Chapter 23: If I can get through this

"If I get through this

I can get through that

If you cut me wide open

I might cut you some slack."

Get Thru This

Angie

"Nice. Nice. At least Jacob knows what he's doing! Saving human lives- that is the purpose of this, is it not? But how can you save someone else is you can't even save yourself!"

Her eyes were lightning, shooting through me with a burn and strike that raced through my nerve endings like electricity. Behind her, Jacob's russet tail swung back and forth while he shot through the forest towards the cliffs. I knelt on the ground in front of her, palms firmly held down. I would no longer offer her excuses, or defense. I wouldn't offer her a second glance after I tore away the hateful glare I kept leveled on her.

"Jacob is saving himself from the unparalleled third wife we foresaw. The one with no bravery, who is left dealing the repercussions of a violent death with post traumatic drama in her second life. Did we really believe that a reincarnation would be worth an entire pack of wolves? How pitiful."

"Shut your mouth," Embry growled, his face twisted in such deep rage that I couldn't pinpoint how he kept his human form together.

Leah threw her head back and laughed, "How can I make you believe that she doesn't love you, you stupid idiot! You- of all people- are in tune with your humanity. You know that she is only with you so she can get over Jacob."

The flames of my anger drained from my belly. Like a freezing avalanche, fear pooled in my throat and washed through my body. I kept my eyes trained on the woman before me, a woman I thought I could trust. A bitter, angry husk of what she used to be.

"Like I said," She said with an emotionless laugh, crossing her arms and thrusting her hip out to the side, "At least Jacob is saving himself by being with Bella. At least he hasn't been half as manipulated as you have been, Embry Call."

I shook myself from the memory, leaning down and knotting my fingers in my hair. This was not the time to be thinking about my problems. This was a time to pay my respects.

This was the time to stand in the wake of Harry Clearwater, without vengeance or worry or pain for his demise. It was time to honor our fallen.

Somewhere in the depths of the room, I could hear locals who had frequented the shop mingling with his closest family and friends, exchanging stories and relishing in the moment of togetherness the town was collectively feelings. Although soft music played over the speakers of the small establishment, somebody sang a soft hymn in our native tongue. I tried to focus on her voice to the exclusion of all else, to drown my own thoughts and find peace.

No one had approached me. Who would? I was obviously deeply disturbed by the setting which surrounded me. I'd been silent for a long time now, for the majority of the service in general and a quantifiable measure of time afterwards. The teenager wasn't causing problems, and she wouldn't understand the situation- the people would leave her alone.

That always irritated me, during my entire childhood and with every experience of death I'd faced. The general population would rather believe that you were a clueless, starry eyed, smaller form of themselves that would have a single sighted focus and wouldn't understand the thoughts and feelings of an adult. They would rather believe that, then believe they have to take a child seriously. Most people had no idea how to even approach the topic, like it was too high above my head.

Or they'd try to gently explain in too generic terms, and immediately I would stand up and walk away.

Having been alone with my thoughts for so long, I half jumped out of my seat when someone sat next to me on the bench.

I looked up to see the familiar face of Seth Clearwater, looking thoroughly worn. His usually bright eyes were dim, his flame reduced to red hot coal. His warmth still radiated, and when he shot me a small smile a spark beamed to life. It quickly blinked out of existence.

I tried to smile in acknowledgement. Truth be told, I didn't know if my expression changed by any fraction, but I nodded in acknowledgement as well.

The two of us sat in silence. I wanted to speak up, and apologize for my Dad's absent presence. He was caught up in a case, and if he left his chief officer promised he'd fire him. The both of us couldn't afford to take that risk.

Dying to imagine myself elsewhere, I rested my forehead in my cupped hand. I imagined the orange, homey lighting of my living room instead of the fluorescent lighting of the funeral home. I tried to imagine a warm blanket over my shoulders to keep the shivers from travelling down my spine from the air con which blasting through the vents. Laughter would resonate through the air, and we would all smile happily without a weight on the action, while we held onto the white Styrofoam containers.

The smell of Harry Clearwater's signature food sliced through the memory, and I opened my tearful eyes to stare at his unmoving form in the coffin. The mortician had put him in a suit, but someone had pulled some strings to allow his baseball cap to be resting on his head, the rim pulled over his eyes.

A sob choked its way through the air, and a majority of the audience fell into silence as Seth Clearwater bowed his head into my chest, gripping my sleeve like I was a lifeline, and finally cried for the first time since he'd been told the news.

I cradled his head in my arms and kissed his hair, trembling slightly and soothing him with a voice as thick as the loss in the air.

When the event ended, and everyone had left except for a few people, I finally stood. Stretching my stiff legs, I walked to the exist and shrugged on a thin coat, which I'd brought to shield myself from the cold rain outside. The scent of petrichor permeating through the spring air was comforting, and smoothed out the tautness of my shoulders. The grey lighting and the green forest was an easy view to behold, familiar and calm. The walk back home was melancholy, and uneventful.

The key ground into the lock without error, and I shuffled inside without bothering to shake the water from my coat. I slipped it off, letting the rain pool into my combat boots, placed carefully under the hooks in the front hallway. I rolled my shoulders, trying to allow warmth into my cold muscles.

And then I went upstairs to complete the task I'd been going through in my head all day. I treaded upstairs, walked into my room without shutting the door, and opened the top right drawer of my dresser. I sifted through the components of my dresser, pulled out a blank piece of paper and a envelope, and wrote:

Dear Mom.

I paused, my hand shaking hard from the cold, and set the pen down to hold my hands together and try to warm my freezing fingers. Against my hip, my phone buzzed.

Curiously, I pulled the device out and saw that I had at least seven different messages, a lot of them asked, "Have you seen the picture yet?" All of them were from different individuals.

My brow furrowed and I unlocked my phone, only to have the air in my lungs punched from my gut and a gasp leave my lips. I covered my mouth with my hand, and heard a soft movement behind me, as though weight had shifted on the floor. I turned around briefly, still in a daze, and upon seeing nothing I opened the photo file up to its full capability on the arguably small screen of my phone.

Bella's hair was distinguishable. Her long wavy locks starkly contrasted with the green around her with a mahogany hue only she could accomplish. Her pale skin could be seen as she reached up to the man in front of her, the beige sleeve of her coat slipping to reveal her wrist. She caressed his face, pulling him close and kissing him hard in the rain.

Kissing Embry, whose hands hovered mere inches from her sides.

I set the phone down hard, knowing it would lock after a few seconds, and sharply pulled up the silver pen, eager to etch my feelings into the page. I'd been wounded so deeply in the last couple days, I needed to bleed out in the spirit of my Mother's arms and pray that her memory would bring me back anew, taking my burden into the void.

I hovered the inked tip of my pen over the third line of the lined paper, my lip quivering harshly.

Dear Mom...

Dear Mom...

Dear Quil,

I know I don't say this enough, but you have never once let me down, and I am so appreciative for you. Just having someone to make me smile and laugh is a gift in my life I can never forget.

Dear Jacob,

I just want you to be happy. Whatever I can do to help, I wish you'd quit hiding it inside and come out and say it to me.

Dear Embry,

I'm sorry that I'll never be what you deserve. It's true, what Leah said about Jake. But it was only true in the beginning. The truth is that I love you more than I originally planned, more than I can control. Despite everything you could throw my way, I love you. I hope you are content with your life, no matter what path you choose, and I want to be a part of that somehow. No matter what role I play- whether it be your lover, or your friend, or your confidant. I want to see you be more than you believe you are, and stick with you to the bitter end.

A gloved hand clasped over my mouth and another firm grip wrenched my arm behind my back. I rolled my weight forward, straining away from the hold with a violence I never knew I had.

"HELP M-!" A solid rod cracked against the side of my skull, making me see white.

Despite the obstruction of my sight and balance, I threw my elbow out. The bone clashed with something solid, then sunk in deep, and a low groan blew out of the mans lungs as he lost his grip on me.

Without his support I wobbled and clutched onto the door frame beside me. I shook my head, hoping to make the world's tilt correct itself, and felt an icy cold breeze blow past my face.

My vision remained narrowed despite my surprise at the sugary sweet scent in the air. Everyone from the pack had known that, given the tragedy, today was a day that it was likely that the vampires which pushed back our dividing line may break through to make their move.

"Hello, sweet Angie."

I grasped my left forearm and traced the silvery bite mark with my fingertips. "Good evening, Laurent. And what exactly do you think you'll find here?"

His Cheshire grin beamed through the darkness like two dozen gleaming, steel blades. "Why, you of course!"

I laughed, pressing my fingertips to the wound on the side of my head, deep in my hair. There was a throbbing lump, which I'd expected, but when I examined the blood coating the digits of my right hand I wondered at how conscious I would be. And for how long. "You thought that your best strategy was the enter our land directly, so you are surrounded by the scent and the heat and the danger of your enemies, and that you would kidnap a girl from her house without incident. You must be very confident in your abilities."

"I'm confident in my strategy, yes. The cliffs next to your home give me ample opportunity for escape once I gather you."

Shrugging my shoulders, I brought his attention to my posture. "Hm. Maybe you're more right than I'd like to admit." I muttered, chewing on my lip and feeling my heart thunder in my chest. I turned my palms upward, a pleading look in my eyes.

His expression seemed to relax, and he almost looked sorry for me. Taking my words as an acceptance, I watched his frame blur into what I'd come to recognize as untraceable movement.

The wind of the room stiffened, became still, and I had his second of hesitation to raise my hand as though to slap him in the face as a last resort.

The pinpoint whirlwind was like a saw through his impenetrable skin. His head rolled on the floor, wide and surprised.

"Maybe you're more right than I'd like to admit," I repeated shakily, looking at the corpse as it slumped and rolled helplessly down the stairs, "But that's if you can gather me at all."

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