I do not own Twilight.
WOW. I wish I had an excuse...but I don't. I'm hoping to finish up with this story over another ten chapters or so. I have about three to post now and another three drafted, so I promise to get at least one out tomorrow.
I listen to Charlie and my mother bickering from the kitchen hallway. They're trying to keep their voices low so as not to disturb us, but I've not been able to sleep a single second the entire night.
"He's not staying in her room, Charles," my mother insists, her tone irate.
Charlie makes a huffing sound and I can imagine his mustache fluffing up at the ends. "Then we'll setup the guest room, Renee." He scoffs. "Honestly, the kid just lost his mother."
"She left the family. She didn't die. And from what I've heard, maybe those kids are better off."
"How can you even—"
"You were the one who TOLD me about his parents when they first started dating, Charlie!"
"Because you wouldn't let the subject go!"
"Oh, that's right, because you think you can—"
I step around the corner before my mom can say something she'll regret. Her words cut off as they both turn to me, My mother, bleary-eyed; Charlie, exasperated.
"Go back to bed, honey," my mother starts but I cross my arms, planting myself because there's no way in hell I'm going to let her rule over this as well.
"He's only staying for the night." Not that I have a time constraint for him, but it's the exact words he told me when he passed through my window three hours ago, his eyes rimmed red, a nasty bruise forming on his lower left jaw.
Emmett forced him to come here; he knew Edward couldn't stay at home until their father calmed down.
My mother nods but I can see the questions burning in her eyes: When did she leave? Why did she leave? Did they know she was going to? Will they be better off? I hope she doesn't ask any of them because I don't have an answer to a single one.
"How is he?" Charlie asks, folding his arms, too. He's an officer now, as he had been when Edward showed up; when my parents had heard me crying from their bedroom. Edward had been a stone while I explained over my sobs. On the outside, he seemed unaffected but I knew him well enough. He was broken inside.
I shrug with one shoulder. "Sleeping." In my bed, which apparently is causing a bit of an uproar.
"I'll talk with him when he's up…if he wants. His brother, too. There's some…uh, pamphlets. Help groups. It's not something they have to go through alone."
"He's not alone," is my immediate response, despite the tears forming in my eyes—again. But I know Charlie's coming from a place of heart, almost as much as I know neither of the Cullen brothers would ever take him up on his offer. They've been practically trained from birth to depend on themselves alone.
My mother's been eerily silent and when I finally look at her, she has the audacity to look embarrassed. "Bella, I…"
"He's staying for as long as he needs to." I finalize my words by turning and running back up the stairs. I know she'll reprimand me later for my tone of voice, but at the moment I couldn't care less.
He's still sleeping, his chest pressed to the mattress, his arms bent and buried by the pillow. He looks so peaceful, it's almost daunting to compare his face now to how he looked a couple of hours ago. I lay down next to him again, trying not to stir him, but inevitably wake him.
He peers over at me, eyes bleary before dropping his head, closing his eyes. "Stop crying."
I can't help it. I cry harder. He pulls me against him and I bury my face in his shoulder. "I'm sorry." I'm sorry for a lot of things, namely not being strong enough when he needs me to be.
He swallows hard. "She was practically nonexistent even when she was around," is all he says, but I can hear the break in his voice and I know he doesn't want to talk about it, so I bury myself against his side until his breathing evens out and he falls back to sleep.
I kiss whatever skin I can reach. It's not enough, but I don't know what else to do. I don't know how to help him. I know, if he were awake, he'd say I'm doing exactly what he needs—being there for him; holding him; loving him, but it still doesn't feel like enough.
His world is being torn apart and I've never felt more useless.
I still haven't slept when he wakes in the morning and I think he can tell. He lets me ask him about his jaw and tells me what I already know.
"I shouldn't have blamed him, I guess," he mutters, staring at my hair as it moves across the pillow when I sit up to look at him. He catches a piece, twirls it. He looks at me and smiles that half-grin, though it doesn't reach his eyes. "Should never fight with a drunk."
We both skip school that day and my mom, surprisingly, calls in for us. She sends me a warning glance on her way out the door, but Charlie's still here, so she's not that worried. I beg him not to bring up the help groups and brochures and therapists, but he does anyway because he needs to find a way to help. Like expected, Edward takes the information with a tight smile, but I see him throw it into Emmett's junk pile when he comes to pick him up that night. I follow him to the car, sad and desperate for him to stay longer, but he shakes his head, whispering an excuse about my mom, and his dad.
He kisses me, whispers a thank you and tells me he loves me and I wonder if a heart can burst from too much feeling.