A/N All Twilight character's belong to Stephenie Meyer
I have to say I commend you guys..(those of you who still read & review) for sticking it out with me through thick and thin..I think it says a lot about you…and I know it's been depressing, and at times hard to read, but we've made it through the hardest part and things are gonna be on the up and up again…Part of me wishes Jake didn't have to die, hell, all of me wishes he didn't, but I think you have to do something at least once in your life that is trying...these might be Ms. Myers characters (and to me, really, they're just names, they feel more like my characters than the characters from the book and I feel like they are a part of me, so it was trying to write)…I will tell you this though, never freaking again…lol…I am never doing that/going there again. So to those who still read and review, thank you.
Part Three
"It's nothing but time and a face that you lose...I chose to feel it and you couldn't choose...Live through this, and you won't look back..."
You love through so much, live through so much - pain, heartache, despair, love, hate - and people always tell you that if it doesn't kill you, it'll make you stronger or that God wouldn't have given it to you if he didn't think you could handle it.
They are all wrong.
God was a cruel kid with an ant farm and a magnifying glass.
This won't make me stronger.
I can't handle this.
I don't want to.
I wanted my life, the way it was, back. I wanted this never ending pain to go away. I wanted to feel something, anything other than the ache that was my heart was being violently ripped out of my chest.
I wanted to set this house on fire and watch it, and all the happy memories that I'd never get back, burn.
I wanted to burn with it.
I wasn't religious, but that prayer about the footsteps in the sand came back to me suddenly and I wondered who would carry me now.
Chapter Twenty Eight
Bella
There was this line in Sylvia Plath's The Bell Jar, about silence. She wrote: the silence depressed me. It wasn't the silence of silence. It was my own silence.
For years, I would read that one line, my fingers skimming over the musty pages of the second chapter and I would wonder what in the hell the women meant by that; what did she mean the silence depressed her, and not the silence of silence, but her own silence. I could never figure out how a person could have silence.
Until now.
Now, I fully understood what Plath meant by the silence being depressing, and not the silence of silence, but my own silence. She meant the sudden silence of all the noises that made up the soundtrack to your life and how, when suddenly quieted, it could be depressing.
My house was usually so full of noise; Duke barking or the television playing cartoons or football, the radio, Avery and Jake laughing and playing. So many noises, all the time. They invaded my head and drove me nuts ninety nine percent of the time. Now I'd give anything to have that cacophony of noise back.
After the funeral, Sue and Charlie took Avery back to Forks, Leah went back to Spain - or was it France now? - and Seth went back to school and I was, once again, alone.
I moved through the empty rooms like a ghost, stopping to turn a photo face down, or pick up a Packers sweatshirt off the back of Jake's computer chair, raising the heavy material to my face and breathing in the lingering smell of him that still clung to the shirt's fibers.
Some days, I would sit in the kitchen waiting for him to come home, staring anxiously at the garage door, breathlessly waiting for the tell-tale rumble. Four o'clock would come and slowly pass and my hopes were dashed each and every time.
Another man entered my life; Jack Daniels that is, became my close friend and confidant. At first, the bitter burn of the whiskey would make me gag as I pressed my chapped and swollen lips to the glass lip of the bottle, but eventually it got better and soon the whiskey was like water. I could drink it and not feel the burn; then again remaining in a steady alcohol induced haze might have had something to do with that.
In my rare moments of clarity, I would travel just outside my idyllic suburban neighborhood to the liquor store around the corner to stock up.
Days melted together, one day becoming the next and the next becoming four days later. I didn't know if one week or one year passed since Jake died.
I woke up one night completely convinced I heard keys in the garage door. I vaulted off the couch and stumbled into the kitchen staring expectantly at the back door.
The door knob didn't jiggle, the door didn't open. Slowly, with my arm outstretched, I clenched the knob and wrenched it open, looking around.
Both cars were sitting in the garage, aside from that it was empty. The perpetual tears that seemed to always be leaking out of my eyes streamed down my face as I shut and locked the door; that was the night I sat in my studio and printed out every photo I had on my computer. It took six hours and seven printer cartridges, but when the printer finally spit out the last of the pictures, what I thought was a good idea suddenly seemed kind of stupid.
Sighing, I carried them back to the living room and sat on the floor, my back to the couch. I flipped through the first few, the images seemed to come alive in my hands. They were pictures of Jake and Avery on the beach, laughing as they dug a huge hole to China.
In the photos, Jake's shoulders heaved up and down as he laughed, his eyes crinkled in the way they always did when something made him happy. I dropped the pictures and slumped over, grabbing a throw pillow and hugging it to my chest.
I spent the night, or was it morning, with my back against the couch and a pillow curled against my chest. I wanted to die, prayed that I would. But, alas, I awoke several hours later, thirsty as a starving camel and in so much pain it hurt to even blink.
My new friend Jack brought me comfort and took away the pain and blinding thirst. I sat up and picked up my stack of pictures, deciding now was as good a time as any to continue my journey. I looked at each picture, inspecting it thoroughly before moving on to the next.
I would carry the pictures with me as I made my rounds, circuiting the rooms on the first floor. I would drop the pictures as I walked and soon I was surrounded by five years worth of photographs and memories. A photographic trail documenting every happy moment in my life; I wish someone would have photographed the sad moments, then maybe I wouldn't feel so damn miserable right now. It would be proof that those moments existed and that somehow I always managed to get over it; it would serve as proof that this too, I would get over.
But when I thought about it, getting over it, part of me didn't want to, part of me wanted to be miserable and spend the rest of my life sleeping on the couch because I couldn't go in my bedroom.
In the myriad of days that past since Jake's death I had yet to set foot in my room. That was the one place where we were one, not Jake and Bella, but us. Now that I had lost the us how could I go in there?
I walked by the door once. There was a noise upstairs and it scared me. I thought, foolishly so, that it was Jake, and quickly rushed up the stairs. The door was open, I tried to walk by with my eyes averted but it called to me, like gravity and I stopped, my eyes taking in the rumpled comforter and the soft baby blue curtains.
Smoky images, visions of scenes past, rose up from the dust and Jake appeared, his arm tucked behind his head, the chocolaty brown sheets tucked around his waist.
I gasped and jumped back, clutching my chest. It felt like someone just put their fist right through me and ripped my heart out.
I glanced back, not sure if I was drunker than I thought or maybe dreaming. Jake was lying there still; a sexy grin on his face, the light slanted across his perfect chest, the rays of sun catching the soft brown of his sparse chest hair, the sterling silver cornicello charm he wore sparkled in the early morning light.
I blinked, rubbing my eyes. When I opened them he was gone. I heard the water in the bathroom running. I took a step toward the bathroom then stopped abruptly as, what sounded like Your Guardian Angel echoed off the bathroom walls. Jake's voice rose about the music as he sang, "I'll be there for you through it all even if saving you sends me to heaven, it's okay."
I took a step back and pulled my hands through my hair, covering my ears. It's not real, it's not real, I chanted to myself, then I don't care if it's not real, I need to see him. I rushed into the bathroom only be find it empty.
The sound of giggling tugged at my ears. I whipped around. "Avery?" I said and rushed downstairs toward the kitchen. Jake's voice, and his phony Italian accent rose above Peter Cetera and the tell tale horns of Chicago. I smelled fettuccini alfredo, the zest herbs drifted in the air as Jake sang, "being without you takes a lot of getting used to, should learn to live with it, but I don't want to. Living without you, it's all a big mistake, Instead of getting easier; it's the hardest thing to take."
I grabbed my chest, tugging at my tee shirt, these songs, these memories, dear God how was I supposed to handle this. I screamed a shrill, bloodcurdling scream. It didn't help.
After that, I didn't go back upstairs, didn't go in my room, didn't do anything but look at pictures and drink like prohibition take two was right around the corner.
I cried so much, my tears had formed a small circular discoloration on the carpet. It was a small spot, barely there. Hell, I was so damn drunk it might not have been there at all.
Tonight, I laid on the floor, the radios in the kitchen and family room were on, each one playing a different song, the television as well was turned on, re-runs of The Jetson's were on at the moment, and the noise was maddening. It did little to chase away my own personal silence.
While I laid there I prayed to a god that didn't exist. I prayed for death, or numbness; whichever would come first, and quicker, right now I didn't really care. I couldn't live like this. Who was I trying to kid? I couldn't live at all without Jake.
I reached out, fingers moving over the carpet, slowly searching until they felt the glassine bottle of whiskey. It was cool and heavy under my weak fingers. I wanted - no needed - it, but I didn't have the strength or the will to even try.
In the kitchen, the phone rang. It startled me and I gasped. The phone rang again, then three more times. There was a click and suddenly Jake's voice floated out of the old school answering machine.
"Hey you've reached Jake and Bella and a little monster named Avery. We aren't home at the moment, but if you leave us an interesting enough message at the beep we'll seriously think about calling you back."
The icy fist ripped my heart out once again as the machine beeped. A female voice poured out. I didn't know who it was but I hated her for calling and making me live through that. The phone rang again, my heart clutched as Jake's voiced filled the room once more.
I had a flash of Hillary Swank in P.S. I Love You lying in bed and dialing Gerry's cell phone just to hear his voice one more time. Either her character was a masochist or she possessed some secret talent someone had forgotten to tell me about.
The answering machine clicked off, and for the third time in five minutes, Jake's voice poured out. Blood pounded in my ears as depression rapidly turned to simmering anger. Before I knew it, I was heaving myself off the floor and storming into the kitchen, hell bent on murdering the asshole who kept calling or the phone. Which I had yet to decide.
I yanked the phone off the base and screamed, "What?"
"I - uh, um, I'm sorry, is Jake there?" a nervous male voice asked.
"He's dead," I snarled, "Now stop fucking calling me!"
The man gasped audible and quickly apologized.
I looked down at the phone in my hand, then hurled it across the kitchen. It hit the far wall, leaving a fair sized dent before clattering to the floor, its pieces flying everywhere.
My chest heaved in angry satisfaction, but the beast within wanted, no craved, more destruction. I turned my rage to the answering machine still tethered to the wall. An inhuman howl escaped my chapped lips and I tore the cord from the wall and hurled the answering machine across the kitchen.
It left a bigger dent in the wall and broke into more pieces than the phone. I inhaled a ragged breath and surveyed the destruction. The room swayed, the floor dipped up to meet me as my knees buckled and I collapsed, drained.
Beside my head was a photo I'd taken of Jake. He was pale and bald, sick from cancer and chemo, but a happy smile was pasted on his face. Avery was sitting in his lap, putting something into his shirt pocket.
I remember this picture, when I asked Avery what he was putting in Jake's pocket, he said, "kisses."
The memory brought tears to my eyes and I reached for the photo, clutching it to my chest as sobs wracked my body.
Duke, aroused by the chaos, trotted cautiously into the kitchen. He sniffed at the mess and decided it was less important than his sobbing master crying on the floor.
His toe nails clicked on the floor as he walked toward me. His wet nose prodded my ear and a slobbery tongue lapped at the tears. I sat up and wrapped my arms around the dog's furry neck.
Duke sat calmly before me, a port in the storm, and I was grateful for that age old doggy wisdom that accredited them as woman's best friend.
The noise of the radio and television, my own personal silence bear down on my ears, buzzing and shrieking. Out of all the noises, all the silences – the loudest one was the empty space where Jake used to be.
I felt my heart breaking again. How it could break anymore I didn't know. It was in pieces as it was; I guess my pieces had pieces now as well.
That thought saddened me more than anything. I tipped my head back and let loose and inhuman howl; grief herself, personified. I cried myself hoarse, then collapsed onto the kitchen floor.
Duke never left my side. He lay there, whimpering along with me as I cried. How long we laid there, dog and human, I don't know. Eventually my tears dried up, my body too dehydrated to produce more, and the sobs quieted.
I reached out for Jake, but found more pictures instead. I pulled it toward me and forced myself to look at it, tearless sobs wracking my body. It was a happy picture, a pre-cancer picture.
Jake, Charlie and Avery's smiling faces stared back at me, the azure sky punctuated by fat white clouds. Charlie had his arm around Jake, who was holding Avery, the three of them smiling mischievously. They all looked like they were up to no good. It was one of my favorite pictures.
My throat closed as I pressed the picture to my chest. "Jake," I croaked before the dry sobs took my words.
Jake was my everything, my whole world and now I was alone, so utterly alone. How was I supposed to do this? I could barely breathe, barely remember, scratch that, could barely find the will to even shower. How was I supposed to do the millions of other things I would have to do on a daily basis to survive?
Maybe I could just lay here, just lay here and forget the world outside, just let it go on without me. Charlie and Sue could take care of Avery. He would be okay with them.
No, a glimmer of my former self argued, remember how you felt after your mom and Phil died and you were shipped off to live with Charlie and Sue. Are you really going to force that fate upon your son?
No, I wanted to sob, but I don't know any other way.
Where there's a will, there's a way, the old me said. You just have to find it.
I closed my eyes and wondered where the hell you found the will to live when all you loved was lost. How do you pick up the pieces and carry on?
Well first, take care of that thing that's digging into your leg, the old me said.
My mind registered the discomfort, but really didn't. I walked around in a perpetual state of discomfort. But unlike my other discomfort, my other pain, this was one I could do something about.
I shifted my weight off my left leg, wondering what the hell was causing me pain. My fingers travelled along my side, sliding until they moved over the bulge in my pocket. It seemed like no matter what I did, I couldn't get away from technology and yet that same annoyingly persistent technology couldn't save my husband's life.
I pulled the phone out of my pocket and stared at it, wondering how it even got in my pocket to begin with.I set it down on the floor in front of me. Who could I call? Who could help me?
There was one person who would come. All I had to do was wave the technological white flag, all I had to do was dial the number and he would come. I could do that, couldn't I?
As if moving under their own accord, my fingers picked up the phone and opened it, finding the number - another anomaly, I had no clue how his number got in there. Hell I had no idea it was even there. But it was, Jake, I figured, who had put it in there for an occasion such as this.
I didn't let myself think as I pressed the send button, I couldn't allow myself the chance to second guess this decision. My hand shook as I pressed the phone to my ear.
"I know I said I didn't want anything from you," I sobbed, "But I think I need you now." My voice hitched on the last word, knuckles white as I clutched the phone tightly. Nerves rioted in my stomach as I waited for his reply.
"I'm coming," he said. There was no hesitation, no anger, only worry. He asked no questions other than where I was and if he could reach me at this number. I heard him repeat it, the steady scratch of a pen on paper.
"I'll be there as soon as I can." And with that he was gone. The phone dropped from my fingers, clattering against the floor. I left it and went back to the living room where the blessed bottle of whiskey was waiting. I unscrewed the cap and took a long greedy swallow, draining the bottle.
Exhaustion washed over me as I set the empty bottle down on the floor beside me. I grabbed a handful of pictures, pressing them to my chest, I shut my eyes and let the darkness wash over me.
* * *
Through the haze of liquor, depression, and exhaustion I saw a light. It was a bright circular light, yellowish orange and secretly comforting. I moved toward the light, someone there called my name.
The voice was familiar, like coming home after being away for a really long time. The light was warm, I was just outside of it; the voice called my name again. My eye lids fluttered, I opened them, blinking against the light. My heart leapt into my throat as my sleep encrusted eyes travelled over the shadowy figure in front of me.
"Jake!" I called out excitedly.
Then my vision came into focus and a face that did not belong to Jake was staring back at me.
"I've been called worse," the voice said.
Tears filled my eyes, the face becoming distorted. Arms wrapped around me; familiar in the I've-felt-this-in-the-past-but-these-are-not-the-arms-I-really-want kind of way. The familiar yet different arms pulled me close to a cotton covered chest. I grabbed two handfuls of t-shirt and sobbed into it.
"It's okay Bella," Embry soothed. He ran a hand over my matted and greasy hair, repeating his mantra over and over again.
I sobbed harder because everyone said it was going to be okay, but it wasn't. Hell it probably wouldn't ever be okay again. Embry picked me up and sat down on the couch, cradling me in his lap. His arms banded around me, swaddling me against his chest like an upset newborn baby.
I sobbed and then sucked in a ragged breath, the scent of his cologne invaded my head, so different from what I was used to. His was more expensive, more...unnatural than Jake's smell had been. Jake smelled like a thunderstorm and home, Embry smelled like an Abercrombie and Fitch model. It wasn't bad, it was just...different.
He tightened his arms around me, my sobs quieted, replaced by an occasional hiccup. My eyelids drooped. I fought against the tide of sleep, not wanting to return to that place of happiness and light, but the tide was strong and, like the undertow, the more I fought it, the harder it pulled - and won.
* * *
I felt like I was lying on a cloud. It was soft and fluffy, my body was sinking into the material beneath me and this time, as I surfaced towards consciousness, there was no warming light, no tender voice calling my name.
I stifled a yawn and slowly opened my eyes. The rich mocha and smoky blue comforter greeted my vision. Fearful, I looked around and gasped. I was lying in the middle of my bed, in my room. Thankfully, no half-naked Jake lay beside me. I crab crawled backwards out of bed, falling. I smacked my head. It pounded painfully as I lay there staring up at the crown molding designs on the ceiling. Heavy footsteps thundered across the polished wood floor.
"Bella?" Embry's face came into view from just behind me. He looked down at me, his slightly curly brown hair falling into his face.
I stared back at him, confused. Was it all a dream? I wondered. Did I marry Embry, not Jake?
"What's going on?" I asked.
"How hard did you hit your head?" he replied.
I automatically reached up and rubbed the back of my head, a small goose egg had already risen and it was tender to the touch.
"Jake?" I said, looking around.
Tell me it was a dream, I silently begged. Look at me and tell me I was dreaming, that you're my husband and that Jake is alive and healthy. Tell me anything besides the truth.
Embry's eyes changed. They softened sadly and I knew instinctively it wasn't a dream. Damn it, when the hell would that stop happening? When would my broken mind accept the fact that he was really gone?
"Why am I in here?" I asked.
Embry looked around confused. "This is your room right?"
I looked around, waiting for Jake to pop up. Waiting for him to come out of the bathroom with one of the mint green towels wrapped around his waist.
"You needed to sleep, I brought you in here. I thought, I mean, I thought this would be the best place for you to sleep."
"No," I said scrambling to my feet. "I can't sleep in here."
I bolted out of the room and went down to the living room. I sought refuge on the couch, curling up into a ball in the far end, tucking myself neatly into the corner.
Embry's footsteps echoed down the stairs. The silence was back. I noticed the radios and television were off. I guess he did that. Embry's tall frame filled the living room arch. He sighed when he saw me and crossed the room, sitting on the opposite end of the couch.
"I can't sleep in my room," I whispered.
"Why not?"
"I just...I just can't." If I told him the truth, that Jake's memory haunted me in there, he'd probably think I was nuts and have me committed.
"Bella," he said softly. "You're going to have to sleep in there eventually. You can't sleep on the couch for the rest of your life."
I snorted softly. "Oh yeah? Just watch me."
Embry sighed. "I'm not going to fight with you."
I didn't say anything. I wrapped my arms around my knees and pulled them tighter to my chest, finally able to breathe. I exhaled and felt my head clear, the blinding dizziness rushed away and I felt like I was floating. It felt nice and empty.
Embry stood; he turned and looked down at me. I gazed back at him and in that split second I wished I could go back and take it all away, travel back in time and warn my former self of the misery and heartache that lay ahead. I wondered if I'd do it differently if I had the chance.
"What are you thinking about?" he asked, his eyebrows knitted together, his eyes puzzled.
"The past," I said softly.
"What about it?" The puzzlement left, a hard edge tightened the corners of his eyes.
"It's not important," I whispered.
"No, I want to know," he pressed.
I took a deep breath and said, "I wished I could go back to when it was me and you and movies and songs. I wish I could back to high school, when things were easy, when you wrote me songs and I'd lie on your bed and ponder the meaning of the man with the red umbrella."
Embry sighed. "Wouldn't that be nice," he murmured.
"It would. We wouldn't be here right now."
"Or maybe we would," he shrugged.
"Maybe," I concurred.
There was a moment of silence, the air changed; it crackled with anticipatory static as if something was supposed to happen. We stared at each other for a second, the Embry cleared his throat and the moment passed.
"When's the last time you ate?" he asked.
I released my legs and slowly sat up, thinking back to when I last ate. Finally I shrugged. "I don't know," I admitted. "Food hasn't exactly been at the forefront of my mind."
"You need to eat," he commanded, then, "And you need to stop drinking. There are no answers - or acceptance - at the bottom of that whiskey bottle. Trust me. I know."
"I don't want answers. Or acceptance. I want to stop feeling. I want to be numb again. I don't want to remember. I don't want to remember Jake, don't want to remember he even existed. I drink so I can forget. I don't want to ever feel like this again." My voice cracked on the last part and those god damn tears made a return appearance. I viciously wiped them away and wiped my nose with the sleeve of my shirt. "I can't do this," I sobbed.
"Can't do what Bella?"
"Live," I whispered. "I can't keep living without Jake. How do I keep living now that he's gone?"
"You find a new reason to live. I think Avery's a pretty good reason to keep going. Where is he?"
"Forks," I said. "I couldn't let him see me like this."
"Bella," Embry said, crossing back towards the sofa he knelt in front of it, took my hand in his. "Why am I here?"
"I didn't know who else to call," I admitted. "And after what you said in the cemetery, I just, well, I thought maybe you could help me. You were always the one to help me before...I just...thought..."
"That I'd come rushing to your rescue." He stated it and I saw the tiny flecks of hurt in his eyes.
I shook my head, no then yes, then no again. "I'm sorry," I said. "You should probably go."
"No," he said firmly. "You asked for my help...so, here I am."
"Thank you," I said squeezing his hand.
"Don't thank me yet. You're gonna have to stop drinking; you're gonnna have to remember. If you lock it all away you'll end up like me; bitter as hell. You need to feel this or else your never gonna get over it. It'll be that one thing you carry with you everywhere you go. And after carrying it so long it's gonna get to heavy for you to carry and you're going to break. It'll never get easier, if you don't fight through the pain, it'll get harder and you owe Avery more than that. You have to get better for him, remember how you felt after you moved to Forks? Remember how you lost and mad and confused you were? Do you want Avery going through that?"
I shook my head no. "Of course not, but Jesus Embry, this is so hard and it hurts so bad."
He ran a thumb over the back of my hand. "I know it does, and I wish I could make it go away, but I can't." Embry cupped my face in the palms of his hands. "Whatever I can do to help, all you have to do is ask."
He stood and walked away. I stared after him as he went into the kitchen. A few seconds later the radio turned on and Embry started singing along. His rich, baritone voice floated into the living room, tugging at my heart strings.
I hated this song for so many years. It was like being punched in the stomach. So many songs were like being punched in the stomach, mostly because they reminded me of Embry. Just like this one.
The living room blurred, it melted into a scene from so long ago - a bar, a local band that made it big with their first hit then landed in rehab before the release of their second, a boy and a girl, so young and naïve that they thought everything was going to work out perfectly for them no matter what.
In the kitchen Embry stopped singing; in the living room the boy stopped singing. I watched as he grabbed the girl, a girl I no longer recognized, and turned her so she was facing him. Embry looked down at the girl.
He smiled at her, the love in his eyes was apparent, she smiled back at him. "This is how I feel about you Bella," the boy said, "Everything he says in this song is everything I feel about you. I would be the one to carry you when you felt like you couldn't go on, I'd be anything you wanted me to be, as long as it meant being able to be there for you. I'll always be there for you, no matter what. If you ever need me all you have to do is call and I'll be there."
I wanted to die all over again. I wanted to go back and change the past. I started to cry all over again. Embry rushed back into the living room. "Bella what's wrong?" He pulled me toward him. "I'm so sorry," I cried into his chest.
"Bella," he soothed.
"No, I'm such a bad person. Look what I put you through, look what I did to you, and now you're here."
"It's the past," he said. "It's done and over with and it can't be changed, so move forward. Just keep moving forward."
* * *
Embry was a blessing disguised as a football player. He stayed with me, he made me stop drinking and start eating. The day after he showed up he took me into the kitchen and made me sit at the island.
"You need to eat," he said. "What do you want?"
"I'm not hungry," I said automatically.
"Bella," he said and looked at me, "You need to eat. Your too damn skinny, and not in a good way."
"I'm not hungry," I said again.
Embry scowled at me. "Damn it woman, you're gonna eat even if I have to shove it down your throat."
He made me scrambled eggs and toast, the smell of which made me want to throw up, especially when he set the plate down in front of me. "Eat," he commanded.
The steam that rose off the plate, the buttery toast, it all made me want to be sick. I stared at the plate.
"Eat it," Embry ordered.
I picked up the toast and nibbled at the crust. I'd eaten the corner and set the slice of toast down and looked at him expectantly. "Happy?"
"Bella, you barely at anything. Eat the damn toast."
I gave in then spent the morning throwing it up. Embry sat outside the bathroom frowning every time I opened the door.
"I'm sorry," I said.
He shrugged and stood up. "It'll get better. Just takes time."
"Time is relative," I murmured. "Everybody always thinks they have time. Time is a tricky son of a bitch."
"Tell me about it," Embry muttered.
Time is a thief, a masked bandit that sneaks in whilst you sleep; and you never, ever, have enough time.
Reviews are better than Embry to the rescue...
Real quick..I know you're probably slightly confused with embry's random mood swings...there is a reason for that, it might not be the best explanation in the world but after four hours of googling and chatting with my psychologist cousin its what he said would be the best explanation...you'll find that out next chapter. Also...I have never lost my husband..or experienced anything that difficult..yes I lost my friend, but at then end of the day he was just a friend so I wasn't really sure how to write her grief and pain and her experience down this dark path...so yes, Bella's behavior may be slightly dramatic or over-rated but in this situation, but at the end of the day this is how I saw her reacting...so..until next time ;)
Your Ex-Lover is Dead - Stars
Need You Now - Lady Antebellum
SylviaPlath quote taken from Chapter Two of The Bell Jar
