Good Morning, Little Ones!
Thank you to Mel and Jill.
.: Tveir :.
When she wakes up, the sky outside is dim, and Isabella cannot tell if the faint lightness behind the clouds is a growing or diminishing daylight.
Yawning, she rolls over, searching for her clock. It's been knocked to the floor in a hasty morning routine, and she reaches under her bed to recover it. Through blurry eyes, she checks the time. She stares at the long thin hands for a very long moment, her tired mind having a difficult time processing that is indeed nearly six in the morning.
Isabella sets her clock down on her bedside table, groaning lightly. Her hands come up to her face, pressing into the sockets of her eyes as she tries to push sleep out of them.
Despite the fact that she did not eat dinner the night before, Isabella has no appetite.
Her eyes drift to the wall near her bed, where a free calendar her mother received in the mail from the National Park Service is hung. The days are numbered, counting down to let her know that with each passing hour, Isabella is closer and closer to freedom. She craves graduation more than almost anything. The moment she is no longer bound to this school, she intends to leave.
Fantasies of starting her own life, finding an apartment in a faraway city, fill her. She'll go beyond Seattle, find somewhere with brighter weather. She imagines the studio apartment that will be the most she'll likely be able to afford; she imagines filling it with cheap but carefully selected furniture pieces as she begins a life that for the first time is meant exclusively for her. She even imagines the clothes she'll find: secondhand but finally different from the matching clothes her mother still forces her to wear with her twin.
Isabella will be left behind in Forks, a memory of an inferior twin daughter, and Bella will be born.
These fantasies fuel Isabella, give her strength to pull herself out of bed and into her life. Less than a month to go before these dreams of hers can become a reality.
Isabella showers quickly and dresses in the most understated clothes she can find. Renée buys everything in pairs, and since Isabella is desperate to save her money to move out, she has little choice but to accept the clothing picked out for her.
When she is dressed in a thick wool skirt and a dark green turtleneck, Isabella combs through her hair but doesn't bother to dry it. The rain outside guarantees her hair will never dry today, so it's hardly worth the effort.
Downstairs, the house is quiet still, though when Isabella reaches the kitchen, she's surprised to see her father sitting at the table, a cup of coffee in his hands. He glances up at her from the paper when she steps in.
"Hey, Dad," she says in an awkward greeting. Charlie Swan is a kind but aloof man. His world is overrun by the women in his life, and in the last five years, he has spent more time at work than he has at home.
"Iz," he says, nodding to her. She knows why her parents call them Iz or Izzy. It's because usually, the girls can't be told apart, even by them.
It has long stopped breaking Isabella's heart.
Isabella moves to the refrigerator, pulling it open to retrieve some juice. She hasn't yet acquired the taste for coffee.
The silence is heavy as Isabella pulls a glass down from the cupboard. Charlie is not a particularly verbose man, but Isabella can tell her sudden appearance in the kitchen has made him uncomfortable. Eighteen years and the man still has nothing to say to his daughter.
Isabella pours her glass, then looks at her father, her stomach turning sour. "I'm actually not hungry," she says, opening the fridge again and setting the unsipped glass on the top shelf. "I'm going to head to school early. See you later."
Charlie grunts in acknowledgement, and as she leaves the kitchen, she can feel the energy of the room shift again as he relaxes.
...
The walk to the school is miserable, but it's no different than any other day. Isabella secures her coat around her, making sure it is fastened tightly around her head, but she knows it's futile. The rain will find a way in; it always does.
The Swan house isn't far from the school, a small brick building that hosts both the middle and high schools. Isabella has been walking there every day for years.
She's running ridiculously early, so she finds a spot under a tree that is relatively dry. It won't be for long, but she needs it to last only another forty minutes or so then she can go into class.
Bored and feeling restless, she pulls a book out of her backpack, hoping it will transport her far away from this dreary life.