Chapter Two: For a Pessimist I'm Pretty Optimistic

My bottom lip kept finding its way between my teeth as I picked at my cuticles with my fingers and absentmindedly rocked back and forth in my seat, while we were all in the limo on our way to my mother's wedding. Speaking of Renee, she was sitting next to me with the largest grin I've ever seen displayed across her face.

I was so nervous about the speech I'd have to give at the reception that it took me quite a while to notice that my vision kept going in and out of focus. I couldn't concentrate on anything specific, and it wasn't helping when another one of my mother's bridesmaids, this one named Tanya, was watching me intently as my heart rate increased under her scrutinizing gaze.

She was so stunning with her oddly colored golden eyes and her strawberry blonde hair, which was in a similar fashion to mine. I tried not to gawk at her, but it was hard for reasons that were unclear to me. I wanted to look away—I really did, but I couldn't; it was as if I was paralyzed in her trance until she decided our staring contest was over.

To say I was uneasy about this situation would be an understatement; I was completely horrified at the fact that I wasn't even able to control my own body. When she diverted her eyes to something more interesting than my entranced state, I promptly looked to the floor.

That wasn't the first time that scenario had occurred with one of my mom's friends and I had a feeling it wouldn't be the last. For some reason it seemed as though in order to qualify as a friend of my mother's, one had to be young, beautiful, and captivating. I was probably only accepted as a friend along with my daughter role for one reason only; I was related to her. She couldn't pick who her biological daughter was and she had to make the best of it. What am I saying? My mother wasn't like that; I was being stupid.

As we neared the church where the ceremony would be held, I started feeling the immense hunger pains. I was famished. I tried to remember the last time I had eaten. It was about an hour ago; that was a long time for me. Ever since I could remember, my metabolism has been a little more than out of the ordinary.

My mother never seemed phased by this and always brushed it off as signs that I was still growing, but when I stopped growing a few years ago, she realized she couldn't use that excuse anymore. Now, she just dismisses the topic, claiming that I needed to try and understand how it brought up unwanted memories. I could never understand how my eating habits could possibly trigger bad memories for my mother, but I always dropped the subject for her sake.

My starvation grew rapidly as saliva began flooding my mouth and throat and my stomach growled like a madman. I felt utterly embarrassed as all four of my mother's bridesmaids turned to me at the sound of my stomach.

"Didn't I see you eating before the stylists came to the house?" Katrina asked me incredulously with an outline of confusion and suspicion in her eyes.

"That was over an hour ago." I answered as I tried to brush it off as if it was normal, which for me this was.

"You had five burritos and nearly a liter of soda; how could all of that have passed through your entire system in a little over an hour?" Her continuing question caused me to rethink how my own bodily functions worked. The only conclusion I could come up with was that I couldn't control what my body did whether it was with voluntary or involuntary motions.

"Well, it didn't pass through my entire system just yet—

"Bella's stomach has always been a bottomless pit ever since she was merely a baby." I was glad my mother interrupted me. I didn't want to be rude to her friends, but the sarcastic remarks were itching to come out and they would've if she hadn't cut me off.

Katrina's statement also made me realize that I needed a bathroom pronto. From then on, the ride to the church was quiet except for the continuing noises my stomach was making and the distinct sound of me shuffling in my seat, while I tried to find a comfortable position to reduce the feeling of my filled bladder.

No later than when the thought to ask the limo driver to stop so I could hike up my dress and relieve myself in the woods passed my mind did we emerge into the parking lot of the church. The nervous jitters came back and I wasn't even the one getting married.


Everything was such a blur until now as I took a few deep breathes and walked over the red carpet towards the priest and the best men. That's when it hit me full force. Between the priest and the best men there was supposed to be someone and not just any someone. This someone was special and quite important to the whole marriage thing. Phil wasn't here, and I was panicking.

I dreaded the look on my mother's face as she realized he wasn't standing at the end of the isle waiting for her. I also didn't want to think about the rather loud whispers that would erupt when both groups of families and friends realized what would cause her sudden heart broken facial expression and the river of tears that would pour from her face as she sobbed for another man that walked out on her.

She was always so emotional about her love life and I would positively loathe seeing her cry over this man as she did with Charlie. Even though I knew her divorce with Charlie wasn't the only reason—or the primary reason—for her depressing state, I still couldn't bear to have her feel like that again.

At this newfound determination, I stopped short in my slow march towards the priest and turn around to warn Renee of the awaiting situation. As I was walking back towards the church doors with my eyes facing towards the ground, I accidentally bumped into what I would've presumed as a brick wall if I wasn't aware of my surroundings.

When my eyes glanced up to confirm what I had collided with, I was met with the confused face of Tanya. Reflexively, I tore my gaze away from her butterscotch eyes and passed the rest of the bridesmaids as I worked my way back towards my mother.

"Bella, honey, what are you doing? You're supposed to be down there by now. Didn't you pay attention at all during the rehearsal?" She said with a nervous laugh, which was then followed by a serious look.

"Phil's not here." I didn't know what else to say. What was I thinking, just blurting it out like that. Confusion covered her face at my statement.

"What are you talking about Bella? Phil's right—

As she looked around me to the end of the isle, she noticed the empty space between the priest and the best men. "…Phil's not here…" She confirmed in a soft voice as her face dropped and her expression became heart broken. I quickly shut my eyes and turned my face away before the sobs and the water works started up. I just couldn't stand seeing her like this.

As if on cue, I heard her soft sobs wrack through her body, and instinctively, I held onto my mother with my eyes slightly open as I walked her out of the view of all of the awaiting eyes who were watching for her entrance. The wedding march continued to play, but I couldn't exactly hear it for my mom's cries were filling my ears. I tried to calm her down by feeding her reassuring words.

"It's okay mom, really. He wasn't the best guy, anyway. You'll find another. You were too good for him; he didn't deserve you."

This seemed to only make her sob harder so I decided to go in a new direction with this one-sided conversation.

"Maybe something happened; he could've gotten lost or maybe there's a lot of traffic. There could've been an accident, or maybe he just got sidetracked or something"

I realized this wasn't working either as I let out a sigh. I decided to just tell her how I felt about this situation. What else could I say after all?

"Maybe… maybe this was for the best. Maybe, you two weren't meant to be together. Maybe, this marriage wasn't fate and something better will come from this. You used to always tell me how whenever one door closed two more opened, or that one that said when life gave you lemons you just had to make lemonade. Maybe, you need to just use your lemons and make some lemonade. You know; make the best of what you have. You still have me; I won't leave you."

Her sobs seemed to die down and her tears began to run out. She looked up at me with a sincere, yet sad smile.

"You're right. You're absolutely right. If this were meant to be, I'd be a married woman by now. I need to make the best of what I have, and I have you. I need to do what's best for you." Her voice was serious as she rearranged my words.

"That's not what I said. Mom, what I meant was—

"I know what you meant, sweetie, but this is what I have to do. I can't keep you with me for my own selfish ways." Her words were rushed; she wasn't making sense. She just had her fiancée disappear before her wedding; she must not be thinking straight.

"Wait, mom, what danger? There's no danger in Phoenix. I mean, I know the crime rates aren't the best, but—

"That's not the kind of danger I was talking about Bella. I won't have you in danger in place of my loneliness anymore. I should've been more worried about your well-being than mine."

"So what you're saying is even if you did get married you wouldn't keep me? That you were only getting married so you'd have company after you sent me away?" I was outraged but even more than that I was hurt. Betrayal washed over me as her words sank in and I took them for what they were. She didn't want me; she never did. She only wanted my companionship, someone to keep her from loneliness.

"No, Bella, you don't understand—

"No, mom, I understand perfectly. You don't want me." I didn't hear what she said after that; the only thing I could hear was the wind whooshing past my ears as I ran. I ran as fast as I knew how and then I ran faster.

AN: I hope you enjoyed reading this chapter. Everything about Renee's motives and her friendship with the Denali coven will be revealed later in the story so you don't have to worry about not understanding that right now.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters. They belong to Stephenie Meyer. This never happened; this is fanfiction. The title of this chapter belongs to Paramore.