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CHAPTER THREE- "One Step Closer," by Linkin Park and "Every Time," by Britney Spears
"Charlie, how could you?" A soprano voice shouted, the owner of the exclamation on the verge of tears. "I left her with you. I trusted her with you. How could you let this happen?" The soprano was sniffling, holding back sobs.
"What was I supposed to do, Renee? How could I have prevented this?" Another voice, slightly calmer, retorted. There was the sound of shuffling downstairs as the two voices became nearer. The soprano didn't reply, just filled the air with the sound of her crying.
In my heart, I'm sure I knew who they were. The voices were familiar, and the names made something in me twitch with life. But nothing made sense, all my mind knew was that they were two noises. Two voices interrupting my peace, the calm environment where I didn't have to get up and pretend everything was okay.
There was another noise, a door opening, and then footsteps. A hand touched my back, and I flinched, unblinking. What was happening? Who was trying to wake me up? "Bella?" the soprano asked, and a face appeared in my line of vision.
Bella? That sounded familiar, a name I knew, one from my other life.
"God, she's so thin," the woman breathed, wiping tears from her red-rimmed eyes.
"She won't eat or drink," the other voice said, and the sounds of rustling clothes accompanied his words. "She won't move or anything. She's been laying like that since Friday."
"Bella," she said again. I was looking straight at her, but I felt like I couldn't really see her. "Bella-honey, you're coming with me to Florida."
Florida... She lives in Florida... With that bit of information, something sparked in me. I blinked. This was my mother. She lived in Jacksonville with her too-young husband Phil. Renee.
"Could you hand me her suitcase? It should be under the bed." The other voice was Charlie. I blinked again, trying to forget this information. I was being thrust back into the world of pain and cold, and memories were resurfacing. I had to stay in my peaceful environment. I couldn't face the harsh reality.
My mother disappeared from my line of vision, and my eyes- against my bidding- followed her. She reached under my bed, pulling out a large, black suitcase, and unzipped it. Mumbling under her breath, she stood up, moving to where my dresser was and pulled open a drawer. "Okay, so let me get this straight," she said louder, a sharp tone in her voice. "He just left her in the forest? Told her that he was leaving and this happens?"
"I never liked that Edward kid," Charlie said, and my breath whooshed out of my lungs. The sensation of a knife being plunged between my ribs made my eyes widen with pain. "I knew he was no good."
And then like that, everything came rushing back. Meeting him in biology class, discovering his secret, talking with him in the meadow, running from James, the catastrophe at my birthday party. And everything he said to me in that forest. "You can go on with your life without anymore interference from me. It will be as if I'd never existed."
My name was Bella Swan. I was eighteen years old. And he did exist.
My parents, who had been in the middle of a conversation about Edward, jumped about a mile when I shot up in bed. "What are you doing?" I asked, my voice a hoarse whisper. Their faces were pale for a moment before my mother came rushing to my bedside.
"Bella, are you alright?" she asked, trying to pull me into a hug, but I writhed out of her reach. "What-"
"What are you doing?" I asked again, looking from her, to Charlie, to the half-filled suitcase on the floor.
"We're packing your things, Bells," Charlie said, approaching me carefully, as if I were a ticking bomb. "You're going to Jacksonville with your mother."
Jacksonville? Why were they taking me to Jacksonville? There was nothing there for me, just another place to start all over again. And it was bright. Filled with sunshine every day, a vampire's nightmare.
"No," I said, swinging my legs over the side of the bed and standing. I almost fell at the weight my knees had to support, and my mother reached out a hand to catch me, but I steadied myself on my nightstand. "No," I repeated, picking up the suitcase and setting it on the unmade bed.
"'No,' what?" My mom said, looking at me with a confused expression.
"I won't go," I said, glaring and clutching the quilt in my hands. "I won't go and you can't make me."
"Bella, it's not good for you to stay here like this," Charlie said, stacking the blouse he was holding on top of the rest of the clothes."
And that made me snap. There was no way they were going to take me away. I'd kill myself first. "No!" I shouted, taking the shirt back out and throwing it at him. "I'm not leaving!" My hands were suddenly grabbing whatever they could find, tossing it across the room as I screamed at them. "I won't leave! I can't, I can't, I can't!"
"Bella!" My mother exclaimed, appalled.
"You can't take me to Jacksonville!" I shrieked, my already hoarse voice high and shrill. I was blinded with fury, throwing and breaking whatever I could get a hold of. "I'm staying here and you can't make me leave!"
"Bella, calm down!" Charlie bellowed, ducking as I tossed something at him. Whatever it was, it hit the wall with a crash and clattered to the floor.
"Get out!" I screamed, moving to my closet and ripping my clothes off of the hangers. "Go away!" It felt good to be angry, to have some sort of outlet for the rage that came with his rejection. Every time I heard a piece of cloth rip or heard the sharp sound of something breaking, a wave of satisfaction washed over me. I may have been just a human, and I may not have been able to destroy a vampire like they could, but at least there was something I could destroy. Something I was better and stronger than.
"Come on," Charlie said, tugging my mom's arm. "Let's leave her alone. She needs this." My mom protested at first, saying that I was going to hurt myself, but after a moment, she let him pull her out of the room.
I slammed the door after them, and when I wasn't satisfied that the sound was loud enough, I opened it and slammed it again. I frowned as I realized the anger was dimming. I had to stay mad. Because once I calmed down, all that would be left would be the pain.
Seeing the CD player on my nightstand, I frowned, picking it up and throwing it across the room. It landed on the floor in two pieces. Still screaming furious words, I ran over to my CD collection, pulling out the disk, tossing the case, and then breaking the CD in my hands. It wasn't long before I had several cuts on my hands, dripping blood onto the wooden floor. I liked it. This kind of pain, I could handle.
"I won't leave! I won't leave! I won't leave!" I shouted continuously, ripping the sheets off of my bed and throwing them on the floor. "He'll come back!" I suddenly screamed, and I stopped in my tracks, frozen. Where had those words come from? I hadn't meant to say them.
Before the emotional pain could return, I picked my scrapbook up off of my computer desk, opening it to a random page and ripping it out. Paper cuts began to appear on my hands and wrists as I tore the book apart, but I stopped when I reached the first page.
Edward Cullen, Charlie's kitchen, Sept. 13th.
"He'll come back," I breathed. "He'll come back." The smell of my blood was sickening, and I fell to my knees. My abused hands hurt, of course, but the pain ripping through my torso was much, much more painful.
"He'll come back."
I sat up in bed, breathing heavily. Despite the darkness of my bedroom, I could see perfectly- the bare walls, the motionless ceiling fan, moonlight pouring in from the unshaded windows- and I shuddered as it reminded me of a mental hospital. All I needed was to be strapped to the bed.
Waiting for my breathing to regulate, I stood up on shaky legs and moved into the living room, falling onto the couch. After a moment of quiet, I reached down and picked up the remote, turning on the TV. Just another infomercial, and another reminder that I should be sleeping, not watching television. Time passed, as it always does, and halfway through the host's explanation of why the Magic Bullet is a better product than a blender, I sat straight up.
There was the scent of someone nearby, very close. I stood up, turning off the TV and padding silently into my bedroom. The window was open. Frowning, I moved to close it, but never reached it.
"I don't... understand..." Edward's voice made me spin around, breathing heavily again.
"What are you doing here?" I asked lowly, looking up at his confused face.
He kept looking from the bed to me and I realized what he was wondering. "Were you sleeping?" he breathed. "How?" His beautiful face was twisted with fear. "I don't understand. You're a vampire."
"I'll answer your questions if you answer mine," I said, my voice trembling. Suddenly self-conscious of my attire- a tank top and shorts- I raised my arms to attempt to cover myself. It was stupid and useless, I knew, but the heaviness of his gaze was like weights pressing on my back.
I wondered if he'd agree. He might have come just to tell me that they were leaving again. My stomach lurched at the thought of losing him, even though my mind told me that it was possible and probable. Why would he care about anything I had to say? Why would he care about me? I wasn't good enough for him then, when I was just a miserable human, and I still didn't deserve or have a chance at his love as a miserable vampire.
"Deal," he murmured, surprising me. "Me first: Are you really one of us now?" His dark, but still golden eyes stared at me with a look of pain and frustration.
Entranced by his gaze, I nodded slowly. "My turn: what are you doing here?" I said, my voice as quiet as a human whisper.
His smile was faint, as if he wanted to make a joke, but wasn't sure if I'd think it was funny. "Wondering if I should give up and leave you alone." When he saw that my expression didn't change, that smile fell. "We just moved here. Like we would any other town." At my nod, he started again. "If you're a vampire, why is your scent all over that bed?" His eyes suddenly turned dark, as if a knife was being twisted into his heart. "Do you have... a lover?"
"That's two questions," I whispered, surprised at how angry I felt at his response to that idea. "Which one do you want me to answer?"
He hesitated a moment, taking a few steps toward me. "The latter. Are you with someone? I can't trace another scent, but... that makes more sense than you sleeping..."
Half of me wanted to say yes, just to see if that same expression of pain would shine in his eyes again. But I couldn't allow myself to do that. I didn't want to see him in pain at all, even if it was because he was jealous. I frowned, immediately dismissing that thought. No, Bella. He left you. Why would he be jealous?
"No," I finally said, brushing a hand against my arm to try and cover more of my exposed skin. "I don't have anybody." My eyes looking away from him and out the window, I realized how many ways that sentence could be translated. If I could cry, I would have. No family, no coven, no friends... My throat was tight, and my breathing sounded shaky.
"Bella?"
I looked up at his exquisite face. "What?"
Edward paused, pursing his lips before answering. "It's your move."
"Oh," I said, shuffling through my vast collection of questions. As I decided, I let myself lower myself into my rocking chair, the same rocking chair he'd sat in, holding me. I'd looted it from a garage sale that my mother held a couple years after I "died." The memory made me wince, and I did what I hadn't done in a long time- wrapped my arms around my chest to hold myself together. "Um, are you mad?"
His angelic face was bewildered. "About what?"
I let my eyes fall to the floor. "About me. Being here."
Walking slowly, he moved across the room and sat down on the edge of my bed. "Yes," he sighed. "And no."
Frowning, I said, "Could you be a bit more vague?"
Smiling, he looked up at me from beneath his eyelashes. "Same old Bella." When I gave him a Look, he elaborated for me. "I am... furious... that I found you like this. Like us. But..." Edward leaned forward, as if to take my hand, but I pulled away. Nodding, he continued. "I could never say that I wasn't absolutely euphoric to see your face when you turned around that first day in class."
I looked down, but I could still feel his stare on my face for a long while. After what seemed like an eternity, he spoke again. "Who was it?" When my head snapped up to give him a confused look, he added, "You said you had been with someone else earlier today. Who was he? Or..." His eyes darkened a shade. "They..."
Why did he care? It wasn't as if I meant anything to him. "Jacob Black," I whispered, nodding at the growl that rumbled deep in his chest. "Yeah. Yeah, I know." Before he could comment on my choices in men- which would probably be a painful reminder of the relationship we'd shared- I jumped straight into my next question. "Are you all going to leave now?"
Edward seemed to ponder that for a moment before replying, "If we wanted to leave, wouldn't we have done so by now?"
"I suppose you're right," I murmured, bringing my knees to my chest. "I just..." For my sanity, I left that sentence open-ended.
"Why do you think we would leave?" He asked, and I was amazed at how clueless and lost he seemed to be.
The minute I looked up with what I'm sure was a pained expression, his eyes mirrored mine. "You left me once before." My voice wasn't even loud enough to be a human whisper.
His words were more air than anything. "Oh, Bella... You still don't understand?"
There was suddenly a lump in my throat that would not go away, no matter how many times I swallowed. Of course I understood! What wasn't there to understand about me not being good enough for him? "Is it your turn or mine?" I asked, my tone dead and flat.
"Mine." He said immediately, whether it was true or not. "Bella Swan," Edward slid off the bed, kneeling in front of me and taking my hands in his. "I only need to know one thing. Answer me this, and you can ask all the questions you want: Could you ever find it in your heart to forgive me? I can't ask you to love me just yet, not after everything I've done, but these days have been torturous not knowing if you harbor any repressed anger towards me."
"No." The response was from my mouth before I could think straight, and at the look of devastation that came upon his face, I corrected myself. "I mean 'No, I don't want to answer it.'"
"Why?" Edward slowly stood, and because his looming height made me uncomfortable, I stood as well, striding out of my room, and through the living room.
With an indignant yank, I opened the front door. "Get out, Edward. I don't want to talk to you right now."
The look of hurt in his eyes was obvious, and after a while of staring at me longingly- in a way that almost made me believe he had missed me- he nodded and walked to where I was. Before he stepped out, though, he raised a hand and brushed his finger tips across the length of my cheek. The trail his touch left tingled, and as soon as he closed the door behind him, I touched my hand to my face.
If I was still human, I would have dragged myself to my bedroom, pulled my blanket off of the bed, sat in the closet, and rocked myself back and forth until I cried myself to sleep. But I wasn't and I couldn't, so I slowly crawled into bed, curled myself into the tightest ball I could manage, and stared out the open window, waiting for a sleep that didn't come.
