A/N: If you're still here, I thank you. If you're not, I don't blame you. The creative well has run dry...I apologize. Sincerely. Whole-heartedly.

"Crawling in my skin

These wounds, they will not heal

Fear is how I feel

Confusing what is real."

- Crawling, Linkin Park

Chapter 10

The cold November wind whipped and slashed brutally around me. The rain, having to contend with the force of the swirling air, couldn't seem to figure out if it was going to go vertical or horizontal. Traffic and pedestrians went about their businesses seemingly prepared for the wet winter that Seattle had been having while I had to struggle just to stay upright. My book bag weighed a ton across my shoulders as I battled the relentless storm. Having lost some considerable weight, I'd expected to be thrown across the street like a rag doll. But I held myself steady; hands covered with mittens, head attired by a red wool hat.

The walk from the campus to my apartment takes me about ten minutes on a nice calm day. But with the gale force winds and the spray of cold rain, it had taken me a bit longer. I had bouts of starts and stops where I'd to take cover behind a sturdy structure for fear of being literally blown away.

I peeked under the lip of my hat, grateful that I was only about twenty steps away from Carmen's, a café on Western Avenue where my apartment was located. The top floor of the restaurant houses living quarters which Carmen and her husband graciously let to me. It's where I ended up after much discussion with my father. He agreed, very reluctantly that I needed a space to test my wings. Carmen and Eleazar own the building and are the proprietors of the café—friends of Charlie's during his university days that have lost contact since he decided to live like a hermit.

It didn't take them long to fall back into the familiarity of their friendship.

Dad calls them once in a while now to either check up on me or to let them know when he'll be in town.

The transition from living in a small hick town to the city was shocking to say the least on most days, exciting. I've managed to make acquaintances in a short span of time. I made it a rule to only go out in groups. Boys—men would approach me for dates but I've been turning offers down. I've lost the desire to ever like anyone in that capacity again. And it's not like there were many. Those who were brave enough to approach me were treated to a cool but kindly refusal.

University life has been good for me. Turns out that Charlie indeed have some pull with the Dean of English department by way of a commissioned painting that now hangs on the Dean's office wall. How he was able to convince the Admissions Office to accept me late in the year was beyond me and I wasn't sure if I wanted to know anyway.

I'm kept constantly busy with the heavy amount of assigned reading, essays and research papers to be done. And when I'm not studying, I try to help out Carmen downstairs serving or bussing tables.

It took me a while to convince Charlie that he didn't need to move to Seattle with me as he originally planned. Thankfully, he's been very accommodating with my requests as of late. I agreed that he pays for my tuition but I insisted to pay for my accommodation. I make do with what Carmen pays me and the tips I get from customers.

But Charlie still sends me a monthly allowance that I've been careful not to touch.

Stubborn man.

I miss him. I miss Jake. But Seattle has been a very good distraction. The hustle and bustle deafens the screaming loneliness and the newness of every single thing stifles the pain to a tolerable intensity.

"Isabella, mi hija vienen! Come, come inside. La lluvia—the rain! It's terrible, sí?" Carmen had the door opened as if she was waiting for me.

"Absolutamente!" I respond with a laugh.

"How was your class today?" She asked, frowning as she eyed my bedraggled appearance.

"Long and boring," I responded and wiped the rain off my face with my hand.

She tsked as she saw the knee-length dress I wore to class with much disgust.

"Oí. This—" she started to say as she helped me out of my pea coat. "This is not appropriate for Seattle weather, hija. You need something warmer, sí?" Her gentle eyes raked over my dress with concern. Carmen tended to be a bit overwhelming. The mother hen attitude was suffocating, albeit, welcomed for someone like me who had no experience with any kind of motherly love. Eleazar, her ever loving husband looked on over with much amusement that his wife finally got someone to fuss and flutter about. Being married for twenty-five years without a child, they thought it was a blessing that Charlie had come and approached them with a proposition that I live in their upstairs apartment. Apparently, they took me in when Charlie was attempting to console my mother out of the darkness she perpetually inhabited during those trying days. The trips they took to exotic places left me in the care of the childless couple when I was a child.

"It's fine, tia. It wasn't that cold when I left this morning." She insisted that I refer to her as my aunt, tia, in her native tongue.

"Would you like to warm up with a cup of tea?"

She shuffled me away right to the back of the restaurant much to the delight of Eleazar and amid the curious stares of the patrons.

"She's been—how do you say, ansioso?—worried since it started raining." Eleazar commented as we walked by his bar.

The mothering I've been getting from Carmen was a foreign territory to me. It got to a point where I purposely hide from her sometimes. The attention, though wanted, was stifling. Maybe it was because it was something I wasn't used to, or the concept of maternal instincts coming from a stranger was incomprehensible to me. But I am not so much of an ungrateful wench not to relish Carmen's thoughtfulness.

"Do you need my help at the restaurant, tia?" I looked around the dining area to find it filled almost to capacity. The onslaught of the storm outside must've brought some more people in.

"No," she walked away toward the direction of the industrial-sized stoves and started to stir a small pot. "I made you some vegetable stew." She smiled and ladled a serving in a bowl. The stew wasn't even in her menu. It's just one of the things that she does for me. I shook my head and flopped down on a chair.

"You didn't have to do that, tia," I grimaced as her smile widened. She was truly enjoyed being a mother. Fate is funny that way—blessing people who didn't want the child and not gifting a couple who'd do anything for a child of their own.

"Now, eat your stew so you can warm up. I have Jessica coming in tonight. You just study, si?" She tucked a roll of bread beside the bowl and set the whole thing down in front of me.

The steaming soup smelled and looked good, triggering a rumble in my belly. I took a spoonful and blew on it for a few seconds before the spoon got lost in my mouth.

"Good, si?" she asked. She took the beanie cap off my head and fluffed my damp, flattened hair. It had grown a few inches in that length where the bangs covered half my face if left unrestrained. My wool hat had become a constant part of my wardrobe even indoors for the purpose of keeping the clump of stubborn hair.

The soup burned its way down my throat, sating the loud monster in my stomach.

I nodded and smiled at Carmen in concurrence.

"Anyway, you finish your soup, bonita and go upstairs to your apartment. It's a busy day but we're fine." Her full mouth lilt at its ends satisfied that I'm thoroughly enjoying her stew.

"Gracias, tía." I mumbled and offered her a smile.

I finished up the stew and cleaned up, full and warm for the first time since walking out into the storm that continued to howl. The lingering warmth of the soup will hopefully keep me comfortably cozy through the night.

My apartment—open and airy, seemed to be in eternal winter. I'd find myself covered in layers upon layers of clothes that couldn't seem to stave the cold away. The faucets groaned, complaining for me to leave them alone. The windows, broken and cracked in some places, sang and whimpered like disturbed banshees on a windy day like today. But even with the buckling wooden floors, and its state of disrepair, I've never grown attached to a place as I have with my apartment. Furnished with furniture that had seen better days bought with my own money, my chest puffs out with pride every time I unlock the door when I come home.

Charlie had given me some of his less chilling art pieces to hang on my wall. It somehow had given the place some distinct character that made it truly my own.

Oh the irony.

The independency that he had drilled in my head over and over again was only achieved when I almost killed myself.

The weeks in Seattle seem to pass rapidly that I barely notice upcoming Thanksgiving. I usually visit Charlie on the weekends. We'd share breakfasts to start our day as he made wry faces, admonishing me for maturing in his eyes.

"I can't really stop you from growing, can I?" he'd comment, his eyes resigned. I'd pat his hand, placating him and smile.

"I can't be twelve forever, Charlie."

I still hear the faint regret in his voice…sometimes grief. I've always wondered if I looked like the monster who abused my mom or am I starting to look more and more like her as the days passed by? I've yet to see a single photograph of my mother and the only time I could vaguely remember ever seeing her was when I was delirious with pain and medication at the hospital. Even then, everything was hazy. I think I could remember her eyes…and her hair. But I can't find the strength to ask Charlie. Anyway, I know it hurt for him to talk about as much as it hurt for me to revisit those days with Edward.

The changes in Charlie were staggering; it was obvious in the constant phone calls and our discussions when I was home. Gone were the snappy and curt comments or the awkwardness of being alone with my own father. Sometimes I feel cheated—knowing that he was capable of caring about me all along and choosing to hide that side of him for most of my life.

But then he'd let me in his studio and I'd watch him work and I'd get over my resentment pretty fast. Charlie in action as he painted another gruesome creation was both delightful and frightful thing to watch. The way his hands moved in a determined fashion as he gives birth to an art born out of despair literally took my breath away. They were both beautiful and haunting. Sometimes, the pain was so palpable that I'd expected to find tears in his eyes. He'd be out of breath like a runner with paint all over his clothes and hair and I'd start to tear up because I've never seen such sheer intensity of love and hate depicted on a canvass.

It made me wonder.

Was that how he saw me the first time my mother brought me home?

The walk from the library back to the apartment was a pleasant one for a change. The day was calm and bright with just a light cool breeze teasing the brown leaves and trash on the streets around.

The sun was inexorably dazzling as it caught the reflections of parked cars by the curb.

As if by some devil's nudge that I looked up at that very moment and that exact place did I notice a car that triggered a series of tremor from somewhere deep inside me.

The black paint gleamed in the sunshine. No scratches, no broken glass—no signs at all that it was the same car that plowed on that tree.

I looked around slowly; my heart leaping out of my chest. The eerie feeling surrounded me, my skin prickling as if a ghost was haunting me in the day light.

It couldn't be.

There could be other cars like that…right?

The wide tires. The same leather seats. I bet if I could go in it would have that leather smell. Oh God.

But this kind of car is rare.

No matter how hard I tried convincing myself, I knew it was the same car.

I could almost feel his presence—electricity or magnet that was pulling me as I stood there.

Terror made its way up my spine, circling around me like a vise.

I ran to the back of the restaurant and up to my apartment, slamming the door behind me with such force that it almost shook off its hinges.

He was close. I can feel him.

I just know it.

Another chapter will be posted tonight...and I'm halfway on the next one. I'm really, really, really SORRY. :(