AN: Hopefully fixed the formatting issue, I'm really sorry about that OTL
"Morning." I called a greeting over my coffee as Uncle Charlie made his way down the stairs, pushing Charlie's own coffee (kept warm in a cheery, unicorn covered thermos) in his direction as he shuffled past me towards the front door.
"Mor'ing." Charlie's greeting was little more than a grunt, but I wasn't really off put by it. He had stayed up late last night, in order to catch a call from Isabella. Though Pheonix and Forks had no time difference, Forks and Florida had a bit more of a time gap.
And that's where Isabella was, currently; along with Renee and her latest boyfriend, Phil.
Watching Charlie rush out the door to get to the station on time for his next shift, pausing only to give me an appreciative pat on the shoulder, I could only shake my head with a sigh.
'He's trying his best.' I thought to myself, patiently, pushing my breakfast plate away as I pulled my tablet box closer. 'And that's all anyone can ask of him.'
Charlie had never done anything less, in all the years I'd lived with him. Which, admittedly, wasn't many. Barely a year and a half now, actually-
"The therapist said not to count." I scolded myself, picking up my crumb covered plate. "Counting is a no-no."
Telling myself that didn't make it easier. It was an intentionally vague not quite two years since I'd moved in with Charle, my godfather. With no other family in America, and no where else to go, he'd taken me in and given me a home. Neither of us were too outgoing, by any account, but we weren't awkward either.
It was a comfortable silence, what we had.
"When did…" I trailed off mid-sentence, carefully considering the carpet beneath my feet. I had last done the vacuuming… two days ago. "Right, because I did the toilets yesterday, duh."
Well that was close enough to today.
The summer holidays were due to finish tomorrow, and the house chores would get split evenly again tomorrow. Uncle Charlie and I figured that was fair enough; study and work were both full time jobs, so to speak, and with neither of us being particularly skilled at one thing or another, halving it seemed like the right course of action.
"Aw yiss, day off!" I cheered, doing a tiny little fist pump into the air despite the uneasiness settling into my chest. My therapist said I had to celebrate the little successes everyday, since I was prone to mourning every single loss. Acting out the cheer helped force the body to release the endorphins, he said; fake it till you make it, as my mother used to say.
It till felt like an empty action to me.
One day.
Sighing quietly, I made my way up the stairs to the attic entrance. Uncle Charlie had insisted on keeping Isabella's room available for her, should she decide to restart her holiday visits down to Folks. I had never met Isabella (in my living memory), so I couldn't say if he was living in false hope or not, but all in all I didn't mind living in the attic.
Pushing up the hatch to the attic entrance, I smiled as the sunlight danced off the different coloured fairy lights littered across the room. It was cosy up here, day or night. Sure the room was relatively- tucked in between two plateauing roof slabs and the roof to Charlie and Isabella's rooms, and with half of the room acting as storage, it wasn't generous on space by any means.
But Uncle Charlie and I- we'd made it work. We'd spent the first couple of months making this room, after I moved here. My therapist had held our first few sessions here, in those first few weeks; when leaving the house hadn't seemed like an option. When he had seen what we were doing, my therapist had given me a wide, beaming grin and stated he was proud of me.
"Perhaps that is why you and Chief Swan get along so well." My therapist had tacked on at the end. "When faced with an obstacle, you both became 'doers'."
Uncle Charlie had chuckled at that; I can't remember what response I'd given. The grief was still too close at that point. But still, the point stuck with me, and still rings true- when I'm faced with something I can't tackle, I try and find something I can. Uncle Charlie often does the same.
It's good to know your coping mechanisms, my grandmother used to say; it means you can make sure they stay healthy.
Sensing my thoughts drifting back to family again, I turned my focus back to my hands; to the real world. My tongue felt numb, and my vision was blurry around the edges. I felt sick to the pit of my stomach, the image of my grandmother's smiling face fresh in my mind.
I picked up a random book from the pre-reading pile beside my bed.
Better get started, I suppose.