Hello! This is my first Twilight fic posted to FF. It will be a Bella/Leah centered story, with plenty of worldbuilding and lore-dumping. I want to redo a little bit of the Quilete tribe in a more respectful way than SMeyer did. Hopefully you'll enjoy it.
The chapter titles are all based on songs that I love and listen to for inspiration. This chapter's is "Taken For a Fool" by The Strokes.
Chapter I - Taken For a Fool
"Jesus, that's a lot of blood," Charlie muttered under his breath, probably thinking he was quiet enough for Bella to not hear. But she did, and her eyes were once again drawn to her ruined fingers. The nausea hit her in full force again, and she nearly vomited in the hospital room.
"Don't look at it!" Charlie hissed to her, wincing as a sympathy gag hit him. "Bells, what were you thinking?"
"I wanted to get rid of the radio," she said tonelessly, gazing around the sterile room. It was bare, much like the rest of Forks Community Hospital. The state's budget and the hospital's revenue weren't enough for decent equipment and any miscellaneous spending. The observation chair, a chair, and a countertop with a deep sink were the entirety of the room's contents. It was…empty.
Bella thought that she could relate.
"Bella…" Charlie trailed off. "Bella, what am I gonna do with you?"
"What are you talking about?" she asked in that same emotionless voice.
"This ain't normal, honey. Ain't right. I know you're hurting, but I don't know how to help you," he said softly. Very deep down, the remnants of Isabella Swan winced in shame at how much hurt she was causing her father, but there just wasn't enough strength – enough Bella – to do anything to rectify it.
"I'm fine," she told him. "The radio stopped working, so I took it out."
"Yeah, with your fingernails, kiddo."
Her obligation to respond was thankfully interrupted by the opening door, and though she knew that they were gone, the image of Carlisle walking in forced itself into her mind. But it wasn't him, just Dr. Gerandy again, his wizened old face the picture of concern. Bella looked on, detached, as he examined her hands and talked to Charlie about treatment and healing. Apparently, she'd ripped out two of her fingernails and had metal splinters in several fingers.
"She'll have to be careful using her hands for the next few weeks," Dr. Gerandy told Charlie. "I can remove the splinters now, though. Shouldn't be an issue."
And then he set to work, using forceps to take out the tiny shards of metal in her hands that she hadn't even been aware of. But with each successive grip and pull of the metal instrument, a little more of herself came back. The pain of it filled the hole in her chest like cement and then solidified itself, plugging the hole completely. By the time he finished and bandaged her damaged hands, she was sniffling and wincing. Charlie's rough hand on her back barely helped.
"That sucked," she muttered as Dr. Gerandy left.
"Maybe leave automobile maintenance to the professionals next time," Charlie joked.
"We don't have that kind of money," she tried to joke back, hoping it didn't sound too hollow.
"What about Jake?" Charlie asked. "He could probably fix it up just fine."
Thinking about visiting Jacob in La Push tickled something in her brain, some kind of inherent rightness, a sensation that she hadn't felt since her birthday. And, admittedly, having Jake look over The Thing was a good idea. She hadn't taken the poor truck to the shop for anything more than an oil change and tire rotation since Charlie had given it to her.
"Yeah," Bella said, feeling more herself than she had in four months. "Yeah, I think that's a good idea. I'll go see him tomorrow."
"Really?" Charlie turned his head sharply to stare at her. "I mean – uh, alright, yeah. That's good. I've been wantin' to head out to Ocean City with Billy and Harry anyway. I'll give 'em a call when we get home."
"Sure, sounds good."
The drive home was silent, though marginally less awkward and charged than the drive to the hospital had been. Bella could tell that Charlie was over the moon about fishing with his friends, and probably even more excited that she was seemingly getting out of her funk. She felt that his delight was undeserved, and a little more than hopeless. But Charlie seemed happy, and she wasn't going to take that from him if she could help it.
The invalidity of her bandaged hands made dinner an impossibility, so Charlie declared that the Swan Dinner Fallback Option was in full effect – and subsequently called the pizza place for two large pepperoni and mushrooms.
Bella had something of an epiphany as she ate. With every subsequent bite of cheese and mushrooms and processed meat, she felt her taste buds coming back to her. The day replayed itself in her head: she'd tried to go to the grocery store, heard the music coming from the radio, and had seen red. By the time Charlie had dragged her out of the truck, her throat was raw from the screaming and crying, and her hands were drenched in blood and torn nails. The bloodied remains of what was once a very expensive (she'd checked) radio laid lifelessly on the passenger seat. Then the ride to the hospital, the quiet bubbling of Charlie's sobs as he drove, and then their 'conversation' in the observation room. As she chewed the final bite of her third slice, something truly life-altering was niggling at her synapses.
"Bells," Charlie said as she stood up to leave. "Pop a squat real quick. I promise it'll only take a minute."
She did as she was asked and looked at her father. She could see the telltale signs of him psyching himself up to do something important and emotional. An altogether unpleasant thing for both herself and her father. But if he thought it should be said, she would humor him. She owed him that much for putting up with her.
"Look. Bella, honey, I know what you're going through," he said helplessly. His eyes were gleaming, shining, and Bella's heart sank into her stomach at the idea of making Charlie cry. "I went through the same thing with your mom when she took you and left. Went through it for months. I was like a zombie, just went to work and came home and made macaroni and cheese for dinner. Sometimes I still get like that. But I want to be honest with you. Edward – it's okay, Bells, I know it hurts – Edward is just a boy. I know you were close to the whole family, and I can't imagine how much it must hurt for them to have left. But closing yourself off like this ain't how you fix it. I know you don't want to hear this from me, and I don't want to be the one to say it, but you've gotta let yourself move on."
"What if I can't?" she asked quietly, finally looking at her father.
"Then you can't. But at least try first," he told her. "I'll do whatever you need me to do to help. If you need to go talk to someone, or – or – I dunno, but anything you need. I'm always here for you, hon."
"Okay," she choked, tears finally leaking out. "Okay."
When she let herself break down completely, Charlie was there. For the first time since she was a little girl, she let her dad hold her while she cried. And was surprised when it helped, how safe she felt with him. Charlie had always been awkward and somewhat emotionally repressed, but memories of him putting band-aids on her skinned knees and wiping her tears came unbidden, and she wrapped her arms around him, thankful for having a father that loved her.
They stayed like that for several minutes, but Bella eventually resigned herself to making a day out of introspection. With furrowed brows and clouded eyes, she told Charlie that she was taking a shower and heading to bed, but she spent nearly forty minutes just standing at the foot of her bed, thinking. She stumbled over to her computer and booted it up, hands and head shaking, the uncomfortable burning of self-realization immolating her limbic system. It felt almost like a migraine, a deep throbbing ache in the center of her skull. She typed in a web address, waited for it to pull up, and dropped herself into the chair.
Thirty-eight emails to Alice Cullen. Thirty-eight pleas for help, for comfort, for some sort of sign that they still thought of her as family. Thirty-eight declarations of love and need, of Bella desiring to still be part of them. Thirty-eight times that her hope had been denied. Thirty-eight emails returned to sender. Thirty-eight refusals. The Cullens didn't care about her. Not Rosalie, though that had been apparent from the moment they'd met. Not Emmett, who she'd seen as an older brother, protective and strong and dependable. Not Jasper, poor Jasper, who didn't deserve any guilt for not being able to control himself any better. Not Carlisle or Esme, who had felt more like parents than even Charlie, and definitely Renee. Not Alice – and Bella was honest enough to know that that hurt the worst – her self-proclaimed best friend and sister. And not Edward, who had promised her forever.
His words from beside her hospital bed in Phoenix bubbled up suddenly in her mind:
"As long as it's what's best for you."
She ripped the power cord from the wall, most likely damaging the old desktop beyond repair. But she didn't care about that at all. What had once been a despondent emptiness, a hole in her heart, had transformed into a beast of fire and rage. For a fraction of a second, she hated the Cullens. Hated them for loving her, for leaving her. Hated Alice for lying, hated Edward for being too much of a coward to do the right thing, hated Esme for making Bella believe that she could depend on her. Hated the rest of them for existing in her orbit. And she hated herself, more than anyone else, for falling for their gimmick. She had been so stupid, proved herself to be exactly what they'd all thought of her – of being weak and pathetic and human. All at once, that rage flooded away from her, a torrential flow from the top of her head to the tips of her toes, and left in its wake was simple, pure apathy. She almost laughed.
She was being over-dramatic.
Not only that, she was over-dramatic over a break-up. Sure, the Cullens had proclaimed themselves family to her, had promised her a life greater than her own, and in Edward she'd thought she'd found something of an eternal partner. But even with his apparent perfection, he was just a boy. Charlie was right.
The post-enlightenment shower was absolutely fantastic, and Bella reflected on what it said about her mental state that it was the first shower she could actually remember taking since September. Nothing good, she eventually admitted. But the water pressure was just right, the heat was near scalding, her shampoo and conditioner were a soothing lavender, and her towel was still warm, just out of the drier. It almost felt like self-care.
She lay in bed half an hour later, propped up on an elbow with a book – some horror novel Angela had loaned her – and feeling much more alive and present than she had even twelve hours ago. Hell, even two hours ago. The words were just beginning to swim together when Charlie knocked and stuck his head in.
"Hey, kiddo. Just got off the phone with Billy. We'll head over to the rez in the morning."
"Sounds good, Dad. You and the others going fishing?"
"Yeah, me, Billy, and Harry. I think Harry's kids are coming, too, but he didn't give me a yes or no."
"Kay. I'm gonna get some sleep, Dad." She leaned over and turned her lamp off, expecting Charlie to close the door and walk off, but he did the unexpected twice in one day; a new record for him. He walked over to her and pulled the blankets over her shoulders, leaned down and kissed her forehead, and tucked a little of her hair behind her ear.
"Love you, Bells. I'll see you in the morning."
"Love you, too, Dad. 'Night."
That sense of safety returned, that feeling of truly being loved, and the peace that came along with it carried her into the first easy sleep she'd had in months.
A/N: And that's the first chapter done and dusted. I really wanted to put Bella in a better place mentally for this story to make sense. There will still definitely be emotional and mental issues stemming from her abandonment and the shock of dealing with a pack of pubescent wolves, but Bella will be Bella. Just a little more spunky. Please review!