Gah, so new story...I just have so many ideas floating around in my head - this one was one of the most pressing and I just felt like I needed to get it started. So please, read it and tell me what you think. Hopefully it goes over well.

Sometimes we don't learn
From our mistakes
Sometimes we've no
Choice but to walk
Away, away
- The Script: The End Where I Begin

My name is Bella Swan and I am a twenty three year old widow. This is the story of how I came to love again.

The house creaked as I opened the front door. Naturally anyone who was looking for a new, exciting place to live would have been put off by the sound, but to me, the sound was like bells chiming, calling me into the place.

"Um, well, I'm sure that's easily fixable, but…I'm afraid this house doesn't have much to offer," the tall, thin, bumbling realtor insisted, his voice thin and quivering. I ignored the comment and traveled further into the house. It was musky-smelling; apparently no one had entered this house for quite some time.

There was dust everywhere, the furniture wrapped up in dusty, white sheets, like lumpy ghosts huddled together. Practically every floorboard my feet touched as I ventured further into the house gave a cry and groan, squealing in protest. It was oddly funny, like the house was talking to me. I moved from the entrance hall, which was small enough, into one of the side rooms, which looked like it had potential to be a living room. The shutters were wooden and drawn, refusing to let in any light. Stepping lightly across the wooden floors so as to keep them quiet, I made my way to the bay window at the front of the house.

My hands deftly unhooked the catches and I had to push roughly on either side to get them to budge, but I managed to open them up. Immediately, sparkling sunlight fell to the floor, coating the room in light – now I could visibly see the floating dust particles that had been stirred by my movements, hovering in the shaft of light. Having the window clear allowed me to get a better look of the room.

It was a fair size, with a couple sheet-covered pieces of furniture. There was space, I could see, for my couch and entertainment center. The woodwork was beautiful – old-looking, but in a grand way, intricate and delicate looking. It reminded me of an old, Victorian-style that I had always admired in some of my friend's houses…Now perhaps I could enjoy it for myself in my home.

"As you can see, it's nothing much. It's a lot of work, what with the floorboards and such…and extremely filthy…It hasn't been clean in years…" the realtor went on, trying to point of the obvious flaws that would make any other home-buyer nod their head in agreement and ask to see a different place. But not me.

"I think there's great potential here…It has character," I added, my eyes searching into the next room. It looked like a hallway that led into a kitchen. I made my way back through there, acutely aware of the realtor following me, his steps unavoidable loud on the creaking floor.

The kitchen was small – no island, small counters, a old, gas stove, no microwave, no utilities that seemed to have been made in this century – it was an old house, after all. The lack of technology didn't bother me, though. I had my own things – this just made it easier. I wouldn't have to sell anything in here. The cabinets were again that old, wooden quality, with beautiful detailing. There was a back door that seemed to lead into the yard – it was expansive moving. I knew I'd have to check it out, but I wanted to finish looking at the rest of the house first.

I wandered back to the hall to check out the rooms on the second floor. A couple bathrooms, a few closets, and two bedrooms – both bedrooms were beautifully furnished, dusty like the rest of the house, but still beautiful none-the-less. There was a colossal bed dominating the center of the room – it was wrought iron with sculpted metal roses that wound around the frame like vines, along the tall posts and eventually came to form a bowery lattice above. There were no curtains on it at the moment, but I suspected there must be some and they were just being stored so as to keep from becoming dusty and moth-eaten. Still, the bed itself was a work of art, magnificent, even and I was astonished by it.

"It's one of the defining features in the house," I heard the realtor whisper behind me. I turned. His face was a mixture of awe and mistrust. "Most people, however, don't usually make it to the second floor – they've seen enough by the time they enter the hallway…and…usually – but that hasn't happened today…so strange…" I frowned at his musings, unsure of what he was speaking of. He looked a bit wary, but I chose to ignore it and entered further into the bedroom. The windows in here were boarded shut with the same wooden blinds. I quickly muscled them open like I had downstairs. They turned out to be floor to ceiling windows and, when opened, gave a breathtakingly beautiful view of the downward slope and stretch of the yard beyond the house. I put a hand to my mouth.

"It's beautiful," I whispered.

"Really, I've never looked through those windows before…" the realtor sounded even more frightened than before, as if he were anticipating an ever approaching doom. I turned to face him, but my eyes caught on something before I could look at him. It was a painting, there on the other side of the wall. It was of a man, lean and tall, with coppery colored hair and strikingly green eyes. His face was set in a serious position, his mouth a thin line, but despite the ominous effect that his countenance had, I couldn't seem to get over how beautiful and intriguing he looked. And he was young, couldn't have been much older than myself, standing there. I wished I could see more of him, but it was merely a portrait, and only head to shoulders was visible.

"Who's this?" I asked, still gazing – in fact I felt entranced by the picture – the man was so captivating.

"Well, he's…um…he was the tenant of the house…He bu-built it actually…All of it…And um, yes." He seemed even more flustered now that I had seen the portrait. I ripped my gaze away to look at him.

"What's his name?"

"Well…His name was Edward…Masen…"

"Was?" I asked, frowning, flicking my eyes back to his face, but only for a moment. I didn't want to be captured again. I stared back at the realtor, his face was flushed.

"Yes, well, you see…He died….very young, sad story…Anyways he left this house…to no one…The state's been trying to sell it for years…No one's every even made an offer!" Now he sounded put off, rather than afraid. Just then a large gust of wind seemed to rush through the whole house, making it creak and groan and it was almost as if the sound of laughter were echoing throughout.

"Please!" he shouted at me, "Let's just go, Mrs. Newton, let's just go! I can't see how you would ever want to live in this place, it's definitely not for you!"

"Why would you say that? I think it's a perfectly fine place for me? What's got you so worried? Aren't you glad I'm interested?"

"Well- well actually the state isn't…So to speak…There was talk of – of bulldozing the place and, and such…"

"What! You mean you'd tear down this beautiful, perfectly good home! What for?!"

"You don't understand, Mrs. Newton –"

"Please, it's just Ms. Swan, now, thank you," I replied harshly. I couldn't believe they were trying to destroy this place – it was unthinkable – how could they? My heart went out to the house…it was so amazingly different, so perfect…

"You have to understand, Ms. Swan, that Mr. Masen is not – was not…a very respectable man, nor was he a very – ah – polite person…He made it very difficult in his will for us to even try and sell the place and now it is getting to be a bit difficult with disposing of it as well…"

At that moment, the entire house seemed to shake and what sounded like the cry of an angry animal roared through the house. I clutched my chest in surprise, but the realtor, who seemed frightened, but not at all surprised at this occurrence, clutched his clipboard and took off down the stairs.

"Please come with me, Ms. Swan – this instant!" I rushed after him, the house still trembling. I found him trembling in the hall by the door, his face flushed with fear.

"Ms. Swan, as I am sure you've just witnessed, this house is not a suitable living place…there seems to be a – a spirit inside it that makes it entirely uninhabitable – the hole place, well, if there were ghosts I would stake my life by it that there was one living here – but, no matter the fact – surely you can't be serious in taking it now?" He was pleading and just from the fright upstairs I almost agreed with him – but something about this place, about what I felt when I entered it, and how perfect it seemed…I just couldn't let it go.

So I straightened to my full height, which was not very tall, but still, and looked him in the face.

"I will take it. It suits me perfectly – never mind the "ghosts" you seem to think possess it. Now, shall we finish out the paperwork?" His face was aghast at my decision – but I wouldn't change it for the world.

Three months earlier:

"You know, Bella, this is highly unusual of you – I mean, wanting to live on your own? To move out of here, move out of Phoenix? I mean, what are you even thinking? And what about your mother?" I glared at him. What was he trying to do, smother me?

"You know, Phil, I don't even see how this is any of your business?" I told him, pointing my finger at his face, despite the rudeness of the gesture – He was my stepfather, not my real one, and I didn't like him anyhow. Who did he think he was, trying to run my life? I was an adult for heavens sake! "And mom, is this really any of your business either? I'm the one who's a widow and is trying to find out what to do with my life – not you," I scolded, giving my mother a frown. Phil looked taken aback, but his face was still rather firm. Renee just looked chocked up.

"Bella, honey, please…You know how we both care about you! Mike's death was so sudden and…well…we're just worried that your decision to move is, well, just an emotional reaction – it's unstable and highly irresponsible!" Renee wailed.

I sighed exasperatedly. They just didn't get it. Neither of them did. And this conversation was wearing me out. I was tired of explaining it to them over and over again.

Yes, Mike was dead. Yes, I missed him and my emotions were running high – there was so much to consider, so much to sort through – Yes, I was behaving spontaneously, out of character, but this was what I needed to do – what I felt was right. I had spend so many months, a year after Mike's death, just trying to keep my life normal, stable, and practical like it used to be…but it never felt right.

It was only after I had that dream…that dream where I was moving out of Mike's place, throwing all his possessions in the fire and never looking back on the place…It was only after that that I felt free at last…I woke up knowing what I had to do. I needed to get out.

"I know it may seem out of character for me mother, but I'm not going to spend all this time waiting around trying to get you to understand. I've made my decision. I'm twenty three, I think that qualifies me for making my own decisions about my own life. You can't say anything to change my mind. I'm going, and I'll call you when I get there." I stood up from the table, picking up my coat and keys to my truck. Renee stood too, her eyes swimming in tears, but this time they were tears of anger.

"And where exactly is "there"? You haven't even told us where you're going!" Phil stood up and put his hands on her shoulders. I rolled my eyes.

"I would tell you if I knew…But I don't. So you're just going to have to live with that now. I'll talk to you…later." I turned my back to them.

"Isabella Marie Swan you get back here this instant!!" my mother screeched, but I simply waved my hand as I walked off, a semi-caring goodbye. I was so done with this place.

"Let her go, Renee, she'll be back soon, begging for money when this doesn't work out. You'll see," I heard Phil mutter to her. I wanted to scream at the comment but I kept going, finally reaching the door. Wrenching it open I spoke to no one in particular, "Tell Angela I'll call her later with more details," and then I left. As soon as I was out in the open air, making my way farther from my mother's home, I felt better, freer, more secure. It was funny, walking into the unknown, that I felt like I was finally heading somewhere – I didn't know where the heck I was going to end up, but I was glad I was finally going. Phoenix was to my back, the world was at my feet, and I finally had a clear head on my shoulders.

My name was Bella Newton, wife of Mike Newton, resident of Phoenix, Arizona. Now I am Bella, just Bella – not Isabella, not Bella Newton, not Bellie, Bells, or Bell – Just Bella, resident of Forks, Washington, and proud homeowner, making a new life for herself.

Playlist:

Oh No Oh My – I Painted Your House

Someone Still Loves You Boris Yeltsin – Boring Fountain

Paul Simon – Everything Put Together Falls Apart

The Black Ghosts – Repetition Kills You

The Script – The End Where I Begin

So, please review and let me know what you think! Cheers!