So my exams are over the next two weeks, plus Christmas and all that good shit, which means I won't have any time to write/update. So I tried to get this one done a bit earlier than originally intended, so my lovely readers would have at least one chapter over a two month period or so.

Warning: This chapter might (?) contain explicit drug use. I don' t really remember but I mean COME ON there is a pretty good chance at this point...

Chapter 10

Time dragged. Time always seemed to drag, unless I was railing, and then it went by too quickly. Still, time passes; even when it's so slow you can hardly percept it going by, time passes.

Time dragged, and addiction pulled, an angry, worn out thing inside me I could never escape. Not that I wanted to. Cocaine was my closest friend, it sometimes felt. When I woke in the night, screaming, with no one to turn to, it, at least, was always there for me.

"I won't watch this anymore."

"Hm?" I didn't bother to look up from my meal, picked at and strewn about my plate but largely uneaten. A few bites was all I was ever hungry for. Eating was more of a chore than anything else.

"Char!"

"Yes?" I glanced up at Charlie, staring at me with the same sort of horror he usually did.

"This is getting ridiculous, you never eat, you don't-" Charlie sighed, and picked at his own plate for a moment. I felt half-afraid that he knew, that he was going to cut me off. But surely he wouldn't be approaching it like this, were that the case. I couldn't let him cut me off, just couldn't, I needed it, needed it. "I suppose I should have been expecting this," he said. "All the sources I've come across say that recovering addicts get depressed, but you didn't at first and it's been so long..."

I felt relieved. Depression. I took every precaution to avoid Charlie from discovering my usage, but I suppose it was impossible that he'd never notice my erratic behaviour. Was I depressed? Sometimes when I was crashing it felt that way, but for the most part, I had everything I needed. Let Charlie think what he wanted.

"Maybe you should start some sort of therapy."

"I don't need therapy," I told Charlie in a deadened voice, the same voice I used most of the time, I supposed.

"You won't even eat..." he said weakly. I lifted a forkful to my mouth, chewed without thinking.

Charlie watched silently as I ate. He wanted to say something else; I could tell by his puckered brow and the way he constantly opened and closed his mouth. He didn't speak, and I was glad. My head was hurting, and the cravings sent a physical shock through my body. I hadn't used in days; the comedown the weekend before had been so utterly horrifying that I'd forced myself to stave off for awhile, haunted by the memory. Rarely in my life had I ever felt so unsure and awful as I had for those few days, certain that every shadow was an enemy, fatigued and irritable and more than anything else afraid.

"Char..." Charlie began, but I stood, emptying the remainder of my food into the garbage.

"It'll pass," I told him.

I had waited long enough, and the thought of doing another hit had me moving more quickly than usual as I made my way up the stairs.

As usual the drugs made me feel warm inside and out, my body entirely ablaze with energy. But the high can only last so long, and too soon my happiness turned into anger and revulsion, and my entire body was itchy, as if something was living buried in my flesh. I scratched my arms and stared out the window, suddenly anxious. I was certain I saw something moving in the trees, and squeezed my eyes shut. Was Charlie having me watched? He didn't trust me, that much was certain. He said he thought I was depressed, but I couldn't believe him, couldn't trust him or anybody.

You're imagining things, I told myself, never really believing. You're just seeing things. With the anxiety came fatigue, but I knew I wouldn't sleep for hours.

I rolled over and fumbled in the drawer of my side table, fishing out the packet of pills that I'd been ignoring for so long. I had no idea where in Forks I'd get my hands on something to help me sleep once these were gone. One was enough to bring on the blackness.

I was so comfortably warm the next morning that I couldn't even begin to think of moving. My eyelids continually drooped as I lie in bed, contented for once despite not being high. My cell phone rang at my ear and I stared at it for a long time before I stretched one hand out to fumble it off my bedstand.

"Hello?" I answered sleepily.

"Swan?" a raspy voice asked.

I yawned, rolling onto my side. The phone was pressed between my ear and the pillow, and I nearly fell asleep atop it before mumbling, "this is Char Swan."

The voice on the other end whispered something so low I thought I must have misheard. A chill ran through my veins, and I hoped that I had.

"Huh?"

Louder, they repeated what they'd said before, in a tone that was broken and malevolent. "I will rip out your innards."

I didn't know what to say to that, didn't think I could respond. I lie perfectly still, barely breathing, listening as they continued to repeat that same line. In the beginning, it was almost conversational. They sounded cruel, but paused each time they said it before saying it again.

"I will rip out your innards. I will rip out your innards. I will rip out your innards."

But after a few moments of quiet listening, I couldn't handle the escalation, and hung up as they were screaming at me, placing the phone gently on the side table.

"I WILL RIP OUT YOUR INNARDS I WILL RIP OUT YOUR INNARDS I WILL RIP OU-"

I flipped over onto my back. When I placed my palm over my chest, I could feel my heart's erratic pace. I wanted to find Charlie, to tell him anout the phone call. But I was still so tired, I could only lie there, half-paralyzed by my fear and exhaustion.

School would be starting soon, I realized dimly. I would miss first period. I couldn't make myself care. I kept hearing that voice in my head, over and over. The world outside my warm cocoon of blankets seemed dark and unwelcoming. It was easier to stay in bed all day than risk facing the things I had waiting for me out there- people were cruel, and Forks High School was a cesspool of ignorant morons, droning about their issues, their unkind parents, their teachers who showed no compassion for their laziness.

The world had shown no compassion to me, had given me no respite from the figures of my past that haunted me. Jason followed my every waking step, reminding me that I was useless, broken, that I'd never live happily because even in death he was in every shadow. Edward visited me in almost every dream, as relentless as Jason.

Almost every dream.

Those where he didn't come were the worst, because then I was alone.

Even the warmth faded eventually, and I lie in my bed shivering, completely given up on going to school. Getting out of bed even long enough to get dressed seemed a daunting, impossible task. I had no energy, and was overwhelmed by the thought that this life on earth was a terrible thing to have to endure.

When I finally forced myself to crawl out of bed, hours after I first woke up, I was struck by the sudden knowledge that I was starved. Just as I was about to leave my room, I froze, turning back to look at my phone. It was sitting just where it had been the night before, of course, on my stand beside my bed. I'd imagined the phone call, I realized disgustedly, reminded once more why I hated needing assistance to sleep.

I ate the first edible thing I found in the fridge, and then the next, until I could eat no more. When I looked out the window, I saw that it was late. How had the day gone by me without me knowing? I'd missed the lighter hours, and Forks' sky was already darkening once more. In the silence of the kitchen, I was hyper aware of my own breathing, my bare feet against the cold linoleum making no noise. It was almost nice, the feeling of being alone. For a moment I pretended that I was completely alone in the world, that there were no mindless teenagers to gripe with each other about their petty problems when mine, so much more real, went unignored. No parents to rein me in. No Jasons, and no Edwards... The clock in the living room suddenly chimed to indicate the hour, my heart jumping at the violation of the room's peacefullness. Afterward the quiet was so different than what it had seemed, a deathly stillness in which the sound of my own heart's pounding was deafening.

I thought of Jason, unable to think why he was suddenly on my mind. I was inexplicably afraid of my memories of him as it occurred to me that they were driving me insane. Was I going crazy? I wondered if this was normal behaviour for someone- someone like me. Whatever that even meant.

I rested my hand on the counter, eyes squeezed shut. I felt myself breathing more quickly, struggling for air. Over the sound of my desperate gasping I heard something that made me pause- the quiet thrum of a score of violins, low and eerie. I opened my eyes, wandering into the living room and looking around. The television was off, and the radio. The sound was coming from upstairs. I climbed the steps slowly, recognizing the tune... one Glen insisted was one of the greatest songs of all time, but as far as I could tell had been written only as a testament of the crushing horror of life.

I peered into my bedroom, standing back from the door. Finding it empty except for the voice of the soprano singer, I crossed the room to my stereo, flicking it off in the middle of her phrase... no song unsung, no wine untasted...

I turned around to survey the room once more. It was as empty as it had been when I first came in. I bent over, checking under the bed though my instincts told me just to leave. Nothing. The windows were all closed...

The closet doorknob felt cold in my grip, my entire body wracked with sudden chill. But inside I found the same thing I'd found beneath my bed. Nothing. A sudden noise made me jump and back up against the wall, casting my eyes about wildly while my heart hammer.

"Char?"

Charlie, downstairs. He'd just gotten home. I cursed my overactive imagination, shutting the closet door and wandering out of my room. I paused in the hallway. Just behind me, there was a quiet clicking. I closed my eyes, breathed deep.

"Char?" Charlie called again from downstairs. The noise behind me grew closer.

I turned to look, and standing just below the door frame was a monstrous black shape, vague but humanlike, with a red face and claws that reached for me and eyes so dark they were indiscernible from the shadows cast by the hood it wore.

I fell backward screaming, and felt my head connect with the wall, blackness overcoming my vision, though briefly. I was suddenly overcome with the sensation of falling, of being unable to feel anything solid beneath me.

My vision began to clear, and I felt the floor beneath my hands, the wall at my back. Charlie was at my side, calling my name, demanding to know what had happened.

The thing was gone, though it'd been just in front of me only a moment before.

"There was something... someone... in my room," I told Charlie, and he went to investigate as I had been doing just moments before.

The windows were still closed. The dark space beneath the bed as empty as it had been. Charlie opened the door to the closet that I had just shut, and found nothing. But...

"It was right there," I whispered, standing shakily, moving the bedroom door to look behind it. "A man... or... I could have sworn."

"Char..." Charlie's voice was gentle, but I was immediately distrustful. "You must have been imagining it.. Are you sure you're alright?"

"I'm fine," I snapped angrily. I knew what he was implying. He was going to think I was having hallucinations, he'd start monitoring me, trying to catch me.

"Maybe you should eat something," he suggested, "You're exhausted."

"I'm fine," I repeated, this time more coldly.

"You're irritable as hell, you haven't eaten."

"I just ate."

"Well then what's wrong with you?" Charlie demanded, this time sounding angry himself.

"Nothing," I shouted. "Nothing!"

Charlie's expression looked suspicious as he studied me, so I cast my eyes downward, hunching my shoulders. Depression, I told myself. Encourage Charlie to think what he wants to believe.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, "It's just... everything's so hard. I'm tired."

I heard Charlie's sigh, and saw his feet come into view. He rested his hands on my shoulder.

"I just want you to... to get better, Char. I'm not trying to be unkind. But once you start seeing things that aren't there... I think you need some sort of therapy, at least a check-up at the doctor's office to make sure..."

To make sure what? I wanted to demand, but I refrained. The idea was to trick Charlie, not to further prove what he already suspected.

"No... No. Please, I just need more time. I... I'll eat better, I'll... sleep better." I already slept most of the time, often when I was supposed to be at school. "Please."

Charlie's fists tightened their grip on my shoulders. He hesitated a long time, and I let myself look up between my eyelashes, my face carefully repentant.

"This really has to stop," Charlie said. "I can't watch you self-destruct any longer... There's only a few months left of school, and if the calls I keep getting from your teachers are any indication, the chances of you graduation are... small. You're ruining your own future, Char."

"I-" I didn't know what to say, how to weasel my way out of this. Schoolwork was a depressing thought, almost as depressing as the thought of going to school itself and having to be around all those people, none of whom I trusted and none of whom would ever understand why.

"You need to start eating again," Charlie said firmly. "You need to go to classes and do your work."

Oh, Charlie. It was almost sad how little experience he had at parenting. Then again, Renée had raised me from the time I was a baby, and she had tried the same pathetic limitations, only to discover how little help they were.

"Of course, Dad. Anything," I promised.