Chapter two: Home

Again, I am sorry about the long wait. I thought I'd have this up sooner, but I'm a slow writer.

Thank you so much for reading my story and I hope you enjoy.

Chapter Song: Home-Gabrielle Aplin

I rub my sleepy eyes, the uncomfortable ancient mattress below me squeaking. Turning over I roll my eyes and look out the dirty window. The tops of the trees block out most of what would be an amazing view of the ocean. It's a beautiful day, the sun is breaking through the surprisingly clean white clouds and the trees are at a standstill. Most days are windy and it's nice to see them getting a small break from the chilly breezes. My dark comforter is warm against my bare skin meaning one thing; it's not only sunny outside, it's over seventy degrees for once. I smile; it's a perfect day for surfing.

The sun casts a glaring shadow across my room making my tired eyes squint against the brightness. Rolling out of bed I trip over the tangled blankets before throwing open my closet door feeling a bit of frustration course through me. The small space is about empty, my army duffel sits on the one bucket full of old clothes and above hang a few lonesome hangers hung up on the rack. I throw my army duffel to the side before looking through the bucket. I find my wetsuit and Jammers neatly folded on the bottom and I pull them both out already knowing that I'm going to have to squeeze into them. I've put on so much muscle while being in the army that sometimes I don't even recognize myself. Slipping on the tight Jammers, I let out a laugh at how they barely fit my tree trunk legs. I pull on the legs of my wetsuit but leave the rest hanging below my belly button. It's a bit tight but it'll have to do until I get some new gear. There is no way I am surfing in this ocean without a wetsuit

I'm mildly surprised to find our kitchen well stocked with food. Growing up there was hardly any food in this house. I practically lived off of Marconi and Cheese and Microwave noodles when I was younger. The only time I got a home cooked meal was when my grandparents visited or when I went to Sues. Walking out the door with a banana and bagel in hand I make my way to the shed behind the house. I think my board is exactly where I last left it last, neatly stacked on the upper shelf. I don't bother to call out to tell mother I'm leaving. She's never cared before.

The path I made through the short section of forest behind my house shortens the time I arrive at the beach. My path has remained the same over the time I haven't been on it, except for the few sections of overgrowth, other than that it serves me well. I walk through the sand, my bare feet in complete bliss as the soft warm sand squeezes between my toes. I lean my board against the wooden pier and pull my wetsuit over my arms. Scoping the surf I take note that the waves are around three or four feet tall and there are only two other surfers out. Both I can probably guess are high school kids from Forks. Nobody is on the beach yet and the pier only has one fisherman on it. The few white clouds I had once saw earlier are now long gone and it's just miles of blue sky stretching out above me. The sun sits in the middle of the sky, shining down and I can feel that today is going to hold something special.

Surfing has always been something natural for me. When I caught my first wave, it was like nothing else I had ever experienced and it made all the things that I thought were bad seem petty. Nothing mattered, all my worries disappeared the second I stood up on my very first wave and at that moment I fell in love with the ocean. Sue bought me my very first wetsuit three months after I had started surfing. She always tells me the story of the little boy that'd surf no matter how cold it was and how bad the conditions were. She'd tell me how she was walking on the beach and she saw a boy, around the age of six or seven, walking towards the forest shivering with a surfboard in one hand and a small towel in the other. That little boy was me.

That same year, winter came and I couldn't find myself to not stay out of the ocean. I was on the beach during late October, I had tried to paddle out in my wetsuit but found myself submerged in ice-cold water and immediately had to get out. The water was way too cold to surf in just a wetsuit. The next day Sue bought me a dry suit with a hoodie and booties. As I grew-and I grew quick, Sue would never forget, she was always there to hand me a new wetsuit or dry suit when I needed it the most. That's when I started working at the diner. I felt guilty, surf gear isn't cheap and she was always handing me something new. My guilt resulted in me working at the diner when she needed someone.

The surf is alright. The waves are a little sloppy and the sets are far from each other. I'm a little rusty at first, my sense of balance is thrown off. All the muscle I have now is a much different feeling while surfing then being a skinny little twig. I can feel it affecting my stability. Putting that all behind me though, I get used to it fast. Straddling my board, I watch as one of the two surfers rides a small wave back into the shore. They're definitely not locals, but they're not Forks high school kids like I thought either; probably just some second beach locals checking out the morning conditions over here.

After riding a wave in, I sit on the beach for a while admiring the view, the tall cliffs sit to the right of me. They are so much more beautiful than I remember the worn brown rock with thick patches of dark green trees at the top. I watch as the ocean storms in and pounds against the bottom of the cliffs, wishing I could be in that very patch of water. We used to cliff dive the closer cliffs and I've fought the urge to feel the wind against my skin as I fall towards the ocean ever since I left La Push last. I need to find a few of the boys to go with me, I know better than to try to go alone. In high school, some kid from Forks decided that he wanted to try it out and ended up drowning. The cliffs were almost banned to the public; Forks police fought to make it illegal to cliff dive in the county but luckily since La Push is an Indian Reservation it was quickly dismissed.

My thoughts take over my mind and any sense I have of what time it is. I get lost in the view, always spotting something new to take note of. There are so many things I that I don't remember about this place and it makes me wonder why I ever wanted to leave it. I feel old. The feeling has crept on me in the past year and even though I'm twenty-three years old, I've seen more ugly things than most forty-year olds. The realization that my life is short has finally took notice in my mind and I've come to realize that every time I gear up and hold my gun, I'm risking my life for a war that was never even ours. I am fighting for a better world, but for as long as I live, things won't change.

Walking down the pier, I take a gulp of my beer and lean my bare stomach against the old wooden railing. The sliver filled wood is hot from the sun and it immediately warms the patch of my stomach. As I stare down into the blue water a memory so far back that the edges are blurry pops into my head, I can barely remember it but it's there. I was sixteen and we always used to joke around about how if you leaned against this very railing you'd probably end up falling in the water. It was late at night and we were drunk when one of my friends mentioned it, he thought it would be funny for someone to fall in. Of course we didn't want to wait for someone to actually fall in, so we pushed one of our friends in the water. The current was strong and he was quickly sucked under before we could even stop laughing. The full moon was our light as one of the girls screamed that he was gone. It was like suddenly the feeling of being drunk was totally lost in my head. I realized that we had pushed in Sue's boy Seth; he never was a good swimmer. I didn't think then, I just jumped over the railing. I had to find him.

"I wish I could live here forever," a girl's quiet soft voice carries through the wind towards me. It sounds almost familiar but I'd never be able to tell who exactly it was. She sounds as though she's under a spell, I can hear her love for the ocean in the way she whispers those simple words.

"I don't know why. This place feels totally dirty." A sharp voice replies. It's nothing like the quiet soft voice of the girl before, this one is nasally, as if she has a stuffy nose and it's full of disgust.

The first girl ignores her. "I wish I could surf."

I lean my head to the side, trying to glance back without making it obvious that I'm looking. I glance at the blonde and see only a flash of the brunette. Realizing that I don't care if they see me staring, I turn my body so my back is resting against the wood. It's her, voice in my head whispers. My eyes immediately go the brunette, a tiny unreadable hope that maybe it's Isabella Swan. And it is. She's here, walking right past me, not even ten feet away. I've seen her a million times in my head ever since that day at the diner, but none of those images compare to seeing her in person. Her long brown hair is up in a messy pony tail. She has on a white cover up and I can see her light blue bikini on underneath it.

"Hey," the words tumble from my mouth before I can even register the thought. She probably doesn't even know who I am; I know exactly who she is though. It sounds stalker like and creepy. Dread fills my stomach. I do sound creepy.

The blonde glances over at me, she wears a thick cover of orange make up and you can practically see the dark hair coming in against the bleached blonde. I watch as her eyes travel over my skin-probably taking note that I'm Indian, and then they go to my beer. She rolls her eyes and looks away. Good, I want Bella anyways.

"Hello," Bella waves at me; the blonde gives her a look. "I bet the surf is amazing today." She smiles brightly and I can't help but grin back. Her smile is contagious. She continues to walk with her friend and I turn back to the water a strong sense of pride settling into the pit of my stomach.

I run the short conversation over and over in my head. Bella and the blonde girl stop at the end of the pier, not even fifteen feet away from where I stand, and look out at the ocean. I can't stop glancing over and it makes me feel like a fourteen year old girl with a crush. Not soon after I said hey, a pair of jock looking guys walk up to them. They wear green Rugby polo shirts, khaki shorts, and thick sandals. I not only instantly know that they are both douches, but they're from Forks also. All the guys from Forks dress like that these days.

The brunette wraps his arm around the blonde girl; she lets out a loud annoying laugh before shoving him away. I don't pay much attention to them; my eyes are fixated on Bella. The blonde guy goes up to Bella and gives her a long hug. Her whole body language is uncomfortable, like she doesn't really know the guy. He let's go of her and slides up on the wooden railing, sitting with his hands at his side and his feet locked into the wooden bars.

I sip my beer. I don't have a good feeling about this guy. He's shady and I'm ninety-five percent positive that he's one of the guys who trashed the tribe meeting on the beach the last time I was here. Him and a couple of buddies set fire to the beach and ruined some tribal artifacts. We almost banned any Forks citizens from our land, but in the end we are forgiving people, so we didn't. Out of the corner of my eyes, I watch as the blonde hair boy laughs and throws his arms out like he is explaining something. His right hand hits the bag that sits on the railing and I watch as it tumbles into the ocean.

"My bag!" Bella gasps, standing on her tippy toes as she bends over the railing. The orange bag hits the water with a small splash and is almost immediately sucked under by a small wave. The blonde hair is now next to her, I hear him repeat I'm sorry a few times.

"Well go get it Mike," Bella's blonde friend demands. Mike looks at the three of them in shock, his mouth wide open.

"You want me to jump into that water?" Mike asks, his finger-pointing towards the ocean. I roll my eyes, what a puss.

"Yes! That has everything in it," Bella cries, her hands gripping at her head. Frustration rolls off of her like the waves that crash under us at this very moment.

Mike leans against the railing; he glares down at the water. "I said I'm sorry. I didn't mean to push it over."

I don't think he understands that it doesn't matter whether he pushed it over. The girl just wants her damn bag, it's not rocket science.

"My bag," Bella groans, trying to spot it in the water below. That's when I see it, a flash of orange just under the surface of the water, right below where I stand. The waves are carrying it towards the shore, but it will never make it on its own.

At that moment, my decision is already set in stone. I don't know what could drive me to do what I'm about to do, and maybe that is why I go through with it, because I don't think. My hands grip the edge of the railing and I pull myself up so I'm standing on the thick slice of wood. Looking down, the ocean crashes below me and I realize that it's just like what I've been dying to do since I got back. It can't be too much different from cliff diving and it's far less of a drop. I feel as if I'm sixteen again and I'm watching Seth fight against the waves below me, I know I can't just sit here and watch the desperation in the way his arms grind against the rapid current, I can't watch the desperation as he screams help and none of us do anything. My decision is set and like I did so many years ago, I dive.

I'm not sure if I liked how this chapter turned out.

Please let me know what you think.

Sorry for any grammer or spelling mistakes. There are always mistakes I miss.

Thank you. Xx

-Rosie