AN: Thanks to Jasperbells and Pastiche Lethe for beta-ing. Also, thanks to april666king, Solar571, team Jazper and kittycat1980 for reviewing :)
I don't know how many times I have heard the phrase "time heals all wounds," especially during the past few weeks. If that's true, then how long do I have to wait? I'm sick of feeling like this.
A couple of weeks aren't long enough, obviously. But that's how long it has taken my life to change completely.
If dealing with my mother's death wasn't hard enough, I'm now forced to live with my father, Charlie, a man I barely even know. I can't even tell you the last time I saw him. I would get birthday and Christmas cards from him, but that was it. Some Dad he turned out to be.
I just- I don't know what to do anymore. It seems that with every passing hour, the pain I feel over losing Mom increases. I don't seem to have the energy to do anything. I feel like I have to hold myself together. Quite often, I look down to see that my arm is hugging my chest, like it's trying to cover up some gaping hole. I don't even know I'm doing it half the time, but it seems to help.
That's kind of what it feels like… like I've been wounded in some way. Except, this type of wound is going to stay with me for the rest of my life. I'll never be the way I was before all of this happened.
That's sad- like I already wasn't depressed enough.
I don't really remember a whole lot out of the past two weeks. I can't say I was paying too much attention to be honest. I guess I spent my time denying that any of it was happening.
After being told about my mom, the police officer took me to the hospital to identify her. It took less than a second for me to turn away from her lifeless body. I wanted to scream "that's not her!" but I couldn't. It was my mom. I desperately wanted to be anywhere else but there, at that moment in time.
Because of my age, I wasn't allowed to stay at home alone. And because I didn't have any family in the area, I was placed into a foster home for the night. I should have thanked them for taking me in, but I just couldn't get the image of my mom's body out of my head. It's like it had burned into my mind. All the dried blood…
I refused to call my father. The police man did it for me. I didn't feel like talking to anyone. That is something I remember about the experience- feeling numb. That didn't stop the tears though.
The police man told me Charlie was catching the next flight out to Phoenix. Apparently Charlie wanted to talk to me on the phone. I just couldn't. I didn't acknowledge what the officer had said. He left quickly after that. I think he left his information with the newly appointed foster carer. I don't even remember his name.
Charlie showed up the next day, as promised.
I guess he is kind of like me; dark hair, brown eyes and awkward in social situations. Yeah, we must be related.
I couldn't find my voice to say hi to him. I put it down to the lack of sleep, or maybe I was already giving up. I'm glad Charlie didn't force me to try.
I can't… I don't see the point anymore. I can't seem to- urgh, I can't even think in proper sentences!
Why is this so hard?
I take a deep breath to calm myself a little.
My last few days in Phoenix were awful. Charlie dealt with everything; the funeral, contacting the school, contacting work and the real estate agents. All I could seem to do was sit there. I spent those last few days on the couch, staring at the pictures of mom and I on the mantel piece. I would give anything to be that happy again, or to just feel something other than this pain.
The funeral was a joke in my opinion. Renee wasn't religious. She didn't raise me to be either. So I don't see why we had to sing hymns. I couldn't. I still didn't want to acknowledge that she was gone.
The reverend leading the service kept stumbling over her words. Seriously, how difficult is it to read from a sheet of paper?
Charlie had obviously filled her in on the things that he knew about- like me, surprisingly. The reverend read out to the room that Mom was proud of me and always would be. It was lucky that I didn't feel like talking. I would have told the reverend to shut the hell up.
Two weeks have passed since Mom left me. I know she didn't choose to. She was taken from me.
I never knew I could feel so… alone.
I've spent most of my time in Charlie's spare room. He told me it was mine from when I was a toddler. I guess it's mine again now that I'm a teenager. He told me I can decorate it anyway I want to.
I don't feel like doing anything though, lately.
I look up at the door when I hear a knock. At least Charlie warns me when he's going to come in first. Mom never really did. But we were close. She is- no- was my best friend.
"Hey, Bells," he says as he enters the room. "I thought you might be hungry," he adds, pointing to the tray he's holding.
I sit up on the bed to see him better. I hope he can tell by the look on my face that I want to be left alone.
"Please, Bella," he starts when I don't say anything.
I look away from his face to the end of the bed. I concentrate on the purple comforter that's folded up there.
I hear Charlie sigh. He places the tray by the side of the bed.
"I don't know what to do, Bella. Can you help me out here?"
I wish I could. I don't know what to do either, I think to myself silently.
I look at the tray beside me. He's made me a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I made one of those the night that Mom died. I don't think I'll ever eat another one again.
He must see me looking at the food because he turns to leave. He probably thinks I'm going to eat it. I'm not. What he doesn't know won't hurt him.
He shuts the door behind him as he leaves. I hear his footsteps retreating down the stairs.
It takes a lot of effort to get up from the bed, but I manage it. I take half of the sandwich from the plate, go over to the window and open it.
One thing I quickly learnt about Forks is that it rains, a lot.
There's a tree close by. I start to tear pieces of the bread in my hand and throw them out of the window. At least the birds will want to eat it. Birds don't have nut allergies, do they?
After getting rid of the food in my hands, I make my way back over to the bed. I see that there is a glass of milk on the tray so I gulp it down. I guess I was thirsty.
I make myself comfortable on the bed. I won't be going anywhere for a while.
The next thing I know, it's getting dark outside. I must have fallen asleep. I hear another knock at the door. The sound must have woken me up.
Charlie enters the room. He glances at the tray. He seems pleased that parts of its contents are missing.
"I know you're grieving, Bells," he says as he picks it up. "I won't pretend to know how you feel. But I don't know what to do."
He pauses for a second, as if thinking about how to word what he wants to say.
"Tomorrow I'm taking you to the hospital. A friend of mine is going to check you over."
He sighs when I don't respond to him.
"I just want you to feel better, Bella."
And with that, he leaves.
Do I not get a say in this? I almost laugh at that. I haven't said a word to anyone since that night, and I don't plan to.
What would be the point?