I do not own Twilight.
High School: Senior Year, Second Semester
"Can she DO this?!" I screech, staring at Charlie, short paper in my clenched fist. "Isn't going through someone else's mail ILLEGAL?!"
Clearly caught between a rock and a hard place—and with my mother not here, all of my anger is directed at, and demanded of, Charlie.
He looks over the copy of the rejection letter from one of the school's I had been hoping to go to. But not a rejection from the school. No, it's stating that I apparently rejected the school's offer of acceptance.
I can hardly understand what I am reading right now, mainly because I hadn't even known I had been accepted to the school in the first place.
"How many others has she been hiding?" I demand, but Charlie looks just as dumbfounded as I feel.
"She just doesn't want you to move too far away," Charlie tries to explain. Really, to cover for my mother, but I know better.
It's not the distance, it's the degree that I was accepted under.
I start to mindlessly sort through the other letters I had found underneath my mom's bed half an hour ago while I was searching for the cord to the laptop. They were in a neat stack, all opened, all acceptance letters with either adjoining declination or follow-up letters stating that I had past the accepting admission date and so, unfortunately, I could no longer attend.
I'm fuming as I pile them together, shoving them under my arm and stomping to the door.
"Where are you going?" Charlie asks, but his voice is small. He knows he has no real authority over me right now; he's not in the right.
"Out," I snap, slamming the front door behind me, and then my car door after that.
I barely make it to the off-road path that all horny, sad, mad, or gleeful teenagers park at before I'm holding back the tears, staring at the pile of letters in my lap. Thankfully, I'm the only one here—but then again, it's only just past noon on a Sunday.
The schools shout at me from the envelopes, each one huge and then accompanied by a smaller "we're sorry to hear you have decided not to attend, best of luck at your school of choice" letter that symbolizes another stab into my future.
It's no wonder I haven't received any of my letters—my mother has been hiding them from me.
I'm too lost in my own desolation to hear another car approach, too miserable and beyond hurt to see him walk up to my car, but he knocks twice on the window, softly as though not to scare me and I'm leaning over the console to push open the passenger door for him.
He smells like mint and lavender when he pulls me into his arms, letting the letters fall to the floor between us. He pulls his fingers through my hair, soothing me as I rest my head against his shoulder, staring into the dull woods across from us. I can't even bring myself to cry. I'm too hurt.
"It's okay," he whispers and I pull back, glaring at each envelope as I pick them up hastily.
"It's not okay," I hiss. "She's trying to control my life. Why would she do this to me?"
I look up and he's watching me with careful eyes, the green illuminating his sorrow for me, but I know he doesn't want to say anything that will upset me further.
I sigh. "How did you know I was out here?"
"Your dad told me you left. I figured it was either here, or the beach."
Despite myself, I smile a little.
His eyes soften and he takes my face in his hands, kissing me gently.
"How many schools?" he asks after a moment, once I've calmed down.
I sigh, pulling the pile onto my lap, sifting through them.
"UCLA acceptance," I toss it to the floor and pick up the smaller one directly beneath it. "UCLA admission declination," I wave it at him and then toss it. "University of Arizona acceptance—and declination. Brandeis acceptance, declination—oh, look. Stanford—it's a rejection letter. So nice of her to save me the disappointment."
I rip that one in half, not wanting to look at a rejection letter any more than a declination letter.
Edward takes them all from me before I can continue on my bout and takes my wrists, pulling me to his lap. He wraps his arms around me and rests his forehead against my shoulder. "I'm sorry," he whispers, because there's nothing else he can say.
I stare at the ceiling of my car, the tears falling freely from the corners of my eyes though I refuse to make a sound.
"I mean, is she afraid I'll leave home and never come back?" I ask. "Would she rather I live in Forks for the rest of my life? Get pregnant at eighteen? Get married the year after that? Work as a maid in a nursing home for the rest of my life?"
I know what I'm saying is messed up and unbelievably rude because it's not my mom's fault this is the kind of life she led. Not really. And I know Edward probably thinks I'm horrible for what I'm saying, but he lets me say it, wiping away the tears as they reach the bottom of my face and when I look down at him, he's watching me with such reverence, such affection that it makes my heart bleed.
"I want more than that, Edward," I whisper.
"I know," he answers.
"I deserve more than that."
"I know," he repeats.
"I want to be a journalist. I don't want to work a nothing job, trying to make ends meet."
He kisses my chin, then the hollow at the base of my throat. "I know," he murmurs. "I'm going to read your name all over the country. I'm going to follow you all over the world. I'm going to cut out every single article you publish and tape them to my wall. And when there's too many, I'm going to dedicate a museum to them."
I'm laughing by the time he's finished. He smiles against my skin, brushing his nose over my collarbones.
"You're going to be okay, Bella," he says. "You'll go to school in Washington. It's a small setback to a larger than life future." He pulls away to look up at me, his eyes shining with fervor.
"I'm going to make sure you get everything you want out of life."
I kiss him, certain that I already have.