Chapter Song - Knocking on Heavens Door by RAIGN (Original by Guns N' Roses)

Mama, take this badge from me.
I can't use it anymore.
It's gettin' dark, too dark to see.
I feel I'm knocking on Heavens door.


There are certain moments in life that stick with you, stay with you forever, embedded into your skin like deeply rooted scars. I've had many of these memories, all somehow revolving around my parents. It started at my childhood, looking after two addicts at the tender age of five, leaving Forks, from growing up resenting my father for abandoning me, all the way to my mother passing, and up until this very moment. But as I sat at the edge of Charlie's bed, his shirt removed as I took a sponge to his skin, I had realized how minuscule everything else seemed before this, as if it didn't even matter. I watched him closely, cleaning what I could, the sponge running down the protruding ridges of his spine. He stayed motionless, staring blankly at the black screen of the TV as I continued to wash.

Watching Charlie slowly die, day after day, would never leave me.

I thought nothing could top walking in to discover my mother's body. I thought nothing could wipe the stained memories of her cold body in my arms, or the way her skin had tinted blue, white bubbles slipping down the corner of her mouth, realizing that she was gone.

It was traumatic. It was horrifying.

But it wasn't as horrifying as this.

Watching Charlie, every day, get skinner, weaker and quieter … It was another form of anguish that I had never known. I carried my mother's death, but Charlie? It would live inside of me. It was, by far, the worst thing I had ever had to go through.

I tried to be the support he needed, tried to give him what I could to make it easy. The pain was manageable for him at first, only slight discomfort here and there. But towards the end of the first week, he slept more, and when he was awake, begged for pills. When the nurses from the hospital visited, they upped his dosage, finding one that was enough to give him relief as his body began shut down. I watched from a distance as they came in and out like clockwork, getting his vitals, checking to make sure he was relaxed. Carlisle had even stopped in a few times, but I had a feeling he was here more as a friend, rather than a doctor. When the nurses left, he stuck around, watching baseball games and playing cards with Charlie. I was grateful for him, finding the times he was around to take a break.

Charlie and I had found ourselves in a routine. Every morning I would make him a light breakfast and feed him in bed while he watched sports highlights. He would take a nap while I cleaned, and when he woke, he was ready for lunch. We would eat together, and towards the evening, we'd play board games and then watch TV before bed. The first week, he was able to move the pieces of checkers on his own, but by the following week, he had to tell me where to move them, too tired to do any type of physical activity, even as simple as lifting his arm. The first night that happened, I had to excuse myself, mumbling about using the bathroom, only to break down behind closed doors.

There were moments of weakness for me, but I tried my hardest to keep myself together for him. Any sign of tears, Charlie would huff, telling me to wait until he was six feet under to cry. I was angry at first, frustrated that he wouldn't allow me to show my emotions, but in reality, I knew he was shielding himself from a pain he wasn't ready to face. And so, our routine continued.

"Do you need something?" I asked when I caught him wincing when I pulled away. He nodded as I dropped the sponge into the bowl, reaching over to grab him a pill. I crushed it up in the mortar and pestle that stayed by his bed, sprinkling it into a small protein shake I had created to increase his calorie intake as his appetite lessened. Setting a straw into the glass, I held it out in front of him, helping him settle it in his hand, positioning it against his chest so he didn't have to hold it. He drank it quickly, sighing in contentment as his head leaned back against the pillow.

"Better?" I asked.

"Much … my insides are … killing me," He joked as I rolled my eyes, grabbing the bowl of water and placing it away from us. One thing he didn't lose – his sense of humor.

"Are you comfortable?" I reached for the sheets around him, tucking them underneath him, ensuring that he was warm.

"As comfortable … as I can … be," His jaundiced eyes watched the TV, his mustache twitching as he sniffed. I turned in my chair, tucking my legs underneath me as my elbow rested against the arm, my chin in my palm. I had watched more sports highlights that I ever thought I would, always winding down with him before he was ready for sleep. We stayed in silence, usually. But tonight, was different. Charlie turned his chin towards me, and I met his gaze when I felt his stare.

"What?" I asked, furrowing my brows.

"You … don't even … like this shit." He laughed, it wheezing out of him.

"So?" I questioned.

"You should … go do something … Don't waste … your time here." He answered, his voice set. I uncurled my legs from underneath me, turning my body towards him.

"Are you kicking me out?" I asked playfully. Charlie scrunched his nose, shrugging his shoulders.

"You … shouldn't be stuck … in here … with me."

"If I left, who would take care of you?" I challenged. He thought about his answer for a moment, just before a small smirk appeared on his thin lips.

"Jane."

"Jane?" I scoffed. "The nurse?"

"She's … cute." He feigned innocence as I rolled my eyes, sitting back in my chair and looking back at the TV.

"Sure, her being cute triumphs over your own flesh and blood. No way, you are not getting rid of me that easily." I warned, my tone holding spirit. Charlie shook his head slowly, still watching me.

"I'm just … holding you down."

"What are you talking about? I want to be here," I told him as he sneered, looking back to the TV. I watched him, wondering if he had more on his mind, more that he wanted to say. He wouldn't respond to empathy, shielding it out for the majority of his life. He rarely wanted to show his emotions. "Is this because I beat you in Yahtzee?"

He was surprised by my question, a lightness touching his eyes as I watched a slight smile appear before disappearing. "You cheated."

"I did not!" I gasped, gripping my hand over my chest.

"You purposefully … rolled bad … on my turn." He accused as my jaw dropped.

"Can you prove that?"

"I … just know."

"You're a sore loser." I mocked him, the lightness of the moment lifting a hopefulness I hadn't felt in a while. I knew he felt it too, the glint in his eyes showing that for once, the atmosphere wasn't depressing.

"I'll … get you … next time." He promised, one that I hoped he would keep. I could see him struggling to situate himself, his lids heavy, indicating he was ready to sleep. I stood from my spot, tucking him in before shutting off the TV. He watched me for a moment, looking away when our eyes met. Even close to death, he still had a difficult time saying how he felt. I knew he was thankful for me, and I knew he loved me, but those were emotions that were so far removed from him; to be able to articulate it would be nearly impossible. It was quite the opposite of my mother who told me every chance she could that she loved me, how much she needed me, how I was her best friend. But Charlie was closed off, for reasons I understood.

I finished tucking him in, leaning over to turn off his lamp. When the darkness took the room, I made my way to the door, hesitating when I saw his eyes were still open.

"For the record," I began, seeing his head tilt to look at me. "I wouldn't want to be anywhere else but here."

When I left the room, I made my way down the staircase, rubbing at the sleepiness in my eyes. I wondered how long it would take me to fall asleep again. My sleep plagued with nightmares of waking up to Charlie dead. I found myself up and checking on him more than I was in my own bed, to the point where I often slept on the chair in his room, staying close in case he needed me.

I heard noises in the kitchen. Stepping into the foyer before I turned to the opening, I see a dark, crimson-haired man at the fridge, stocking it full of the groceries. I leaned against the archway, watching him.

The morning Edward and I reunited, we had no time to talk about our issues, to work through our separation, or what our next steps would be. Charlie was dying, and I couldn't wrap myself up in trying to fix my relationship with him, not when I was needed somewhere else. I knew he wanted to talk, but he also knew where my loyalty needed to be. And when I asked him for help, he didn't hesitate. That same day, after my declaration, he helped me straighten up the house, to prepare for Charlie's homecoming. He cleaned with me, finishing Charlie's room, washing the sheets and moving the TV from the living room to his dresser just across from his bed. And when the time came, Edward was with me when I picked up Charlie. He carried him from the wheelchair and into the car, and then from the car into the house, all the way up the stairs.

Edward was there when I needed him. He never pressured me to talk about our issues. He gave me the space I needed, offering his services at my request, which was frequent.

And it wasn't just for me. Edward was here for Charlie. He admitted to me that when I had left Forks, he stayed away from the house, his anger making him spiteful. It wasn't until the incident at the bar when Charlie passed out, that Edward visited him before I arrived. There was still anger, but Edward knew it was useless. He was quick to forgive, the two finding common grounds and rebuilding whatever they had before it was too late. More than once, I had walked in on them, Edward on the chair and close to the bed as they spoke quietly to each other. I never intruded, slowly backing away and letting them be.

It was true, Edward was a huge help to Charlie during this time. But he was the biggest help to me. I wasn't sure if he even realized how much he was helping, just his presence was enough to keep me from falling. Several times, I was ready to give up, to fold and leave. The pain was almost unbearable to see my own father fall apart, day after day. But every time I wanted to let go, Edward was there. It was a simple thing, maybe a brush of his fingers against my cheeks, or a joke that made me laugh. It was his smile, the way he reassured me that I was doing everything I could.

Why did I leave him?

The sudden thought passed through my mind and shocked me, my arm slipping from my side and hitting the archway. Edward turned at the sound, standing as he placed the last item in the fridge.

"How long have you been watching me?" He asked, his tone spirited as he smiled. I reflected it, an automatic reaction. He had enticed it out of me. All of the pain, all of the misery and sadness I felt because of Charlie, was almost completely lifted when it was just the two of us.

"Just admiring." I pointed out, his eyes widening slightly, surprised by my comment. In the week we had been reunited, we hadn't kissed since the day we saw each other. When we brought Charlie home, it felt like whatever we had, was placed on the back burner. Anything in my mind other than Charlie, made me feel guilty. I couldn't consume myself with him, no matter how much I wanted to. And like the pillar he was, he didn't mind, allowing me the space I needed, showing his affection through the act of touch, letting me know his feelings were still true. I wanted to reciprocate, but I was afraid.

"Yeah?" He was wistful, but there was hopefulness.

"Yeah," I whispered, taking a step into the kitchen. "Do you have to go to work tonight?"

"Not if you need me." He was in front of me now, the groceries a forgotten bygone. Tentatively, he reached out, brushing a wisp of hair from my forehead, tucking it behind my ear. I closed my eyes, reveling in his closeness, my body remembering his, relaxing in his proximity, and the feel of his hands cupping the back of my neck. He was exactly what I needed, what I craved, what I wanted. And I could feel myself wrapping up in him, wanting him to expel the pain and leave me with nothing but goodness, because that's what he was. I could feel his warm breath, his scent of sandalwood, encouraging me to melt into him.

Would it be too terrible for me to give in? Just for a night? For some rest?

"I want you to stay." I said, my mind decided as I grabbed at his hand, interlocking our fingers. He watched me, allowing me to lead, my body needing to rest, but I wasn't sure if I could take another night sleeping in a chair. I led him up to my old bedroom, the two of us wordlessly undressing into our underwear before we climbed into my twin bed, creaking in protest. Similar to the night we spent in here, Edward held me close to the wall, protecting me, our chests meshed together as his arms wrapped me up in the blankets before finding home around my waist. I curled into him, sighing under his chin, my fingers gently rubbing along his spine.

"See?" I snuggled closer to him. "It's not so bad."

"Remind me of that when we wake up and my back is thrown out." He responded pointedly as I smiled against his throat.

"Don't worry, I'll help you down the stairs." I teased, pinching his side. He chuckled, his arms tightening as he kissed the top of my head.

"It's not as comfy as our bed, but I'll admit, with you here it's not so bad." His voice was calm, as if he hadn't even realized what he said. My body uncurled from him, my chin tilting up to look at him. "What?"

"Our bed?" I whispered. Edward's features stiffened, as if he realized the slip of his tongue. He watched me warily, trying to formulate a response before opening his mouth.

"Is that too presumptuous of me?" His voice was quiet, careful. "I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable."

"You didn't," I answered quickly. No, it actually had quite the opposite effect. Through the chaos of dealing with Charlie and feeling unstable, the thought of something of Edward's being ours … It made me happy. But he was still watching me as if he didn't believe me, his arms lessening their grip, ready for me to dash out the room. "Have I really been that bad?"

"What do you mean?"

"You are looking at me like I'm going to disappear." I told him. Edward looked away as if he were ashamed and I felt a pit in my stomach, realizing that I had been distant enough to make him feel that at any moment, I would leave again.

"I don't want to add to your stress," He admitted, his eyes finding mine again. "You came back and I am so fucking grateful, Bella. But I know you came back for Charlie. And I would be a fool to think that you would forgive me easily when I broke your trust. Please don't take my caution to heart, I'm just … protecting myself."

His honesty brought tears to my eyes, bringing my realization to full circle. I loved him. Of course, I never stopped. But he didn't know that. For all he knew, I planned to leave after Charlie passes. He was bracing himself for this fact, safeguarding his heart. Wordlessly, I moved back into his chest, resting my head against his bare skin. He seemed unsure but soon enough gripped me again, holding me close.

"I missed you." I heard him say above me, his voice vulnerable. My chin tilted to look at him, untucking from him as he watched me with wary eyes. Silently, I moved my hands to ghost over his cheeks, until I felt the stubble, studying every perfection and imperfection, memorizing it. He was watching me, trying to read my expression, gauging if this was the right time to have a conversation.

"I was a coward," I began, his expression filled with confusion. "I left because it was easier for me to blame you, to justify why I was leaving."

"You didn't need justification, Bella. I lied to you. And I'll regret that forever."

"You were being used; stuck between him and me, it wasn't fair." I voiced, knowing he was trying to keep me painted in a good light, when, in reality, I had left for the wrong reasons.

"I would have left." His tone was flat, but I could hear his hesitation, showing the lie.

"No, you wouldn't have," I smiled, shaking my head, running my fingers through the hair his nape. "You would have stayed. You would have talked through it, found a solution, and resolve it. You would have forgiven me easily. Because that's who you are."

"I don't blame you for leaving." He responded, foolishly still trying to save me.

"And I love you for that," I said just as I found his hand, bringing it up to kiss his knuckles. I could hear his breathing hitch, his eyes searching mine. "I was scared, too."

"Of what?" He asked as I played with his fingers, looping ours together, keeping my gaze down as I felt my stomach twist. "Bella?"

I could feel my breath catch in my throat, holding hostage as my heart hammered behind my ribcage. This was when I felt similar to Charlie the most, when my body reacted to the fearfulness of letting my guard go. I felt on high alert as if what I was going to admit would somehow be used against me. Even in the presence of a man I know I loved and trusted with every ounce of my soul. I moved closer, shielding myself into his chest as I grabbed onto his side, clinging to him. He held me, his hands growing frantic as they moved down my back, encouraging me.

"I was scared you were going to be gone, when I came back. That you would have left." I admitted, feeling the tears well up. I tried to hide, but he was having none of it. He grabbed my cheeks, forcing my eyes to his, the intensity of his stare, leaving me breathless. He was so close, our noses only an inch apart as his features softened, his head tilting so that our lips met. He was slow at first, a chaste kiss, but I drank him in, every moment of it. Slowly, his lips dragged from mine, pressing along my chin and up to my check, showering every inch.

"I was going to," He admitted against the skin of my jaw, before moving back in front of me. The thought of me returning to Forks, to handle Charlie on my own, without him. I couldn't even imagine it. "I couldn't."

"I'm sorry." I cried, feeling my tears wiped away within an instant. He kissed me again, his arm sliding around my waist, bringing me closer. I gripped onto him, my arms around his shoulders as we healed together, falling into a slumber, one that finally granted me the rest that I hadn't felt in weeks.

xx

Another week had passed, our routine changing with Charlie's condition. His appetite was changing, down to only a protein shake a day. He was sleeping more, only awake a few hours during the day until he had no strength to even keep his eyes open. He was speaking less, humming when he was trying to communicate. His skin was pale, his hair falling out, leaving patches around the top. His memory was fading, a side effect I was warned about. It happened in flashes. When he did speak, he sometimes called me by my mother's name, smiling at me in a way I had never seen. I was losing him, day by day, hour by hour, minute by minute. He was slowly fading into a shell of a man, and I held a tremendous amount of guilt for him, wondering if there was any quality of life. When Carlisle visited last, he set me down at the dining room table, watching me carefully as Edward stood behind, his hands on my shoulders.

"It's getting close, Bella. Only a day or so, I would imagine."

At Carlisle's words, I took it as a precursor of my limited time with my father. While I relied on Edward to give me strength, I knew this was something I had to do myself. Edward understood, of course, giving me the space I needed to spend with Charlie. I stayed next to him every moment, only leaving to use the restroom or grab a quick bite to eat. He very rarely woke up, only doing so when he needed some medical relief. There were flashes of the normal him, times he would strike up a conversation with me, say something sarcastic that made me believe I could just have a bit longer. But soon enough, he was quiet again, leaving me alone in his darkened room.

"Bella."

White light shone from the kitchen window, creating a soft familiar ambiance, hues of yellow and orange shading my skin as I sat at the table, giggling into a spoonful of milk and cheerios. I could see them in the living room, the young man with a scruffy face twirling the dark blonde woman in his arms, scooping her up and holding her tightly as they laughed together. She turned to me, her eyes shining, even from across the room, as she mouthed the words to a song that I couldn't hear, but knew in my heart.

I'm coming back one day, come what may, to blue bayou.

"Bella."

Hazel eyes watched me until her arms opened and encouraged me to join. Stubbornly, I stayed still, watching as the man brought her back to him, the two dancing again, the woman always looking back to me with the brightest smile, while the man paid me no attention. It was as if she was trying to convince me further that I needed to be there in-between them. Their movements were fast, he twirled her some more as their laughing began to ring in my ears, and she dipped, his hand tight at the small of her back before lifting her back up. She looked back at me as he gazed at her, her lips continuing to move at the silent song.

Well, I'll never be blue, my dreams come true on Blue Bayou.

Their dancing began to slow as she rested on his chest, his chin settling at the top her head as they moved into an unhurried rocking motion. I could see her back rise and fall as if she let out a breath of relief, content in being in his arms. He smiled, savoring the moment as she opened her misting eyes, watching me longingly. Finally, her arm outstretched from between them, as if in one last attempt to encourage me to come and join. I didn't move, even though I wanted to. There was warmth against my cheeks, an adolescent feeling wafting over me, craving the hug of my mother who all but begged me in her arms, but still, I stayed.

Her smile was sad, but she knew I couldn't go to her, even if I wanted to. Her arm slowly dropped, and she brought it back to rest between them as her eyes closed.

"Bella."

I woke immediately, lifting in the chair as the blanket pooled at my lap. I blinked, attempting to rub the sleep away as I turned towards the bed, the bedside lamp the only source of light. I stood, walking towards Charlie's side, seeing him wide awake.

"What's wrong?" I whispered, panicked. His frail body was shivering, his sheets falling past his hips as he didn't even have the strength to reach for them. Lifting them to cover under his boney chin, I tucked him in tightly as he watched me methodically.

"You were … humming," He croaked as I met his gaze, eyes sunken into his face. He was coherent tonight, my hopefulness sparking despite my brain warning me. "Were you … dreaming?"

"I don't remember." I lied, reeling from the odd trance, wondering why I didn't go to the woman.

"I've been … dreaming a lot."

"Yeah?"

"I dreamt of … Whiskey last … Night." He said matter-of-factly as I gave him a pointed look.

"Shocking," I shot back sarcastically. He managed a choking laugh as I sat on the edge of the bed, looking at the bottles of painkillers that sat next to him. "Do you need anything?"

"No," He whispered, my eyes flashing with surprise. I glanced to the digital clock next to the lamp, counting back to when he last took some. He was usually asking for relief every three hours. It had been over six. "I don't … really feel … anything." His voice trailed off as he watched me sincerely, gauging my reaction. I felt a lump in my throat as I tried to swallow it, sparing him a forced smile.

"Anything else you've been dreaming about?" I asked, casually changing the subject.

"You." His tone was flat as my arms crossed over my stomach.

"Me?"

"When … you … were little." His mustache twitched, recalling the dream.

"Are they memories?" I asked.

"Some … others, I think I … made up …" He paused, letting out a staggered breath. "I was … under the influence … a lot." He cracked as I gave him a light scoff, but I appreciated his honesty. There was no sugar-coating with Charlie, not even on his deathbed. But, I was grateful for that quality. What was the point of putting a filter on my childhood? We both knew how it really was.

"I'm afraid to ask if they were better or worse than the real thing." I teased, his lips thinning.

"I was … around … more …" He said as I looked to him. "Less … bottles in my … hand."

"Can you imagine?" I felt my smile, but knew it was despondent. I didn't want to break in front of him, not when I had to be the strength he didn't have. I had taken his comment as if it were a lighthearted remark, but I could tell by his face that my reaction wasn't what he wanted. The thinness of his face was unmoving, his cracked lips turning down as he watched me desperately. "What?" My voice cut the silence, breaking under the pressure of the moment.

"I … wish … I would have … been better … for you," His voice broke, shattering me with each word as I looked away promptly, hiding my grief. His tone was different, almost tranquil, as if he knew something I didn't. "Please … don't … hide." He begged as I shook my head, not ready to look at him. In my angst, I didn't feel him pull his arm from out of the sheets, and it wasn't until I felt cold fingers touch the hand that held me steady on the bed that I glanced over, standing immediately. My hand swiped away from his as if it were on fire, and his face pained, not expecting me to withdraw.

"Are you hungry?" I asked, evading his eyes, avoiding what he wanted to say next. "Thirsty? What can I get you? Want me to make something?"

"Bella."

"I know it's hard for you to chew, I can make soup, a smoothie, maybe some chowder?"

"Bella."

"Anything you want," I pleaded, finally catching his gaze. "Anything." I breathed, watching as his features softened, his lips smiling as he shook his head. I could see the truth behind them, could see the words he couldn't say, but his body warned me of, and I wasn't ready. The strength that I somehow mustered through the past few weeks seemed to disappear within milliseconds, gone as if it hadn't even been there to hold me up. Because the realization of what he was doing, of what he was going to say, was toppling on me, making me face the harshest reality. And no matter how much I denied it, I knew it was coming. I walked across the room, leaning myself against the dresser, it shaking at the sudden weight as items fell over, including a framed baby photo of me.

He didn't say anything, allowing me a moment to gather myself physically and emotionally. My elbows rested on the smooth wood as my fingers dug deep into my eyes, scrubbing down my cheeks and then my chin, holding still until I finally let out a breath. A lone tear escaped, the first of what I knew were to be many as I turned my chin, rubbing it onto my sweater.

I'm not ready.

I chanted it in my head over and over, as if a silent plea to whoever was out there to just give me more time. I just needed more. I just needed to spend a few more days with him, I just needed to hear his voice, no matter how weak it was, I needed to care for him, even if that meant continuing to watch his deterioration. I just needed him. I needed him to not let go. I couldn't let go.

Please don't let him go.

"Bella," He said as I turned, looking back to him from over my shoulder. The right side of his face rested on the pillow, his bone-thin arm laying palm up as if beckoning me to him, but I shook my head. He watched, pained, his body almost completely unrecognizable from the disease that ran rampant inside of him, eating every bit of life he had left.

"I'm tired."

I shook my head, turning as my cheeks grew wetter, my hands clasped at my chest.

"But I'm not." I answered stubbornly.

"Please." He pleaded as one foot skimmed across the floor in front of the other, my body hesitating as I moved closer. His right arm came close back to his side, his left revealing as he patted the empty spot next to him.

He wanted me to lay next to him, to comfort him. In his eyes, I could see the fear behind the weakened brown, and my heart broke. He was terrified. And I was being so selfish. I reached for the light on the side table, switching it off as I walked to the end, passing to the empty spot where I slowly lowered, the bed creaking at the change in weight as I sunk on my side, watching as he turned his head towards me. The moonlight provided enough for me to still see him, the contours of his face highlighted by the shadows, causing more tears in my eyes.

"Don't … cry," He whispered in the darkness, his hand slowly reaching up to swipe at my cheek, only for it to be replaced with more wetness. "We had … A hell of a … ride, didn't we?" He asked as a broken laugh escaped my lips. I nodded, the laugh turning into a sob as I hid in the pillow. I felt something at my chin, my head turning to see that he had grabbed Mr. Kitty from the top of the pillow, tucking him close to me. "Don't … lose him … this time." I captured him in my fingers, feeling the plushness, rubbing it against my cheeks to dry them.

"Does it hurt?" I whispered in the dark, a small smile ghosting his lips.

"Not … anymore." He told me as I tilted my chin, pressing my lips against the top of the stuffed cat. I sniffled, trying my hardest to stay tough, feeling his gaze as he tried to stay awake. I looked up to him, his long hair sticking every which way, the scar on his nose from being punched, reminding me of finding him at Masens the day I came back in September. Reflecting, I would have never imagined being here. He put me through the worst hell, but it was infinitesimal to what he had to endure in his years of loneliness. My heart clenched for him, more tears springing to my eyes as I swore, if this was it, I would stay with him. And as much as I wished it wasn't, even if I begged for just seconds longer, I wouldn't leave.

"I'm sorry," I whispered.

"For … what?"

"For leaving you," I admitted, reaching forward to grab his small arm, tangling mine between his, holding on for dear life.

"It wasn't … your … fault." He assured me. No, it wasn't my fault. I knew it. But the guilt was still there, and he could see it. He studied me, silence casting between us as he watched, and even in his sunken eyes, I could feel every ounce of emotion he could muster.

My memories of him were scorned at best. For so long, I focused on the wrongs he did to me. Forcing me to look after him and Mom, cleaning up their mess, taking care of them after they were sick from alcohol. They burned heavier at the memory of being left and forgotten. I was angry at it all. At him for being such an addict. At my mom for being a liar. But it was all different now, everything was altered. And the once despised memories burnt up into ashes, replaced with the good ones of him reading my favorite book to bed, playing hide and seek, of him high fiving me when we raced down the muddy path in the backyard.

He tried.

He failed, but he tried.

But he loved me. He loved me with every ounce he could, even if he never said it, I knew it. Even if the bottle had been more important, I could sense it in the way he looked at me from across the bed.

He loved me. And he was proud.

I wouldn't see him again, hear his sarcastic laugh, or his ability to short cut his way out of a situation. I wouldn't be able to talk to him on the couch when he reclined on his chair, watching his sports as we laughed about something that was meaningless now. I would see nothing but emptiness, feel it inside me with every slow ache. So, I needed him to know. I needed him to know that no matter how crazy he made me feel, no matter how much we argued and fought, he was always my father first.

"I love you, Dad." I whispered, choking on his name. I could see the cloudiness in his eyes, the tears welling up, one dripping down his bony cheek, absorbing into the pillow beneath him. He let out a breath as if he had been holding it, as if he had been waiting for me to say it, for me to finally call him by what I should have called him all along. Slowly, he opened his eyes, his fingers squeezing at mine as best as they could.

"You … were … the best … thing to … ever … happen to me."

A sob left me, my forehead falling to rest on his shoulder as I clung to him desperately, trying to regain control as I felt his lips on the top of my head.

My father.

My last parent. What was I going to do?

His breathing slowed, my head tilting up as I watched him face the ceiling, his eyes closing and then opening, finding it difficult to stay awake. I bit my lip, stroking his arm to comfort him, to tell him it was okay.

His breathing was shallow, it leaving in spurts as the silence took over the room once again until he began to hum.

"She'll … put a spell … on youMarie … Marie," His voice was coarse, barely above a whisper, but I could hear him singing the song, hearing the song they named me after. I felt a lump in my throat, biting back my tears, a flash of them dancing in the dining room, a vivid memory, to the very same song. I watched him, his words ceasing, but the humming continued as if he were entertaining someone. I began squeezing his hand as if to ask him to come back to me, but he only smiled, watching the ceiling. "You're here." They were his last words, just as he closed his eyes.

Frozen, I watched his chest rise and fall, and every time, it slowed. I didn't know how long I watched, how long it took for it to slow to the point of no chest movement at all, but I could still hear it, small breaths leaving his lips until he took his final one, utter silence claiming the room.

I blinked, tears forming as I squeezed his hand, willing for him to squeeze back just one more time.

I did it again.

Three more times.

Anything to feel it, but I was met with nothing. My mouth opened, an agonizing cry leaving my lips as my head turned into my pillows, trying to silence myself. The tears were unstoppable, the pain eating me alive as I moved closer to him, holding onto him for dear life because I wasn't strong enough for this. I murmured into his shoulder, begging for him to come back, just give me one more minute, one more time to say goodbye. My chin tilted upwards, my vision blurred by the tears, but I blinked them away, gripping at his shirt. "Please." I cried. He didn't answer me, and everything turning into a haze of colors and sounds of agony. My shoulders racked with every sob, my begging becoming louder just in case he couldn't hear me. As if my pain would be enough to bring him back.

But it didn't.

His eyes never opened again, and I was raw. I lost my breath, struggling to breathe, trying to find it in myself to relax, but all I could feel was the ache. Memories flashed in my head like bulbs, like light leaks across pictures, showing me only bits and pieces. I saw my parents together, saw them kissing and hugging, fighting, and screaming. I could feel the corner of the wall in the kitchen where I hid to protect myself from it. I could see my mom coaxing me out, Charlie apologizing for the things he said as they held me tight, to make it seem as if it were okay. I saw her death again, for what felt like the millionth time, deadened inside because I knew I added one more memory to that collection.

They both left me.

I let out a wheezing breath, feeling my fists ball up as I shook violently, weeping into his shirt until I felt hands on my shoulders. I screamed, begging for the intruder to go away, the hands disappearing as I held on to my father tighter, not ready to let go.

But he didn't listen.

It was Edward who quietly shushed me, scooping me up and turning me into a seating position, grabbing my arms and forcing them to wrap around his neck. I cried into him, my nails gripping at his shirt as I held on so tightly as if I thought he was going to leave too. He didn't say a word, holding me in his arms as I broke down, crying for the comfort of my parents, the only thing I would never have again.

I heard whispers, affirmations of love that went unnoticed because I was too tired in my own grief, my sobs increasing as he pulled me into a standing position, farther away from my dad. I turned, looking at him one last time. He looked peaceful, death not taking his outward appearance yet, but I knew what was on the inside. I felt a hand against my cheek, pulling me away and out of the room just as I tumbled. Edward grabbed me, leaning down on the floor to break my fall as I screamed into the hardwood, trying to rid myself of the pain that swallowed every inch of me.

I couldn't breathe.

I couldn't think.

I only felt pain.

xx

The night moved in slow motion, everything blurring together, leaving me feeling suspended in time. The on-call nurse came and pronounced his death, sharing her condolences as I sat motionless on the couch, unable to react, the shock setting deep in my bones despite having prepared for this outcome. Edward stayed by my side, his hand always on me in some way, rubbing my back, resting on my knee. He spoke to the nurse, helped me sign whatever needed to be signed, urging them away as fast as he could. At one point, he kneeled in front of me, his hand cupping my cheek, pulling me from my mind.

And as if on cue, the moment our eyes connected, I could hear wheels against the hardwood upstairs. Then the stairs creaked, two pairs of feet stomping down as I winced with every step until they hit the bottom. Metal squeaked, a sheet moving, and Edward stayed in front of me, watching me, grabbing my hands to hold in his own to provide a comfort I so desperately needed. I didn't turn around. I couldn't watch them take him away, so instead, I bowed my head, feeling Edward gather my hands and bring them to his lips as he whispered words of strength that were lost between my sobs.

The few people remaining in the house left with their final condolences, leaving only the two of us.

"Bella?" He asked in a whisper, my head shaking.

"I can't." I choked.

"What can I do?" He asked in a plea, gripping my chin, forcing me to look at him as he wiped at my cheeks. I was silent, looking over him, seeing the fatigue in his face. In the last few weeks, he had taken care of me, just as much as I had taken care of Charlie. He was my boulder, my support to lean on, and he had been there through every minute of it. Through my grief and pain, a new kind of love for him blossomed. I gripped him, pulling him into a hug as I wept in his shoulder. He held me tightly, running his fingers along the spine of my back to soothe me.

"I can't be here." I spoke pleadingly.

He nodded and gathered me up, grabbing only a few necessary things before directing me out of the house. Each step was a stab, each inch cut a little deeper. When I sat in his car, I looked up at Charlie's window, wiping away the new tears.

When we entered the loft, Edward helped me up the stairs, my body feeling weighed down, as if I could fall at any moment. He took off my coat, walking me towards the bed, feeling confident enough I could make it there before letting go to place his keys and wallet onto the island. The moment he was gone, I stumbled, my hands reaching out, bracing myself as my knees hit the floor, causing a cry to leave me. Edward was at my side, apologizing, kneeling in front of me, trying to coax me up, but I shook my head, gripping onto his shirt as I choked out a sob.

"Why did they leave me?" I cried, my breath staggering. Edward watched helplessly, shaking his head. "They left me. They both left me. Please, don't leave me." He grabbed me, bringing me into his arms, a hand cradling the back of my head, his fingers weaving through my hair as he started to sway.

"I've got you." He said simply, his words tied with a promise.

I was unsure of how long we had stayed on the ground, how long it took for him to rock me until I succumbed to a silent lull. He eventually carried me to the bed, tucking me under the covers before crawling next to me. I could see the exhaustion in his eyes, but he stayed attentive, his hand running up and down my arm as silent tears left the corner of my eyes. He caught each one, wiping them away before pressing a prolonged kiss onto my forehead. I could feel my bottom lip pouting, a choking cough leaving me as I tried to hide it, quickly finding safety in the crook of his neck, his arms wrapping and holding me tight against him, providing me safety.


AN: Firstly, I'd like to thank my readers for sticking with this story so far. Thank you for favoriting, following and reviewing. I hope that you feel the same love reading it when I write it.

Thank you to Fran, who always seems to be my voice of reason. I also am so thankful to have along this journey of Obstacles with me!

As you know, I said that this would be the last chapter. I have great news for you, it's not! We still have one more chapter after this and then the epilogue. Here is the even better news - the last chapter is already written and edited! I wrote it all as one chapter but it was about 30 pages long and over 13,000 words. I split it for two reasons. One, I felt the ending wasn't exactly where I wanted it to be, so this gives me a little bit more time to go back and change anything I need to. Two, that will give me more time to work on the epilogue without you guys having to wait so long for it.

Please expect the final chapter next week (maybe even earlier)! I am actually having surgery tomorrow (send positive vibes!) so, once I am healed, I'll start any last minute tweaks and get it to you guys as soon as possible.

I know this was a tough chapter. It was extremely hard to write it. I am eager to hear what you think, so please let me know.

See you next time,

ii