey feeling that it'd had last time. I wanted to ask her what was wrong, despite being a little pissed at God for taking away one of my only places of solace, but it seemed rude.
"John is in Olympia, picking up some medicine for Mel," Caroline explained, bustling through the house and picking up scattered magazines and papers as she went. "Jareth went out."
So Melanie seemed to be the issue here, not their asshole of a son. She seemed like less trouble than her brother, despite being constantly ill. I'd rather have Melanie's company any day.
"How is she?" I asked. To my surprise, something that felt like concern welled up in my stomach. How long had it been since I'd felt anything of the sort for anyone besides Sam or even Emily, and without feeling the sting of regret at the same time? Now it seemed all I was feeling was complete, unmarred concern.
…Weird.
Caroline sighed, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. "She's worse. Much worse than when you last saw her. Barely able to keep herself awake for more than a couple minutes." She chuckled humorlessly for a minute. "I realize we never even told you her sickness. She has anemia; it's an iron deficiency. Usually it just makes her tired, but now…chest pain, shortness of breath. And the meds…" She stopped herself abruptly. "I'm sorry, it's just…"
"Concerning," I finished for her, the words choking in my throat.
"Yes," she agreed. "But she'd be happy for you to spend some time with her. She's always very lonely, as you can imagine. If she's sleeping, you should let her rest, but if she's awake, I'm sure she'd be thrilled to talk."
As thrilled as she could be, given the circumstances. I shuddered and nodded, not trusting my voice. For a minute I just wanted to run away, didn't want to see her like this. But then I remembered she was the one with the worst end of the stick.
It seemed like ages since I'd applied that phrase to anyone other than myself. I'd thought I was the one with the worst problems. Now, I was beginning too see that my problems were nothing compared to others. I could have cancer of the liver or something crazy like that. I could be one of those little starving kids in Africa. I could be Meg Ryan. Granted, she was probably richer than I'd ever be, but she was a terrible actress, and who'd want to look like a cross between Gollum and Rachel Ray?
Shivering at the prospect of that hideous plastic surgery, and of seeing Melanie, I made my way up the stairs. I made sure to check around the corners to see if Jareth would try and ambush me again. I was still freaked about that last time. I really needed to get around to buying a rape whistle.
I wondered briefly why they didn't just admit Melanie to a hospital. Of course, the white coats probably wouldn't be the most affectionate caretakers, and they'd miss having her at home, but it'd be easier. Caroline didn't work because of Melanie, and I was sure that the cost of a long hospital stay would be too much.
My family had never had a lot of money; if we did, we wouldn't have stayed at the rez after my dad died. It was painful having to see places concerning so many memories that we had every day. But my mom was on the council, even though it wasn't our responsibility alone. The whole protecting-the-tribe-against-bloodsucker thing was everyone's problem. If we skipped out, it'd be a big deal.
I had a job once, working at one of the many convenience stores in and around La Push. Sam's uncle had owned this one, and he'd gotten me the job as cashier. It wasn't great pay, but the hours were short and the work was simple. All the hands-on examples of using math as a cashier that your fourth-grade teachers told me were lies. I just used the machine for the calculations. Besides, it wasn't our busiest store anyway.
Granted, I'd been a lot more optimistic then. I had Sam. I had my dad. I had a job, a steady source of income. I had friends. I guess my life sort of fell apart after the whole Sam-Emily jag. It had completely destroyed all of the other things that I had, razed all of my possessions and emotions to the ground. I lost Sam. I lost my dad. After cursing out an old woman who just wanted a bag of peanuts, I lost my job. And all of the bitterness that accumulated in me after that lost me all I had left: my friends.
I bit my lip as I stepped onto the landing. The memories were painful to return to, but since I shoved them forcefully out of my head whenever I phased, they always shoved their way to the center of my brain when I was human. Like washed up child stars, they needed to get their time in the limelight before they were ushered out again.
Enough. I shook my head, clearing the memories out for good. I gently pushed open the door to Melanie's room and peered in.
At first, all I saw was a tiny lump beneath the blue bed covers. Looking more closely, I saw a tangle of dark brown hair, tousled on the pillow. She looked dead asleep from what I could see, so I backed out, pulling the door shut behind me.
"Wait." The voice was whisper thin but unmistakable. I opened the door and stepped in. The lump beneath the covers hadn't moved.
"Melanie?"
She rolled over. Her movement looked strained and awkward. The room was dark, so I couldn't see her face clearly, but she looked…yellow, almost. "Hey, Leah."
"Hey." I moved closer, sitting on the edge of her bed. In that position, I got a good look at her face. She looked much bonier than before, with dark circles under her eyes. She looked as much a mess like her mother, if not worse.
I didn't know who I felt worse for in the situation. Caroline, because she had to sit by and watch her daughter like this, or Melanie, because from what I could tell, she looked like she was in massive pain. Her lips were pressed together, white, like she was repressing a scream.
"How are you?" I asked her. Wow, what a stupid question. How did I expect an anemic eleven-year-old to be? Hunky dory?
She shifted, parting her mouth in a little yawn. She sounded like a cat. "Okay," she lied. I looked at her disparagingly. "All right, pretty awful," she corrected, smiling a pained little grin.
"That's what I thought. Do you need anything?"
She considered it for a minute. "No, I'm all right. What about you?"
"Like I'm going to make you get me a Coke or something," I scoffed. "Why don't you go back to sleep? You look…tired." Well, duh.
"No, I want to talk to you," she said. She tried to shift into a sitting position, but she slid back down the pillow. "Any good stories for me?"
"Not much," I said. "Unless you want to hear what a pain in the ass—sorry—your brother is."
Melanie grinned. "I'm always up for that."
God, the kid was awesome.
"Where is he, anyway?" I asked. Not that I wasn't glad about his absence, but I was a little bit curious.
She shrugged. "He's probably out with Grant. He's never around."
"Well, he does have a lot to do…throwing rocks at little animals and yelling at kids and whatnot."
"Yeah, I guess," she said, laughing weakly.
"Did you finish your book? The Harry Potter one?" I said, changing the subject. A tiny part of me felt a little bad about discrediting her brother in front of her, even if he was a total ass.
"No, not yet. I was actually waiting for you to come back so I could finish it," she admitted. She gestured towards the huge, Bible-sized blue hardcover on her dresser. "Will you read to me?"
How could I resist that? I got up and retrieved the massive book and then sat back down next to her. She scooted over so that I could lie down beside her. I opened the book to the page where it was marked, just the beginning of a new chapter. She was a little more than halfway through. Jeez. I was eighteen, and it would take me ages to finish a book half this size. How long was it, anyway? I snuck a peek at the back page and almost fainted. Eight hundred and seventy pages? Who had time to write this stuff?
The second richest woman in the world, I guessed. I returned to the page we were on and started reading. Melanie was immediately into the story, and despite looking half-asleep, seemed to be keeping up. She even commented now and again, with remarks that would have impressed Yale's Dean.
I even found myself enjoying it, though I was pretty confused about the story. The Harry kid's life seemed to be pretty awful, but the book didn't seem depressing. Maybe I could learn a thing or two. Just because my life wasn't the greatest didn't mean I had to view it with such pessimism; maybe that was contributing to the awfulness…
"Leah? Are you okay? You stopped reading." Melanie looked up at me.
Had I stopped? I didn't even notice. I shook my head, clearing my brain. "Sorry, Mel. Where was I?"
She pointed to a spot somewhere near the center of the page, and I recommenced my reading. As I did, I felt my heart swell with a feeling similar to sympathy. It didn't seem fair that life had dealt Melanie, such a loving and intelligent little girl, such terrible cards. In comparison, my cards didn't seem too bad at all. Melanie had to be in fear for her life nearly every day. I could only remember a single occasion, in battle with the bloodsuckers, when I'd ever felt that.
Well, maybe twice.
I was lying in the middle of my bathroom floor, a position that felt familiar somehow. The lights were on this time, and I wasn't as uncomfortable, since I had the solace of a pink fluffy rug beneath my head. But still, I felt awful.
I felt like an enormous, clawed beast was sitting on my chest, ripping it in two with its nails. My heart was casually torn through the center and tossed aside, as well. It felt like every single bone in my body was breaking, like I'd been thrown off the edge of a cliff and was now lying, shattered, at the bottom.
I was alone, so I wasn't surprised that no one came looking for me. But the pain was unbearable. I needed something, anything, to take it away. Even my death.
Crawling to my knees, I used the toilet for support as I struggled to stand. I grabbed the edge of the sink until I was standing in front of the bathroom mirror. I stared straight at what should have been my reflection.
I didn't see anything.
I opened the medicine cabinet and scanned the shelves. My gaze settled on a bottle of sleeping pills. With shaking fingers, I removed it, unscrewing the white lid clumsily. The pills spilled out into the sink, and I managed to scoop at least half of them up before they slid down the drain.
I glanced at the instructions label printed on the back of the bottle. It said not to take more than one for twelve hours. Well, then, four ought to be enough. Not bothering with water, I shoved the pills into my mouth and swallowed them, one by one.
Nothing bothered me. I felt no difference, and the pain did not subside in the slightest. I slid down onto the floor, leaning against the bathtub, waiting.
And then, all of a sudden, an onslaught of emotions overcame me. The realization hit me with the force of a speeding truck. I had just swallowed sleeping pills. Mixed with the remnants of the brandy from earlier, this would kill me.
I had been so ready to die. Now I was not nearly as certain. I suddenly realized everything that I was leaving behind: the beauty of life; the rare rays sunlight on my face and the wind through my hair. Seth, my mother, even the pack that I hated, and Sam and Emily.
I cared about them all more than I cared about myself. And deep down, hidden in the recesses of my consciousness, I knew that they cared about me, too. No matter what they had done.
And this would hurt them.
No matter the pain I felt now, I couldn't bear that. I launched myself towards the toilet and began to force my finger down my throat. I spluttered and gagged, but didn't relent. I stuck it down as far as it would reach and then was violently sick.
The memory terrified me; it wasn't something I could just shake out of my head. My fingers clenched the pages of the book so tightly that I had to remind myself to cool it. I didn't want to ruin Melanie's stuff.
Melanie. To be brutally honest, I had forgotten that she was beside me, waiting impatiently for me to snap out of it. I shook my head and glanced down at her. She looked back up at me disapprovingly.
"Did I stop reading again?" She nodded. "I'm sorry."
"It's okay. Just keep going," she urged, pointing to the spot where I'd stopped.
I felt bad for spacing out on her again, so I recommenced my reading. But I didn't get far until Melanie interrupted me.
"Wait for a second," she said. "I have to go to the bathroom."
"Can you get up?" I asked her doubtfully. She looked so fragile, perhaps even more so than before. As much as it disgusted me, I wondered why she didn't have a bedpan.
"Yeah, sure," she assured me. "The bathroom's just down the hall. I'll be right back."
I shifted over to let her up, and she rolled to the edge of the bed. I helped her untangle her legs from the blanket. She was wearing a blue nightshirt with a picture of a shooting star across the front. It sort of struck me as strange, though I wasn't sure why. Maybe because it seemed like such a hopeful symbol; it didn't feel right when Melanie was so weak.
Her movements were stiff, but she could walk all right. She moved slowly to the door and opened it with only a little struggle. I listened to her footsteps as she walked down the hall.
"Be careful," I called. She didn't respond, but I heard the bathroom door close, so I assumed she was all right.
While she was gone, I looked around her room. Her mirror was crowded with pictures, some held up by magnets and others shoved beneath the frame. I made my way over. One near the corner caught my eye. It was a drawing that I assumed she had done herself, of her whole family standing together by the lake. It was night, and the stars reflected off of the water. My eyes widened. It could have been the work of Picasso. I would never have been able to draw that well if I worked at it every day.
But that wasn't what shocked me the most. The picture was…happy. John was kissing Caroline on the cheek, his arms entwined with hers, and she was smiling. Melanie was on Jareth's shoulders, her hands gripping his hair. They were both laughing. Their family seemed clean, wholesome, and kind (apart from Jareth), but I had never seen them so happy.
A crash tore me away from the image. My heart pounded as I raced down the hallway. I checked the first door to my left, but it was a bedroom. I tried the next door, swinging it open and freezing as I stared inside.
Melanie was sprawled out on the floor, eyes closed. There was a large welt on her forehead, dripping drops of blood onto the white rug. I dropped to my knees beside her, internally freaking out as I wondered how to revive her. For a second, I feared she was dead, until I saw the faint rise and fall of her chest.
At once, Caroline was at my side. I hadn't even heard her come up. "Oh, my god," she breathed. "She must have fainted and hit her head on the sink…oh my god."
I couldn't say a word; I was still too shocked. Caroline turned to me, her eyes panicked. "She needs help. But John has the car our doctor is in Olympia."
A thousand possible solutions appeared in my head and then were denied by my subconscious in a matter of seconds. Melanie needed help, fast. I could think of only one plausible thing to do.
"Call the hospital," I ordered Caroline. "I'll get us a ride."
***
I dashed out the door, into the rain. The droplets pelted down around me, soaking me to the skin in a matter of seconds. That didn't matter. I had one objective and nothing was going to stop me.
I burst through the door of Evan's house. Thank goodness it wasn't locked. In a wet flurry, I ran into the kitchen. It didn't seem like Evan was home. I scanned the countertop, but it was empty. Then I bolted into the hallway where his jacket was.
I shoved my hands into every pocket until I found what I was looking for. My fingers closed around the set of keys, one of which belonged to his car. I grabbed it and dashed out of the house.
His rain-streaked Jeep sat waiting in the driveway. I wrenched the door open and hoisted myself inside. Jeez, the car was high. What had he done, put monster truck wheels on the thing? I didn't bother strapping myself in, just turned the key in the ignition and backed out of the driveway.
Caroline waited for me on the porch, holding a bundled Melanie in her arms. Lucky she was so small for her age. I motioned to her through the window and she came bolting through the rain at lightning speed, laying Melanie in the backseat and then climbing in herself. Talk about Supermom.
"Buckle in," I advised her. I waited until I heard the snap of the seatbelt to start backing out. I couldn't see a damn thing. I clicked on the windshield wipers.
"Be careful, Leah," Caroline breathed. "It's awful out there."
"Don't worry," I said. "What's the fastest way to get to Olympia?"
***
Hospitals always freaked me out. They always made me feel a little claustrophobic, being surrounded by all white. And the doctors always stared at you as if there was something wrong with you…like you were destined to be a schizophrenic. I already felt a little crazy myself.
So, naturally, I couldn't just sit still in the waiting room, surrounded by pregnant ladies and kids with broken wrists and babies crying. I took frequent breaks to the water fountain and the bathroom, and then just took to wandering around the hallways.
As soon as we arrived, Melanie's regular doctor had taken her. Caroline had called John, and last I heard, he'd been on his way over. They wouldn't tell me where Melanie was, because, as the nurse had said, it was family only. I didn't understand why—what was so personal about fainting and a big welt on your forehead—but all I could do was respect it.
At least in the waiting room there was someone there with a radio, but the lady with it seemed a little Michael Jackson obsessed. She played "Thriller" and "I'll Be There" over and over again. The latter was a little more comforting, but I still couldn't bear to be in there that long. I'd never been more antsy in my life.
But I guess it made me value life a lot more. It seemed like too much of a coincidence that I would have a flashback of that certain memory on the same day that I would be forced to sit in a hospital waiting room. There's no place more full of death than a hospital. You could call it fate, I guess, but to me it just seemed uncanny. Like maybe some higher power was trying to make me believe something. Not like a Jehovah's Witness with photocopied pages of the Bible, but some…being, I guess, trying to teach me a lesson.
I thought I understood it: life was precious, a gift that shouldn't be wasted. It would've sounded to anyone else like a pro-life sales pitch, but to me it was more. It was a sign that someone—even someone unseen—cared about me.
I was so caught up in my thoughts that I didn't notice I was walking right into a person coming the opposite way down the hall. I smashed into him, throwing him backwards against a wall.
Whoops. Number one way to reveal you're secretly a werewolf: send a full-grown man flying through the hallway of a crowded hospital with accidental force.
John rubbed his head and righted himself. I grimaced and hurried to his side.
"I'm so sorry," I said. "I didn't even see you there."
"Clearly," he snapped. I recoiled in shock. "I'm sorry, Leah. I'm just worried about her. Melanie."
"It's all right. Did you just get here?" I asked.
"No, I got here about an hour ago. I used the back entrance." He ran his hand through his graying hair, evidently stressed.
"How is she?" My voice lowered automatically with the mention of Melanie.
"She's worse than before," he said, his voice equally quiet. "The doctors took a blood test to see if there's something else there that could've caused the fainting…But they're not sure yet." He sighed.
I winced, and my stomach knotted with worry. Anemia was bad enough; there couldn't be something else wrong with Melanie…could there? It didn't seem fair. But then again, life, as precious as it could be, wasn't fair. And it was the good people that got more than their share of bad luck.
"How long have you been here, Leah?" John asked, abruptly changing the subject.
I checked the clock on the ceiling. It read seven o'clock. PM? Was that right? I had gone over to Melanie's at two, and I couldn't have been there for more than an hour before this disaster. Was it possible that I'd been here since three?
"Almost four hours," I answered. And then I couldn't stop a yawn escaping my lips. I was actually tired, which was shocking. I was used to running patrol for up to thirty hours at a time. This was a thousand times more stressful.
He sighed again. "I feel bad. You must be exhausted. I'll give you a ride home. I need to pick up some of Mel's things, anyway."
"Thanks," I said gratefully. I was wet and tired, and a hot shower and warm bed sounded great to me.
"The car's outside," he said, beginning to walk down the hallway.
"Actually, I brought Evan's car here," I said. "He'll probably want it back."
"Good idea," he said with a humorless chuckle. "And thank you again, Leah. For being so helpful."
Helpful? All I'd done was read to her for a few hours and then drive her here. Anyone would've done it. But still, it felt nice to be appreciated. To be needed.
"It was nothing. Here, the car's this way." I led the way through the front entrance. I sidled up in my hood and dashed out through the rain, John right behind me.
"I'll drive," he offered, climbing into the front seat. I pulled myself easily through the passenger side. John revved the engine and we took off.
***
An hour and a half later, John pulled up to Evan's house. The lights were on, so I assumed he was home, and I hoped he wouldn't be too mad at me for borrowing—stealing—his car. I slipped out the door and John pulled out the keys and handed them to me.
"Don't you need to get back?" I asked, reaching for the keys through the window.
"I can take the train," he assured me. "Besides, the hospital closes in an hour anyway. Caroline will pick me up tomorrow."
I nodded, and then pulled my hood over my head. I dashed to the porch, effectively drenching myself before I arrived. Rain was an inescapable part of life on the Olympic peninsula, but irritating just the same.
I jiggled the key in the slot, oddly finding it locked. Strange. People in Castle Rock never locked their doors. Maybe the crime rate was up—from zero to one. I rolled my eyes. Evan wouldn't be worried about any kind of crime normal people were concerned with.
I stepped inside, wringing out my jacket from in the doorway before hanging it up beside Evan's coat. The light was on in the kitchen, so I walked in.
Evan was hunched over the kitchen table, wearing a dark polo shirt and jeans, holding something in his hand. A single piece of paper, with an envelope beneath it.
"What's that?" I asked, coming closer and leaning over his shoulder.
He whirled on me, his dark eyes shining with anger. "Why don't you tell me, Leah?"
I stumbled back, confused. "What are you talking about? What is that?"
"It's for you," he said brusquely, shoving the envelope in my face. I glimpsed the return address. It read "La Push reservation."
I freaked. Who was it from? What could it have said? How much about my past could have been revealed in a single letter? And how did they know where I was staying? I could feel my heart rate increasing, and I tried to snatch the letter from him.
"Did you read it?" I hissed, my voice ripping through two octaves.
"You lied to me!"
"You read it!" I shouted, furious. "Why did you read it? What, do you just go snooping through people's mail? Reading people's private letters?"
"What about you?" He was shouting right back at me. "I let you come here, let you stay in my house, and you lie to me! What else did you lie about? Leah Clearwater? Is that even your real name?"
"Of course it is!" I snapped. "But you had no business reading my personal things! Did you go through my stuff, too? I thought I could trust you!"
"I thought I could, too," he snarled. "You hid this from me, the whole time. Every time you phased. I believed you. But I guess I was wrong."
"I was wrong to think you were any different," I hissed. I resisted adding, from Sam to the end of the sentence. "You're all the same."
"Get out of my house," he ordered.
"Of course," I replied icily. "Just let me get my things. Unless you've already gone through those, too. And give me the letter. It's mine."
Evan tossed it to the ground in front of me and then stormed upstairs, slamming his bedroom door behind him. Still blinded by fury, I snatched it up. I went upstairs behind him, shoved all of my things into my duffel, and stomped back down. And then, just to spite him, I chugged the entire gallon of Coke he had in his fridge.
As soon as I got to the door, the stupid tears blurred my vision. I wiped them away with the back of my hand and stormed out into the rain.
Poor Leah. Poor Evan. What a depressing chapter. I feel like my Leah has really made some progress, though, with all of her issues. She hasn't lost any attitude, though.
Sorry about the Meg Ryan bashing, but seriously. The woman's had so much plastic surgery she looks practically deformed. It's not even like she's a good actress to make up for it. Sleepless in Seattle was… -shudder- No offense to any Meg Ryan fans; that's just my opinion. I can't write an author's note without giving one of my rants. :)
R.I.P Michael Jackson! I had to put some reference in there for the King of Pop!
--Breeze