Chapter Song - The Wisp Sings by Winter Aid
Let me sleep,
I am tired of my grief.
And I would like you
To love me, to love me, to love me.
It was nearing one in the morning when I reached Forks, passing the welcome sign as rain spit against the window, drenching every ounce of the town. I craned my neck, rubbing with my fingers to relieve the stiffness, but the restlessness was settling in my bones. I spent the four-hour drive in silence, watching trees pass by, the sun setting as the moon rose high, lighting the way. Unanswered questions overran my brain, the unknown leaving me apprehensive.
Did he know I was on the way? Was he nervous? Thankful? Was he even alive? The hurried thought brought a quiet sob to my lips, my hand lifting to hush the sound. I struggled, battling the anxiety that held me hostage, increasing by tenfold as I entered downtown Forks, getting closer to the hospital.
I thought back to when I last saw Charlie, the look on his face as the truth unveiled itself, the way he watched me leave, with no intent on coming back. I packed my bags and walked out the front door, seeing his silhouette in the window as he watched me go. I had no longer listened to reason or tried to digest the motives of why he did what he did; all I knew, all I cared about was that he had lied. And he lied for months. The hurt that washed over me was far more powerful than anything I have ever felt apart from my mother's passing.
And he wasn't the only one.
Masen's was still open, the sign lit up against the inky black night, but I kept my eyes forward, willing myself not to look. Because if I did, I'd look above, hoping for a light to cascade through the industrial windows, to tell me he was still there. And if he was, I would stop. I would have walked right in, up the stairs to find him in the kitchen, or on his couch, maybe even at the end of his bed, as if he had been waiting for me this whole time. I slowed, but did not stop, pushing past the building as tears sprung to my eyes. I couldn't cloud my thoughts on him, not when Charlie needed me. And for all I knew, he could have left, gone to San Francisco on his own, even though that had been our plan.
The thought made me sick, but like me, the memories here were too painful. Leaving them behind seemed to be the only way forward.
It was only moments later I arrived at the hospital, finding a space in the empty lot and shifting the car into park. The neon light of the sign reflected against my pale skin, making it glow. I was paralyzed, unable to find the courage to move my legs. The window of the car was cracked open and from the forest that surrounded the building, sounds of critters and insects composed a symphony-like song, a cool breeze wafting in, causing my skin to pebble. I looked down at my hand as it rests on top of the latch, trembling with nerves as my right hand came to cover it, helping until I heard a pop. The door opened, and slowly, I unbuckled, stepping out.
Hesitantly, I moved, clutching my arms together, crossing over my chest as I faltered just outside the glass door. I read the sign of the hospital almost ten times, moving out of the way as someone exited, their eyes resting on me for just a moment until they moved on.
Get a grip on yourself, Bella.
With one, hearty breath, I stepped forward. The doors slid open, allowing me access as I entered, the sounds of the outside disappearing, the news playing on the TV in the corner for the few people who sat in the waiting room. Nails clicked against a keyboard as I moved closer to the front desk, an older woman looking up at me behind her glasses.
"I'm here to see Charlie Swan; he was admitted the other night," I said, my voice cracking just at the end as I cleared my throat.
"Relation?" She asked.
"Daughter."
"Bella," I turned to see Carlisle walking around the desk with a colleague. Quietly, he said something under his breath, and the unknown doctor nodded to him in acknowledgment, briefly glancing at me as he turned, heading in the opposite direction.
Carlisle was warm, despite being dressed in all white, his smile made him human, his bright blue eyes catching the fluorescent lighting, making them sparkle. My lips twitched, but I didn't smile, finding no energy to do as he reached me, clasping his hands on my shoulders before pulling me into a hug. I reached one arm up, the comfort he emitted thawing me as he held on tightly, as if he knew I needed it. When he pulled away, he didn't lose his smile, but I could sense the despondency behind it, as if he had no good news to give me.
"Is he…?"
"He's awake," He nodded as I felt a breath of relief leave me. "I had Dr. Reynolds go check on him. I didn't tell him you were coming."
I looked at him with surprise but quickly tilted my chin, chewing on my chapped bottom lip. "What can I expect?"
"He's lost a significant amount of weight, so that may be a little jarring when you see him. His skin is jaundiced, and he has a lot of wires attached to him," He said as I felt my stomach churn. "But, the good news is that he is coherent. He may speak a little slower, but he is very aware of what is going on around him."
"Did you not expect him to be?"
"Someone who refuses treatment, such as dialysis, can suffer symptoms such as disorientation and confusion. How remarkable that Charlie, out of the odds, can keep his wit and mind about him," Carlisle laughed as I stayed motionless, picking at the hem of my shirt. Carlisle, sensing my uneasiness, set him palm back onto my shoulder, saying my name to gain my attention. "I know this is hard. And I want you to know that since you've been gone, he's brought you up in conversation almost every day."
Carlisle had struck a chord, but I held in my reaction. Taking in a staggering breath, I looked down, exhaling in with a soft cry just before shaking my head, willing myself to find the strength I wasn't sure I had.
"You are doing the right thing, Bella."
I nodded, feeling the tightness in my stomach as Carlisle walked me down the hallway. He stopped a few rooms down, indicating where Charlie was staying, leaving me to walk the rest of the way on my own. My steps were only inches apart, my nerves getting the best of me as I moved closer to the open doorway, hearing the sports channel blaring from the hall.
Nothing had prepared me for this.
Not even Carlisle's warning.
This time, I did audibly gasp, my hands clutching the doorframe as I looked at a man who was almost unrecognizable. His cheeks were sunken in, the bones defined by shadows as the color under his eyes faded from purple to blue. He was in a gown, the blanket bunched to his chest as his arms were dangerously thin, his wrist bones protruding from his yellow skin. The amount of weight he had lost was overwhelming; every part of him changed, as if he were a completely different person. He was small, fragile, a shell of the man I had left back in November and the sight of him broke me.
He was dying.
And I knew it. I had known it since Carlisle had told me, but seeing him like this … It was real. This was real. And there was nothing I could do to help him.
I tried to control myself, holding in my breath as if not to cry, but it escaped my lips in a staggered hiss, Charlie's eyes flying open, glassy and red, a look of shock coming over him as he watched me in the doorway. He went to move, as if to lift himself to get a better view because like me, he couldn't believe what he was seeing. But he was too weak, his body halting and freezing and he fell back into the bed, his mouth slacked open as if he tried to say words that wouldn't leave his tongue.
I held in my tears, holding them back as I moved in the direction of the bed, pausing at the end of it, unsure if I should or even wanted to continue. He had plastic tubes and wires all around him, ones that even circled his head, entering his nose. The closer I reached, the more it revealed, and it was heartbreaking.
I had once thought he was invincible. That no matter how much he put in his body, it never seemed to cripple him. How fragile he looked now and how wrong I had been then.
Charlie's expression settled, as if the shock had worn off and he decided that it was true, I was really here standing in front of him. His body began to relax, his mustache twitching as he closed his eyes, his lips turning upwards into the smirk I had seen so many times before.
"You're… here." His voice was low, graveled, but I could hear his amusement. "I can't believe you came back."
"Carlisle called," I answered.
"Ironic, huh?" He asked as my brow arched as if I didn't understand. He lifted his arms, tubes, and wires moving with him. "You were a pain in my … ass, but you saw this coming." He chuckled, it leaving his nose in a breath as I remained still.
"You should listen to me more."
"Your hair is longer." He changed the subject as I looked down to my shoulders, and with my pointer finger and thumb, I grabbed ahold of a lock before glancing back to him.
"I haven't cut it since I've left," I said, dropping the strand. Charlie nodded, looking as if he wanted to say something, but thought better of it. I turned, grabbing the chair in the corner and sliding it to the edge of the bed to sit. Eye-level with him now, I could see the faults in his skin, how his deteriorating health had aged him by years. His peppered hair was slicked back, the wrinkles in his skin hanging off his bones, dark spots decorating and contrasting against the yellow.
It was painful to see.
"I told Carlisle not … to call you," His words were cut with deep breaths, his inhale shaky as if he were too weak even to breathe. "Should have known he wouldn't have … listened." He turned to stare at the ceiling, just before letting out a gruff laugh that made him wince in pain, it evolving into a fit of coughs, his bottom lip quivering. I helped him with his water, reaching over to hand him his cup before settling back down, watching as he took a large chug. He coughed into the cup, and I noticed through the white cardboard, it had stained red from blood, my breath seizing in my throat. I shifted in my seat, crossing one leg over the other as I rested my forearms on top of it, willing myself not to cry as he set his cup back down with a shaky hand, his body relaxing.
"I wasn't going to come. I just started a job, and I wasn't sure if I was ready to face you."
His chin tilted as if he was nodding. "What job?" He asked, ignoring my last comment.
"At a publishing company, I read over manuscripts and edits." I said, his eyebrows raised in curiosity.
"Publishing?"
"That's what I went to school for; you know that," I told him as his eyes began to squint, the crow's feet in the corners becoming more prominent as he tried to remember. I had spoken to him about this before, Carlisle had even mentioned that Charlie had brought up my schooling in conversation. But, he had also said that with liver disease, those could also suffer from confusion and memory loss, so I didn't take it personally. I inhaled sharply, smoothing down my shirt before looking to him. "How are you feeling?"
Charlie laughed, as much as he could, before letting out a soft groan indicating pain. His hand lifted as if he knew I was going to stand to help. He grumbled under his breath, assuring me he was fine before he relaxed back into the pillows, his dark eyes swiveling to mine as a small smirk played at the corner of his lips. "I could go for a shot of … whiskey."
"That's not funny." I deadpanned as the smile widened, a smile I had seen before. He was still the same Charlie, making light of a horrible situation, and I couldn't help but feel the room become lighter. Despite the tension, I tried to hide my smile, the moment almost releasing and relaxing. And for the first time in a very long time, we were laughing together. His were quiet, as if not to send himself in another coughing fit as I leaned back into my seat, rubbing at my eyes as I shook my head.
"I didn't think this would happen so soon," I admitted openly, watching his wiry mustache twitch.
"But you knew it would … happen." He nodded, pointing a finger towards me, the lightness being sucked back out of the room. His smile still played on the corner of his lips, as if he enjoyed the moment just as much as I did, but reality had begun to set in, the beeping from the machines just to the side of him sounding off in a rhythm.
"Yes." I answered.
"Too smart for your damn good. Just like when … you were a kid." I could see his smile turn sad, `but he quickly masked it. I lifted my chin from my hands, turning to the window as rain dripped down the glass. A kid. It had seemed like a lifetime ago the three of us lived here in Forks together. For so long, I was clouded by the bad memories. Taking care of my parents at the tender age of five, making sure they didn't kill themselves when all I wanted was to be held by them, be a family. I didn't deserve that childhood, but I knew it wasn't all unkind.
"On my way here, I was thinking about the trip we went on when I was, I think, seven?" I trailed off in question, trying to take myself back to the memory. "We went camping, even though mom hated it."
"It was her idea." He voiced.
"It was?"
"It was the only thing we could … afford. And she wanted to do something together."
"You guys were trying to stay sober."
"Tried."
"It was the thought that counted," I admitted, picking at the loose threads of the thin hospital sheet under my arms. I could hear his breathing, it rasped with every inhale, his eyes watching me as my head tilted in my palm, looking to him. "I remember you and I taking a canoe to the island across the water." I smiled at the memory, his lips reflecting it with a deep chuckle.
"I don't think we made it, did we?" He asked, trying to remember.
"No, I got sick, threw up over the side and in the water."
"That's right." He laughed under his breath.
"When we got back, Mom had finished dinner, burnt hamburgers," My tongue stuck out at the thought, and Charlie snorted, nodding his head.
"She was a shitty cook."
"She didn't get any better with time," I snorted. "I remember the three of us making s'mores and then catching fireflies with her in the field."
"You never … wanted to keep them," His last word left in a breath, wheezing out from his lips.
"It didn't seem right." Most kids would keep them in jars, a few holes punctured at the top, watching in fascination as they lit-up until they died. It was a morbid thought to me. Having them in my hands, watching as they illuminated my skin, was enough to keep me happy.
"Big heart, like your … mother."
"After you put out the campfire, we sat in the bed of the pick-up and watched the stars. You taught me some constellations, and you and Mom argued over big and little dipper, which was which," I waved, watching the corner of his lips that still showed a smile, but my trailing voice indicated that while I was fond of the memory, it was just that. A memory. "I remember thinking … This must be what it is like to have a normal family."
Charlie was still for a moment, his sight unwavering as a muscle twitched in his bottom lip twitched, a grimace appearing at the once happy memory tainted with the realization that it would never happen again. "Nothing normal about us." He admitted.
"I wanted to be normal," I said, catching his sight. "Mom and I woke up the next morning, and you were gone. You left us to go get liquor. We didn't see you for three days," My point was not to be accusatory, but Charlie had looked down, his face pained at the recollection.
"That was our normal. And if it wasn't you, it was her. When things got bad, I would think of that trip, and I would wish we could go back to it because …" I stopped, my words caught in my throat as I tried to swallow the pain, looking away to shield myself from him to hide my reaction. "… Because that was as close to a normal family as I would get."
"We'd be … boring as hell." Charlie argued.
"We'd be happy."
"You don't know that." He began. "Sure, we may not have been raging … drunks but we could have been too boring for our own good. So boring, we'd have no … stories to tell. And because of the whiskey, we have a lot of them." He was being funny, his smile shining as I scrunched my nose.
"That's not funny." I repeated, hiding my laughter behind the fabric of my sleeve. Charlie shook his head, but still kept his eyes on me. Silence hung around, the moment disappearing as we watched each other.
"Who cares about normal, Bella. Sure … we were fucked up. But we can't change what happened. No point on dwelling on it."
"You don't think about that?" I asked. "How it could have been different?"
"I'm lying on my death bed … peeing out of a tube, of course I thought about. But it doesn't matter."
He was being funny, trying to avoid allowing himself to feel something. Charlie didn't handle sadness well. Or regret. Or even anger. The moment he felt, he would drown it, extinguish it, and kill it with his poison. But now, he didn't have the whiskey to hide behind. He had no choice but to feel. He tried to mask it, cover it with his sarcasm but even that wasn't working. I could feel his uneasiness, but I wouldn't allow his insecurities to dictate what I needed to say. I wouldn't allow our last words to be superficial, dancing around the real issue at hand because he couldn't handle it. No… He would listen. He would feel with me. I was going to make sure of it.
"Why didn't you listen to me?" My voice was broken, just above a whisper as he looked away, blinking up at the ceiling as if he wished he was anywhere but here.
"I did." He was quiet, but I scowled at him.
"You didn't do anything about it."
"I'm an alcoholic. And you are no … miracle worker," His fingers were clenched in his sheets, his knuckles turning from yellow to white as I watched him swallow. His eyes closed, and I could see his lips moving, as if he were contemplating something. The silence became deafening and just as I went to carry on the conversation, he spoke. "I'm sorry I disappointed you."
Charlie rarely apologized.
I would never forget this, I was sure of it.
"I'm sorry, I couldn't help you more." I confessed, his eyes shooting open and then turning to me. He made a noise under his breath, between a chuckle and a gruff as his head laid back down against the pillow, the moment turning light.
"Look at us. Quite a pair." His head lolled back to me just as I tilted up, our eyes connecting. He had a smile, but it was weak, almost indifferent, the pain of our past communicating by just a simple look. I leaned forward, resting my elbows at the edge of the bed as I looked at him, resting my chin against my fingers.
Quite a pair. We were damaged, dysfunctional from our traumas, but that's what made us similar. They were different battles we faced, but the pain was the same. I tried so hard thinking of all the ways we were different; I never stopped to think of all the ways we were the same. I was a product of my father, more so than my mother. Recluse and a loner, we put up walls to shield ourselves. We didn't let anyone in, not without a fight, because there was a hidden fear that if we were too open, it would come back and hurt us. My mother was quite the opposite, eccentric and brave; I could never be her.
No, I was my father's daughter. And we had been in pain for too long. It was now or never.
"I found the letters," The words came out before I could process them. They were a whisper, but the room was so quiet, I knew he had heard me. Charlie stayed stoic, his grip lessening on his sheets, letting them go. "Did you know she hid them from me?"
Recognition fell over him, and he turned, his eyes studying every part of my face. Maybe, he felt it too … Saw our similarities. I was sure he would try to avoid having this conversation, but instead, he nodded his head.
"That's why I came back."
"You shouldn't have. There's … nothing here for you." His voice was coarse again, defensive. As if he were angry I was here. I felt it; it was palpable in the room. I could feel him opening up, despite his wishes. He winced, as if he were in pain, readying himself for my response.
"A week ago, I would have agreed with you," I admitted, allowing the room to quiet. "Why didn't you tell me about them?"
He did say anything at first and instead watched the wall near the door, nurses and doctors walking by, not paying an ounce of attention to us. His breathing was shallow, his red, glassy eyes solemn as his lips parted. "I didn't want you to think of her differently."
"She shouldn't have done that," I told him.
"I can take your anger, Bella," He ignored me, his head turning in my direction. "I spent a lot of time … coming to terms with the fact I wouldn't have a relationship with you … I learned to be lonely. I learned how to live with myself, and I understand it wasn't the best … way, but I still learned."
"That wasn't fair to you." I said, trying to help him realize that for once, he wasn't the one who was wrong.
"But would … it have been fair to you?"
"I deserved the truth."
"You did. But you also deserved a … normal life, one she was willing to give you. But it wasn't without a … cost," He hesitated, shifting in his bed. "A few … Months before she… Died, she called me." He stopped, looking and waiting for my reaction. I had none. He had no idea I already knew. When I didn't make a move to say anything, he continued. "She told me about … the letters. She told me she made a mistake in … keeping them from you. She thought she was doing the best thing, take away the right or wrong; she was trying to protect you because she loved you. She saw … me struggle. She knew I wasn't going to get better, so she shielded you from me."
"Weren't you angry?"
"You're my kid. I was mad as hell … At first … But I understand why she did it. And when you showed up here, you were so fucking angry with me. You … thought I didn't care. I could live with that. I accepted it … a long fucking time ago," His voice was not pained, but instead steady. I had imagined he had come to terms with the fact that I wanted nothing to do with him when he never received a response from me. I tried to imagine him in that headspace, feeling hurt over losing his daughter, allowing it to morph into nothingness until he felt indifferent. "But I couldn't … live with you being angry with her. Not … after you told me that she died."
This is where I found it more difficult to understand. I had known Charlie always to be self-centered, to always choose a drink over blood, but I had supposed that was the father I made up in my brain after years of internalizing the fact that he didn't want me in his life. Now, I knew he did. I knew he tried, and that made all the difference. I found my anger shifting from him to my mother, trying to understand her reasoning.
"So, you just … Covered up her lie?"
"If she told you … if she showed you the letters after so many years … How would that have felt?"
"What's the difference in you lying to me about it?" I argued.
"The difference is that all those feelings of resentment you had were at me … Not her. Like I said, I already accepted how you felt. And I … didn't want to change how you thought about her, especially since she isn't here to defend herself." He finished as I shook my head, trying my hardest to understand why my parents made the decisions that they did. Why they always found it was necessary to lie, even if they felt it was the best option. So long, I was in the dark. While I was grateful for the truth, it was hard for me to digest.
"It doesn't make sense."
"A lot of shit doesn't. It doesn't … make sense why she called me, out of everyone. It doesn't make sense why she died. It's just … what it is."
"Why did you go to Phoenix?" I asked. "I want the truth."
His forehead wrinkled his lips pressing together as he stopped himself from answering, adjusting in the bed just as he closed his eyes. The answer pained him, but I didn't push. I stayed motionless in my seat, observing, hoping he would be honest. A breath left him in one fluid motion as his eyes shot open.
"I loved her," He whispered sadly, the words marking me. "She made a … mistake. The whole thing was a fucking mistake. I knew … that. She hit her rock bottom and she … called me. It meant more to me than it did to her … And when she stopped talking to me … I lost it." He winced again, the memories almost too painful to bear as I tried to put myself in his shoes. He had been left by his wife who took their only child, never to hear from her again. He coped with a bottle, building resistance and a wall until years later, she finally called him. I imagined what she must have sounded like … Apologetic, sad, lonely. He resonated with that, felt it too. What it must have felt like when she cut him off, having to relive those feelings again of being left behind.
"Why didn't you try to see me?"
"I was strung out, Bella … I don't even remember half … of the trip."
"But when she told you about the letters … Why didn't you call me?"
"I don't know," He answered, truthfully. "Maybe I thought it … was too late."
Too late.
There seemed to be a lot of that happening. It was too late for us. It was too late for me to save my mom. It was too late for me to save Charlie. The realization of this truth hurt me more than I was willing to admit, but I could feel it pricking at my skin like ice, biting at me. There was a tear inside that split me in half, the truth blinking in front of me, like a warning sign.
I was too late.
I've been too late. I lost my mother and now I was losing him and what would my life be like afterward? All my unanswered questions, all the things I didn't say, will be gone leaving with them, leaving me behind. I gripped the chair handle, feeling the tears well up and roll over the apple of my cheeks as I unraveled. He watched me, staying still.
"But it wasn't. You thought I wanted nothing to do with you. But, I didn't hate you. I just couldn't understand why you didn't want me anymore," I admitted through tears, holding myself in place as I let out an incredible breath, feeling it rip through my throat like glass. "And now I'm finding out that wasn't the truth, that you tried to fight for me and I can't even enjoy having you back because you're dying. You are leaving me… Just like she left me."
"Bella."
"What am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to live with this?" I sobbed, covering my arm over my eyes, trying to contain the flood that had splintered and broken through, washing over every single inch of me. The only thing I could hear were my breaths, coming out in spurts as my chest constricted, my arm dropping and wiping at the tears.
"You'll be … okay."
"How can you say that?"
"Because … You're a damn fighter," He smiled, one that was proud. I had never seen him look at me like that. "You've got all the good qualities about … your mother and me. There wasn't much, but you got them. Plus, you tacked … on a few more throughout your life. God knows we didn't make it easy on you," I watched my hands, tapping my thumb against the other as Charlie stared. "I don't think you should be worried." He said calmly, as I looked up, catching his brown eyes, the same ones I inherited.
"Why?"
"Because you've survived through worse …" He said. "Do you remember … our fight?" He asked as I nodded, never forgetting when we screamed at each other in front of his house after he found out about the mortgage. I wasn't sure if I would ever be able to erase it from my memory. "You told me how much … of a shitty dad I was. And you were right."
"I was angry," I said.
"You were … honest. You went through more shit than any child should … have to. But you wouldn't be you without those … experiences. Which will make this," He nodded towards the machines. "Easier to get through."
"Can't you just try?" I asked, pleading. "I know about your DNR, and you don't have to do that. They have medicine to help you; I can help you; we can spend more time together; it doesn't have to be this way."
"Don't ask me to do that, Bella." He warned, the words catching in his throat.
"Why do you want to die?" I wept. "Why do you want to leave me?" Charlie looked at me with an aggrieved expression, as if my words cut him. He had already made up his mind. The look told me there was nothing I could do or say to change his decision.
"I don't want to be in pain anymore." His voice broke, begging for me me to understand. Charlie had lived a life of hurt. Emotionally and physically. I wasn't sure how he did it for so long, though I was sure the alcohol helped, kept it hidden enough for him to survive. He had been broken for so long, barely making it day by day. And he knew that if he were to stay, if he were to go on dialysis to try and prolong this disease that would eventually kill him, he wouldn't stop drinking. No matter how much I helped. If one thing was clear, his addiction outranked me. It didn't change how he felt; it didn't make him care for me less. He just had no more fight left in him. And that broke me.
I reached for his arm, grabbing his hand in mine, my elbow placed on the bed as I held on tightly, the tears falling, but I stayed silent. My head dropped, resting against our hands as I tried to remain strong, tried not to guilt him into living a life he no longer wanted to live, even if it meant leaving me behind. The pain vibrated through me, hitting every nerve along the way, the truth that soon enough, both of my parents would be dead never leaving my thoughts. I could feel him move after a few moments, and soon, I felt his free hand reaching for my head, his fingers running through my hair as he tried to soothe me.
It was the most fatherly gesture he had ever given me.
I was exhausted, the position I was in gaining me access to rest my head, a luxury I hadn't felt in days. My eyes were heavy, my lips parting as I let out a breath of air, allowing myself to close my eyes. I wasn't sure how long I had been asleep, but when I finally woke, there was light leaking in from the hospital window. Charlie had left his hand in mine and I could feel him squeeze, indicating he knew I was up. Slowly, I began to sit up, wincing at the ache in my neck. He was awake; I wasn't even sure if he had fallen asleep at all. I let go of his hand, wiping away the strands of hair stuck to my cheek when I noticed his other hand had held something silver. It was resting at the tip of his pointer finger, and with his thumb, he moved it, circling around and around.
"How long was I out?" I asked him, staring at the ring on his finger.
"Not long. Three hours, maybe." He said as I still felt the tiredness seep into my bones, begging for more rest.
"What's that?" I questioned as he finally looked at me. He smiled, glancing back down to the much too small ring before bringing it over. He grabbed my hand, tugging to open my palm to set it right in the middle. The silver had a pair of hands, a heart and a crown etched in. I realized, at that moment, it just wasn't a ring … It was my mother's. Her wedding ring when she was with Charlie. "You kept it?"
"I lost it," He began. "I looked everywhere … Tore the house up when I was drunk." He looked at me knowingly. It wasn't long ago, shortly after I arrived and was trying to help him get better. I got rid of the whiskey, but he had found some and I woke up to a house ripped apart. He was listening to music, to one of the songs they named me after and he told me he was looking for something. He didn't tell me what it was, wasn't coherent enough to even get himself off the floor.
"What are you looking for, Charlie?"
"I can't tell you. I need to find it so I can give it to you."
He had crumbled that night and I helped him up to bed; What he was looking for was forgotten.
"Where did you find it?"
"The attic. Along … with a few other things." He paused. "I want you to have it."
I touched the coolness of it, feeling the words stuck in my throat. I could see snapshots of her in my head, see her with the ring on her finger, or how, when she tucked me into bed the nights she wasn't intoxicated, I would play with it, twisting it around just like Charlie had done. I looked at him, more tears in my eyes, ready to say something before a knock on the door caught our attention.
"You're awake," Carlisle smiled, nodding to the both of us. "How are you feeling?"
"Could use a little more relief from this … damn pain. What can you drug me up with?" He cocked an eyebrow as Carlisle nodded, jotting down a few notes.
"I'll send you home with painkillers," Carlisle told him.
"Home?" I questioned, looking between the both of them.
"There's no way I'm spending… the last, few, however, many days of my damn life in this godforsaken hospital," Charlie said flatly. "I will be in the comfort of my own home … in my own bed."
"We will make sure you are comfortable, Charlie," Carlisle told him with a nod. "Bella, I will be working on the discharge papers here shortly. He should be out within a few hours. Am I okay to assume you will be with him at home?" We all heard Charlie take in a sharp breath as if he were anticipating me to say no. But, without hesitation, I nodded my head.
"I'll be with him."
Carlisle talked to me about what to expect with at-home Hospice. He anticipated Charlie to survive no more than two weeks, especially without the care of dialysis. We scheduled when a team from the hospital would come out as they would add not only medical but emotional support. Carlisle wanted the house to be prepared for this type of care and indicated that he believed it was not. We made a plan for me to leave shortly, go back home and clean up, prepare his bed, and whatever needs to be done to make it as relaxing an environment as we could.
It was hard to leave him, even though I knew I was going to see him in just a few short hours. My stomach twisted, my brain jumping into the what if's, but I forced myself out, making my way back to his house.
Entering it was the second hardest thing I had to do, apart from seeing Charlie in the hospital. There were memories attached to it, some good but mostly bad. It was where I cared for my parents, where I woke up and made myself breakfast because they were too hungover to do so. It was where I tried to help Charlie, where I found him on the ground in a puddle of either vomit or blood. And it would be where Charlie would die, where he would take his last breath. It didn't seem like enough memories could be stored in one place, but they were. They were all in this house.
I didn't want to wallow in the negatives. Charlie needed me, and I would be damned if I allowed my own issues to ruin what little time we had left. So, I forced myself inside. It was painful at first; the last time I was here I was packing my bags, swearing to Charlie I would never return as I slammed the door behind me. It wasn't a surprise the house was a mess, his inability to take care of himself making my stomach twist into knots. I grabbed a garbage bag and began to clean, finding empty whiskey bottles littered around his chair, takeout food adorning the counters in the kitchen, a few broken items scattered across the floor, looking as if they were damaged in a fit of rage.
Charlie wanted to be in his room, and when I finished cleaning the downstairs, I climbed the stairs, hesitating over the carpet that was stained with red, pushing past and making my way into the bedroom. It was relatively clean, which I was thankful for. Charlie always opted for the recliner downstairs, so it surprised me he wanted to be up here. A few bottles were toppled over on the ground, his bed unmade, the sheets dangling from the side. I pulled them all back, intending on washing them until I noticed something bright and orange sticking out from underneath his pillow. I climbed the bed, reaching over and pulled it out, my breath catching in my throat when I realized what it was.
It was small and dirty; the orange fabric muted from dust as I turned it to look at its face. The nose made of thread was torn, a button missing from one of the eyes as its smile brought me back to when I was just a kid. I choked out a cry, realizing I hadn't seen this for fourteen years.
It was my stuffed cat, Mr. Kitty.
Charlie had saved it, kept it. He slept with it. How long had he been sleeping with it? With shaky fingers, I smoothed down its matted hair, remembering how it brought me peace when I felt unstable.
When my parents were gone, or when they were fighting or even drinking downstairs, this was my best friend, my savior. I brought it close, tucking it under my chin as I held it tight, crying in the middle of Charlie's bed. Slowly, I sank down, clutching onto it so securely I was afraid if I let it go, I would collapse. I wasn't sure if I was ready to go through with this. I wasn't sure if I could be strong enough for both him and me. The thought of being in here while he died poisoned my mind, made me doubt the confidence he had in me to be able to make it through. How could I live after having seen them both dead? There was an onslaught of tears, and quietly I sobbed into the stuffed animal, wishing for strength to get me through the inevitable.
I stayed still for several minutes until I heard a car door shut just outside of the window. Slowly, I stood, wiping at the wetness of my cheeks. I set Mr. Kitty safely on the pillow as I moved from the bedroom to the hallway, gripping onto the banister, making my way down the stairs. I hesitated at the front door, waiting until I heard for a knock that never came. I felt the coolness of the doorknob, closing my eyes until I heard a click, opening it slowly.
I had wished for strength, and the moment I opened the front door, I knew I had received it.
He was pacing; his back turned towards me just at the end of the stairs as he took off his baseball cap, gripping at his unruly, copper locks. He was tense; I could tell by the way he stood, the way his shoulders squared as he went still, oblivious I was behind him. He was conflicted, shoving the hat back on the top of his head, a large breath leaving him as his shoulders fell.
I could feel my heart hammering because it had been months since I had seen him. There wasn't one day that went by that I didn't miss him, despite me trying to forget. I was so naïve to think I could wash him off me, so stupid to think he deserved any of the hatred he got because he was only an innocent bystander. I will always wish that he told me. I wish I didn't have to find out the way I did, but I knew it was not his fault. The secrets of my parents were a product of them, not him. Burned by my anger, I targeted him because it was easier for me to deal with. It was easier for me to have a reason to leave the person I had fallen in love with knowing they betrayed me.
But he hadn't.
The moment he gathered the courage, he turned, halting at the sight of me.
The dam broke, the flood was coming in, there was no escape, no fighting. I loved him with everything I could, and I knew I would not survive this without him. One look was all it took. I was out the door and off the porch within seconds, and he opened up as if he knew, just as I threw myself at him, my arms around his neck as I dug in, feeling as he grabbed me around the waist pulling me off my feet.
I could hear him sigh, the big breath releasing just next to my ear as if he had been holding it since the last time we saw each other. My fingers found the hair at his nape, stroking it as his jacket dampened from my tears. I heard him saying my name, his voice catching in his throat as we stood in each other's embrace for however long until we were satisfied enough to loosen our grip.
Slowly, we faced each other, still entangling our arms as we looked, memorizing this moment. His hair was just a little longer, dangling in his eyes and he had scruff decorating his jaw. I reached out to touch it, feeling it scrape against my palm as his cheek moved to it, resting until he turned, pressing a kiss right in the center. His eyes closed as if he were savoring the moment and then he looked at me, his jade eyes illuminated. I hadn't realized I was crying until he wiped at my cheeks, a pained look crossing his face.
"I'm sorry." He breathed, reaching forward to rest his forehead against mine. I knew what he meant. He was sorry for everything. He was sorry about what happened, sorry he wasn't honest. He was sorry Charlie was dying and was sorry that I was crying. He was sorry for all the things he shouldn't be sorry about. I gripped him, pulling his face away so he could see me. I needed him to see me when I said this.
And, as if the last five months apart meant absolutely nothing, I told him what I needed him to hear.
"I love you." My voice was unwavering. I needed him to know. He hadn't been expecting it, his face softening as he came forward, finally pressing his lips against mine.
I was home.
AN: How are you guys doing?
Shout out to everyone who has favorited, followed and reviewed. Your words of encouragement and your dedication to this story astounds me every time I post. Thank you.
A big thank you to my beta, Fran. She is always looking out for me and is honestly the biggest cheerleader of this story.
We have one. more. chapter. I can't even believe it. There will also be an epilogue!
Until next time ...
ii