Disclaimer: Stephanie Meyer owns all.

Rated M for several reasons.

Chapter 9 Reasons to be Cheerful

BPOV

I can't remember the drive home, I just 'woke up' suddenly and found myself slipping the key into the front door.

Not even lunchtime and I feel like the day is over and I should be asleep. My eyelids feel like someone's stuck pennies on them.

I can't, however, ignore the angry vibrating of my cell any longer. So I heave myself onto one of the kitchen stools and fish it out of my purse.

I have several voicemails.

Jake.

"Hi, it's me, I'll be picking you up at eight tomorrow, like we said, hope that's still okay . . . . Does it make me pathetic if I tell you I've missed you these last couple of days?" Deep rumbling laugh. "Hope not anyway. Oh, and wear something warm . . . . Bye."

Oh god . . . .

Bren.

"Are you okay? I've been watching the live news feed. No brunettes have been found floating face down in the Delaware so I'm hoping you're at least kind of okay. It would be nice though Bells, to hear it direct from you, not that I'm pushy or anything . . . . Ted's got groin strain." Hysterical laughter. "Sorry, just picturing your face. Love ya, bye."

Ew . . . .

Freya.

"Hey Mom. Babysitting the Alots tonight. Cath's picking me up from school. Still got stuff over at their place so I'll be back in time for lunch on Sunday. You promised me a Grandma Swan special and I'm so ready for it, the cafeteria's been even crappier than normal this week, I may be seriously starved of nutrients. Love you. Call me if you need me. Bye."

Bless her . . . .

Cath. Confirming Freya's call and hoping it's okay bearing in mind the suddenness, one of Dan's clients has invited them to his birthday party at short notice.

And the man himself.

"So, the force of nature that is Bren said I should check up on you. She didn't extend herself to giving me a reason why though, just so you know. So, this is me, the father of your child, doing what I'm told. I hope you are okay and that you'll call me if I can do anything. And that's quite enough mush, call me, bye."

I fight back tears. We might not have been fated lovers but Dan has been my best friend for years and no one has tried to take care of me for as long as he has. The over educated doofus even worried about proposing to Cath in case it ruined our weird little family dynamic. Which it so didn't.

Alright. I need to get a grip. There's not only me in this and I can't check out of my life just because I have a past that reality TV can't offer an easy way to deal with.

With single minded efficiency I rustle up a plate of snacks, a large glass of extremely cold white wine and a deep foamy bath.

I can't eat anything, but drinking doesn't seem to be a problem.

Wow, you really do grow up to be like your Mother, not that Renee was a lush or anything, she just used to retreat to the bathroom with a glass of wine when she needed time to evaluate stuff.

….

Out of the bath and flung on the bed, wet towel and all, it's my house and my rules, I finally manage to gain some 'traction' as Jeff would say.

They threw a party for me on my eighteenth birthday. It embarrassed me beyond words but since I hadn't had a birthday party since I was six, I was secretly rather pleased.

I cut my finger opening one of the gifts. Jasper tried to eat me. Frightening, but not exactly unexpected. Furniture was destroyed.

So far, Carlisle's memories and mine are in complete agreement, and I don't think either of us realised at the time that my future was also destroyed.

We both apparently expected trouble from him. But not what actually happened.

I remember being told that I was a complication not worth bothering with.

Carlisle remembers a good man making a selfless decision and destroying his own happiness in the process.

I remember being abandoned, without warning or explanation, by six additional people I'd come to care about deeply.

He remembers the harsh recriminations, the fighting, the pleading. Promises reluctantly made. Advice and then support offered to a son, a sibling, a loved one. A difficult decision, painfully accepted.

He feels sorry.

And I feel . . . . cheated.

Cheated out of my place in what he described, cheated out of my say.

I wasn't physically able to tell him what I went through. So I sat and listened to what I could tell was a heavily edited version of what they did. He did.

I know I should have been angry but I couldn't seem to muster anything much beyond weary sadness, I still can't, even a couple of hours later.

I'm sure Freya would be calling me a doormat but what good is a pyrotechnic display of impotent rage going to do? I couldn't pull any of Carlisle's hair out if my life depended on it and I could only even try if he consented to let me.

The mental image of little old me furiously attacking his hair, my foot firmly planted on his thigh for leverage, while he sits patiently in his sumptuous leather chair actually makes me laugh, briefly.

God what a mess.

When he'd finished speaking we'd just sat there, looking at each other, neither of us sure what to say. I wanted to ask him if he felt better now he'd got all that off his chest but it seemed kind of rude and I'm not sure I could have forced the words out anyway. Besides, he didn't look any happier, almost as if speaking the words out loud actually made him realise how shitty their behaviour had been. I rather enjoyed the fact he looked as miserable as I felt.

Eventually I couldn't look at him anymore and I just got up and left. Walked straight out without even a backward glance.

As resolutions go it lacked a certain something.

I still have the problem of Freya going to school with them.

And I have a great deal of information about him that I know I'm going to wish I didn't. I'm afraid to even try and think about it, in case my head explodes, and I'm strangely grateful for my eighteen year dedication to extreme mental, him related, avoidance.

…..

At some point I got dressed and went to the store to get the things I needed for the Grandma special.

I called Bren and assured her that I was alive and well. She invited herself to lunch on Sunday and pointedly reminded me that she'd be expecting to hear all about my date with Jake.

Jake. Oh god.

I called Cath to let her know I'd got her message about Freya and to invite her for lunch too, since she has, occasionally, been known to protect me from Bren.

Then I called Dan and told him I was perfectly all right, assuring him that 'that male model masquerading as a security consultant' was not the reason Bren was worried about me. They've obviously all been in cahoots because he invited himself to lunch too. Either that or he's not man enough to be in sole charge of the Alots.

Oh well, a full house is probably what I need right now anyway.

I probably should have called Jake and told him I'd be no fun to take out tomorrow night but I couldn't bring myself to do it, yet. Instead I did some strenuous chores so that I could reward myself with an impromptu wine night. I'm planning to hit it hard on the basis that I'm entitled to a least one night where I don't have to think about anything.

…..

It's a sound enough strategy until I wake up on Saturday morning with a thick head, sour breath and a feeling of impending doom. It's not very often I get the chance to wallow in bed and usually I'd make the most of it, but today I can already tell that would be a big mistake. If I lie here worrying about whether or not Carlisle will keep me a secret, what happens if he doesn't or what he told me about him, then I'll go well and truly mad.

Besides, they left me once, why would they want to come looking for me now? Who knows, one whiff of 'Eau de Bella' and they might head for the hills again.

Argh! Surely to god I can find something else to think about.

Work for example, we've just won a major contract, someone, me, should be thinking about how we'll actually deliver it.

And I should probably call Jake and cancel tonight.

…..

The morning blurs by in a frenzy of largely unnecessary activity. I never realised I was a house proud 'neat freak' until Cath and Bren started pointing it out to me. I know it's true, somehow, even during the trauma of yesterday, I managed to find time to pick up the house number, polish it, and stow it somewhere safe for later reattachment.

Even though I'm not hungry I force myself to stop for lunch and then I'm off again. I should really call Jake . . . .

…..

At four I stop again, frankly, exhausted and out of mindless distractions.

I've let it a bit late to cancel on Jake. Was that deliberate? I don't know. I could, of course, still cancel. But I can't really recall why I was going to in the first place. I'm not placing him in any danger, at least I don't think I am, Carlisle's eyes were as gold as any other time I've seen him. I want to see him, spend time with him. Nothing's changed with regard to my unsuitability as a long term girlfriend nor his only being in town 'for a while'. It will be nice to have something else to focus on for a couple of hours. Am I being selfish? Considering using Jake, an extremely nice man, as a distraction?

But I want to see him, a little voice inside me protests, and that's not the same thing as just wanting to be distracted. He said he missed me, and I think, if I hadn't been dodging my demons I'd have missed him too.

It's okay to want to see him, isn't it? What would be the point of dating someone if you didn't?

Bren specifically wants to hear about tonight, which suggests that she one, knows I might think myself out of it, and two, thinks it's perfectly normal to go on a hot date even if part of your past has made a temporary reappearance.

Alright, what Bren thinks is perfectly normal isn't always what everyone else does, but she doesn't steer me wrong on stuff like this.

Fuck it. I'm going out . . . .

…..

Which how I find myself sitting on the window seat waiting for him to arrive four hours later . . . .

When his truck does pull up I don't even wait for him to ring the bell instead rush out to fling the door open, the huge smile of greeting dying on my face at the sight of his. His traffic stopping smile is gone, replaced by a scowl and a pair of hard, flinty, eyes.

What the fuck?

Without a word he pushes me inside and slams the door shut behind us.

He's practically vibrating.

"Jake, what's wrong . . . ."

It takes him a few moments to calm down by which time I'm embarking on my own full blown panic attack, I knew I should have cancelled tonight, I'm in no fit state to date, ever . . . .

"Bella, shit, I'm sorry."

Anything else he says is lost as he crushes me into this chest, wrapping his long arms around me tightly.

Slowly I start to relax, Jake's arms beat lunatic rocking, hands down.

"I'm so sorry." He says, easing his grip slightly and taking a deep breath. "I didn't mean to scare you. I just . . . . shit . . . . I don't even know how to explain . . . . I can't . . . . god, Bella, I'm so sorry . . . .I have to . . . ."

Suddenly I'm cold and alone as he backs up a step, and then another.

His eyes are filled with apology and his face is twisted with it but nevertheless he opens the door, slips through it, closing it firmly behind him.

For a second I'm frozen and then something inside me snaps and I wrench the door open.

"Jacob Black!" I shriek after his rapidly retreating form. "What the fucking hell?"

He stops in his tracks but doesn't turn around.

"I'm sick and fucking tired of no one bothering to explain to me what's going on. Of people just fucking walking away from me! So help me god if you get in that truck don't ever even fucking think about coming back because . . . . You. Will. Not. Be. Welcome."

And on that melodramatic note I slam the door shut, giving it a swift kick for good measure.

So much for not feeling angry. I'm so incensed all of a sudden that I'd really, really, like to kill something.

Before I can select an inanimate object for termination the poor abused door opens again and Jake shuffles inside, his eyes still apologetic but his expression extremely guarded.

"Bella, I'm sorry, this is very difficult for me, I want to tell you everything but I literally can't. And even if I could, I don't know what you know, I don't want to . . . ." He sighs and balls his fists in frustration. "I don't want you to think I'm some kind of lunatic and I don't want to frighten you if there's no need."

"That's great Jake." I drawl with as much sarcasm as I can. "But since you've already done both those things it's a bit late to play the 'secret agent' card."

"Bella, this isn't about some stupid joke . . . ."

"Then what is it about, Jake?"

He sighs again.

"Got any beer?"

"I might have."

"Fancy a take out?"

"I might."

"I'll try Bella, I'll try to explain. I don't want to walk away from you."

I cave and lead the way into the kitchen as he shuts the door for the final time.

At least he's trying, it's more than he who shall not be named ever managed. I've no idea what's coming but the sense of impending doom is back and doing the Macarena all over my newly aching head. Some date this is turning out to be . . . .