For everyone who is still here, thank you. Sorry about the unexpected Hiatus – life went crazy – hopefully things are back to normal.
Big hugs to Meg, MidnightCougar and Iris for their patience and help with this story. I would have given up by now if it wasn't for them.
Chapter 9
Her POV
I used to blame them. I even hated them for a while—for going out, leaving me, and then for never coming back. After that, I blamed myself—for not being with them, for wishing I were, so they didn't have to go through it alone. The guilt was overwhelming. There was nothing but anger, which I understand now was merely my way of dealing with it all.
But the blame did lie with someone, and it always will.
And now I know that person's name.
The information was easy to find online. I'd ignored it in the past; the person who killed my parents didn't matter to me. I didn't want to know about them. I couldn't care less. She was just a name.
A faceless name who'd killed my parents.
Now I felt like I knew all about her. Alice Cullen was Edward's younger and only sibling. She was only a few years younger than him and, at the time of the accident, had passed her driving test a few months prior. She was close to my age, was finishing school, and had been accepted to two colleges, but had yet to make her decision to where she was going. Friends and family described her as bubbly, the life and soul of the party, someone who was involved in anything and everything. Reports stated she'd been spotted driving erratically close to where the accident happened yet was found with no alcohol or drugs in her system.
None of this new information made a bit of difference to me. I don't care how nice she was, or how friendly she was, or how much of a shock it all was when she died. It was her fault. Her life wasn't taken from her like my parents; she'll forever be responsible for the accident.
And I'll never be able to forgive her for that.
Knowing it was Edward's sister that went through the light and skidded into my parents hit me like a curveball. I'd spent years seeing Edward, and even without talking to him or even knowing his surname, I thought we shared something—shared this… this pain, this hurt that nobody can even remotely understand unless they've been through it. Having Aunt Rose was different; she had Emmett to help her, and as much as she helped me, I still couldn't stop this feeling of being alone. When I saw Edward, he was always by himself, and I thought maybe he was just like me.
And for some reason, that didn't make me feel so alone.
When he told me his sister was the one who was driving the car, there was nothing I could do but run. He looked as devastated as I felt, but I couldn't stay. I'd felt the anger bubbling at the surface again—the blame that had to lie with someone—and if I stayed, I would've put some of that blame on him.
"It's not his fault," I murmur, sorting the flowers at my parents' graves. I'm sitting by their gravestone, trying so hard to focus on the good times. I don't want to be sad anymore. I'm sick of always feeling so sad. I hate feeling angry, or sad, or confused, or… so friggin' pissed off they left me so abruptly.
I try to remember how my dad's eyes danced when my mom laughed. How he told me her smile was what he first fell in love with. How, as I got older, I would watch them and hope to find someone who looked at me the same way my dad looked at my mom. How, when I was younger, my sides would hurt from laughing so much when he chased me around the garden to the big tree at the bottom.
The memories blur together, one by one, until they're all fused together and I'm crying and laughing at the same time. Remembering them this way is easier; it's what Aunt Rose told me they'd want. They don't want me to not live my life or to focus on how they were taken.
How am I meant to move on if I always focus on the past?
"Bella?"
I look over my shoulder to see Edward standing a few feet back. The early morning sun is low in the sky, a day full of promise of nice weather. The deep orange peeks over his shoulder and creates a dull glow, casting shadows over his face and preventing me from seeing him properly. He's shuffling from foot to foot, and I can feel his nervous energy from here. I can tell he wants to come closer but knows he shouldn't.
And I don't know if I want him to.
I turn back around and trace my fingers across my parents' names, my dad first and then my mom. My thighs protest as I crouch for longer than comfortable, but for some reason, I can't bear to leave them today. It hurts more than normal.
"I'd hoped the weather on that day would've put them off, you know? And now, days like that scare me so much I have to stay in the house." My hands shake, the burn in my legs turning into a searing pain, so I give in and sit down properly. I look down at the ground, watching his shadow as he continues to move from side to side. "I knew. The second I walked in that door, I knew something was wrong."
"Can I…? Can I sit?" His quiet voice carries in the wind, and I can only nod.
"I hate the rain, too," he admits. He picks up some turf at his feet and throws it to the side.
"What are you doing here, Edward?"
He sighs, but it's a few seconds before he speaks. "I wanted to see you. I wanted a chance to explain, a chance to apologize."
I feel awful. It's not like it's his fault, and I ran out of there so fast he probably had whiplash. "It was a shock, Edward. I had to leave; I needed to get some things sorted in my mind." I scoff and shake my head. "Not that it worked."
He remains silent next to me, but it's different. It almost feels like the air between us has been sucked away, and it automatically makes me feel on edge.
"What aren't you telling me?" I whisper. "What can there be left to say that's any worse than your sister killing my parents?"
He flinches, the pain evident on his face. It cuts at me, and I hate knowing my words cause him pain, but at the same time, I feel like he's holding something over my head—something which, when it drops, will have the power to ruin whatever this is between us.
ooOoo
His POV
The words sit like ash in my mouth. I look at her; the red puffiness around her eyes, the tears already shed because of my news. The way she keeps delicately sniffling, dabbing a tissue under nose, and I wonder how I can hurt her even more.
I remember the first time I saw her; she was barely a blip on my radar, a face that started to become familiar when I visited the cemetery. I was so consumed with my own grief, desperate to let it take over and beat me, that I couldn't see something so beautiful in front of me. Then, I saw her with her family, how she'd smile with them. Sure, she'd lost someone—I could see that—but she was coping, and she gave me hope I could do the same.
I aimed to be the reason for one of those smiles.
"Edward?"
Her soft gaze brings me back to the present. Her eyes are on me, roaming my face as if she's trying to find the answer there. I wish I could tell what she's thinking… Does she feel as lost as I do? She looks past me, her eyes wide, and she reminds me of a rabbit caught in headlights.
I don't want to make her run.
"It's worse," I whisper, bringing my legs up against my chest and resting my forehead on my knees. "It's so much worse."
She shuffles closer to me, still keeping a slight gap between us.
"I need to know." She speaks quietly but surely. And she's right. "Tell me about Alice," she prompts. "Maybe that will help."
"You don't want to hear about her."
She's silent for a moment. "No," she admits. "I'm not sure I want to know anything about her, all things considered, but if it helps you, I'll listen."
I turn my head to the side so I can see her clearer, resting my cheek on my knees. She's smiling softly, a gentle encouragement.
"Why?"
She shrugs. "I don't even know. I just want to help."
I smile, but it's weak. She only wants to help me, and I'm about to hit her with another curveball.
"She was your sister…"
I nod. "Yeah. My baby sister, although she hated it when I called her that."
"So, of course you did it more."
I chuckle. "Of course. She was my polar opposite, and we fought like cats and dogs, but we were still family, you know? When they told me… Man, it was like being punched in the gut. That constant feeling of… emptiness. The constant crack on my heart, like it hurt to even breathe. The way my stomach would lurch if I thought I heard her laughing on that damn phone of hers—"
Bella scowls, trying to quickly school her features.
"Are you okay?"
"I… Well, the police think she was distracted when she crashed."
She's obviously read the stories.
"Yeah, they think so."
"And what do you think?"
This is it.
She waits. She waits for me to say the words I don't want to. I think back to all the times I'd wished I hadn't fought with Alice, how I'd change it if I could. I read about her parents; people who'd always remained nameless until I learned they were Bella's parents. I learned Charlie and Renee had left behind a daughter who moved in with other family members. I never in a million years thought something as stupid as a little argument could impact our lives this way.
"I know why she was driving the way she was."
The silence lingers between us like a thread waiting to be cut. Stretched to the max, a pull in either direction could break it.
"It's my fault. Do you remember how I said we were arguing? Well, she was pissed." I shake my head, remembering how angry she was when she stormed out, how I'll never forget the look of pure hatred before she slammed the door on me. "The more I argued, the more wound up she became. And the more wound up she became, the funnier I found it. She stormed out of the house, and hours later, she was dead." I look up, and I'm met with a grief-stricken Bella. The memories, the emotions for both of us from that night, are back and are just as fresh as they were then.
I feel her move next to me, and I know she's leaving. I'm the reason her parents were taken from her so tragically and way before their time.
Instead, her leg presses against mine, and she loops our arms together, strengthening our connection.
"It's not your fault, Edward."
ooOoo
Fic Rec: MVP by AKABrattyVamp - "Baseball is 90% mental, and the other half is physical." -Yogi Berra
Thank you for reading – I'm hoping this is me back to posting on Sundays! So see you next week!