Thank you's to my beat team of StoryPainter and irelandk.
Thanks again also to Bower-of-Bliss for her technical support last chapter. I'm still having similar issues but have passed them along further up the chain ;)
Hugs and kissed to my pre-reader Shazzio. Thanks for sharing your special time with Nino.
Thanks to the lovely AlexaC, this story now has a thread on Twilighted. I'm very excited about it, even though I can't log on until I get my password. Please check it out and have a chat. The link is: www . twilighted . net / forum / viewtopic . php?f=44&t=22005 (remember to remove the spaces).
Warning: Tissues may be required. If past memories of funerals trigger flashbacks or overwhelming feelings of grief, you may want to skim over parts of this chapter.
Chapter 10-Death by a Thousand Cuts.
Tuesday felt like a day of waiting.
When I got home the night before from my outing with Edward, Carlisle let me know that Mom's funeral had been set for Wednesday. I was surprised how quickly Phil seemed to want everything settled. I supposed dragging it out just meant extending the grief-stricken inertia we all seemed to be caught in, waiting for the final event that would signal the end of the formal and public processes that marked the end of Mom's life. I knew that it was my difficulty coming to terms with the final separation from her that made me feel so ill-prepared and on edge. Once the funeral and wake were over, it would be time to return to real life. Some allowances would be made as we adjusted to our loss, but by and large, outsiders would expect us to get on with the business of living. It was yet another adjustment I had to make, another thing for my brain to try to integrate.
The day was busy with preparations for the funeral and gathering afterward, yet it dragged, thoughts of what was to come all-consuming. I felt a peculiar mix of expectation and dread.
In the morning, we put the finishing touches on Mom's garden. Someone came to install the water feature the previous afternoon while I was off on my mad flight. All that remained was to place the angel statue. Everyone came out for the big event, and Carlisle and I both hefted an end each to carefully lower it into place. I asked the boys to help me push it to face the right direction, smiling at their grunts of effort, while I put the true muscle behind it. I wanted them to feel a part of what we had created, to feel the same sense of connection to it as I did.
Afterward, Alice and I took the boys back to our place for a while. They played with Edna in the backyard while we made phone calls, tidied up, did some laundry, and chose clothing for the funeral. Once that was done, we all climbed up into our cavernous attic to go through boxes of family mementos, hunting for photos of Mom, Esme, and their parents. In our search, Alice uncovered an old cigar box full of battered toy tin soldiers that must have belonged to Grandpa. The sounds of Afton and Corin playing war echoed around the exposed rafters as Alice and I sorted through musty boxes and yellowed scrapbooks.
In one of the scrapbooks, I found a page cut out of a magazine advertising floor plans for new display homes. There, in gorgeous color, was our house as it had been in its heyday. I stared at the creamy-yellow exterior, green shutters, and quaint roof shingles. Inspired, I showed Alice, explaining that working on Mom's garden had started me thinking about renovating. Seeing how fresh and clean it could look convinced me, my eagerness rubbing off on Alice. We talked excitedly about modern plumbing and heating, making plans to pool funds, hire tradesmen and buy new appliances once things had settled a little after Mom's funeral.
When the boys complained about their "grumbly" tummies, we washed off the visible layers of dirt, dusted their clothes down, and found the nearest drive-thru for a quick lunch. Afterward, we dropped off a few notices, outlining the details of the funeral, to Mom's work, Afton's school, and Corin's daycare center. We even stuck one on the outside of Phil's office. Mourners were asked to wear bright colors and to make donations toward a scholarship fund we would be creating in Mom's name.
Once back at the Cullens', we changed quickly before taking the boys to their first therapy session with Dr. Goff. We must have made an interesting sight to others in the waiting room; four nervous adults chaperoning two well behaved and angelic-looking children. She spent some time with them individually and then together. After, she gave us an overview of what she had covered with them, assuring us that they were coping as well as could be expected at their age. It was encouraging to know we were doing and saying all the right things to make it easier for them to understand.
The rest of the afternoon and much of the evening was devoted to compiling the montage of photos and video footage which would be shown during Mom's service. We spent hours poring through pictures and reminiscing, laughing and crying as we shared our memories of better times. Well, everyone else cried. Although I felt tears prick my eyes often, something still stopped me from shedding them.
Alice also manned the camcorder, taping contributions for the service from everyone. Esme had suggested it, saying she wouldn't be able to hold herself together during the service to say what she wanted. I thought it was a great compromise and felt relieved to have the opportunity to choose a way to pay tribute without getting upset or nervous about delivering it. I couldn't decide between my two ideas, so Alice ended up recording both. I said all the things I wished I'd gotten the chance to say, if I had known our phone conversation was to be our last. I also read a poem I came across that reminded me of Mom.
Once my brothers were safely tucked in bed, Carlisle and I drove over to the funeral home. Although Phil declined to hold an open viewing session, as it got closer to the time for the funeral I felt more and more that I needed to see Mom one last time. I wanted to replace the final image of her on her bed with something else, something less traumatic. Although I was uncertain and nervous about she might look like, I knew that if I missed this last opportunity, I might come to regret it later. Esme understood, although she had no desire to go herself, saying she had more than enough happy memories to keep Mom alive in her mind. Alice had been horrified, and thought the whole idea was morbid and unnecessary. Carlisle offered to take me, saying that I should have someone to support me and drive me home after. He phoned the home and arranged everything, even offering to look first and tell me what to expect, and to be with me through the whole visit.
In the end, I decided that I preferred to spend the time with Mom on my own.
It hadn't been as shocking or gruesome as I built it up in my mind. Her face was slightly puffy, but otherwise, she looked as she did when she slept. Her skin was smooth and relaxed, her hair done and make-up applied so she looked like herself. Mercifully, all traces of the bullet wound that had killed her were artfully hidden by careful arrangement of her hair. Someone had even painted her nails, a touch that made me smile, thinking how much Mom would have appreciated it. She looked young and beautiful. My heart clenched with the bitter irony of her lying there, ready for the end of her world, instead of the rest of the life she so deserved. I carefully placed the letters we had all written in the casket next to her legs, along with the drawings the boys had made. I slid a photo taken of my brothers and me together under her clasped hands. A single tear trickled down my face as I stroked a finger along her cold cheek. As I leaned over to kiss her and whisper goodbye, I felt my emptiness grow. Even though it hurt, I was glad I had come, finding some consolation in ensuring she looked the way I wished to remember her.
That night, despite my tiredness, I found myself too wound up to sleep. While Alice dreamed, I lay awake for hours, remembering.
Thinking.
Longing.
It was well after midnight when our bedroom door was pushed open a crack, allowing a sliver of light to spill across the comforter. I sat up, expecting one of the boys, perhaps in need of the bathroom or disturbed by a nightmare. Instead, I watched as Edna padded silently over, her heavy tail waving languidly as she came around to my side of the bed. She laid her furry chin on the mattress, her brown eyes glinting in the muted light as she regarded me. As she stared at me in a very human and knowing way, I felt all my surface worries melt away. I was completely emotionally naked, my emptiness exposed before her searching look. It was very odd, yet somehow completely normal at the same time. Something in her, a fluffy yellow dog, reached out to touch me, a bereft and lost human.
Her head bobbed forward, her moist nose nudging me repeatedly until I shuffled over. With an agile leap, Edna was on the bed, turning in an awkward circle in the limited space between the tangle of limbs at the foot of the bed. Stepping toward my pillow delicately until we were nose to nose, she lay down, her head coming to rest on her forelegs facing me. I reached out and stroked her silky ears. Edna huffed appreciatively, and her tongue came out to lazily lick my hand as her eyes closed.
Edna had not started life as the pampered family member she was now. Responding to a recovery call from a landlord about some animals abandoned by a tenant who had skipped out, Esme had found Edna and several other animals in a pitiful state. Several cats had been left inside the locked house, surviving on the rats that lived in the refuse inside. The house had been full of broken furniture, rubbish, and waste, both human and animal. The cats were mangy and full of sores, the result of fighting and disease. Edna, along with some kind of small, cross-breed terrier and a rabbit had been found in a shed at the rear of the property. The terrier had been old and crippled by previous untreated injuries. The black and white rabbit had long hair so matted, it had to be cut away in places. They had no idea where the rabbit came from, nor why it was cohabitating with animals it should be afraid of, but it had been clear that all three had indeed been living together peaceably. The shed's only external door had been nailed shut. The animals had limited access to water from holes in the roof where a leaky drainpipe dripped water into a rusty drum, but no food. It appeared Edna had been squeezing in and out of a broken window to forage for the others. The remains of torn trash bags and take-out food packaging littered the floor. When Esme broke open the door to peer inside, she found Edna curled protectively around her companions. All were emaciated, and Edna weighed less than half the average weight of an adult retriever. They had been taken back to the clinic for assessment and treatment. Sadly, most of the cats had to be euthanized, too ill or savage to be rehabilitated. The rabbit had recovered and been adopted out.
Esme herself cared for and treated Edna and Fred, as the aged terrier had been christened. They got their old fashioned names because we had joked they were like an oddly matched, old married couple, never straying too far from each other. They fretted if they were separated, and since Fred had so many health problems, they stayed at the clinic for an extended time. As Edna recovered, her friendly and loving nature had quickly become apparent, and soon she was everyone's favorite. The vet nurses would often let Edna out of her and Fred's pen while they were attending their chores. Fred didn't seem to mind as long as he could still see her. They soon learned Edna had a gift: her presence often calmed other skittish or distressed animals. Her effect on their owners was even better. Few could resist her bright eyes and wagging tale, and some even swore she could smile in a doggy, toothy way.
When Fred recovered, Esme adopted both since two dogs were always harder to find a good home for, and Fred's age and disability also made him a less desirable pet. Besides, no one had the heart to split them up. They spent a year living the high life and being thoroughly spoiled, until Fred passed away peacefully in his sleep. Edna was so depressed, she refused to eat for several days, constantly shadowing Esme wherever she went. Thinking that she might miss company and activity, Esme started taking her to work, worried about leaving her on her own so long. After a week or two, Edna began to interact more, seeking out animals coming in for treatment and mingling with people in the waiting area. Few ever saw her as a threat, despite her size, and Edna always seemed to know instinctively which people or animals to approach and which to leave alone.
Yes, Edna is very special, I thought to myself as I cuddled up to her. There was something soothing about her presence and manner, her warmth and calm caressing me like a blanket. I made the most of it, letting it relax me as I rhythmically stroked along her head and feathery coat. Soon, I was lulled into a deep and dreamless sleep.
When I woke in the morning, both Edna and Alice were gone. I stretched lethargically, enjoying the quiet and space of having the whole bed to myself. It felt lazy and indulgent lying in bed awake, but I was unwilling to move and alter that just yet. Just as I was wondering if I could get away with staying here all day, thoughts of what we were going to be doing in a few hours landed on me like a lead balloon. I felt as if all the breath had been knocked out of me. For a few moments, I drowned in feelings of misery and panic, wondering how I was going to get through it all. Struggling, I pushed the feelings down, burying them deep inside until all I felt was numb. When I felt I had sufficient control to act rationally again, I got up and went downstairs, throwing myself into the numerous last minute preparations.
I did such a great job of muting everything I was feeling that, later, I could only recall parts of the day as a series of images.
There was the snapshot view of us all gathered in the entry hall ready to leave for the funeral, a veritable rainbow of color as our bright and best finery lent a false impression of gaiety. Another, an image of the foyer of the church, where a huge pin board had been erected, also proved memorable. The board fluttered with what appeared to be hundreds of different colored Post-It notes of various size and shapes. People had written messages on each one; condolences, memories, and love were handwritten, interspersed with photos people had bought along of Mom. More mourners were lined up at the small table that had been set up, patiently waiting their turn to compose and add their own offering. It was moving to see that so many had so much to say about her.
Other images weren't so pleasant. I was rocked from my numb little trance by the sound of Phil's voice. He stood in front of the pine coffin, its varnished sides decorated with hand painted dark pink roses. An arrangement of matching fresh roses adorned the top of it, my view of them blocked by Phil, dressed in his sober black suit. A surge of anger and hatred burned me like acid, and it was only then that I noticed his parents and brother had all dressed the same, the only attendees who had done so. We had discussed it during our meeting with Father Banner, everyone−including Phil−agreeing that since Mom disliked wearing black, we would ask mourners to wear bright colors as a tribute to her. My loathing intensified as he stood with his head bowed, crying his crocodile tears. He spoke of the tragic loss of his beloved, saying he hoped that she had at last found peace from her private pain and sense of hopelessness. He went on about how he would now have to be father and mother to his precious sons. I seethed, his hypocrisy and egocentric sentiments cutting me like a thousand knives. Realizing that I would cause some sort of scene if I couldn't restrain myself, I wrestled to find my sense of inner calm again. I pulled my passive disinterest around myself tightly once again.
Afton's voice pierced my cloak of forced detachment sometime later. I barely looked at the stream of pictures that flashed on the screen up front. I only glanced at it when Afton, who was sitting on my lap, patted me on the cheek and cried out "There's Mommy!" as he pointed. I heard my own recorded voice whispering the poem I had chosen as the montage played on, but didn't register the words, lost and almost insensible in my own private agony.
Afton again brought me back to the moment, squeezing my hand tightly while we walked behind Mom's coffin as it was carried down the aisle. As we left the church, I caught sight of the colorfully attired crowd waiting outside. There must have been more than two hundred people gathered, I observed with astonishment. Some were still inside, but many had overflowed into the forecourt outside, all standing and bearing silent witness as the coffin was loaded into the hearse.
Looking down at the small hand clutched in mine, I felt a momentary pang of failure. I had volunteered to be Afton's support person during the service, yet I had been next to useless, too wrapped up to do more than cuddle him or hold his hand. My eyes sought out my other brother, hoping he had been better looked after. He had become so clingy that there had been no disagreement when Esme stated she would take care of him. They were right behind us, Esme weeping noiselessly, carrying Corin who was wrapped like a limpet around her chest. Alice had her arm draped around them both. Carlisle had been one of the pallbearers, moving to join us once the hearse pulled away. My dad appeared looking forlorn and sad, Sue clutching his hand in an uncharacteristic public display of comfort and reassurance. I hadn't even been aware of his arrival earlier.
As people crowded around us wanting to pass on their condolences, I slipped back into my muted reverie, shaking hands and seemingly making enough appropriate replies to the endless stream of people. The wake was more of the same, and I found myself unable to recall exactly who I had spoken to or about what. Afton had disappeared to play with some friends from school who had attended with their mothers, friends of Mom's. My only clear recollection was being cornered by a huge young man, his red shirt straining to contain the bulky muscles that threatened to burst forth at any minute. I smiled politely and tried to extract myself.
"Bella? I need to talk to you. Don't you recognize me?" the man hissed, trying to keep his voice low and composed, nervously looking around to see if anyone had noticed our odd behavior. I glared up at his face, and was almost ready to sneer some obscenity when I realized I did know him. He was older than when I had seen him last and had grown enormously, his mature and heavy features almost obscuring signs of the weedy and soft boy I had known.
"Jacob? Are you here with Rachael?" I looked around in confusion, searching for the face of my best friend. Jake Black was her brother, younger than us by a good five to six years, if I was remembering correctly. Being so much older, we had never paid much attention to him when we hung out together, dismissing him completely as the annoying and bratty brother. He hung out with a group of other rowdy and irritating boys at the reservation where they grew up, our paths not crossing much, especially in the last few years.
"Rachael doesn't come back for another week. She said she told you that." His brown eyes bored into mine. "Look, I have to tell you something, but I can't do it here. Can I contact you sometime soon?"
I wasn't really comfortable with that, and I told him so.
"Bella, I'm begging you," Jake pleaded. He looked down at his shoes, his jaw clenching convulsively. When he looked back up, I could see the shine of tears. "It…it's something to do with your mom. I was a student in her class and we…" He threw his head back and scrubbed at his face with his huge hands. "It's important you hear the truth from me before it gets twisted. She meant a lot to me, and I won't let that be fucked with." His voice cracked at the end. Wiping his face again, he backed away. "I'll be in touch," he promised before hurrying out the door with his head down. I stood staring at the doorway for a moment, puzzled. Shrugging my shoulders, I wandered around looking for my Dad.
I tried to pull myself together, attempting to stay grounded and shake off some of the numbness. I found him outside, whispering with Carlisle. As soon as they saw me approaching, they stopped their hushed conversation, both looking slightly guilty.
"Is something wrong?" I asked, sure they must have been talking about me, judging by the abrupt end of their exchange.
"Nothing's wrong," Carlisle moved to assure me. "I just overheard Phil talking to his parents about heading off soon for the cremation. Your dad and I were just discussing whether or not you felt that was something you needed to be there for."
"Oh." I hadn't even thought that would be possible. His words struck a chord in me, the same one that had felt the need to see her and be with her last night. "Can I?"
"Bella? Are you really sure you want to do that?" asked Charlie, his hand reaching out to rest on my arm, drawing me close enough that he could stare into my eyes. His brow was furrowed with concern.
"I don't know what it is, Dad, but I just know I need to follow this all through right to the end." I patted the hand resting on my arm and tried to smile in a reassuring way. "I'll be okay, I promise."
"You shouldn't go alone," Carlisle argued. "Would you like me to come with you again?"
I looked from my dad to Carlisle, considering my options. "Thanks, but you should probably stay with Aunt Esme. I'm sure Dad could take me. I would appreciate it, though, if you check with Phil. Now that I know it's a possibility, I really want to go, but I don't want there to be any arguments about me being there." He nodded and went back inside to find Phil.
"Would you mind, Dad? I'd feel better with you there." I didn't know whether it would weird him out, but I agreed that it would probably be better to have some support just in case.
"I'll help you through this anyway I can," he said softly. "I'll just go tell Sue that we'll be disappearing for a while so she can call Leah to come pick her up. Go tell the family so they won't worry, and then we'll go."
Returning to the church hall, I found my aunt and Alice and explained where I was going. I also chased down the boys to let them know I had to go do something for our mommy and would be gone a while. Armored with kisses and hugs, I said goodbyes to people I passed on my way back out the front. Sue and Dad were waiting, and after a hug from Sue, we left in Dad's car. I closed my eyes on the ride to the crematorium, my head again swirling with thoughts. I didn't know which was worse: the questions and concerns circling like a whirlpool in my head, or the thick blanket of numbness that subdued everything but left me unable to think or function at full capacity.
The numbness won, the sense of detachment giving me some welcome respite, at least for a short time more. It was only when I caught sight of the familiar rose-painted coffin drifting past the special viewing window that I returned to my senses again. I watched as two attendants in white coats wheeled the trolley toward a boxy metal door. I moved closer to the window for a better look, only then becoming aware that Phil was standing at the window next to me and doing the same. My eyes barely skimmed over him, his staying fixed on the coffin. I looked behind me into the small, sterile room, registering the drone of a strange voice. A man in a suit was explaining the procedure to my dad and Phil's brother, Marcus, the only other people present. Ignoring them again, I turned back to watch the attendants opening the metal door, revealing the small rectangular chamber within. One of the men produced a sheaf of papers, and together the attendants appeared to be going over it, both checking a label that had been affixed to the side of the coffin against their list. Seemingly satisfied all was in order, they slipped the coffin from the trolley into the chamber, closing and securing the door. One of them pressed a keypad set to the side of the door, and a red light came on.
"I loved you, Renee," whispered Phil in a barely audible voice. "It didn't have to end this way."
I could only just make out his voice since we were standing almost shoulder to shoulder, both of us peering intently through the viewing window. Having said his piece, he turned away.
I ceased thinking about him or the meaning of his parting words the minute he disappeared from my peripheral vision. I kept my eyes fastened on the glowing red light, the only outward sign of what was going on within the chamber that I could see. I don't know how much time had passed when my dad came and touched my hand to get my attention.
"Bella, sweetheart?" I knew he was worried about me. Dad hadn't called me sweetheart since I turned double digits. "That fella said it'll probably take about three hours to be done. I think we should go back now."
I allowed him to lead me outside to the car, surprised to find it was still daylight out. I felt like I had been staring at that red light forever. As he pulled the car out of the parking lot, I spoke in a subdued voice.
"Can you take me home? To my place, I mean." I stared straight ahead, not really taking in which way we were headed.
"Sure," he said hesitantly. "We can stop by to get whatever you need."
"I want to stay there tonight," I said firmly, turning to face him. "I need to be by myself for a bit."
"Are you sure that's a good idea?" He looked at me, worry and apprehension etching his face.
"I'm sure, Dad. You of all people should know that sometimes only your own company will do." I knew he was one of the few people who would appreciate my craving for solitude.
He sighed. "They're not going to like it, you know. I'm going to get chewed out for leaving you on your own."
I snickered half-heartedly. "Better you than me."
The last few miles passed in silence again, both of us consumed by our private thoughts. When he pulled into my driveway, I unbuckled my seatbelt and leaned across to give him a hug.
"Thanks for everything. I promise I'll be all right on my own. I'll call and let everyone know where I am, okay?"
Dad hugged me back fiercely, his voice gruff with emotion as he told me to take care of myself. I got out and stood watching as he pulled away, waving until I couldn't see his car anymore. Fishing the spare key out of its hiding place, I let myself in and kicked off my shoes, wandering idly around the house. After a while, I pulled my phone out of my pocket, sending a text to Alice to say where I was and that I didn't want company for now. I made sure to confirm that I'd be calling to talk to the boys before bedtime as a sweetener.
Looking at the clock, I was startled to see it was well after five, and I contemplated what I wanted to do next. I couldn't remember when I'd eaten last, but I wasn't hungry, certain that if I ate it would just sit in my stomach like a rock. We had cleaned and straightened when we came over yesterday, so I couldn't even occupy myself with that. I rambled around some more, picking up things here and there, examining them briefly and setting them down again. Beginning to feel restless, I went outside, and crouching to pull a weed growing between the cracked cement of the path, decided that a bit of weeding would keep my hands busy. Bending to it, I worked without much thought until the gathering dark reminded me of the time. Returning inside to make my call, I spoke first to Carlisle, then Alice, and finally Esme, repeating over and over that I was indeed okay and content on my own. Finally, I got to talk to my brothers. I could hear them arguing hotly over who got to chat to me first.
Corin won. "Bell Bell, watcha doin'?" he asked in a sing-song voice.
"I'm talking to you on the phone," I replied teasingly.
"Yeah!" There was a long, empty pause. "Why?"
"Because I love you, and this is the first night since you came to Auntie Essie's that I haven't been there to kiss you goodnight."
"Oh." I could hear his heavy breath whispering over the receiver. "Are you coming back soon? Mommy went somewhere and now she can't come back."
"Honey, Mommy died, remember? Daddy told you, and the nice lady with the great toys talked to you about it too." The psychologist had said children of Corin's age needed to be reminded often, having little understanding of the permanency of death. "I promise you that I'm not dead, and I'll be back in the morning, okay?"
"Okay." I could hear a scuffle happening and the phone crackled with noise. "No, you can't! It's still my turn−"
"Hey, Bella!" Afton sounded triumphant, and I rolled my eyes at the thought of them squabbling over whose turn it was to talk. "Mommy would have liked her party today, wouldn't she?"
"She would have loved it," I confirmed. "Did you see how many friends she had? Everyone loved our mommy." I started doodling on the pad of scrap paper we kept handy in the kitchen.
"Yeah. They were sad she wasn't there and some of them cried, even the boys," he said with exasperation.
"We did tell you that people would be sad, just like we are, now that mommy's gone. Lots of people loved her just like we did." My pen dug into the paper, creating a small tear.
"But she loved us bestest, didn't she?" I could hear a touch of his anxiety coming through.
"She loved us most of all, Afton." I scribbled hard, the lines dark and forceful. "Did you have fun with your friends today?"
He proceeded to rattle off a string of names of the kids he had played with and what they did, and when he talked himself out, I repeated my promise to be back in the morning and ended the call.
Any sense of calm I managed to find had fled and I stalked around, my agitation and restlessness increasing. Going back outside, I prowled about, looking for something else to channel my energy and emotion into. It was too dark to continue weeding, so I had to think of something else to do. I had an idea, and going back inside, I flipped on the switch that illuminated the front of the house. That, along with the streetlights, would give me adequate light to work with. Making a brief trip into the garage, I found a ladder and a crowbar, and dragging them out, I set to work.
I felt a shiver of satisfaction as I tore the first chunk of fake brick sheeting off the outside of the house. I threw myself into it, ripping off piece after piece. I reveled at the squeal of rusty nails being wrenched out, yanking hard on the flimsy batons underneath until a sizable area of original cladding was uncovered. As I worked frantically, random thoughts and impressions from the last few days rushed through my head, swamping every mental barrier I had erected.
She was gone, REALLY gone−forever. Never to return. Never to call me, or nag at me, or to drop in on me ever again. Never to scold or yell at me, or to hug me and say "I forgive you."
Screaming out my pain and rage, I stopped tearing away the sheeting abruptly, wielding the crowbar like a hammer instead, bashing and denting in a mad frenzy. I barely registered the sharp flakes of shattered material that peppered my skin or the dust that stung my eyes. I just lay about me in attempt to stop the agony I was feeling, to transfer it to something else, howling like a banshee.
Suddenly, I felt as if I were flying through the air, my grip on the crowbar loosening in my shock. The screeching sounds died in my throat. I was pulled against something firm but warm, and surrounded securely by strong arms.
"Hey now, Bella, it's okay," soothed a rich, deep voice. "You're hurting yourself."
Inhaling shakily, I took in the comforting scents of warm cotton, manly cologne, and crushed grass.
"You're safe with me," he crooned, cradling me gently as he started rocking to and fro. "Let it go; I've got you."
Scrunching my eyes closed, a flood of hot tears leaked out as I sobbed into his chest, releasing everything I'd fought so hard for too long to contain. I cried and cried, a sea of tears and regret flowing out into the night, leaving me an empty shell, purged clean at last.