I do not own Twilight, or any of its characters.
Returning to my mother's house is never exactly on my list of things to do, but Charlie is here and he is who I really want to see.
He has acted as a replacement father ever since my mother married him when I was seven. Even as Chief of Police, he had always been somewhat forgiving to live with, easier than my best friend from school, Alice, whose father was also on the police force. He was strict, temperamental.
Charlie was neither. He was easy to talk to. Easier than my mother.
I sit at the table, a sensation of being in that interrogation room coming back to me, and it has nothing to do with the officer sitting across from me, but the look on my mother's face as she watches me carefully.
"I told you it was a horrible idea, Isabella," my mother is chastising. It's what she does best. "That boy put you through hell, and you've crawled back to him like always."
I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from snapping at her. Charlie steps in before I have to.
"Renée," he says, placing his hand gently over hers, "I don't think that is what has happened here."
I glance over at them from my tea cup. Green tea. The tea I hate most, but my mother has probably never known that.
"Don't you dare defend that boy, Charlie." The way she spits the word is like a knife piercing through thin air and I have to choose whether to let it slice me or to catch it by the blade. Either way, I'm cut. "I don't know why you've always been so accepting of him."
I sigh and sit back in my chair, not wanting to rehash this argument.
My mother never cared for Edward. She saw him as trouble, a kid from the wrong side of the tracks that had potential to bring her daughter down with him. Charlie saw the same, but having been a street officer on some of the infamous zip codes in Washington, he had a softer heart for the type. It wasn't as though Edward were from the streets or anything, he was just…trouble. A bad boy through and through. A beautiful, tormented soul; the kind that draws you in and traps you. So, when their straight-A, do-gooder daughter caught his eye…my mother was very wary.
Charlie places his hands in front of him like he is laying out his cards. "I'm not defending him, but I'm not outright saying he is a monster. He had a rough upbringing. You can't expect him to have a complete turnaround from that."
My mother's face is a deadly kind of serious as she gazes back at him, her slightly graying hair pulled into a harsh bun. "I can," she says severely, "when it comes to my daughter." She closes her eyes and draws in a breath. It's as though this situation has aged her. "Anyways," her eyes catch mine and I see myself in her, "you won't be visiting him again."
It should be a question, but it isn't.
I shake my head and chew on my bottom lip, trying to forget the sound he made when I left the room.
"And you'll be getting a restraining order as soon as he is released."
Again, it isn't a question and, really, it shouldn't be. But why does it feel like one?
Charlie doesn't say anything, only looks out the side window. I can tell by the set to his chin that he does not agree. Or, there is something he is holding back and honestly, I don't know if I want to know what it is.
"How do you feel, Isabella?" my mother asks after a few moments of silence.
I blink and glance back at my tea cup. "Fine," I answer.
"How is Michael?" she asks.
Guilt washes over me. I haven't seen him today. I came here as soon as I left the prison, silently hoping that only Charlie would be here. My mother is always too full of questions, too full of concerns and she doesn't know how to keep them inside.
"He's still in a brace," I say, imagining the bright blue support wrapped around his wrist. "The bruises from his nose are healing."
"That's good," she says with a tightlipped smile. Charlie is watching the conversation as a passenger, not a partaker. "He's back at work?"
"Tomorrow," I answer and she sighs, a heavy, life altering sigh that drops her shoulders.
"Everything will be back to normal soon, baby," she says. I nod, but wonder what normal even is at this point.
She pushes away from the table, straightening out her skirt. "I've made some scones, why don't you take some home with you."
And that's it. She is finished with this conversation and, just like always, when she is finished, everyone else is, too.
I gather my things, knowing I need to check on Mike regardless. He loves my mother's baking. He will be thrilled. Perhaps not about my whereabouts this morning, but with the conclusion…hopefully.
My mother hugs me quickly and draws her fingers over my hair hanging down my shoulders. "You should really get a trim, Isabella," she admonishes and then heads to the kitchen for the scones. She's back before I can even reply, box in hand.
"Raspberry and blueberry," she says and I take the dessert without a complaint. "Call me when you make it back to your apartment, dear."
She kisses me on the cheek and I'm walking through the front door, down the brick steps, staring at the crack in the step where I had fallen once. She is still upset about it, I am sure.
Charlie follows me to my car parked just in the street where I had left it this morning before Rosalie picked me up. It was easier than having her and Mike in the same room.
I turn after opening my door, my only plan a quick goodbye, but the careful look in his eye, the knowing frown to his face has my chest heaving, my stomach twisting and the tears I had so carefully dabbed away before leaving Rosalie's car are back.
I'm wrapped in Charlie's arms before I even have a chance to say anything, and he's soothing my hair back as he had done all those times before in high school, pre- and post-Edward.
"I know," he whispers as I fall apart in his arms, harder than I had with Rosalie, "I know."
The idea of finding my normal breaks me.