Chapter Twenty-Three-- Irritations
I wasn't even bothering to pretend to stare at the papers scattered across the table anymore. Instead, my eyes were focused on some far off place while my fingers curled in my own hair, twisting the soft strands that had escaped from my ponytail. Some of the shorter hairs had curled into small little ringlets resembling the curls that covered my father's head. His figure intercepted my vision, probably for over the hundredth time that afternoon: his eyes were always turned towards the driveway, on the watch for a certain silver Volvo.
I suddenly understood why he hadn't left to go fishing that morning. For the first time in my life, I felt a strange desire to growl—but that was Edward's area of expertise, not mine. Instead, I sighed rather gustily. I must have sounded a little perturbed because I found Charlie's eyes trained on me when I stole another glance at him. I forced a smile: no use giving him any reason to suspect me. Not that he needed one, with my current track record. Felons at the state penitentiary were probably under a less strict guard than I.
I flipped a page in frustration, hoping for a new view: anything but this same list of questions that I probably knew by rote. I drew my tongue between my teeth, biting down on the tip of it in frustration. I couldn't shake the feeling that I was suffocating under the weight of this paper mountain: I wanted, desperately, to let loose a torrent of self-pitying tears. I had backed myself into a corner on this one: I had to face the decisions now. I had the distinct feeling that I was nothing more than yet another number to these people. Why should they care about my history? My father's name, education level, mother's maiden name, income level… what did it all matter to them? I was transcribing bits of my life to these dead sheets destined for paper shredders. A trickle of salty blood wound around my mouth before I even realized that I had bitten my tongue and became suddenly aware of the pain. I frowned, and felt the distinct lines that creased my brow begin to form. I needed a break, and very badly. If I were that type of teenager, I would probably settle for a shot of alcohol, but I wasn't, and couldn't ever be, that kind of person. I was just different. Maybe that was the real rub of these college applications: just yet another reminder that I wasn't the average teenager. I hadn't ever been. Once, in what seemed like another life, my AP Lit teacher had told me something: I was aloof. I knew she meant it kindly, that I was above and beyond the rest of my classmates, but the burn was still there, with the conviction that no one would ever understand me.
Until Edward.
I pulled myself back from memory's well, forcing my eyes to focus on the page, only to stare in disbelief at the folded piece of notebook paper that had been inserted there: it was too close to being exactly what I was hoping for.
With a hand that trembled slightly I reached for it, half expecting it to turn into dove or something else equally impossible and fly away. The smooth, familiar texture of the paper brought me back to my senses: I was being silly and had probably just been sitting here with my paperwork for far too long. With that in mind, I flipped it open, preparing myself for the disappointment that a merely misplaced sheet of notes would bring.
My heart began to beat rapidly when my eyes discerned his gently flowing script, as it always did. My eyes razed the page hungrily, taking in the two short lines there:
A third of the way through.
Congratulations.
That was it? I had chained myself to these papers, at his insistence, and that was all the encouragement that I got? Greeting cards were more effusive! I flipped the paper over, searching for another line, some signifier of some sort. A rational portion of my mind whispered that he was only avoiding making Charlie more uncomfortable, should he find the note, but I was refusing to listen. I wanted and needed some sort of distraction, and this was working all too well. It was all his fault that I even had to do these applications: one simple bite would change all that. One bite, and a chance at immortality with him, was all that I asked. Even if he thought it would interfere with my eternal destination, wasn't that my choice and my choice alone? I could be just as easily condemned to Hell for being a murderer as for becoming a vampire. It was my choice. And what if the atheists were right—what if there were no God, no Supreme Being to judge and to categorize the mass of humanity? Or what if He existed and was a merciful being—surely He would not condemn those who acted on the instincts that He had given them—would He?
I forcefully shoved the all too short note into the pocket of my jeans, fuming and frustrated—religious contemplation was not my forte. It made me feel lost, more lost than I had ever been, even in Port Angeles. For a moment, indecision held sway over my body and I continued to stare at the application before flipping it shut. Irritation gnawed at my innards: I needed to get out of this house and get some fresh air. I prowled to the refrigerator, wondering how to broach the subject to Charlie. When I opened the door and the harsh light of the interior light bulb fell on the nearly bare shelves, I realized that I had my excuse right there: The grocery shopping really needed to be done. Very, very soon. Today, this afternoon, in fact.