Worst. Dinner. Ever.
At some point, I manage to get a grip on my rapidly fraying sanity and put the lunacy in check. Jake shoves me back in my chair, none too gently, of course, and hands me a beer. Bella flits around in the kitchen for a few minutes before setting a big bowl of some kind of stew in front of me. And then they just watch me eat it.
I feel like an ass. Not that the feeling's new, mind you, but this is so not how I saw things going. I was supposed to come over here and explain everything, and she was supposed to forgive me or spit in my face or say at least something in response. She was not supposed to pull me back from the brink of complete mania and then feed me. And then I was supposed to go back to Mom and Dad's and try to make amends with the family I pushed away. Instead, I'm sitting here in front of a now empty bowl, gripping my beer bottle like it holds the key to life, while Bella and Jake stare holes in me.
"I'm sorry," I say, but it comes out more like I'm choking on sandpaper, so I try again. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to impose and ruin your evening."
Jake coughs to hide a chuckle, and embarrassment heats my face.
"I'll just go," I offer, getting up to put my dish in the sink. I feel like I should wash it, knowing there's never been a dishwasher in this house and hating the idea of forcing Bella to clean up after me. But I don't think I can stay here anymore without going insane, and I'm sure she's more than ready for me to leave. So I set the bowl in the sink and walk to the door.
"Um…thanks for the food," I say lamely. "And I'm…I'm just sorry."
She's standing next to the table, watching me like she's expecting something. But I don't have anything else to give.
"I'll see you around," I mumble.
