The driveway had never felt so long. Though, she was able to get to the front steps before the second chorus, the music blasting unnecessarily loud in both ears—so, how long could it have really been? Then again, it was necessary. The song was so loud that she couldn't possibly think of anything else. If nothing else could help her dissociate from her thoughts, Gwen Stefani could. Still, just to make sure, she focused on the trees and how different they looked swaying in the wind without the sound of their branches shaking.
How the gravel and dirt felt beneath her feet without the sound of its crunch. Then she was walking up the steps, but no sound accompanied the soles of her shoes as they slapped against the concrete. It almost felt dizzying, the way it disconnected her from literally everything else. It was like a kind of reset sequence. Her mind was being reconfigured, rewired, recentered on what mattered with no care for what didn't.
Morgan's fingers reached the door handle and she could see him through the glass, standing a few feet from the door, in the foyer. Without hesitation, she pushed open the door and stepped inside, letting it fall closed behind her. Edward stared her down, his hands in loose fists at his sides—and she knew. His displeased features were a little tighter, brows twisted together on his forehead in discomfort, and his lips curled in what could almost be called a snarl. Though, no words came out. None that she could hear.
"What the hell were you thinking?" he questioned her, as she took off her coat. She worked to hang it in the coat closet, turning her back to him, and he glared at the white wires dangling from her ears. "What do you think this is accomplishing? You have to turn that off sometime."
Emmett appeared in the doorway from the living room, arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against the wall. It was more than a little amusing to watch. Obviously Morgan's disappearing act had the entire family concerned. However, he could hear the music of choice as it blared in her already sensitive ears, and he fought the urge to laugh. Edward was all but fuming, the smoke almost visible as it billowed from his ears.
Morgan didn't notice—and, what she did notice, she ignored—as she closed the closet door and turned to head for the stairs. Just past him, she swiveled on her heels and held up her mp3 player, pointing at it in a gesture with the other hand. It was in this moment, Edward felt a small glimmer of hope. Perhaps she was about to shut it off? To come to her senses?
Though, instead of powering it down, she turned it up two notches. "You know, I think she's onto something," she was shouting a bit, but she didn't care. "This shit is bananas."
The second the sentence left her mouth, she returned to her path for the stairs, taking them two at a time toward the top, and Edward's shoulders sank. It was then that Emmett finally did laugh. An obnoxious bark of a sound that drew Edward's knife-like gaze, but Emmett wasn't deterred. "Hey, you're just lucky she didn't pick the Spice Girls. Could be worse, man," he pointed out, in jest, before excusing himself from the room.
Morgan closed her bedroom door behind her and exhaled. There was nothing more she wanted than to turn the music off now and allow her mind to relax, but she couldn't give up yet. She dug her metaphorical heels in and simply changed artists, substituting the pop beats for something angrier, more charged to keep her going—and continued with her usual post-school routine. First, a soak in the bath. Then she dried and put on lotion before getting dressed in something more comfortable.
Second, usually taken up by homework or more lines on her canvas, was now perching on the edge of the bed to eat the lunch she'd kept from her empty stomach with stress. It felt almost as if she were trying to hide the fact that she was eating, with the way she hunched away from the door as she ate just a little too fast. But her stomach was twisting now, eating itself in the absence of lunch, and she knew her dinner was effectively going to be ruined—still, she allowed herself to eat.
After all, she might not even feel like food later. Why take that chance? Starving herself over this conflict would help no one. That's what she told herself as the song changed in her ears, the shell beginning to ache. Though, it was then that a figure appeared in her peripheral. Her body stiffened as her eyes flickered up in a sheltered startle, though relief flooded through her when it was Carlisle that stood feet from the bed in place of Edward.
His expression was neutral as he lifted up a hand, pinching his index finger and thumb to gesture at his ear, silently asking her to take the headphones off. Reluctantly, Morgan reached up a hand and tugged out only one. "Hey, Slim Shady," Carlisle mused. "I heard you went exploring today."
Morgan paused, brows knitting with bewilderment. "You know Eminem?"
"When you started incorporating him into your playlists, I decided to have a listen for myself. I wouldn't say I would listen to that kind of music on my own but I can see why you do. Mind if I sit?"
He gestured a hand toward the bed, and Morgan shook her head. Finally, she reached for the mp3 player in the pocket of her cotton shorts and turned the music off. When everything fell silent, all that was left was a vague ringing, and the ache pulsating deep in her ears. But she pulled out the second earbud and set the player aside on the bed as Carlisle lowered himself to sit to her right on the comforter. "I know what you're gonna say, dad," Morgan sighed heavily, placing the lid back onto her lunch container before setting it aside as well.
"Really? Is Edward starting to rub off on you?" Carlisle attempted to joke, though bringing up her brother only earned a small, begrudged chuckle.
"Yes, I skipped school after lunch. I didn't plan to, it just happened. It won't happen again."
"Why the loud music?" he asked, tilting his head as he listened.
Morgan glanced at the mp3 player instinctively, but exhaled heavily through her nose. "I'm sick of him hearing everything in my head, so I screwed with him a little. It kept him out," she shrugged.
It wasn't hard to see that she was hiding. Hiding in her room, in her head, in her life. Though, Carlisle was unsure how to proceed and achieve his desired outcome. He wanted her to feel like he could trust her and not that this was an interrogation or a sentencing, but an open conversation between a father and his daughter. The situation was delicate and he could see it now—losing her was a possibility.
Maybe not right now, right this second—but she was teetering on the edge of something and every wall she could muster was built higher than her head. It was in the way her shoulders rolled forward in a guarding position, features apprehensive despite their tired appearance, and her eyes were darkened by a shade of sadness that reflected his own image like a mirror. What had happened in the hours since she left for school that morning?
With a gentle exhale, his features softened. "Morgan, I know this has been a difficult time for you, to say the least, and I want you to understand that your mother and I hear you. But you're just as much a part of this family as Edward is. We're working on a solution, but it will take time and patience—all we ask of you is an open mind."
Morgan stared at the trees through the glass wall ahead of her. It wasn't an entirely unreasonable request. Though, in the moment, it felt like one. She'd waited so long already. She had given Edward all the patience she was physically capable of, and still nothing changed. Even knowing the truth about his distance wasn't enough for him. But, this was Carlisle asking. Not Edward. Her eyes shifted away from the glass, coming to meet his gold irises with uncertainty, and she nodded stiffly.
"Okay. Okay, but I get to know why everyone is being secretive and avoiding me," she negotiated her terms with a wavering but firm tone. "I don't care if we're moving again or someone just left the bread bag open—I deserve to know, dad."
"Yes, you do. We're not moving. But you've made it very clear you do not wish to know what Alice sees, and we're all doing the best we can to respect that wish," Carlisle explained, delicate in his choice of words.
"So, everyone is avoiding me because of one of Alice's visions? Why? Was it about me?"
"No, no," he was quick to attempt to squash the perceived worry, but he paused with a light exhale. "The Sheriff's daughter started school today, yes?"
Morgan nodded. "Yeah…?"
"Alice sensed her arrival. That's all you can know, I'm afraid. But I will put your mind at ease—nothing is wrong and no one is in trouble. Is their behavior why you left school today?"
"Sort of. Edward made the drive there unbearable and then Jessica was running her mouth to Bella at lunch. Jake texted and asked if I wanted to hang out. I didn't wanna stay there any longer than I had to, so I left with them," she explained, quietly.
Carlisle's brow lifted. "Them?"
It was then that a huff of air was forced through Morgan's nostrils and she slid off the bed in a bout of frustration, her bare feet slapping the wood floor as she took steps away, toward the window.
"God, I'm so sick of this!" her arms gestured out from her sides as she turned to face him. "There's things I can't tell you and things I can't tell Jacob, and I feel like I'm lying through my teeth all day long! Billy knows that I know you guys aren't human—I can see it in the way he looks at me, like he's begging me not to put his son in danger. I can't exist without having to lie to someone, and I'm either betraying him or I'm betraying you. I can't navigate this."
Her throat felt tight, and if it weren't for that, she might still be venting. The words were but regurgitated thoughts she'd internalized for a month, spewing out in a condensed version she articulated to keep them dull, unsharpened as they aimed right for his chest. Carlisle simply listened to her concerns, her heartache. This was never going to be easy. There was always a chance, he knew, that she would have to take on a bit more of the lie than she was prepared for.
Though, he didn't anticipate it taking such a toll. When it appeared she was finished, he spoke up, "I'm so sorry we've placed this burden on you, sweetheart. Your life can never be normal in the way we'd hoped, but we're trying our best to make this life as normal as possible for your sake. What can we do to make this easier for you?"
Hearing him practically jump at the chance to ease her suffering was like a flood of relief through her veins that left a gentle tremble in the muscle. But she couldn't fight the tremble of her lip as her mind remained blank when questioned for solutions. What would make it better? She didn't know. If they left Forks, she would miss Jacob too dearly. Though, there was nothing to be done while they were here.
Shaking her head, her eyes fell to her feet. "I don't know," she admitted it aloud. The words felt embarrassing to speak. How could she complain like that and not have any insight into a solution? However, Carlisle didn't comment on it. That was, in all honesty, the last thing on his mind. Instead of responding at all, he stood from the bed and took steps toward her, enough to close the space before wrapping his arms around her. He pulled her close in an embrace and she didn't fight it.
She welcomed the familiar chill, the cold that touched her skin through his sweater, because it didn't feel cold. Not really. It was distinct and read by her mind only as a comfort. The kind easily mistaken for warmth when she closed her eyes. After all, that was what it used to be, wasn't it? Sometimes it still startled her when she couldn't hear a heartbeat or feel a pulse. They were so human even now—how could they not be?
"How about you sit down with your mother and I tomorrow after you get home from school, and we'll see what we can come up with? Surely the three of us can find a way to make things less difficult."
Morgan nodded numbly against his chest. "Okay. But- dad? Is there anything else I don't know?"
"Sweetheart," Carlisle pulled away then, enough to take her gently by the shoulders. "There's nothing to keep from you. What we don't share, we do so to keep you safe."
"Like Alice's visions," she replied, rhetorically, and he nodded once. Though her eyes retained a shadow of skepticism, she stepped away with a lighthearted sigh and returned to her bed. "I think I'm just gonna turn in for the night. Can you please let mom know when you see her?"
Carlisle bit his tongue. The urge to dig further beneath her shell was strong, but he'd spent far too long resisting his own impulses to give in to such a temptation. It was best to simply let it go for the night, he knew, and he would try again tomorrow. "Of course. Sleep well, dear," he said, as he turned to move toward the door.
Her chest felt a thin layer of ice coating its walls as she watched him leave without another word. He closed the door behind him and she was alone once again, but the ache within her never truly left. It seemed the people who usually cured her bouts of sadness were simply band-aids now. The thought was only further depressing as she moved her bag to the floor and climbed in beneath the comforter. Tomorrow will be better, she told herself.
She screwed her eyes shut and refused to open them, urging sleep to take her before she would open them again, but her mind was loud. Even drowsy enough to sleep, she tossed left and right in a fit of restlessness. It gnawed at her bones all night—the possibilities of what Alice's vision really was, and what it meant. They'd never kept one secret from her quite this poorly, and none had Edward acting so much worse than usual.
What did it all mean? Did she even truly want to know? She wanted to be surprised by the future, to not be able to change it, and let her life play out as it was meant to. But wasn't something that affected the family this much important enough to get a head's up? Would that really be so wrong? She tossed and turned through the sunrise, all the way up until her alarm blared. And, finally, her eyes reopened. Though, it was like ripping stickers from a hard surface. She half-expected the gentle snapping sound to accompany the motion as well.
It felt as though she were actually ripping off a band-aid in opening them, and then they began to sting in their exhaustion. With a sharp groan, she forced herself upright and reached a hand toward the nightstand for the alarm. Her palm slapped against almost everything on the stand before finally putting a rest to the incessant beeping. It was on her hand's way back to her lap that a familiar texture grazed her skin, and she paused.
It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to distance and she even leaned toward it to better read the lettering. A copy of Hamlet. Red silk hung from the end of it—a bookmark, she knew. Although, she couldn't remember ever owning it herself. Or, really, even borrowing it from one of her siblings. What was it doing on her nightstand? Curiosity burrowing into her muscles, she didn't hesitate to pick it up, pulling it into her lap to better see it as her other hand reached for her glasses.
Once they were on, her fingers followed the pages to part them at the bookmark's held place. The book opened with the distinct crackle of age and use. There was a single paragraph outlined with yellow, a highlighter mark encompassing the quote.
Doubt thou the stars are fire,
Doubt that the sun doth move,
Doubt truth to be a liar,
But never doubt I love.
Her tired eyes moved over the words several times each as her mind fought to find the relevance. This book did not belong to her. Yet there it was, with this quote specifically underlined. What did it mean? What was the purpose? It closed with a snap in her hand as she pushed off the bed, swaying with the sudden change in position in steps around the end of the bed frame, on her way to the bathroom. She would just ask the others for the culprit when she made it downstairs.
So, she took her usual morning bath soak and applied lotion before getting dressed like every morning before. She wore jeans and a hoodie—too tired for anything more detailed as she left her hair to air dry on her way out of the bedroom. Her bag on her shoulder, she brought the book with her down the stairs to the foyer, and then into the living room. There, she could see Emmett and Rosalie in the living area and her parents in the kitchen.
"Whose is this?" Morgan questioned, holding up the book where she stood near the entryway.
All in view turned their heads to see her, their lips curved in greeting and warm smiles. But Rosalie's gaze shifted away a little too quickly, her jaw visibly tightening, and Emmett's smile faltered as he turned to look at those in the kitchen. Though, Carlisle and Esme were sharing a look that caused Morgan's arm to fall to her side. Her stomach sloshed. "What?" she questioned them again, voice concerned now. "Was I not supposed to see it or something? It was on my nightstand when I woke up-"
"Honey, there's something we need to tell you," Esme interrupted gently, coming to stand in the doorway between kitchen and living room. It was only a second before Carlisle came to stand beside her. Their demeanor was like a grenade forced down Morgan's throat, the pin caught on a rib, and it landed in the pit of her stomach with a resounding thud.
Her eyes darted to Emmett and Rosalie, desperate for any kind of hint or consolement—but they wouldn't meet her gaze. Worry forced its way up her throat and she struggled to swallow it when Carlisle finally spoke up. "Edward has gone to stay with our cousins in Denali," he said, and the ringing returned to Morgan's ears. "He'll be back next week."
Morgan was frozen there in the entryway, her knuckles turning white where they wrapped around the spine of Hamlet. "W-what? He just…left?"
"It was decided late last night. He wanted to leave as soon as possible," Esme attempted to put her at ease.
"Why would he do that? We just got back," Morgan's voice was rising steadily, slowly as the back of her throat began to burn with hurt and frustration that flared her nostrils yet dampened her eyes. Then, she thrusted the book out in a gesture. "Is this his, then? Some pathetic excuse for a goodbye?"
Emmett's voice pulled her gaze back to him and Rosalie, who now looked up at her as well with the same shade of sympathy and remorse his features displayed, "He said he didn't think you'd wanna talk to him, so he didn't wake you up."
Morgan stared incredulously at the carpet beneath her feet. There was an element of shock to the hurt like a numbing agent on the skin before the knife sunk itself into her chest. She could feel it wearing off now as it settled in, the weight of what had been said, and the blade was burning her lungs with the sting. Blinking, she turned on her heels. "I'm going for a walk," she mumbled the announcement, tossing it over her shoulder as she was quick to leave the living room. "Nixie! Let's go!"
It was a shout like any other, her call for the dog—but her voice wavered with an impending rush of water. The tears were building behind her eyes and she wasn't sure just how long she could bite her lip to keep them down. To keep from screaming. The sound of Nixie's feet on the hardwood, pattering fast from the kitchen, was a rush of relief and her resolve almost betrayed her. But she opened the front door and Nixie ran straight out.
The others didn't try to stop her. What would it achieve? She needed to leave the house, to find a place of privacy where she could hurt in safety. They could all hear the fluctuation in her heartbeat, her lungs all but shuddering in her chest, and the steady decline of her voice's stability. It was for this very reason that Alice accompanied Jasper out of the house when her alarm rang through the house like an air raid siren. He didn't want to feel any more of the damage. He couldn't stomach it.
Morgan reached the bottom of the front steps and started walking to the left, only walking a short distance down the driveway before cutting through the foliage to the trees beside the house. Her feet moved as quickly as they could without quite running but that was all they had the urge to do. How could Edward think so little of her? How could their relationship have gotten worse after she found out the truth?
Did he not see that it was his actions driving her away, not him? Perhaps the only reason she cared was due to the years he'd actually spent being the brother he should've been. The one she deserved. Maybe that was why she kept waiting, kept hoping that he would open up? That he would move on as she had and choose her? The thoughts raced through her mind on a loop that soured her tongue. She couldn't help but move faster, into a brisk jog, if anything just to get away from them.
Though, they weren't the only things she wanted to get away from. But they were the only things she could try to escape. And then she was running, and the view was blinding—a green smear that reflected the sparse rays of sun shining through the branches above. She didn't know how far she was going. Nixie's collar chimed in her ear before the dog bounded ahead of her, caught in the thrill of the speed, but she had no idea just what they were running from.
She was simply excited to be outside, to spend time with Morgan. It was innocent. Free of the kind of worries that plagued her owner at the very same time. What must it be like to be so oblivious? However, Morgan could only run so long before her lungs were on fire and her throat burned as she swallowed, sandpaper skin rubbing itself raw. Her hair was a fluffed up mess of wisps and she fought to push it away from the wet planes of her cheeks as she huffed in shuddering breaths.
It had never been so difficult to breathe. There was a gentle spin to her vision and her head felt dizzied, tilting with the slosh of her stomach. Morgan's eyes were a haze but fought desperately to blink away the water, to see well enough to identify her location, to figure out just how far she'd gotten. Though, there weren't any identifiable trees or landmarks to see.
Then, she heard it—rushing water. The river? Nixie bounded to her side and she urged the dog along with her as she began following the sound. "Come on, girl," she instructed, patting a palm against her thigh. "This way."
Something about the sound alone was soothing. The idea of finding water was like giving some to someone who hadn't had it in days, but it was her very soul that craved it. If anything could calm the storm of thought in her mind, the anger and hurt terrorizing the left side of her chest, it was water. So, she followed the sound as it increased in volume, and desperation grew within her. It was as though she'd been set ablaze and this stream of water dancing through her ears was the only thing that could put it out.
The ground inclined, subtly at first—but then there were rocks and large boulders, and she climbed over every one. They lead up a few feet to a sort of bridge of high ground that declined just as sharply on the other side. Right through the middle of it, the water. It was in fact a river, though not the one she'd assumed—a smaller one, thinner, that poured off a short distance to a pool below that didn't look all that far down.
Morgan perched herself on the side of the rock, in the dirt beside the river, in an attempt to catch her breath. The rocky hillside that surrounded the pool below was covered in emerald green moss and the rocks themselves almost appeared copper. She wondered, briefly, if anyone in her family knew this little fall existed—and, if they did, why hadn't they told her about it? Perhaps they simply didn't want her venturing so far from the house? After all, they did seem wary of the woods.
Why, though, they never quite explained. Another thing on the ever-growing list of information they chose to keep from her. She scoffed aloud then at the thought, the insinuation that it was to somehow protect her. All that it did was further push her away to places like this. Any number of wild animals could have had their sights on her right then. What good did keeping any of it from her do, then? Morgan crawled forward, toward the river, and reached out a hand to submerge her fingers in the rushing water.
It felt warm. Like a glass of water left out on the counter for the afternoon. She expected it to be at least somewhat cold—but this was a rather comfortable temperature. Then, she felt a shift beneath her hand on the bank, the dirt and rock shifting away into the river. Suddenly it was her that was shifting forward as her elbow buckled and her shoulder plunged into the water, the left side of her face and head following quickly, and a muffled sound of shock escaped her.
She scrambled to brace her palms against the rocks at the bottom of the river, but the bottom was a foot out of reach. The depth swallowed her front and the screech from her throat was eaten up as well. It was just like her to end up in a situation like this, she thought, as her back end followed her in an attempt to right her front. Though, as she turned herself upright to breach the surface, her entire body soaked now in the lukewarm water, the current pushed at her.
The rocks below her were covered in a layer of slick moss and sediment, offering no chance of transaction as she struggled to get her footing—but, before she knew it, the bottom of the river altogether disappeared. The water pushed her like a million little hands shoving at her skin and it gave her an ounce of momentum as she followed it over the edge of the fall. There was only a split-second to comprehend what was happening before her feet broke the surface of the pool below the river.
The dark abyss split open in the shape of her, closing over her head as gravity pulled her into its depths. Immediately, her heart lurched into her throat, a jolt of adrenaline coursing through her veins as the reality set in. She'd been submerged. The water was dark. Too dark. Her arms and legs kicked out, utterly flailing in an attempt to get to the surface as quickly as possible. Denim's restrictive nature didn't help her much, but she broke through in a few seconds, gasping in a breath while fighting the urge to cough up the sparse water she'd swallowed.
Again, the water wasn't cold, and it only enhanced her fear. It was unnatural. Almost eerie. It was only then that she could hear Nixie barking, the jingle of her collar getting louder and quieter as the dog attempted to find a way around the rocks. Quickly, Morgan swam toward the edge of the river at the other end of the basin. "Nixie!" she called. "I'm right here! Hold on!"
As she found her footing in the much more shallow water of the second river, her clothes felt like they weighed twenty pounds, and she fought against them on her way to dry land. Water poured off of her as though she were her own faucet and she did her best to wring out her jacket, sighing heavily at the way her shoes squelched. Still, she found herself pausing, twisting to look back at the body of water. Something about the surface almost seemed to glimmer.
Then, she felt it—the cold. It was as if a single tendril of the temperature was reaching toward her, but it remained just in front, just out of reach. What are you waiting for? she wanted to ask, yet her lips would not move. Instead, her body leaned forward on her feet as they stood still, tilting toward it absentmindedly. And then she took a step to keep her balance, and it shied away. So, she took another step, and she could feel it brush at her arms, before retreating just a bit more.
Morgan knew what it wanted. What it was asking. With all that had been happening at home, what really did she have to lose? It made the idea seem far less terrifying than it truly was. After all, what could she discover if she followed it down? If her home on land could not sustain her, perhaps one below the surface might? She continued onward, trudging back into the shallow edge on the river. The thrill of it all was intoxicating.
When the water reached her waistline, she didn't wait to dive forward, pushing against the rocks at the bottom with her toes—and the cold swallowed her whole.
