A/N: Writer's block sucks.

In this chapter, I believe that Bella and Charlie's relationship needs to be addressed for what it is – which is not very present at all. It seemed vital to give them some kind of progression in this story, for more reasons than one: First of all, I find a parent's relationship with their children to be one of the most important human relationships. Secondly, the fact that Meyer has always ignored this has unnerved me immensely. Charlie tends to be portrayed as some helpless, boring extra that we only hear about from time to time, and because of this he is often viewed as an unfit, lazy parent. I believe he could reach great potential with his daughter if only Meyer had thought to write her books with half a brain in her head.

For those of you who are interested – my soundtrack throughout the duration of writing this chapter was the wonderful band Young The Giant; more specifically the song "Islands," and I urge you to listen to it on repeat as you read this chapter. It's so hauntingly beautiful and gave me so many feelings that I cannot begin to capture in words. Also, reviews are nice.

And with that, please enjoy chapter 14!

Chapter 14.

You are awoken the next morning by the sound of Charlie's return. The loudness of it is enough to put you at ease – anything that would make a quieter sound than the sounds Charlie makes would definitely not be welcome in your house. It's still almost completely dark out – through the opaque curtains you can just barely distinguish the light from the dark. You look around groggily, not remembering falling asleep on the couch last night, and shiver from the lack of blankets. You're surprised to find that you even fell asleep at all, if the events of last night are any sort of indication. But you try not to think about that right now.

"Hey, Bells," Charlie grunts, and the exhaustion is clear in his tone as he closes the door loudly, locks it behind him, and toes his shoes off. You slowly sit up to clear a spot on the couch for him, which he sinks into gratefully and almost immediately puts his head back and closes his eyes. "Why aren't you asleep in your room?"

"I – I was waiting for you," you reply honestly, and rest your head against his shoulder, shivering from how cold his jacket still is from the chilly morning air. "I hate it when you stay out late – it gets me worried. Did anything... bad happen?"

Charlie's face scrunches up a bit before he answers, eyes still closed. "Well – the department didn't exactly make any progress... but we found a few less-than-welcome signs of mysterious animal killings."

"Animal – killings?" you choke out, not daring to believe it. "Where? When?"

At the tone of your voice, Charlie opens his eyes and glances at you with concern. "Whoa, there, Bells. Nothing for you to worry about. We found the bodies a few miles from here, and from there they just spread out all over the forested part of Forks. We're starting to think this might be a seasonal thing – remember last year? And at about this same time, too. We're just seeing the same things again. We've got investigators out there day and night, trying to decide if this is something to do with a change in the weather... or... something or other..." He puts his head back against the couch and closes his eyes again with an enormous sigh. After a few moments of silence, his breathing evens out and you're almost positive he's asleep.

You can't help but jump a little when he starts talking again, breaking the silence.

"I want you to be safe, so you'll be staying inside at all times unless you're hanging out with Jake... We didn't find anything remotely close to the reservation, and the Quileute boys are good company to keep."

You nod slowly, even though Charlie can't see you. "Yeah... they are. I think they're probably gonna be too busy for me, though." The last part is spoken mostly to yourself and something scratches at your heart as you realize how true your words are. What with everything going on with Victoria – and possibly the Cullens – they probably won't spare enough time to make you feel welcome. It's all just going to be business from here on out. (You still can't help but stay hopeful that perhaps Jacob will see just how lonely you are – that maybe you could have a repeat of yesterday, where the only concern on either of your minds has nothing to do with vampires. But with Jacob that could never be possible, at least not anytime soon.)

Charlie slowly opens his eyes at the hopeless tone in your voice. He seems to think about it for a while before asking quietly and earnestly, "How are you doing, Bella?"

The question catches you off guard and you shy away from the concern in his voice, answering with a bit of a waver, "I'm fine. Why?"

"No, I mean... how are you really doing? I know I'm not home enough nowadays to check up on you. But we haven't really had a good sit-down ever since... ever since your last episode." He makes a face to try and get you to understand, and you do. It was only a few weeks ago, but the memory of screaming in the middle of the night, awakening Charlie because of the vividness of your nightmares – it's enough to put a chill to your bones. You haven't had any recent episodes, mostly thanks to Embry and his company, but after he was gone you had enough sense to muffle any sounds you might have made in the midst of troubled sleep. And last night was too much of a blur to remember anything at all since then.

You look down at your hands and your cheeks are suddenly burning from Charlie's intense stare. Somehow it never fails to surprise you whenever Charlie takes an extra interested notice in you and your well-being. You suppose this can't be saying something healthy about your relationship with your father.

"I... I was fooled into thinking that what Jacob and I had was something more than friendship. And I really do love him that way, but he can't feel the same way back. That kind of hurts, you know? Unrequited love... or something like that. It's so complicated; I don't even know what to think anymore, Dad." Your eyes start to burn involuntarily. "It hurts even more every time I see him. He – he has a girlfriend. It's just... really weird. I mean, I know we never dated or anything like that, but... what we had was sort of more important than a romantic relationship. Or at least it seemed like it," you mumble as an afterthought, not bothering to stop the tears from flowing down your cheeks.

You're purposely trying to dumb down things enough so that Charlie might understand it and possibly relate to it. It would be much too difficult to go into the stupid magic that's involved in it all. If anything, he could at least sympathize with dramatic teenage relationships.

"Unrequited love..." he repeats wistfully. "I definitely know what that feels like." You nod and look down at your hands. He reaches his hand out to wipe a tear from your cheek, startling you. "If being with him is so painful, then why do you still hang out with him?"

You know the answer immediately. "Because... sometimes I don't know whether being away from him is any less painful."

Charlie nods slowly, but you can tell he's confused.

"I'm in love with him, Dad. I miss him all the time. Even when I'm with him, because I'm not. He's with his imp – his, uh, girlfriend. And I'm just standing there, and no one notices. It's like I'm screaming, but no one can hear." Your voice cracks and tears continue falling silently down your cheeks. "But the worst part is there's nothing anyone can do to make me feel better. Sometimes I feel like I might get better, but it's only a temporary fix – and then I go back to being miserable. That's all there is to it, basically."

You risk a glance at Charlie and are surprised to find him with his nose scrunched up, a dissatisfied look on his face. "Somehow I sense there's something else underneath it all, Bells. I haven't been here enough for you lately – and I'm so, so sorry." His voice cracks and you understand that he really wants you to talk to him. "I know it will never be the same as talking to your mother – but I'm really trying to be what you need, Bella. I want this to work, but I need you to talk to me. Please."

You stare back into his eyes just as intensely, almost frightened by how much care and concern you see there. You're left speechless for a few moments, before you realize you should probably react somehow. You blink a few times and nod your head jerkily, wishing so badly – so badly – that you actually could tell him absolutely everything. That you didn't have to worry about keeping almost your whole life a secret. That he could understand every heartbreak and the magnitude of how much stress is put on your daily life by simply existing. You wish you could tell it all to him, and not face any consequences at all.

For more than a few seconds, you very seriously consider doing it.

"I – Dad – you –" you start uncertainly, wincing at the way his eyes raise, highly anticipating your next words. Even he can sense there might be something important behind them. Your mind races a hundred miles per hour but you can't will yourself to continue.

You can't do it. You just can't do it. Not for your sake – but for his. You can't endanger him that way, and it hurts to look back into his eyes – so trusting, so loving – when you can't tell him about your secret life, and the fact that you hang around mythical beasts on a daily basis. It hurts to know that he trusts you so much.

"I'm just so scared, Dad," you choke out with a sob, knowing exactly what Jacob felt like when he wished that he could tell you everything but couldn't unless you figured it out. But this time, you're sure you feel a hundred times worse than Jacob ever did. "I'm afraid I'm gonna lose everyone I love because of my selfishness. I've never felt more hopeless, more depressed. And now I think I seriously lost a huge opportunity by pushing someone away yet again. That's all I'm good for – making people miserable. I have no hope, no future. Who would want me? I'm good for nothing. I don't know how I've managed to keep people around for this long. I don't know why anyone in their right mind would come back. I don't know – everything's so uncertain and – Dad – Dad." You're openly sobbing now, shaking in Charlie's arms as he rubs your back with his fingers. "I've made so many mistakes – so many regrets – and I just wish I could be a little nine-year-old girl again. When there was no reason to hate me. And no reason to be afraid of anything. I feel so alone now. I'm just so scared, Dad."

Charlie doesn't interrupt once, just lets you cry your heart out into his shoulder, whispering soothing nothings into your hair and repeating over and over, "Honey, Bella, honey," and "Sh-sh-shhhh."

Several minutes pass where the only sounds made are Charlie's whispers and your wet sobs that steadily recede to shaky breathing. Finally, he speaks up.

"Bella – you've got to know that you've got so much going for you. So much," he says, voice firm and confident, but speaking slowly as though choosing his words right before they leave his mouth. "You will always and forever be my darling baby Bella. In my eyes, you are still the precious little girl I held in my arms for the very first time at nineteen years old. I didn't know it was possible to hold so much love inside of my body at once. I felt like I had no other reason to live except to be there for you. And I promised myself I would always be there for you, no matter what other stupid mistakes I made in the past, nothing would ever change – I would always love you. And I will. I do. I love you so much, Bella, and I never want you to feel like you're alone. You always have me. And you always have your mother. Anyone else – Jacob, Edward, I don't care who it is – they don't matter half as much. You understand that?"

You nod slowly into his chest, marveling at how calm you feel. You don't remember the last time you felt so calm and loved while simultaneously crying.

"No one has the right to make my baby girl feel this way," Charlie continues. "Not unless you give them permission to. Don't let them have power over you like that."

"It's – it's really hard not to." You sniffle pathetically. "God, it really sucks to be in love."

He nods and kisses your hair. "Believe me, I know. I know. Boys will come and go. But your family never will – they come into your life – or, well, they're always there to begin with – and they stay that way. Got that?"

You dry your eyes with the edge of your shirt and breathe in and out shakily. "Yeah. Thank you, Dad." He smiles, a tired, loving smile, and you find the strength to smile back. "Thank you for everything you said."

His smile grows bigger and brighter. "No problem. Just make sure you always remember what I said when you're feeling alone, or sad."

"I – I'll try. You know I can't promise that I'll be happier just like that, though."

"That's fine. I'm not expecting anything to happen overnight. I know it seems like it takes an eternity for a broken heart to heal. But it will. That's what matters. Take one day at a time. Hang in there till it's over."

Charlie leans in and presses a kiss to your temple, and you look down at your lap with a watery smile, not knowing what else to say. Thankfully, Charlie breaks the silence.

"Now, I don't know about you, but all these emotions are making me hungry. What do you say I whip up some pancakes?" He puts his hands on his knees and uses it as leverage to get off the couch, standing in front of you and holding his hand out to help you off the couch as well.

You laugh shakily and take his hand, still attempting to collect yourself. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"Of course; you and I both know I am the notorious pancake master."

"Emphasis on notorious," you throw back with a hesitant smile.

Charlie's golden, warm laugh fills the walls of the house and the walls of your heart. "I really do love you, Bells."

"I really do love you, too."

And right now, in this moment, on this day, you are okay. And it is enough.

-x-

It's still a mystery to you as to why Jacob seems to be so insistent on talking to you. What does he have to gain? What do you have to gain? You thought it was made very clear that every second spent with each other is another second times two that your heart feels like it's being ripped out of your chest.

Yet at the time, you can't seem to feel guilty about it. You feel the boiling glares Natalie shoots at you when you're not looking – and, more often than not, when you are looking – you see the cold, unmasked hatred in her eyes when she's forced to speak with you, as though you're the most disgusting thing she's ever seen, like a bug she wants desperately to squish beneath her shoe.

You know it should worry you that someone can manage to show such immense hatred for you for reasons beyond your control and desire – but it doesn't worry you. With every spiteful word that leaves Natalie's mouth with the intention of making you feel less of worth, there's the tiniest inclination to want to make this all right, to prove everyone that you can be useful and kind and amazing – God, if only they'd give you the chance! – but other than that, you ignore Natalie like your life depends on it, or perhaps your sanity, because in some ways, it does.

Everyone seems to think that you exist for the sole purpose of making things complicated and ruining everyone's lives. (A word-for-word description granted to you by Natalie, the queen bitch herself.) No one says anything out loud that might imply they think the exact same way for fear of facing the wrath of Jacob (which Natalie always tends to narrowly miss no matter what with a disgusting smile and a kiss), but you know they silently agree with her.

Despite the pleasantries that are exchanged every second you spend with the wolf pack (at the request of Jacob – it was apparently much safer than your house in Forks), you can slowly feel them slipping away, one by one. You have the slightly irrational fear – or maybe not so irrational – that one day, they'll hate you just as much as Natalie does.

And yet, throughout it all, Natalie doesn't bother you, not even superficially – hell, if someone was even half as shallow and narrow-minded as her, you'd rather not have anything to do with them. You don't want to lose some of the closest people you've ever had to true friends. Somehow, you feel like your life with them is not over yet. So you desperately claw to every string like a lifeline before it slips away beyond your reach.

Embry is of course your main concern. The way he looks away from you quickly every time you glance in his direction, the way his eyes flash with sadness and anger and betrayal in the rare occasion you do catch his eye (and immediately regret doing so afterwards), and the way he basically refuses to acknowledge you at all whenever you are found in each other's presence (which he conveniently manages to have happen as little as possible); it's all the reason you really need to find yourself curled inside your bed at night, crying softly into the folds of blanket that surrounds you in an attempt to muffle the sounds from Charlie.

You and Charlie talk much more often, that much is true – but only to an extent. Whenever he is home, his mind is still back at the police station, constantly worrying about the animal killings that seem to be happening much more frequently, and his eyes always look faraway and tired. Oftentimes he will simply stare straight through you when you try to engage him in conversation, only managing to coax out small sentences or phrases such as "Uh huh," or "Oh, yeah, Bella," or "I'm sorry to hear that."

In some ways, it's worse than not talking to him at all. Sometimes you'll think wryly about how he chose a rather inconvenient time to promise that he'd always be there for you – your problems too often coincided with his steadily growing pile of problems at the police station. But you don't blame him. So you don't expect anything more from him than to sit still and pretend like he's listening to you, and acknowledge your presence every so often when you find yourselves home at the same time.

And you go to bed every night feeling just as weary, depressed, and frustrated as the day before.

"I love you, Dad," you'll whisper from the bottom of the stairs in an attempt to draw Charlie's attention away from the pile of papers in lap for even just a half a second.

"Huh?" He'll look up at you, with a startled, exhausted look in his eye. "Oh – g'night, Bells. Love you." Just as soon as the last word leaves his mouth, he's back to being engrossed in the official documents that you've come to despise over the past few days.

But you'll already be halfway up the staircase, and he won't even notice.

And the tears will be falling even before your head touches the pillow, for more reasons than you can even bother counting right now.

-x-

"God, Jake, I feel like you're taking me to daycare or something," you groan as the Rabbit pulls to a stop in front of an unfamiliar house. You look at it with disdain, suddenly hyperventilating at the thought of Jacob leaving you yet again. You should be used to it by now, but you're not.

"I guess you could call it that," Jacob says with a strange smile, pulling the car into park and opening his door.

In a second he's at the passenger side of the car, opening your door and holding out his hand for you to grab. You ignore it fiercely, using your own perfectly capable limbs to get out of the car and close the ancient door behind you, but Jacob is not fazed. His strange smile only grows wider, and his arm slinks around your waist without prelude. With a sad sigh, you decide to leave it be instead of starting a discussion that could only end with someone marching off in the opposite direction or crying or both.

"But Leah hates me," you insist, walking as slowly as possible.

"You don't know that. What have you done to make her hate you?"

You stare at him with wide eyes. "You can't be serious. I could ask the same exact thing to your girlfriend and basically everyone in the pack. It still wouldn't change anything."

Suddenly he looks nervous, stopping in his tracks and dragging you back to him. "I guess you're right. I didn't think before I said that."

"See? Even you know she hates me. There doesn't need to be a reason."

"I'd rather not like to think that way. The wolf pack doesn't even hate you. Well, they might slightly dislike you – but that's beyond your control." You roll your eyes. He's said the same thing a million times in the past few days: It's beyond your control. There's nothing you can do. Don't worry about it. "And besides," he continues, "Leah isn't in the wolf pack – she's just a grumpy person in general –"

"Oh, that makes me feel much better –"

"– and at times she can just be downright rude as hell –"

"– honestly, Jacob, I'm so fucking excited I can't even stand still –"

"– but I believe that being with one person who dislikes you can't possibly be worse than being surrounded by more than three at any given time." Jacob looks thoughtful for a few moments as you continue to knead the ground nervously with your toes. "Also, let's take into account that the animosity of a certain person is much stronger than strictly necessary and I doubt even Leah could beat it. And hey, who knows? You might be the first person to ever get on her good side. Take it as a challenge, or a game, or something." He laughs once with a failed attempt at humor. "It'll be called the 'Get-Leah-To-Like-You-Without-Losing-A-Limb-In-The-Process' game."

He looks down at you hopefully, an expression on his face sickeningly alike to that of a puppy. You endure a short internal battle, deciding on whether you want to punch him or kiss him more.

You stare at him carefully and sigh after a few moments, suddenly aware of how intimate this moment might look to anyone else right now – your heads are much too close for comfort.

You tear away from him reluctantly and continue walking up to the front door of the Clearwater's house – this time with purpose. "I guess I have no choice, do I?"

He catches up to you in less than a second and laughs. "That's the spirit."

You almost immediately regret it after your fist touches the door – its ominous echo is enough to make you nervous all over again. What if spending time with Leah is worse? What if she finds a million other reasons to hate you that even Natalie didn't think of? Oh, God.

"Is it still too late to run?" you whisper urgently to Jacob beside you, only half-joking.

Apparently it is, though – the door quickly swings open and standing in the doorway is Leah Clearwater, looking tired and irritable yet comfortable in a pair of old sweats and an oversized university t-shirt that you somehow doubt is one of her true belongings. Her hair is pulled back in a loose bun with a few stray strands framing her dark face.

She appraises you for a moment with something close to disgust in her eyes. It's hard not to flinch – you are used to Natalie's hostility, but it's foreign coming from someone you've probably only seen once or twice in passing.

Jacob breaks the short silence. "Leah – this is Bella." You're shocked to hear the reluctance and disdain in his voice. "Paint nails, or make cookies, or whatever it is girls do, just – be nice, okay? I'll see you later tonight."

Leah sniffs and rolls her eyes. "Whatever. Come in," she mumbles as she walks back into the house and rounds a corner, disappearing out of sight but leaving the door open.

You turn to Jacob, panicking. "You're leaving already?" you say, hating the way your voice is seeping with pathetic wanting and fear.

He simply smiles sadly in return, finding your hand as though to hold you in place, or comfort you, or something. More than anything, though, it makes you sick to your stomach and leaves your heart beating even more erratically than before. Lately, it's been a real struggle to let Jacob comfort you like he once was able to. Because at any given moment, he could be out of your life forever, killed maliciously at the hands of Victoria...

"Please be careful," you whisper, your eyes averting from his as his gaze becomes ever more intense and burning. "Promise me you'll be careful, okay?"

He rolls his eyes and says, "I don't usually go out of my way looking for ways to get hurt, Bella. Oh, and isn't that something – I'm haven't been hurt yet! Weird, right?"

"Yet," you repeat stressfully.

The atmosphere around you seems to change. You risk looking up at Jacob's face, almost shrinking under the desperation under his gaze.

A million thoughts run through your mind all at once – how easy it would be to reach your hands up and stroke his face lovingly, to run your hands through his wonderfully fluffy-looking hair, to stretch up on your tiptoes and let your lips linger on his with all the love in the world – but you don't do any of these things.

A million things threaten to escape your mouth all at once – things like I love you so much more than you'll ever know. I only want for you to love me back with nothing standing in our way. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, growing old as you grow old with me. I want you. I need you. I love you – but you don't say any of these things.

What you do say is, "You'd better go. Sam will be wondering what's taking you so long."

Jacob seems to be pulled out of a reverie, and for a moment you hope that he was thinking the exact same things you were just thinking. "Yeah, you-you're right. You'll be fine?" A question, not a statement. He's letting you decide for yourself, and you wish that you could stop loving him so much.

You smile. "Of course. Don't worry about poor ol' overdramatic me."

Jacob nods slowly. "Yeah. You'll be alright. And so will I. So don't worry about me either. Then we'll be even." He smiles his stupid, perfect smile – only this time it's a little tighter than before, like there's a million words hidden behind his lips that he's trying desperately to not let escape.

You wave from the window as Jacob pulls out from the Clearwater's driveway. He warms up your heart with his smile, and for a moment you remember what you're worth, but more importantly the fact that Jacob still seems to think that you're worth fighting for.