Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Wish I did, but I don't. Also, sorry for the delay in posting; real life got in the way for a while. Thanks to all those who reviewed. I know this chapter is short, but it's for you!
On the way home from the airport, we were driving down the street toward mom and Phil's rented house when a baby bunny darted out from the side of the road and into the path of the car's headlights. Even with the aid of streetlights, the little one pound ball of fluff was barely visible to the human eye. My heart dropped to my stomach as I realized what was about to happen. We were going to hit him. It was pretty much a guarantee.
Luckily, Phil actually managed to slow down enough and swerve ever so slightly; narrowly missing the little guy as he scurried toward the side of the road. Watching through the rear window, I was stuck with a profound realization. Akin to Thumper, I'm the almost-roadkill of life.
If it weren't for Phil's compassion for the poor, defenseless little thing, it would be dead now. But, with tiger-like reflexes, Phil managed to keep the little guy out of harm's way, allowing him the opportunity to go on and hop another day. Truth is though, that's where the compassion always ends. In these situations, the drivers don't stop the car to follow Thumper and make sure he recovers alright. Why would they? The animal lived; their job was done.
Yet, I'm sure Thumper's off somewhere trembling and terrified, feeling alone and separated from everything he knew before the almost collision occurred. Who knows if the little guy's even got a family waiting for him. Maybe he's just a one pound shell of emptiness hopping off into life alone with his only comfort being the knowledge that someone cared enough to swerve.
That's me. You-know-who cared enough to swerve, but not enough to stay with me afterward. I was nothing more than the defenseless little rabbit thrown into the path of a 2,000 pound hunk of gorgeous shiny metal on a collision coarse to destroy me, but with enough compassion to avoid the imminent squish.
So, now, here I am in Jacksonville, Florida, comparing my life to road-kill and wondering if perhaps it would have been better to have been actual road-kill rather than just almost-road-kill. At least if I had been road-kill I might have left a mark on his life; rather than just a memory that lasts until the next almost-road-kill comes along.
Before my musings could really start to head somewhere they shouldn't, I realized we were pulling up in front of a two-story white home. It was cute enough and exactly the kind of place I imagined Phil and Renee to have. While I knew they only rented, I couldn't help but smile at my mother's beaming expression as I stepped out of the stopped car. It's obvious she takes a lot of pride in the place. I think she's still holding out hope I might decide to move in with them. Now, that's unlikely.
None of us had spoken much since we left the airport. Renee and Phil engaged in some small talk in the front seat during the drive, but didn't seem to mind my lack of involvement. I'm pretty sure that's not going to fly much longer, so I started to prepare myself for what lay ahead. While Charlie's always been pretty good at letting me do my own thing and not hovering, Renee's always been his polar opposite. I'm pretty sure I won't get a moments alone time while I'm here. Maybe, in the end, that's not such a bad thing.
"So, kid," Phil started as we entered the front foyer, either completely oblivious to my disdain for his reference to 'kid' or managing to ignore it all together. "I suppose we can let you see your room first. I'm guessing you guys might be a bit jet-lagged. I'm not sure if you wanna just head to bed, or what."
A shrug of the shoulders was all I could seem to manage in response. His mention of bed made me realize how truly tired I apparently was. Even though I'd slept, however restlessly, on the plane, sleep sounded pretty good. Since the plane ride, I've come to accept my nightmares as a guaranteed part of sleep. Unfortunately, that doesn't change my body's need for rest.
Grabbing the bags from my hand, Phil let out a chuckle at my lack of response, while turning toward a staircase and heading upstairs. Pulling me into a hug, Renee wished me a good night's sleep and reminded me of our plans for tomorrow. Great; I had almost forgotten about the hair and make-up filled "girls day" I had agreed to before the party tomorrow night.
Turning toward the stairs Phil had ascended previously, I headed toward the rustling sound and met Phil, hands empty, in the hallway. He absently nodded toward an open doorway and squeezed my shoulder. "Get a good night's sleep. From what your mom said, it sounds like you'll need it. We'll have plenty of time to talk and catch up tomorrow." And with that he was gone down the stairs and I was alone.
As I entered the small room I was caught completely off guard. It was obvious Renee had gone to great lengths to bring many of my favorite things from Phoenix into the room. I'm sure a part of her still, however uselessly, hopes I'll make the decision to move to Jacksonville. In the far corner of the room, an assortment of cacti are potted and lined up along the windowsill. Splashes of green and blue are scattered about the room in picture frames, blankets, pillows, and curtains. A welcoming picture of friends from Phoenix is situated on the desk next to a bright blue Mac Book Pro.
Flopping down onto the brilliant emerald green bedspread, I plan to take a moment to relax before setting off to dig out my pajamas from my luggage. I wasn't prepared for the inviting softness of the bed, however, and almost as soon as my head hit the pillow, I was pulled unwillingly into a deep sleep.
It wasn't until I jerked from sleep a few hours later that I suddenly felt as if something in the room had changed. Jumping from bed, I took a quick look around the room and realized I wasn't in Forks and wouldn't know if anything had changed anyway. That's when it hit me. The thing in the room that had changed – was me. Rather than my normal feelings of sadness, depression, and desolation, I was newly overwhelmed with a new sensation. I was mad.
And I'm not talking just your normal run of the mill mad. I was downright pissed off; and I didn't know why. I realized a part of my brain was trying desperately hard to keep the memory of my dream from coming through, so I knew that must have been the trigger. But then again, I'd been suffering nightmares for almost a week straight now, so what could have been so terrible that it'd made me angry instead of sad.
As the memory of the nightmare started flooding my mind, I realized the issue – it wasn't a nightmare at all. We were in his meadow, his arms wrapped protectively around me as my head rested on his chest. The sun was shining down on us warmly and I could feel the gentleness of the kisses he placed on the top of my head. I was reveling in the comfort of his scent while he traced lazy patterns on my upper arm and back. It was perfect, and I'd woken up. That's why I was mad.
I would have given anything to stay in that dream forever, never again having to realize the emptiness of my life without him. While the sadness of feeling like I'd lost him all over again was almost overwhelming, I was truly mad at life for doing this to me. I'm not a violent person, but I wanted to hit something or someone. I wanted to do true damage in return for the lot I'd been cast in life.
How fair is it that I'm now, apparently, going to have to suffer through this loss every day when I wake up. As if the knowledge of what I'd lost wasn't bad enough, now I have to live with the true realization that if I'd been enough to keep his love, my life would have truly been the stuff dreams are made of.
Is it even possible to live day after day knowing that? Knowing that the only person you could ever truly love doesn't love you in return? Renee had once asked me if I'd even given thought to the idea I could meet someone else some day. Well, sure I had – when she asked me about it. And I'm sure I will meet someone someday who loves me, and maybe I'll even be able to give them what's left of my heart, but how fair is that to them?
When I'm fully aware of my true capacity to love, is it fair to ask for someone to settle for less love from me than I'm capable of giving? Just because I'm incapable of giving that amount of love to them? Really, how fair is that? I know, beyond a doubt, that I'll never be able to love someone the way I love him. How can I ask them to settle?
And in that moment, I made up my mind. I need to do something to help myself move on. I'll never forget, I'll never be free of the gaping, empty hole where my heart used to be, but I need to be able to live. I need to be able to go through life. When I was back in Forks I'd briefly toyed with an idea and I'm pretty sure it's the best thing for me to do.
Getting up from the bed, I walk over and grab my suitcase, pulling out my return ticket and sitting down in front of the Mac Book. Booting it up, I quickly type in the airline's website and request a ticket change. Instead of my relatively direct return flight to Forks, I plan a new route with a two day stay in the city I'm convinced will provide me closure and solace.
Booking a hotel and printing a few pages worth of directions, I close the laptop. Windy city of Chicago, here I come – well, here I come in a couple of days. I suppose I need to live through this mom/daughter day and party first!