As we all know, I am, unfortunately, no Stephenie Meyer – All Twilight Characters belong to her.
Chapter 2: BPOV
'Cause I'm just one of those ghosts
Travelling endlessly
Don't need no roads
In fact they follow me
And we just go in circles
Well Now I'm told that this is life
And pain is just a simple compromise
So we can get what we want out of it
Would someone care to classify,
Of broken hearts and twisted minds
So I can find someone to rely on
And run
To them, to them
Full speed ahead
Oh you are not useless
We are just
~Misguided Ghosts, Paramore
.
I lie on my bed staring at the ceiling. My self-hatred is at an all time high. My 'situation' suffocates me. All the walls are closing in and there is nowhere to go.
If my dad were still here, it would change everything. I feel the tears prickling but I don't allow them to fall. Losing it now won't help.
I hear the door open downstairs and all my muscles tense. The footsteps are gentle – a good sign.
The door swings open slowly and a head peaks in. He moves slowly toward the bed.
"I'm so sorry, baby." Whispers, another good sign.
The bed sinks and I feel a warm hand cupping my cheek, coaxing me to look at him.
There's a small gasp and fingers fluttering gently across my lip. I flinch reflexively.
"Oh god. I am so sorry."
I can hear the agony in his voice and I look up at him. "It's okay." I whisper back. It feels safer somehow; if I speak too loud the bubble may burst.
The apologies mean nothing. They never have. My dad always said that "I'm sorry" means "I won't do it again" and if you didn't mean it you shouldn't say it. But he's not here anymore and life is not so simple.
He climbs under the covers and holds me to him. He is trying to make up for it. In his mind, if he is good to me, it makes up for all the bad.
Delusions are bliss.
xxxxxx
.
Its a few days later and all visible marks are almost gone. I can safely leave the house.
After the conversation with Edward, the paranoia has increased. No one can be allowed to see me, to notice that I am not the person they think I am. The person I hide behind.
I avoid the pub. Angela makes it easier with her new infatuation with Ben, who she met at a bar in Port Angeles. I can still get my fix at least.
Getting out with Alice and Angela helps me keep up the pretenses. I am normal in their eyes; just a normal girl, with her normal boyfriend, and their normal life. The Patron helps.
Delusions are bliss.
xxxxxx
.
There are no incidents for a few days but I can't stop thinking of my conversation with Edward. I know I need to go back, to face him again and try to get him to drop it. But I am afraid. When he looks at me, he sees me and it is terrifying.
Between my few nights with the girls I spend my time working - writing. There are a few deadlines I need to meet and in between I am working on my book - a biography of sorts. When everything eventually falls apart, I want there to be written evidence of the truth. I may not be brave enough to face the facts in life, but in death I want the slate to be clean.
xxxxxx
.
It's Friday, a couple of weeks since I have been into the pub. I consider going but I can't face it, yet. I spend the day walking in the woods surrounding Forks. It is peaceful and it is the only time I feel as though I can be myself – free from the past, from the present, from my life.
As always, the feeling doesn't last and the darkness begins to seep in. I know I need to get back.
Once home, I decide to make a big meal. Cooking is another one of my vices.
xxxxxx
.
By 10 o' clock, I realise that James isn't coming home. No amount of wishful thinking will help.
I gather the courage and make the call.
The ringing stops and I hear the noisy bar, his voice filtering through.
"What do you want?" He slurs.
"I just wanted to find out where you were. I was getting a bit worried." It's best to placate him.
"I'm out. I'll see you later."
The slurring is what makes my entire body tense. I know what will be in store for me later.
I pack away the meal - my appetite lost - and pace around the room.
The indecision makes me crazy.
I look at the time after what feels like hours of pacing and attempting to get my mind off of what lies ahead. It's close to one in the morning.
If I don't go now, I'll have to wait for the next round to subside before I get to talk to him again.
I grab my coat, get in my car and drive to the pub.
The parking lot is empty and my indecision flares.
I park, get out of the car and hurry through the doors before I can change my mind.
I look toward the bar as I enter the room and there he is, wiping the counters. He is getting ready to close up. It must have been a slow night.
I can't understand the effect he has on me. I used to tell myself that it's just the bar itself. It's the perfect setting for my little charade, but here, now, looking at the silent empty space, I realise that even without the charade to hide behind, it feels like home.
I take a seat at the bar and after ordering a beer he disappears to the back. He is cold and I can't seem to get myself to spit it out.
He comes back into the bar area and begins clearing up. I wait for a while, trying to build up enough courage.
I look at the time again and I know I have to make it quick. Not being at home when James gets there will only make it worse.
After some idle chatter and cold replies, I spit it out.
"Listen. I just want to apologize for... you know, the last time."
He looks at me, dumbfounded. His mouth opens as if to speak but it just closes again.
I continue. "I shouldn't have just left like that. I don't want you to get the wrong idea and I don't want things to be awkward. I'll just be straight. Whatever you thought you saw doesn't matter. I don't want you to get the impression that I need saving. There is nothing to save me from."
Well there is nothing you can do about it, anyway.
"I enjoy coming here and I don't want there to be bad air between us."
I try to configure my lips up into a smile.
He is still staring at me. His gaze is penetrating and I can feel the determination there. There is no way to sway him. There is no way to make him believe the picture I have tried so hard to paint.
"Bella," He starts, "I don't want to pretend to know what is going on with you, but I do want you to know that I can see through the bullshit."
His cold demeanour softens and he lets out a sigh.
"I'm not going to say anything. I will just take your word for it, but just know that when or if you need to talk, I am here. No judgements."
The sincerity in his eyes feels like a vice grip around my heart.
If you knew, you wouldn't be saying those words.
Those words are meant for victims. I am not a victim. He sees his own picture. One I didn't paint, but a picture non-the-less.
I give him a small smile and thank him before walking out as quickly as I came in.
I drive home and am relieved to see that the driveway is empty. I make my way upstairs to get ready for bed. I consider getting into the bottle of Patron in my closet but I know that it'll do no good.
As I get under the covers, I hear a car pulling up and instantly the tears threaten to fall.
I remind myself that I deserve it. I remind myself of my options and take a deep breath.
The front door slams shut and I hear the irregular, heavy footfalls coming up the stairs, getting louder and louder as they approach.
The bedroom door swings open and I can see his ragged form staggering toward me.
"You better not be asleep, baby" He slurs. The bile rises, leaving a trailing burn in my throat.
"Not yet." I whisper, praying for a different outcome.
I open my eyes to see that he his unbuttoning his shirt.
"Good because I'm feeling amped and it's been awhile."
I want to scream at him. I want to tell him that split lips and blue eyes are real mood killers. But I keep my mouth shut. Those words will get me nowhere. They are words from a different Bella, a Bella with a different past and a Bella in a different situation.
He makes it to the bed, shirtless, his belt hanging loose and ready. I sit up.
"I'm not in the mood tonight, baby. I have a splitting headache." I try to sound normal but my body is trembling.
"Why are you shaking?" His voice is laced with anger. "Are you scared of me?"
I don't answer. There is none that will make a difference.
"What? Do you think I am going to force you? Do you think I am a fucking monster like Phil was?"
He grabs my arm and yanks me out of bed. I manage to keep my balance and remain standing in front of him.
His hold tightens as he jerks me to the beat of his words. "Are you going to fucking answer me?" He is screaming now.
If I speak, it'll only be in sobs.
"Why are you fucking crying? Jesus Christ!"
The sting of his hand still surprises me every time.
The force of the blow rocks me and I stumble, hitting the dresser on the way down. "You bitch! I won't be compared to a piece of shit like him. Not after everything I've done for you! And what do you do to repay me? Huh?"
A whimper escapes. I can't stop the sobs.
"God, Bella. You are so fucking pathetic!"
He leaves the room and after a few moments, I can hear him slamming things downstairs.
The metallic taste, mixed with my tears, makes me gag. I make myself get up and wince from the movement but it is not too bad. Nothing is broken.
I retreat to the bathroom and wash my mouth out.
Looking into the mirror, I hate what I see. I stand there for a while, reminding myself of why I am here, how I got here and why I deserve it
.
"Dad?
I approach him slowly. He is watching a game and even though I hate to disturb him I know that I have to tell him. I am so afraid and the tears are streaming down my face.
"Bells?"
He can hear the tremble in my voice. His face shows his discomfort. Charlie was never one for tears.
I practically run to him, sitting down and curling up into his chest.
"Bella, honey, it's okay. Speak to me. Whatever it is, you can tell me."
I know I have to spit it out. This is the moment I have been moving toward since I arrived two days ago.
"It's... Phil." I can hardly get the words out through the sobs. "He – he... tried to touch me." The words burn on the way out.
Charlie stiffens and I sob harder.
"Wh-what do you mean, baby? In what way?" I can feel his Adam's Apple bob as he swallows. He is scared of my response. He doesn't want to hear the next words but I can't change the truth.
"Please don't make me say it. Please, Dad. I-I c-can't." My voice is almost indecipherable. I am surprised he can hear me through the sobs.
A few moments pass. I can almost feel the war waging in his mind. He is still stiff, almost vibrating with anger, or whatever emotion comes with the blow I have handed to him.
His hand slowly begins to rub my back. "Shhh, baby. It's going to be okay. I will not let him hurt you. He will never be able to touch you again."
The finality in his voice assures me. Charlie will make it okay. He will protect me.
.
If only I knew then what I know now. If only I hadn't told him. Things would be so different. Charlie would still be here.
I climb back into bed and hope for the blackness to take me away.
xxxxxx
.
I feel the blackness receding and with it comes an increasingly painful pounding. I don't know whether the pounding is from the hit or the sobs. Crying yourself to sleep is never good for the head.
I open my eyes. It takes a few minutes to focus through my swollen eyes. I already know that I am alone in bed and I am grateful. I can't face the apologies just yet.
I turn onto my back slowly. I stretch and allow the stiffness to make itself known. The light pouring in through the white curtains, makes my eyes close automatically. All I want to do is curl up and let the blackness suck me back in.
I consider taking the pain pills in the draw only inches away. The numb drowsiness they provide would be a welcome reprieve from reality. But instead I get up and make my way to the bathroom.
I look at myself to survey the damage. It's not too bad. It is disguisable. There are the beginnings of bruises around my forearm, from where James had held me, and on my shoulder, from the dresser, but the bruise on my cheek has only begun to form. It would be worse tomorrow.
I get into the shower and let the water wash away the disgust, the self loathing. I have to get myself together. I have to paint the picture.
xxxxxx
.
Once I have gotten dressed and put on enough make-up to hide the bruises, I make my way downstairs. My suspicions are confirmed when I see James' sleeping form stretched out on the couch.
I am still not ready to face him so I grab my keys and phone and slip out the house.
I get into my car and pull out. I don't know where I am going. I drive around aimlessly while my mind is bombarded with memories.
.
Charlie screaming through the phone in the early hours of the morning.
Renee arriving to pick me up from Forks.
Me screaming for her to "please let me stay."
Renee calling me a liar.
Phil smirking at me through the rear-view mirror on the trip back from the airport.
The sobs as Phil tells me, "You shouldn't have done that."
More phone calls. More screaming.
Renee threatening Charlie with custody battles.
Charlie threatening to kill Phil.
Me wishing it would just stop.
Time passing without incident. No Phil coming into my room. No more disgusting propositions - a false sense of security.
James.
A weekend away. A boy's night. A drunken Phil. An angry Charlie. Shots fired. The cold metal in my hand.
Phil crumpling to the ground.
James.
The motionless form of my father.
The fear. The heartbreak. The voice.
The heartbroken look on my mother's face.
The sirens. The hospitals.
James.
The cover up. The secrets.
James.
And my father's voice ringing in my ears.
"He will never be able to touch you again."
.
My chest is tight. My heart is clenched and I can't breathe. I gasp for air but I can't seem to fill my lungs. I look around and the surroundings seem vaguely familiar but I have no idea how I got there.
I reach into the glove compartment and grab the bottle of Zoloft.
I take one and continue to try and breathe.
Slowly the vice grip in my chest eases.
I take a few shaky breathes and close my eyes, resting my head back.
Time passes, quickly, slowly. I am not sure.
I don't know how long I've been sitting here, my father's voice still floating all around me and my head pounding a million miles a minute.
There is a gentle knock on the window.
I jump in surprise and look up into a pair of familiar green eyes.
Edward.
A/N: Please review :-)