As always Twilight does not belong to me. No copyright infringement in intended.
To my guest reviewer, Thanks for the motivation. Please sign in so I know who you are so I can respond. I worked hard on this tonight to give this chapter to you. I hope it is worth it, Enjoy.
Previously...
Her eyes are piercing green and paired with her hair she is exactly...exactly...the thought gets stuck in my head. I pull on the door and leave the bathroom. I need a drink.
Pity. It is all around. In the air, in the eyes of every person that surrounds me and in the words that are spoken to me. Pity comes from Alice, Rose, from everyone I meet. It is in the way my parents carefully handle me as if I am coming apart at the seams. I see it as I walk the streets in town and I saw it from the woman in the bathroom as our eyes connected that moment before I hurried out. Pity is everywhere.
Pity is not foreign. It creeps then crawls into my mind and into my chest leaving doubt in its wake. I felt it when he denounced me, sent me away, when he forget what he meant to me. I felt it in the way my "friends" took care of me. I felt it with every shot of alcohol that passed through my lips. I felt it with every drug that promised to numb the pain.
Pity is what comforted me when I finally told my mother I was pregnant. The woman who would have done anything to keep me from making the same mistakes as her. Although if you asked her she described it as empathy. She understood because she had been through it and could relate, but the look in her eyes as my body changed was nothing but pity.
Though the years I have accepted this because the love my family and closest friends have for me overrules the pity. As for the others around me, the ones who do not know me as well, I find it condescending and unsympathetic. Their thoughts are loud and so similar to the ones I have of myself.
Poor Bella. Getting "knocked up" in college. Poor Bella. She had to drop out of college because she couldn't deal.
Poor Bella. Teenage mother, just like her own mother.
Poor Bella. Poor, poor Bella.
So, as I walk across the floor toward the small stage I become angry. Angry with myself and angry at everyone around me. I pass by groups of familiar faces and place myself at the bar. I start to feel sorry for everyone here. Why can't they find something else to do today? Do they want to be here? What is in it for them?
"What can I get for you Ms. Swan?" the smooth voice of the young bartender breaks my internal debate.
"A shot of something strong?" I ask. Knowing I need courage for what I want to do and strength to be able to pull it off.
The bartender smiles and pulls a bottle of Glenmorangie 18 year from under the bar. With careful precision he pours the honey gold liquor he sets the glass in front of me and disappears to the other end of the bar. I waste no time and bring the whiskey to my lips and swallow it all with one giant gulp.
The flowery malt punch gives way to almost a nutty fruit aftertaste and it sends chills down my spine. I feel it as it travels down my esophagus and into my stomach, sitting heavy like an elephant on a small wooden stool. It spreads throughout my body like an internal flame warming my insides first and then spreading the warmth out. I feel the blush creep up over my breasts and to my collar bones making its way to my neck and face. I revel in its burn and wonder if this is what spontaneous combustion feels like.
The bartender returns and asks if I would like another. I politely declined and find my way over to the stage where Rose and Alice are talking. I glanced at my watch noting that I had 15 minutes until I would be onstage offering my gratitude for support and pleading for donations to keep our organization going. I was nervous for the first time. Nervousness was never an issue for me usually I was overcome by sadness or grief, but this nervousness was bothersome.
"Bella, I need to speak to you," the smooth voice that once brought me solace immediately made me cringe in physical pain.
My gut dropped and my heart pounded fiercely inside my chest. I grabbed on Rose's arm to steady myself as I turned around to see Edward standing behind me. He dressed in a grey button down shirt tucked neatly into a pair of black dress pants. Although he looked appropiate for the event his presence was far from acceptable.
My mind raced trying to put together words that would make sense. I just wanted to be able to link words together to form sentences, sentences to use in response to his questions, sentences to use in a conversation, sentences to fight. My mouth resembled a whorehouse door on payday for the several times it opened and shut with my effort to speak.
He looked at me and smiled. It wasn't a smile that I remember from our time together or a big toothy grin, but it was the same smirk that I remember my daughter giving me the first time she smiled. Our daughter, Peyton, she had her father's smile. As I stood there I realized that I knew this and he had no idea. He stood only inches from me and didn't know that he fathered the most beautiful child. A daughter that changed everything for me, for Rose and Emmett, Jasper and Alice, and for my parents. Despite that I lost Peyton I still was blessed that I was able to share the limited time I had with her and he stood here in front of me not knowing that he too lost a child to a horrific death. That he was a father and I never told him.
Edward pulled something from his pocket and extended his hand to me. His hand closed around something.
"Edward." I whisper. The way his name falls from my lips is foreign, but it feels good to say his name out loud. I want him to say something because I can't, I need him to fill the silence.
"The night of my accident when I hit the deer. The deer ran off into the woods after I hit it and I was worried that it was hurt or suffering so I walked a little ways in. It was dark out, but something caught my attention. It was a bunch of balloons that appeared out of nowhere. I have no idea how they got past the treeline into the forest, but the balloons were caught up on a low branch. Connected to the string was a note attached to it.
I remembered when I was little we use to write notes, attach them to balloons and send them off with hope someone would find them and respond to our notes. So I opened the note."
In his hand was a note, the note I wrote to my daughter a few days ago. A note that names him as her father. A note that tells her that I still love him. A note that tells her that I wish I was with her in heaven.
Before I could even respond Alice taps my shoulder and tells me it is time for the presentation. I walk with her, but I am not present in my body. I get on the stage and give thanks for our supporters, ask for donations, and speak about our organization.
At the end of the speech the lights dim and the large screen set up behind the screen comes alive with the photos of the children and their families we want to remember. The last photo is of Peyton and I, taken the day before she died.
I try to escape while the lights are still low before Garrett or anyone else can find me. Just as I am able to get through the door I am stopped by the woman who I saw in the bathroom earlier.
"Bella?" she asked.
"Yes. Something I can help you with?," hoping I can answer her questions quickly before I am spotted.
"Actually you can help me with something. My name is Ashley. Ashley Cullen. Edward Cullen's wife. I need to talk to you."