More silence.

I can feel how close I am to snapping, my body coiled tightly, ready to give under the tension.

I hate silence.

Only yesterday I could take solitude in it, now it makes me want to scream.

"Where were you?" she asks, staring at me intently, unblinking. "And where the hell is your dad?"

My breath burns as I inhale, steadying myself, willing myself to stay calm.

"I was at the hospital." My voice is void of all emotion, cold. If I remain indifferent and detach myself, I won't cry.

Her eyebrows raise, urging me to continue.

She hasn't aged. She looks exactly the same, though her skin has a sun-kissed glow and her hair is a shade or two lighter than I remember.

"My boyfriend was in an accident."

She splutters. "Your … what? When? How?"

"It doesn't matter. That's not what you want to talk about and it's not what I want to talk to you about."

We watch each other closely, but I won't give in and open up to her, she's the person I trust least right now —her and my dad. Telling her about Edward and keeping the pressure off her is doing a disservice to myself and my feelings.

Of talking about why she left gives me a small reprieve from the pain encompassing Edward and me, I'll take it, as selfish as that may be.

"Why are you here?" I ask, finding my voice, my eyes never wavering from their intent stare, betraying the anxiety I feel. Knowing that outwardly, I'm not crumbling, gives me the strength I need to push her. "What do you want?"

She sighs, looking hurt for a split second and playing with a splinter of wood on the table.

"I'm sorry I left so abruptly."

Her apology hangs in the air, floating between us like a bubble threatening to burst. She watches me carefully, gauging my reaction.

There isn't one.

"I couldn't continue the way your father and I had been …" she inhaled and releases it through her nose in a drawn-out huff. "I felt suffocated. I didn't know who I was. I was so unhappy. I was numb. All I knew was that … I had to escape. I had to leave and I wasn't thinking clearly."

Her words mean nothing, they don't ignore anything within me. I certainly don't sympathise with her situation or the decisions she made.

But if she feels like that was her only choice … fine. Good for her. I don't care. Not anymore.

Her eyes meet mine before she continues. "I don't remember leaving. I just … broke, and though it was cowardly and selfish, I had to get away from everything."

I nod, looking out of the window over her shoulder.

"Okay." I acknowledge.

I know she's watching me, but I can't look at her. I don't feel any different hearing her side of the story.

"That's it?" she asks, unable to hide her surprise. "That's all you've got to say?"

I shrug. Chewing down on my back teeth, taking comfort in the bounce of my jaw, the muscles as they tense and relax.

"What are you looking for? Compassion? Understanding? A pat on the back for doing what you felt like you needed to do? For running away from your problems and leaving your daughter to fend for herself, whilst your husband spends all of his time elsewhere, drinking himself into a stupor with his friends whenever he's not working?"

Her eyebrows raise, shocked. "Is he ever here?" Her voice is barely above a whisper, think with emotion.

I shake my head. "No, he's not. I go to school and come back to an empty house. I cook myself dinner, do my own laundry and my own grocery shopping. I cook myself Christmas dinner and sit in that empty room" —I point towards the living room— "alone, wondering what I did wrong, what I did to deserve parents who hate me …"

Her breath hitches and she shakes her head vehemently, arguing. "Bella, no—"

"I'm not finished," I cut her off. "I used to cry myself to sleep, wondering where you were and why you left me behind. You destroyed me. I don't trust anyone, I'm so insecure I make myself sick. I don't even blame dad —not anymore— for wanting nothing to do with me … no one else does. You didn't. So why should he be any different?"

She's crying now, silently wiping her eyes with her fingers, sniffing loudly, looking down at the floor beneath her, defeated.

Good.

"But you know what?" She looks up at me, waiting for me to continue. "It doesn't matter. I don't care. I honestly, truly don't care. You never did. Dad never did … and now, neither do I. Because in a few months, I'll be gone too. I'll escape this God-forsaken town and I'll start from scratch. I'll build the life I want. I won't allow you to ruin that for me, even though you ruined me."

I stand abruptly. Silently, she begs me, crying quietly.

"I'm so sorry," she chokes, looking up at me.

"Don't be." I tell her. "You did what you had to do. It was selfish and it hurt … and if you want my forgiveness, you won't get it. But I won't hold on to the hate, I refuse to. I refuse to be a victim. I need to let it go and move on. For me."

Biting my lip, I look out the window once more.

"If you want to speak to dad, he comes home every Sunday and leaves again early Monday morning." She chokes, her face reddening in anger. "Don't be angry at him," I tell her. "At least I see him once a week and though he's absent, he still provides for me."

I don't look back as I leave, grabbing my car keys and jacket, driving away from the house without a second thought.

I feel lighter as the house disappears in my rear view mirror, growing smaller and smaller, like the weight that resides in my heart.

Was anything solved? I laugh bitterly. Not at all. But I've seen her, I listened, I absorbed. I had my say and I put it rest. It was easier than I ever thought it would be.

I don't want a relationship with her, the damage has been done and it's irreversible, but Edward was right.

As I drive in the direction of the hospital, I feel as though a crippling weight has been lifted.

Closure.

A/N

As always, thanks so much for reading!