"I have this disease late at night sometimes, involving alcohol and the telephone." ― Kurt Vonnegut Jr

Charlie deserves a good Christmas. The kind with ham, sides, and whatever his favorite pie happens to be. It would take a lot of work preparing everything, wrapping some mediocre presents, and sending a few off to Renee. Work that would normally cause my stomach to flip and prevent me from getting started for a good hour. That's why Xanax is so handy.

I can see why it gets prescribed often.

My memory has wasted away enough already. The upcoming holiday reminds me that I can't recall a single thing that happened for Thanksgiving. Charlie probably had to order something. It gives me more reason to not screw up today.

But the pills make me move much slower than I'm used to for cooking. The weight of the mixing spoon grows heavy in my hand. Dried breadcrumbs are not a difficult ingredient, but trying to coat each one in the broth for stuffing has me exhausted.

The potatoes are boiling in the pot. God, they probably need to be mashed soon. The weak muscles in my arm cry out at that suggestion. I swallow the fear gathering in my throat.

The oven goes off. I jump out of my skin. Shit, it's ready for me to put the stuffing in. But I still can't move this mixture well enough. The heat building in our kitchen goes straight into my face. I'm sweating, I keep rubbing my brow, but the moisture doesn't leave.

Why aren't the pills working here?

The room spins. I slam the mixing bowl down on the counter and move to the wall to prevent myself from falling. I can't fall. I can't fail. Charlie is depending on me. Renee never did this for him. I know because she never did it for me. I have to keep going.

But my legs freeze and my breathing grows ragged. There's too much to do. I haven't started on the green bean casserole or cranberry sauce or dessert. Each of those things requires a million steps.

There are beads of liquids forming at the corners of my eyes. I'm a failure. I should give up here. There's no reason to try when he'd just leave me anyway.

My heart quakes in my chest.

Maybe the end is nigh after all.

"Bella, Bells, honey," Charlie shakes me out of my slumber.

I'm dumbfounded. When did he get here? How long has he been watching?

I don't cry, but the long streams of tears down my face continue to pour. I blink, but it does nothing to stop them.

"What do you need help with?" he asks.

"Um," my voice is hoarse and I rack my brain with what I've been trying to do, "could you mash the potatoes?"

"No problem."

"Yeah, I'll-I'll just add in the milk and butter when you're done with that," my words feel rushed and stupid. I burn with embarrassment.

He nods and goes to work effortlessly. Watching him work on the meal I was supposed to do causes me to jump right back into what I had been doing. The stuffing goes into the oven and I heat cranberries, orange juice, and sugar in a saucepan.

I stir and stir until the berries split open and leak their juice. My mouth waters. This used to be my favorite part of holiday meals. But instead of hunger, the strange feelings going through me at the site of the sauce boiling represent a different kind of bellyache.

There are images of dark eyes and russet skin flashing through my head. My lips part as I realize it's not Edward's body that has materialized without warning. Why god why?

I stir faster, trying to thicken the cranberry mixture as fast as possible. It's the Xanax, I've lost control of my thoughts and it's not my fault for wondering about someone who's harped on my issues so often. Not even if he's chiseled and sturdy.

"Bella," Charlie sighs and once again removes me from my obsessive mind, "I don't want to come off as pushy here, but have you considered seeing someone, maybe?"

"Seeing someone?" I squeak out. He can't possibly mean what I think he means. The heat on my cheeks burns down to my bones.

"A therapist."

A tension shoots up my spine but leaves my shoulders. I should have considered this was what he meant. Not the other thing.

"No," I shake my head. "No shrink."

Charlie sighs a lot louder, "I know the stigma against them, Bells, I do. But in my line of work, I can't deny that they do help people sometimes."

I brush my fingers through the bottom half of my hair and use the other hand to keep stirring mindlessly, "I don't really think that's necessary yet. Like I'm not hallucinating."

A lie. Edward sulks in the kitchen corner as the food is still being prepared. I anticipate he's halfway towards commenting on me burning something right now.

I try to laugh at the end, but Charlie doesn't.

"It doesn't have to be that serious, Bells," he chides.

"Yeah, but I am doing better, I promise. Really, I'm okay," I look up at him with the most sparkling eyes I can manage. Sometimes this trick works. But never on Renee, since I learned it from her.

"I believe you, I just want you to be better than okay."

Emotion shines in his eyes. I am suddenly the worst daughter imaginable. I am a lying liar who lies. I've bought drugs, cigarettes, gotten drunk. God, I tore my tire and had to have Sam lie to take care of it. Shame sears itself into my soul. No amount of Christmas dinner can make up for these things I haven't been honest about.

But, the thought worms itself towards the center of my brain, is he giving me a chance right now, to be honest?

I look away from him. I still can't.

"I will be good," I try to sound confident. "Maybe not yet. But getting into college will help, and still, um, seeing friends."

Even if there's only like one person who I can actually count as willing to still see me. And she thinks I'm insane anyway.

"I know," I continue with a bit of honesty, "that I have things to work on. It'll just take some time."

A shrug and I hope that seals the deal. As long as I'm not getting noticeably worse in front of him, he can't argue too much against me.

Charlie puts on his gruff police voice, "Well, 'suppose we can talk about it later. It is Christmas after all."

"Right!" I say and shoo him out of the kitchen. "I'll be finished in a couple of hours!"

"I can still help…"

"Nope!" I try to be enthusiastic. "I'm back in my groove now."

Surprisingly, not a total lie. I hum to myself to focus on something other than the anxious and unwanted thoughts that always linger. Edward, for his part, stays silent as well. The meal should turn out to be decent at this point. It's all I can hope for. I should be grateful for a half a day's worth of almost-cheer.

Charlie and I eat in silence. I'm continuously thankful that neither of us feels the need to engage in idle conversation. He still compliments me on my cooking skills. I give him a small warm small in return. Even though it's a mostly peaceful affair, no more talk of therapists, my thoughts continue to swarm around me. I wonder how others are spending their Christmas. Jessica, Jake even though he's not fond of me right now, and Sam too. I wonder about the Cullens. There's no good answer for them. I end up pushing green beans around my plate when their faces form too corporeally in my head. Charlie notices, so I go back to chewing.

When I bring out the dessert I threw together, a blueberry cobbler since pie felt too overwhelming at the moment, Charlie's eyes light up and we laugh. I tell him he's lucky it's a holiday or else I'd have a thing or two to say about his sugar intake. Surprisingly, I notice this is the first time in months I've cared about his diet. Or my own.

At the realization that I feel ever-so-slightly better, Edward materializes closer to me. Eyes almost entirely black now. I gulp without helping it. Still far from okay when he's still haunting me. And with that look in his eyes, I wonder if he's hungering for something more than my blood.

"Thanks, Bells," Charlie says when he unwraps the meager gift I got him. A leather pack for his fishing gear that I got at Newton's Olympic Outfitters. Brown on the outside with a plaid interior. It reminded me of him as soon as I saw it.

"I got you something too, kiddo."

"You didn't have to, Dad," I say.

He hands me a nicely wrapped package. I wager he got someone to do it for him, perhaps a secretary at the station, as his own skills with other paper projects tend to be lacking. But I would have appreciated something just stuff in a bag regardless.

Another present in my hands draws the comparison to my failed birthday party. Yet, there's a pool of relief forming at the bottom of my stomach that my dad won't lung at me if I accidentally cut myself opening the gift. Even if the Cullens would have gotten me a thousand expensive things that I would only feel guilty for, there's surprisingly no real comparison to not thinking my life is about to end at the wrong misstep.

Edward growls at me. A sickly sweet sound that shakes my bones.

Charlie got me a novel. Gone with The Wind by Margaret Mitchell.

He looks at me sheepishly and scratches behind his neck, "The ladies at the bookstore said you might like it."

I can imagine elderly librarians giggling to one another as an adult man fumbles for what to get his moody and reserved daughter. Nothing but a classic love story that ends badly. But, I do have to applaud his efforts. I never realized he paid much attention to what I read. That in itself is a comforting gift.

I give him a kiss on the cheek that only makes him go redder. "Thank you, I love it. And Merry Christmas."

I'm familiar enough with the novel, but the comparison of myself and Scarlett O'Hara seems too outlandish to contemplate as a real possibility. Still, I thumb through the pages and randomly hit the infamous passage calling to me. My abdomen tightens at the words. A haunting feeling gathering in my psyche.

"She was darkness and he was darkness and there had never been anything before this time, only darkness and his lips upon her…"

My mind snaps. Edward's coal eyes glare into mine. I look at him, mouth parted and desperate to say something that the gears in my brain have yet to ground out. There's liquid building up beneath my tongue. My chest heaves, up and down and up again. He looks at me, with wrath or sorrow or as only a thing of prey. I don't know. The memories swirl inside of me. I used to wish for his cold, hard touch late at night, caressing me until I could imagine myself turning to stone as well. He never wished to grant me that release. Now he stares, taunting me with my human impulses, vile and untoward.

Yet, I keep reading:

"...Somehow, her arms were around his neck and her lips trembling beneath his and they were going up, up into the darkness again, a darkness that was soft and swirling and all enveloping."

I slam the book shut. Walk to the bathroom and turn the water on cold.

I reach for my phone and fumble through typing as my nerves sizzle underneath my skin: Im ready to try your type of fun - Bella

Jessica's response is surprisingly quick: new years party you free?

Yeah how do I get there?

This time her response takes twenty minutes or so. I pace around my room again while Edward scowls at me in the corner. Can I not have a friend? Jeez. His eyes are almost fully black now, but I still see a honey hue picking through. He refuses to let me stare long, however, continually placing himself at the edge of my vision.

come to my house for a sleepover will sneak out when parents asleep ;)

I nod. Then I realize she can't see that so I send a reaffirming text right after. My nerves from talking to her have stopped hurting, but they are quickly replaced by what an actual party would look like. I know right away I don't have anything to wear that Alice would approve of. Thinking of her rummaging through her own clothes to offer me something feels like a hand reaching into my chest to squeeze my still-beating heart. Oh, how I longed for my heart to just stop.

Charlie agrees to let me spend the night at Jessica's for New Year's. He's probably just grateful I would rather do anything else but mope in my room. It's not a complete lie, anyway. We will be starting and ending the night at her place, at least. But my whole body still burns with shame when I walk away from him.

It takes a couple of days to work up the nerve to tell Charlie that he needs to do something for the holiday as well. He says he'll see if Harry and Billy are doing anything for the night. Maybe there will be a bonfire. I almost, almost cancel my plans with Jessica to do that instead. But Jake's mad at me still and the haunting truth that I want to do something else entirely slivers up my spine.

Jessica's bedroom walls are a deep shade of purple. There are a million pictures of our group hanging up. Many focus on just Mike. Interesting that she's left those up when they never really got together after prom.

I look around at her things, trying not to snoop too deeply, as she runs back and forth from her room and the bathroom putting on clothes and makeup. She has a lot of fancy clothes thrown across her bed. Instead of staring too much at her trendy collection and comparing it with my own, I work to unroll my sleeping bag across the ground. Later, I'll need to ask for a pillow to spare.

"This?" Jessica asks and points to a solid green halter top. She moves around in it, but I can tell it's too tight for her against her chest. She fiddles with the neckline. Jealous pools at my feet, strangely. My own body feeling considerably less feminine.

"Not very festive for the season?" I suggest casually.

She looks down and nods, "You're right."

"Maybe something with sequins?"

Alice taught me well enough to know when sparkles might be appropriate. I remember rolling my eyes at her and thinking I wouldn't ever recall that detail. But I do. I remember so many more moments with them than I thought possible. Vivid pictures of carefree happiness between the family members. Yet, there are always those gaping holes inside of my feeble mind unable to recall each separate detail and sift them apart from one another.

If I had a vampire's memory, I wouldn't forget a single….

"Is this too much?" she asks, pulling out a short dress covered with glitter. It certainly looks over the top. The image of Jessica dancing and becoming a giant blur of light strikes me in the face. Yeah, it's gaudy, but it somehow suits her perfectly.

"No, I think you'd rock it," I smile with as much honesty as I can manage.

When Jessica comes back into the room, the dress hugs her hips and she smiles triumphantly. I relax my own shoulders knowing that we're done sifting through her options.

"But now we have to do something about you, obviously."

"Me?" I squeak. I look down at what I'm wearing. A t-shirt and jeans to go underneath a winter jacket. Seemed appropriate enough for a party I will likely end up a fly on the while at.

"You can't go like that," she explains and works through the pile of clothes once again. "And we have to add makeup too."

"Absolutely not!"

She turns and smirks, "Yes!"

I'm looking right into the face of a general. Jessica knows how to win these battles. I only wonder what she's done to Angela.

"I'm not going to look like myself," I bite down on my lip.

But she shakes her head, "You will. Just more put together. Something that says 'Edward Cullen didn't know what he lost.'"

My blood freezes. The man in question materializes in the corner of her room. The sight of him juxtaposed with a large stuffed pink bunny almost makes me gag. His black eyes seek out mine.

Jessica is wrong. Edward knows what he lost. A chance at a final meal. Only refused because of his selfless love to not harm his family. To not disappoint Carlisle and Esme. Nothing to do with me, really. He stopped wanting to fully kill me, but that doesn't mean the thirst ever left. Not when I can see the beginnings of the veins forming underneath his eyes even now. That part of him, the only part left inside of me.

I don't look at Jessica's impatient expression, instead shifting my weight from one foot to another.

She sighs, in a barely-there manner, "Let's at least get you into a skirt."

I curse her as I keep trying to stretch the dark material down as I stare at myself in her mirror. She nearly held me down beside her vanity as she swatched brown shadow over my eyes. I let her brush mascara over my lashes, but refused to allow a touch of color on my cheeks. They get red enough as is. Grabbing my head back forcefully, she brushed out my hair and pinned the left side of it away from my face. With a sore scalp and a destroyed ego, Jessica leaves me in her room to work on herself more in the bathroom. She deserves more effort, being prettier and far more sociable.

But looking at myself still ignites a confusing feeling inside of me. I'm not ugly, looking at myself now. I look warmer, more open. It leaves me feeling even more perplexed and desperate inside.

Without thinking, I reach into my shoulder bag and pull out my cell phone. I pull out the contact I put in weeks ago and swallow the lump in my throat. I press call.

It rings. I bite my bottom lip. It rings more. I chew layers of skin off my mouth.

Voicemail.

I don't know what I was expecting, but maybe not this.

"Hello, this is Sam Uley's house..."

Even through a telephone, his voice is deep and sturdy. I suck in all the air I can manage through my lungs. With a quick glance into the hallway, I confirm Jessica isn't coming back yet.

"Hi. Um, it's Bella. I don't know if you'd want to, maybe, meet me at a party?" The last bit comes out exceedingly rushed, but I force myself to continue. "I won't be drinking or anything tonight, so you know. You don't have to come, but I'll give you the address anyway. If, maybe, you do."

After I hang up, my heart refuses to slow down in my chest, fluttering like a butterfly about to take flight. All my limbs grow warm. The warmth spreads.

We rush out her backdoor without making any more sound than the hinges squeaking. Evidently, it's always unlocked. Jessica's father keeps enough hidden guns around the house that they don't feel the need to lock up the place. If I wasn't burdened with secrets, I tell her that locks probably wouldn't do any good against the real threatening creatures out in the world anyway.

But Jessica loops her arm in mine and we manage to laugh throughout the mile-long trek to a stranger's house. Almost normal.

The windows of the house are boarded up. My first instinct is to think of how creepy this place is. Maybe if I paid more attention to Forks' neighborhoods, I know this address was on the bad side of town.

I bite the inside of my cheek. I think of Sam knowing this detail and choosing not to come. But I can't think about that right now. There are a million reasons why he wouldn't anyway.

Inside, the lights are blaring. Shifting between red, blue, green, and the basic yellow-white hue that lights up hospitals. I hate hospitals. It's disorientating. I almost want to insist to Jessica that we leave upon entering the living room.

What looks to be a small-sized DJ booth entertains a group of people across the largest space. They huddle together and move in tandem. The way their movements copy one another and respond to each musical note strikes me as cult-like. A single organism existing in this home composed of individuals willing to give up their ability to act alone in favor of group acceptance. In the back of my mind, I think I've seen this somewhere else before.

Jessica yanks me by my elbow so I can't spend the entire night staring at them. Probably the right decision. She takes us to the kitchen where some older guys stand around the expensive marble island with red solo cups in hand. Baseball hats turned backward and tie-dye t-shirts.

She gets to work popping off the caps to beer bottles and signals to offer me one. I don't personally understand the need to put the drink in another container when the glass bottle holds the liquid just fine. But I don't understand a lot of partying or drinking habits.

I shake my head, "Uh, probably not tonight." I won't tell her the reason why.

For her part, Jessica just shrugs and then lights up when a tall guy enters the room, "Hey, Aaron!" They hug and I squeeze my eyes trying to gauge the mood happening here. She's almost glowing in this guy's presence. "This is Bella, also from school." A giggle at the end.

He reaches out with his right hand and I shake it. His grip is tight and I'm two seconds away from pulling back when he finally does release me. The way his eyes darken as he looks down at me immediately gives me a dark impression. Jessica is barely my friend, but certainly, she deserves effort on my part to get her away from this guy.

"Another high schooler," he grins. The little contents that are in my stomach rise to my throat.

I stare at him in disgust, not even caring if he can see my expression through the obstructing lights. Jessica just beams up at him and twirls her fingers through her hair. She can't possibly be attracted to someone like this.

After they chat for a few minutes, without acknowledging me or my glare of repulsion, Jessica pulls me aside and asks if I'll be okay by myself for some time. I agree, anything to get away from these people.

I sit down on the edge of a black couch while people make out and dance around me.

The hours tick by.

Each time the door opens and new people pour in, I obsessively scan their faces. Not him this time. Probably not anytime really.

But my stomach clenches and excitement still produces goosebumps on my flesh each time I think someone could be him. The sour feeling of disappointment comes immediately after.

Edward's obsidian eyes look at me in hunger. I keep turning my back to him, but he finds a way to sneak around.

When he forces my gaze, I can see truth plainly written on his features. No one is coming for me, no one loves me.

But I wish he did.

"I could have loved you forever," I tell him.

He doesn't care.

My eyes water, but I don't let any liquid spill down my cheeks while surrounded by strangers.

Sometimes, Jessica's laughter is loud enough that I hear it across all the rooms. Perhaps I'm just most attuned to it, however.

I worry my lip until it feels raw. I only stop because the sight of it probably adds to my unattractiveness.

"Looking for someone?" a low voice purrs in my ear.

Aaron slides on the armchair of the couch so that he crowds my personal space. He looks at me with contemplation, but not the scientific kind. The kind James looked at me with: analyzing prey.

"No," I say sharply. I hold myself up high.

But then in looking at him, Aaron's face changes into Edward's. Bile rises in my esophagus. It's an expression of pure evil. The morphed man cocks his head at me as he realizes I am looking through him. Yet, it's Edward's features that remain angry and disturbed. He wants to harm me. Edward or the stranger in front of me. I am being marked to be killed; bitten and tossed aside.

I realize I need to get away from this man. Right. Now.

I push myself off the couch in a less-than-smooth manner, scrambling to my feet as I dart to a corner on the other side of the house.

The only thing that will prevent that stare from continuing to haunt my mind is to keep my eyes shut. I squeeze them so tight they burn and leak from the outside corners. My chest rapidly rises and falls. I don't think I'm getting enough oxygen. I'm going to suffocate.

I shudder and cry for a long time. Alone.

The smell of weed hits my nose. It causes my mouth to water. I search for the source. A large bong, like the type my dealers' use near me. But they're safer people, I hope. Even if they let me mix sedatives without warning.

Still, the need for present relief courses through me.

I take another glance through the crowd. Still nothing.

He's not going to come. Might as well do something interesting instead.

I'm on my second beer when everyone stands up to yell 'Happy New Year!' There's no one around me to smash my cup into, to hug, or to kiss. I still try to take a long sip to usher in better times ahead of me. But I don't believe it.

It's when I see Jessica rubbing up against Aaron, that I slam my cup down on the counter and rush up the stairs of this unfamiliar house.

There's horror, repugnance, and general self-hatred pulsing through me. After seeing Edward's face on Aaron's, I won't approach the guy again. Even if that means letting Jessica fall victim to his false niceties. I hope she knows what he's after and consequently doesn't mind it.

The upstairs of the house isn't filled with as many people, fortunately. And I'm smart enough to not push through any closed doors. I find the bathroom easily enough.

Doubled over on the counter, I run my hands through my hair and try to steady my breathing once again. So many feelings inside of me that I can't handle. They merge until I'm almost as numb as I was right when Edward left.

I see his face in the corner of the mirror. I won't look. I won't.

One emotion still emerges in me. Regret.

Regret of just about everything. That I didn't make a good enough case for the Cullen's to want to keep me. That I don't know how to talk to friends or Charlie or anyone. That I decided to come to this stupid party. That I called someone only interested in chastising my choices.

I brush down my sweaty hair and try to be strong. I'm not any good at it, I know. But staying in this bathroom all night when other people may need it isn't an option. I'm not valuable enough to take up this space.

I'm going to march down these stairs and tell Jessica I'm leaving. I can make it back to her house without her. It's the right thing to do.

I hit something. Hard and immobile. But warm and unthreatening.

Hands wrap around my shoulders and pull me up from falling on the ground. I don't focus on anything but the swooshing sound ringing in my ears from the sudden movement. Vertigo comes, maybe from the collision or maybe from the drinking. But I still make myself look to see who I hit and apologize.

Sam.

My breath leaves my lungs. He came.

A flood of a thousand little thoughts goes through my head. Surprise tingles each one of my fingertips. I thought he gave up on me. I was certain he had. There wouldn't even have to be a grand reason for it; I know I'm a mess. But he's here anyway. Looking at me with the same stern expression he always shows.

There's nothing else in this house. The flashing lights fade away from my vision and the only thing I see is right in front of me. No more sounds of constant conversation or drunken bickering, only one true thing.

"You're who I've been looking for," I blurt out.

The confession ripples through us both. His eyes grow just a bit softer. Maybe he's here to take me away. That wouldn't be so bad. If only there wasn't such a desperate, strange need spreading down my body. Desperate for something I can't name. Something that feels so familiar and foreign.

He stares at me, waiting for me to move. I don't hesitate.

My fingers brush up against his cheek. His skin is boiling. The roughness of slowly growing facial hair tickles my thumb. Though the lights continue to cloud my vision, I imagine Sam's eyes flutter close at my contact. There's a fiery warmth shooting through my body as I continue to look at him. A gradually amplifying type of panic I've never experienced before, pooling at the very core of my being.

And even though the ghost of Edward Cullen watches, even though I don't understand why I'm so propelled to be near Sam right now, even though I actually don't know what I'm doing at all...

I reach up and kiss him.

A/N: Another Bella chapter that took me a while to write...but there is content coming next chapter to make up for where I left it here! I will hurriedly get that done so y'all can yell at me when it's released! Thanks for reading!