Disclaimer: Stephanie Meyer owns all.

Rated M for several reasons.

Chapter 13: Real World Consequences

BPOV

It was a short and uncomfortable ride, and when Esme slowed and let me down in the meadow outside her house I unashamedly dropped to my knees and buried my face in the soggy, cold grass.

She leaves me alone for a while, which I appreciate, although I am conscious of her standing protectively over me.

Eventually I force myself to my feet, swaying slightly, but again grateful that she doesn't try to steady me. I am a human; we react to shit like that like this. It's natural.

When I'm ready she guides me toward the house and together we wade through the long wet grass. Ahead Rose is silhouetted in the light streaming from the front door. Even in shadow I can tell that her arms are folded across her chest, and that she's pissed.

Whatever.

"Where's Jasper?" Esme asks as we approach.

"Given over to the madness," Rose snaps, looking me up and down with a distinct lack of friendliness.

Esme must have said or done something because she sighs and mutters something that might have been 'sorry'.

"He's gone to help break our treaty with the wolves," she says with false brightness.

"We haven't crossed the treaty line," Esme replies in a patient mom voice, "and some of the wolves actually turned out to help us."

"Yay," Rose snarls, turning on her heel and disappearing into the house faster than my eyes can follow.

"She has a point," I offer, "this was wolf politics, it might not have been a good idea for you to get involved."

"Shall we let you die next time?" Esme asks reasonably.

My mouth opens and closes, but no sound comes out.

"Alice's visions are full of black holes if the wolves are involved," she explains, "but she saw your death plainly enough."

"They wouldn't have killed me!" I object.

"Maybe," she allows, "but that wasn't a chance we were prepared to take."

There is so much I should say right now, but my shoulder is killing me, and I am soaked to the bone and freezing my ass off. So, when I start swaying again, I don't complain as she scoops me up and carries me upstairs.

It's all a bit of a blur, but eventually I find myself alone in a stylishly tiled bathroom, easily big enough for a football team, with a stack of fluffy towels and a rainforest shower head spewing water and steam.

I take my time in the shower, letting the water warm by body as I will it to kick start my brain. But eventually I had to emerge and wrap myself in the towels. Venturing outside I find a set of exercise clothes waiting for me on a giant bed I had not noticed on the way in.

I dress slowly. The room is right up my street, although it is panelled with light wood it is not overpowering or overly woodsy, rather it is pleasant and light, with large glass panes in the ceiling.

Esme must know that I am out of the shower, and I really need to know that the fight is over and everyone is safe, nevertheless I linger, hovering, like a ghost, waiting for some external stimulus to re-animate me.

Charlie! I texted Charlie for help!

I burst through the door, which is thankfully opposite the stairs, and charge down them in a panic.

"Charlie!" I scream in Esme's surprised face. "I texted Charlie to come help me!"

"Stay here!" She commands, blurring away.

But I follow her, of course I do, though she's long gone by the time I have reached the front door. Regardless I sprint across the tarmac and begin wading through the long grass. It pulls against me, holding me back, but my fear forces me forwards. Its interminably hard going but finally I reach the tree line, where its easier to run. I only have the vaguest idea where I am going, but I run anyway, as fast as I can. And I barely notice the scrapes and bruises as I fall and pick myself up to carry on. It's adrenaline, you can google it. Eventually, inevitably, I tangle my feet in a tree root and go down hard. Darkness heaped on darkness, cold added to cold . . . .

…..

I have lots of black suits, of course I do, I wear them every day under my scrubs, because they are professional and safe. No one could possibly be offended should I ever be inconveniently de-scrubbed while at work.

But this morning none of them will do, somehow.

And I cannot find the right pair of shoes either. I have heels, low ones obviously, but maybe boots or flats would be more appropriate?

And I do not have a hat. I recall Alice gifting me one, but I have no fucking idea what I have done with it. No fucking idea at all.

I believe I own a long black coat too, but guess what? That is correct, I have no fucking idea where it is either.

So, here I stand in my store-bought underwear. Undecided.

It might be a metaphor of some sort. But that does not help me right now.

There is a knock at the door which I do not acknowledge.

…..

"Sorry for your loss."

"So sorry for your loss."

"So sorry, if you need anything . . . "

"Thoughts and prayers."

"He helped me so much when Howard was drinking."

"So sorry for your loss."

"We all loved him, I'm so sorry."

"Sorry for your loss."

"Thoughts and prayers."

"Sorry for your loss."

"Such a great contribution to our town."

"Bella . . ."

"Sorry for your loss."

"Bella . . ."

"Thoughts and prayers."

"Bella!"

"What?" I snap.

"It's time to go."

"Go where?"

"Anywhere. Wherever you want. Just not here."

"Leah," I gasp as I collapse into her outstretched arms.

…..

Charlie is gone. I didn't exactly kill him, but I feel like I might as well have.

He came to rescue me from a situation he could not have envisaged, because I never plucked up the courage to tell him anything.

…..

Leah and Jake hosted the wake, with help from Billy. We held it in the house, but I went up to bed as soon as was decent.

I am adrift here. Because my parents spilt up when I was so young, and because my mother, was, well, a bit of a flake, I thought I was a grown-up. I felt like the grown-up. I sold and styled myself as the grown-up.

It's easy to think that when the actual grown-ups are there.

Mom couldn't make the funeral, Clarence has the flu, and I am okay with that. Charlie was always my parent; Renee is more a friend I have drifted away from over time. I love her, I care about her, I will make the effort to stay in contact with her. But I didn't need her to be here and I didn't miss out because she wasn't. I will go and visit her, as she's begged me to do, and I will enjoy it, be invigorated by it, but there's no hurry. I am fine as I am.

Leah and Jake feel that Charlie's death is their fault, it weighs them down like a heavy stone. The Cullens think his death is their fault.

No one will tell me how he died, he was 'found' with severe head injuries and died before the EMTs could even get him in the ambulance.

I'd like to be able to blame someone, even myself, but I can't quite bring myself to do it. I would like to have a long conversation with Sam, which may or may not involve me dangling him over the First Beach cliffs by this throat, but that isn't going to happen. Jake and the pack are searching but he and his cohorts are long gone, for now.

I have regrets.

I don't think I ever told him I loved him, because it would have made both of us uncomfortable. I never told him I was proud of him even though he was an absolute legend of a Chief of Police around here.

I regret not telling him about the Cullens, or the Pack. If I had, as much as he might have rubbished me, at least he would have been prepared for more than a flat tire that night. He might even have made a difference with Sam, the people on the Res looked up to him, and not just because of his long-standing friendship with the Chief.

I wish I'd made more of an effort to spend time with him beyond meals and the occasional cook-out down at La Push. He was a wise man, full of great stories told with style and humour.

I wish . . . I wish I'd said something to him about Sue, teased him about it. I wish I'd told him to pull up his big boy pants and tell her he loved her, rather than just hoping she would notice one day. I wish I'd told him what Leah and I always suspected, that Seth was my half-brother.

I regret each and every one of my school holidays with Charlie before I moved in with him. It must have hurt him for me to so obviously disdain his life choices and the town he dedicated that life to. I hope I at least made up for some of that after I moved in with him.

When I was thirteen Charlie took me to Disneyland in California, I know now that it is the best and I will brook no arguments on the subject. I had been begging him to take to me to Disney World for years, I cared not for the expense nor his excuses, other kids with divorced parents got ludicrously expensive holidays, why couldn't I? I was a complete bitch about it. Not only did I feel that I was now too old for Disney, but he wasn't even taking me to the right one. I played up the whole trip. And when I got home mom sat me down and tore me a new one. I will never forget that conversation. Mom was always my greatest cheerleader, until that day, that day she rightly stripped some of childhood ignorance from me. I still prickle with shame every time I think about it, but I never said sorry to him, not once.

I regret that neither of us were huggers. I regret that so much . . . . I am so cold, and I need to feel his love so much right now . . . .