I own nothing written by Stephenie Meyer.
Beta'd by Arizona Hale and (EDIT: March, 2012) Project Team Beta
"Where have you two been? I was getting worried."
The sun has already disappeared over the horizon. Not as early as Reni wanted us to be, but we're home. I give her to Mom.
With a still-sleeping Reni in her arms, she zips across the living room and places her gently on the white love seat set against the wall, opposite the front door—the only piece of furniture left that needs to be packed. My eyes run across the open space that was our home, now just an empty shell for some other person to fill. The dark, oak floors glimmer like rich maple syrup underneath the box-like light fixtures attached to the walls, casting the white molding and loveseat in a dark repose that wouldn't have been noticed if the rest of the furniture were still here. It makes the place seem cavernous.
"Tony, TONY!"
I look back to Mom, a bemused expression on her face. She walks over from the couch, the bottom of her clogs clicking against the wooden floors, until she's right in front of me. Without a word, she engulfs me in a hug, her scent floral and just plain mom.
"Did everything go alright?" She releases me, hands on my shoulders so she can give me a brief once over. She looks up at me expectantly.
"Fine, I guess," I say, rubbing the back of my neck tiredly.
"And you didn't answer my first question." She takes a step back, arms folded against her chest.
Inwardly, I wince. She isn't going to let this go. Damn. I squirm from her suspicious gaze as I stumble over my excuse.
"I just wanted to soak up the city a bit before we left. Say goodbye to some people, you know. That sort of thing…" I trail off.
She watches me with incredulous eyes, her head tilted. I strain to keep my heartbeat at an even pace, knowing that she's listening and that even the slightest irregularity will give me away.
Just then, the buzzer rings; the movers have arrived. I step to the side as she hurries into the hallway and down the stairs to meet them in the lobby. She shuts the front door just as her waist length tresses whip behind her. I breathe a sigh of relief once she's gone, running my hand through my hair. It was a close call. There's no doubt in my mind that she would blow a fuse if she found out what I was planning.
"Are we going soon?" Reni asks sleepily from the loveseat, back facing me, head nestled in the trench made from the back of the couch and the seat cushion. Quietly, I cross the room. I settle myself on the floor, leaning back against the white leather footrest.
"Yeah," I whisper, without looking behind me, "don't worry. Just go back to sleep."
She sighs. "'Kay. Wake me up when we're on the train," she reminds me for the umpteenth time, before falling back into her slumber. We'd never taken the train before and she was excited about the experience. The past couple of weeks that was all she talked about. With a smile, I remember her asking if we could ride on the roof of the train, like in that movie we watched, Polar Express. Mom just laughed and settled Reni in her lap. I look around the room again, noting the empty space where the television used to be.
We're really leaving. The reality of what's happening seems to finally hit me full-force; never again would we sit in this room and watch cartoons, or eat the meals Mom had meticulously prepared. Never again would I fall asleep in the spacious cavern that was my room, watching the stars glint like crystals against the dark blue sea of night from my window. The city would go on without us. My work would be left behind—probably to be desecrated within the next year until completely covered. It would be as though we were never here, as if we never existed. My heart sinks a little, just at the thought…until I remember why I hate living here in the first place.
Emotions swirl in my mind, contradictions forming and becoming undone. Did I really hate this place for the reasons stated, or was it just an excuse to piss off Mom? Could it have been any place we moved to? Christ, what's wrong with me? I never liked this place. All I've thought about was getting the hell out of here. And yet when it's finally happening I'm getting all sentimental and crap. I grasp the roots of my hair in frustration and draw my legs up to my chest, letting my forehead rest against my knees.
What I wouldn't give to make a run to the quarry and take out some of my frustration….
-CRASH-
I spring up off of the floor and run out of the apartment, into the narrow hallway, nearly crashing into the stack of boxes jutting haphazardly in my path. I stumble out of the way just in time. Once I regain my stature I continue my run, past our neighbor's doors and down the three flights of stairs, arriving in the well-lit lobby in seconds. In the center of the lobby the bookshelf that once stood adjacent to the couch in our living room is now lying pathetically on its side on the floor. Behind it stands Mom, arms crossed, barely concealed amusement on her face as she listens to the two movers flustered apology.
"I-I'm sorry, I'm just so completely lost today," the first one stutters. He shifts from foot to foot, messy blonde hair falling over his eyes in shame.
"Uh, yeah. Sorry," mumbles the second. He seems to have more confidence than his friend, staring at her unabashedly. Or perhaps it's because he has no long hair to hide behind. She takes it all in stride, smiling as she reassures them that no harm has been done.
I cross the wide open space to my mother's side, my sneakers squeaking on the shiny, polished floor. Both are gawking at her now, eyes moving over her white cotton button-down, down to her black slacks with a mixture of fear and lust—the common effect all vampires have toward any human. That doesn't mean I'm not disgusted, though. I glare at them, sending an ill-disguised shiver down their spines. They quickly attend to the bookshelf without a word, shuffling as fast as they can out the glass doors and to the moving truck outside.
"What happened?" I ask, turning to her.
"Oh, nothing, they just lost their grip on the shelf is all."
"Before or after they saw you?" I smirk.
"After," she grins.
"Typical humans," I murmur, shaking my head.
She giggles, her laugh tinkling through the air. "You're one to talk. If I'm not mistaken, you're also the one with a heartbeat," she says, throwing me an appraising look.
"Well…yeah…but I don't count. C'mon, have you ever seen me lose my cool over a girl?" I ask, rolling my eyes.
She laughs again. "No, not yet."
I freeze. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing, nothing. Come on, we should start taking the boxes down now," she answers innocently.
She begins walking back to the flight of stairs with me hot on her trail. "Again, did everything go alright?" she asks, looking back at me.
"It was fine, nothing special."
"Did anyone give you trouble?" She leads the way up the steps, adopting a human pace so we can talk.
"Not during school." She gives me an inquisitive look, urging me to continue.
"It was nothing. Just this stuck up mom walking her kid home. She glared at me like I was scum on her shoes."
"I see. I'm sure it wasn't personal. Maybe she was having a bad day," she reasons. At this, I give her an appraising look. She grimaces.
"Well, alright, maybe it was personal. But she doesn't matter. Just let it go." She wraps her arm around my shoulder in a one-armed hug.
"Yeah, yeah, I know."
We arrive back on our floor, the carpet muffling our steps.
"…and Flan? How was he?" she inquires, concern and worry more evident in her tone.
"He did something weird today…" And I proceed to explain the counselor's change in conversational topic and my response.
"….so I told him, 'We kept to our own worlds.' You should've seen him lap that up. I swear to god, that guy needs a vacation or something," I go on as we pass our former neighbors' doors.
I pause when I notice she's no longer by my side. I turn around. She's several feet behind me in the middle of the hallway, a dark cloud creeping over her flawless face, arms wrapped around her abdomen, as though trying to keep her insides from falling out. I silently curse myself for my tactlessness. I walk back to her, placing a hand on her shoulder and trying to make eye contact.
"Mom? Are you going to be okay?" I should've known to keep my damn mouth shut.
"Mom?" I try again. She hears me this time, her golden irises meeting my green.
"Yes…yes, I'm fine. I'm sorry, dear; go on with your story." She shrugs off her depression as if it were nothing more than a passing thought. I give her a watered-down version of what happened this time. If she notices my avoidance she doesn't say.
By the time I'm done we arrive back to the front door of our now empty apartment. As Mom goes inside to check on Reni, I grab one of the many boxes stacked against the wall. Without waiting for her, I walk into the elevator I'd ignored before in my haste. Once inside I let my mind drift, melancholy and shame making my insides squirm.
She still loves him. After all these years, for reasons I can't fathom, she still loves him. She doesn't have to say anything for me to know. It's as clear as day, as though written on her forehead in permanent marker. I remember the few times I asked about him. The few times Reni asked about him. She tried her best to explain, to give answers…but she couldn't. Instead the same chilling desolation consumed her face, temporarily making her a shell of her former self; Then and now.
It had only gotten worse. Now she didn't need for us to ask about him to trigger the episodes—a certain song playing on the radio, a trip to a clothing store, certain books, it seemed like everything could now be a potential trigger… And I couldn't ask. It was painful enough for her to tell us why he wasn't around let alone the details. At the thought, my fingers clench around the flimsy cardboard material in an effort to retain control, rumpling the corners of the poor box as if it were made of paper.
It's his fault. All his fault. For everything.
"Penny for your thoughts?"
Her question hangs in the chilly air as the loveseat is moved into the bowels of the moving truck. We're outside now; Reni still sleeps, but now in Mom's arms, head resting on the material of her jacket, oblivious to her brother and mother watching the movers prep for their long drive.
"Just thinking about this place. It's strange. I'm glad we're leaving, but I'm not, you know?" I turn to face her fully. "Is there something wrong with me?"
"No, of course not. It feels infuriating, doesn't it? Like you shouldn't be feeling what you're feeling, but you can't help it?" she asks, gently.
"Yeah, that."
"It's normal, trust me."
"How do you know?" A hint of desperation leaks into my tone. Gentle understanding brims in her golden eyes.
"It's the same way I felt when I moved back in with your grandfather." I shift uncomfortably at this revelation. Talking about grandpa isn't exactly a happy experience for her either.
"I knew it was the right choice. At least this way your grandmother could be with her new husband." She pauses for a second to shift Reni in a more comfortable position. "But even though I was happy for her I still felt absolutely miserable for doing it. I hated Forks. I hated the rain. That changed, though, after meeting your father." My stomach clenches.
"You don't have to say anymore about him," I say quickly.
She's silent for a minute, but then answers in a determined tone, "It's not something to be ashamed about." Her face becomes strained as she tries to organize her thoughts. She shuts her eyes tight before opening them again, resolve dominating her features.
"I know how I get whenever this subject comes up; don't think I don't." She eyes my furrowed brows and grimace with disdain and regret. "And I know how damaging it's been to you and your sister."
She lets out a sigh, needlessly, out of habit.
"I'm sorry…I'm sorry I haven't been strong enough, even after all these years. I'm just going to have to try harder. But when you're of age, I'll tell you the full story. As for Reni, we'll see how that plays out. But trust me when I say that I love you both and that it's not your fault whenever I get like this. It's mine."
My fists clench, anger re-igniting in my core.
"How can you say that? He's the one that left you, left all of us. How the hell is the mess you're in not his fault?" I exclaim, outraged. In her arms, Reni stirs.
She turns away from me briefly, rocking Reni back to sleep. If she were human she would be crying. I know it for sure. Regret and shame gurgles in the pit of my stomach, an apology bubbling up in my throat before I can stop myself. She cuts me off before I even have the first word out.
"You can't control how you feel," she says softly. Meeting my eyes with sad wisdom, she continues, "You can control your actions, but not the path your heart chooses. Your father understood this." Her eyes fill with unspoken pain and heartbreak. She turns away, opting instead to gaze at the dirty tin wall of the moving truck. "Besides, who was I to force him to stay?"
"The mother of his children."
The other emotions linger, dark and rabid, fighting over control, but they're easily overcome by the familiar burn of resentment. Cold but hot, it courses through my veins, stroking the flames of my rage erstwhile cooling my mind, allowing me to think. Mom chuckles darkly.
"True. But he didn't know that. Hell, I didn't even know that until a couple of days later."
I sigh in exasperation, massaging my forehead with my middle and thumb fingers. She's never going to stop defending him, even after everything. The infuriating revelation leaves me with a monster headache.
"I still think he's a douche bag," I mutter to the ground bitterly.
Silence.
It takes another hour for the humans to pack up everything into the moving truck. That's mostly due to their lecherous gossip concerning the availability of their newest client, though. Once everything's packed up, Mom makes sure the movers have the correct directions to our new destination. It will take a day for the humans and us to get to Minnesota despite our decision to travel by train rather than car, and Mom doesn't want our stuff to end up in another state or something. I look over at them. The two that dropped the bookshelf in the lobby are joined by a third. All hang onto Mom's every word, like eager golden retrievers awaiting their treats. I look away in disgust. I know what's going on in their minds. You don't have to be a mind reader to know, but why oh why does it have to be my mother?
Once she's sure that the movers know the directions like the back of their hands, we start walking. It's a clear night, the stars twinkling above us. Reni begins to stir as we make it to the train station, and when we pick up our tickets she's practically squirming out of Mom's arms. Smirking at her daughter's antics, she places her on the ground. Reni steadies herself by grabbing Mom's hand just as she's about to fall, while her other hand is in a fist rubbing her eyes.
"Three-ten to Minnesota, now boarding," hollers the conductor. We make our way to the platform, my vision blurring from fatigue. As we get to one of the doors the conductor asks for our tickets, his voice echoing in the night. All I can think about is getting inside so I can finally sleep.
Seeing that everything's in order, he rips our tickets in half and gives us back our stubs, reminding us when to get off. Mom nods thank you and we get on board, me leading the way. The interior is warm and dimly lit, with dark red carpet adorning the floor, complemented by polished, oak walls. As we walk through the narrow hallway to get to our compartment, my body starts to give in to exhaustion. My frame feels like it's about to collapse in on itself. Vaguely I'm aware of Reni and Mom behind me, but all I can distinguish in my haze is their excited murmurings.
"What compartment are we in again?" I ask, as my eyes strain to read the numbers on the doors to our right and left.
Silence.
I turn around.
"Mom, did you hear—" I begin, only to see an empty hallway. Silence.
The hallway is different, no gentle light basking the space in a dim but comforting glow. Did the electricity go out? I look to the front, only to be met by the same darkness. The carpet's color looks like a deep purple now, like spilled grape juice, the oak doors and walls cast in dark shadow. I feel around the walls trying to find a handle, anything to grasp onto that would assure me that I'm in the right place. I feel the sting of cool metal under my hands after groping the wall to my left. My hands clasp around the ball of metal, no doubt a knob and I smile in relief…until I turn it, meeting not the resounding click of the door opening, but resistance.
Denial leaves me paralyzed for a second. I try again, abandoning restraint, trying to rip the infernal knob out of its socket rather than turn it; still nothing.
I kick the wall in frustration.
I begin to shuffle along the side of the wall, trying to find another knob. I find many, but all are locked like the first so I keep going, deeper into the darkness until I can see nothing but blackness.
The absence of sound begins to blare in my mind. My heart races. The narrow space gets smaller and smaller as I shuffle along. All that accompanies me is the harsh inhale and exhale of air out of my mouth.
And then, just when I think I would never see the light again, a sliver of it peaks from the crack of a door at the end of the hallway. My heart races again, but this time in jubilation. I run to the light, never taking my eyes off of it until I'm at the front of the door. Quickly I find its knob, remembering its general location from the hours feeling around for the other ones. To my delight there's no resistance, and I quickly turn it and push the door open, running inside. I don't know what I'm expecting, but it has to be better than this place, right?
I'm wrong.
I'm there again, the whitewash walls glaring under the flickering fluorescents. Disbelief mounts in me. My eyes rake over the room, even though I know what's already there: the dirty mattress in the corner, bloodstained sheets, cracked linoleum floors, rusty metal instruments propped against the walls.
"No."
I whirl around to re-open the door only to find a blank space of wall. Fear and hysteria begin to spill out of me in the form of my roar.
"NO!"
I slam my fists against the walls, but the only cracks to appear are in my fists, blood seeping out of the raw, split-open flesh. I don't care. I continue on with my assault. An amused chuckle jingles behind me. I freeze. I can feel her watching me, relishing my fear. I don't turn around.
"When are you going to learn?" I hear the click of her heels as she strolls closer. She's directly behind me, cold breath caressing the back of my neck. I keep my eyes fixed in front of me, not daring to look around. From my peripheral vision I see the hint of her flame-like strands as she steps to the side and leans against the wall.
"Y-you're not here." I try to say in an even tone, not trusting myself to look at her. "This isn't real, you're not really here."
"That's no way to speak to your mother," she tuts, placing an icy hand on my shoulder. I flinch away from her, sickened by her touch. I'm facing her now. She looks as flawless as the first day I met her almost five years ago, the day of my birth. Her hair is the same shade of red; she has the same willowy, feline figure…same insane look in her eyes.
"You're not my mother."
She snarls. Next thing I know I'm up against the wall, her hand around my throat, feet kicking only air. I look down and almost puke in horror and disgust. Her once perfect skin is now deathly grey, with thin, purple, jagged cracks trailing throughout her form, like some sick, twisted creation of Frankenstein, flame-like hair now a wispy silver. But nothing's more terrifying than her face—contorted, sunken, and distorted by her snarl. I see her cheek muscles as they protrude furiously at my response, the grey, wizened tissue rippling the skin into a mass of angry lines as her snarl tears across her face. Her teeth are still bared, showcasing their rotten, yellowing state. Her eyes though are the same: crimson.
Spots begin to appear in my vision as she cuts off the oxygen to my lungs. I claw at her grasp to no avail.
"You. Are. Mine," she snarls, tightening her grip on my throat. "Understand?"
"No," I rasp, "Not… my… mother."
She cackles hatefully.
"How can she be your mother if all that's left of her is pieces?" She moves aside so I can see the rest of the room. My eyes go back to the bloodied bed sheets on the floor.
There's a body underneath. I feel my insides turn to ice. The shape is small, petite. Feminine. She isn't exposed except for a strand of mahogany hair sticking out from underneath the blood-soaked covers.
My heart freezes. Mahogany hair.
"No." I struggle harder against her grasp, fighting the spots. "No!"
"Yes," she hisses triumphantly. "Go ahead, drink it in." She leans in closer, until our noses are nearly touching. I cringe instinctively, trying to turn away from the sight of her grey, rubbery, deteriorating flesh. Her scent surrounds me, makes me retch: kerosene and licorice.
"Now, give your mother a kiss."
B
"To bad we can't sit on the roof," Reni says, her forehead pressed to the window as we race through green forests and hills. I chuckle at her childish logic.
I look over again at Tony, stretched out and asleep on the bench across from us, and a dull ache runs through my heart. It's been so long, but so short. Impossible, that in four years he's gone from begging me to tell him a bedtime story to begging me for permission to stay out late and paint, to spend time with his human friends.
Nahuel had explained that some hybrids grew at an accelerated rate, using himself and Miri as examples, and that others grew normally like Reni, assuring me that what was happening to both of them was normal. It didn't stop my worry though. I search my son's face again, so similar to my own he could be mistaken for my twin—his heart-shaped face, the shape of his eyes, nose, mouth. And then his hair: a dark, rich mahogany that again matches mine. But there are differences: his height, his build, how his hair sticks up no matter how much he combs it, but most of all his eyes—emerald green, just like how his were. For the thousandth time I curse myself for my weakness. Tony was right. After all, he had left us in quite a mess.
But he doesn't know.
No, he doesn't know. But he still left.
And who's to say that he would have stayed even if he had known? The sudden thought only adds to my despair. I try to smother it but this time it's too much.
He lied. And if he lied about that, what's to say he didn't lie about other things? For all I knew, everything that came out of his mouth could have been a lie, like what Joham did with Nahuel's mother.
I look back to Reni, who is still fascinated by the passing forests. While Tony took after me, Reni had taken after him—same chiseled jaw structure, practically the same face and exactly the same shade of hair color. Except for the eyes. My eyes.
The rapid increase in heartbeat alerts me back to Tony—his arms are folded against his chest tightly now, and his fists are balled. His face is scrunched up as though concentrating on something, eyes shut tight, but I know better. Coupled with all of this and his increased heart rate and breathing, there's only one explanation: nightmare.
I get up from my seat and am kneeling at his side in a millisecond. Gently, I run my hand over his hair.
"Tony, wake up," I whisper. His nose twitches in response. My hand goes to his cheek, so warm from sleep, and I pat it gently, trying to coax him out of his slumber. After a few more seconds he finally opens his eyes.
"Huh?" he gasps, half his body jerking up, startled. He props himself up on his arms and blinks rapidly up at me.
"What happened? Where are we?"
"Everything's fine; you were having a nightmare." I cup his cheek in my cold hand. "You were practically dead on your feet when we got on the train, and when we got to our compartment you passed out on the bench. You've been out for nearly three hours now."
The haze of bemusement that clouded his eyes is gone now, replaced with relief. He casts a look at Reni and me before settling back into the cushions of his seat. He breathes deeply, eyes going to the ceiling.
"Thanks."
"What did you see?" I ask him.
"The same as always." His eyes remain glued to the ceiling.
Recognizing the tension in the atmosphere, Reni comes to our little huddle and sits on the floor, resting her chin on the upholstery of the seat to stare at Tony. I keep stroking his hair, trying to convey what my mouth cannot. Sighing, he sits up and scoots himself away from us, to my increasing distress.
"I'm sorry." His face is burning with shame. My heart is breaking all over again. I shift closer until our faces are inches apart. Still, he avoids my eyes.
"Look at me," I say firmly, pushing down my despair until it's nothing but a slight ache in my heart. My steely tone does the trick. His eyes flick back to me with almost no hesitation. I take his face in both of my hands.
"It wasn't your fault. I don't hate you for it."
He stares stoically back at me, saying nothing. After a minute or so he nods. I release him, shifting back to give him some space as Reni scoots closer. Quite determined to help, she grabs one of Tony's hands and begins showing him what I know are happy thoughts, anything to cheer him up. He smiles at her effort, lifting her into his lap and gives her a hug, murmuring thanks along the way. I join in as well, engulfing both of them in my embrace. This time he doesn't push or move away, and my heart soars, the despair cast out of my body like an evil spirit's encounter with an exorcist…for now.
"Everything's going to be okay," I whisper. "I'm not going anywhere."