(Disclaimer- no ownage.)

alright. so i dont think this is my best writing at all. but i needed to give a little.. well, kind of .. bumper..
i guess. i had to just put a little innocent chapter in here for a change. theres been a lot of drama and theres
a WHOLE lot more to come. so this ones a little calm. and a little boring. i apologize for that.
forks is in the next chapter, though. :D yayy! i promise it'll get better after this one. thanks for reading.
keep on doing that, and please review.
:D

Hitchhiker

I hurried to undress in the back seat of the car, hoping that no one would notice me. I'd made it all the way to Wahkiakum, Washington without even so much as one more police siren reverberating through the streets behind me or even near me. It was a luck I'd never hoped for, let alone imagined I could obtain. But I could feel the earth carrying me, wishing me luck now. I belonged to Jacob, to his warm arms. Gravity kept me steering closer, and I couldn't restrain my heart from thudding louder and harder as each day flew by. I was so close. So close. I could hardly breathe.

I was pleased with the fact that my father was tall—almost as tall as Jacob. His shirt looked to be more like a dress on me, so I settled for that. I took the belt from his pants and wrapped it around my hips, ripping the sleeves from the shirt in an attempt to make it look a little more normal. I hoped I didn't look too ridiculously noticeable. The last thing I needed was more attention. I tugged at the bottom of the black shirt, thankful that it was long enough to reach just below my mid-thigh. The only thing I was missing was shoes, but I guessed I just couldn't be picky. Were shoes really necessary everywhere?

Probably, unless you were insane or weird. And I didn't need people suspicious of my mental state right now.

But I had no other choice.

I scuttled out from the car, nervously, cautiously, watching as it rocked gingerly on the edge of the cliff I'd driven out on. The night sky was almost starless tonight, the land around me completely vacant. Not even the chirping of crickets was audible to my ears. Almost positive that no one would see me, I ran to the back of the car, pulling the separated sleeves over my hands, using them now as gloves. With every ounce of strength I could conjure up, I shoved against the back bumper, straining my bodyweight into the car, leaning. My feet marched steadily, and soon enough, the car was rolling. It flipped from the cliff and plummeted toward the ocean beneath it. I was glad I hadn't stopped in some other place. The water was the best place to rid of that car, though it also probably served me with a bigger plate of justice in the end. I shuddered, picturing myself painted in an orange jumpsuit, bars securing me into a different kind of cell. Not a hospital cell, a jail cell. I could have laughed at the irony of the thought, a police chief's daughter, ending up in trouble with the police. But then again, who knew if I was even Charlie's kid or not? I didn't know anything anymore.

I took off running in the direction of the street. I needed to find someplace safe to sleep for the night, but I knew instinctively that I couldn't stay there. If someone were to find me there…if they found out later who I was, what I was in for, they'd know where I'd been, probably think to look there for the car. Right? Or was I the only one crazy enough to think of such things as pushing a car off a cliff? Maybe I was just paranoid, but I still didn't feel safe here. I kept running.

--

I'd been walking for hours. Every part of me was sore with exertion, my tender feet worn and splintered with rocks and glass from the roadside. The night had been rocky; I hadn't slept for a long time. It was hard to force your eyes shut when a thousand thoughts were swirling in your head, crippling your brain with the intensity of the fear they produced. I kept wondering what I'd do if they caught me, how bad it would hurt to know that I'd gotten so close only to fail miserably in my foolish attempt. I'd considered repeatedly to just continue moving, to keep running like a lab mouse on a wheel, but my body had been too tired. I'd finally managed to fall into a light sleep in a little abandoned shed on the side of the road a long ways back. I'd woken to the sound of a scuttling mouse, probably woken the entire state with my ear-shattering squeal. I grimaced at the memory now, my feet throbbing against the gravel beneath them.

A car slowly slid along side me, the driver taking in my disheveled state. I'd almost forgotten the thumb I'd stuck in the air, my arm had lost nearly all feeling. I blushed a bright crimson, averting my eyes from the man's face as he pulled over, right next to me. A swift shock of fear pierced my heart, wondering what I was getting myself into. What if he had a knife? What if he tried to hurt me? I shivered in the damp morning air, debating whether I should just run away or not. He looked me over considerably.

"You in some kind of trouble?" He asked. I held back a groan. Great, so I did look suspicious. I nodded slowly, not having too hard of a time feigning the look of fear on my face. Terror was the strongest emotion I could feel at the moment, mixed in with the desperation and indecision. I pursed my lips. His eyes tightened warily. "What kind of trouble?" His voice was soft, suspicious as it was, and deep. Almost pretty—for a human, anyway.

I had trouble trying to find my voice for a minute, to produce the lie from my lips. He noticed, bowing his head deeper towards his chest, eyeing me. And then, unintentionally, I burst into tears. If I hadn't been so embarrassed, I would have been pleased with myself. This added so much more depth to my lie, made it that much more believable. I knew that I would need all the dramatics I could get. I wasn't good at lying.

Automatically, the passenger door popped open, the man's eyes widening in shock and concern. He motioned for me to get into the car, but, stupidly, I shook my head, the tears shaking off of my face. I continued to sob there on the side of the road, looking like a lost child. His face crumpled further into sympathy. He motioned again.

"It's okay, honey. It's alright. You can trust me." He ushered me into the car with one hand, his eyes persuasive and pitying. I clenched my teeth against the sobs, restricting them from breaking free of my mouth, and pushed my leg forward with my hand. Reluctantly, slowly, I climbed into the blue car, my heart hammering in my chest. A deep voice filled my ears, a feral growl followed by a torrent of angered words.

"Bella, don't you dare get into that man's car! What do you think you're doing! No, Bella! No!" Edward's voice. I gasped, unthinkingly throwing my head back against the seat, looking around for his face. There was nothing. And then I realized what had happened. I was in danger, and I was hearing voices again. Did this still mean that he loved me, like it had that last time? Or was I just so hopeless as to conjure it up, to imagine the voice so that I'd feel more secure in what I thought was my identity? So I'd be more secure in thinking that I was Bella, because Edward's voice had warned me? I shook my head, not knowing which to believe, completely shocked still. It wasn't until the man reached over and lightly touched my shoulder that I remembered where I was.

"Miss?" He looked at me, and for the first time, I actually saw him, too. His hair was short, chocolate brown. His eyes were the brightest shade of blue I'd ever seen, his complexion fair, but not anywhere near as pale as Edward. His lips pursed as my eyes racked over him, his gray shirt, his light blue jeans. His head nearly touched the ceiling of the car. I tore my eyes away from him, feeling a little discomfited again. I sniffled, humming a note with a question mark tied to the end of it in response.

"Hmm?"

"Would you mind telling me what happened to you?" He asked gently, pulling the car into park. I trembled in my seat, wishing I'd brought pepper spray or something to defend myself. Not all people were as small as Carol, and I didn't think I could out-muscle anyone my size or bigger. I pressed my lips together tightly, thinking, before answering. I was still crying quietly, and the tears added a nice touch to my story.

"My boyfriend kicked me out." I sobbed. His eyebrows pulled together in confusion, but that was all I would give him, unless he prodded more, which I expected he would. He scooted closer, as if to hear me better, and asked me what I was talking about. I concealed a sigh, flipping through the fabricated drama of my imaginary night with my boyfriend.

"He said he wanted to see other people, that I needed to leave. I'd been staying with him and I didn't have a car or anything…he wouldn't let me take anything. I didn't even have time to get my shoes. He just…kicked me out." I looked up at him then, sniffling, the tears running down my face. I learned that lying about being miserable and alone was much easier when I actually was miserable and alone, even if for different reasons than I'd told him. His eyes were soft, but incredulous, as I continued through the story.

"I've been out walking for hours now…I slept in this old shed last night. I had no place else to go. I don't have any money." I looked at him apologetically now, as if he expected cash for his driving services. I didn't really know if he would. Were hitchhikers normally expected to pay for the rides they were given? I frowned beneath all the tears, secretly happy I'd gotten rid of the wallet and tucked the money into my bra. I almost hadn't done it, weirded out by the idea, but there weren't any pockets in the shirt, and I didn't have anything else, like shoes…

His voice shot me out of my reverie and into a state of subtle shock. He seemed almost angry. He shook his head slowly, a look of disgust mingling oddly with one of empathy on his features. "He just kicked you out, without even so much as shoes to cover your feet?" I nodded when he paused. "Where does this jerk live? I'd like to have a talk with him." He pushed the car into drive, foot edging toward the gas pedal. I stopped breathing. Oh crap.

"No, please don't. I don't want to face him." I squeaked pathetically, my heart racing in my chest. He nodded understandingly, his warm hand reaching out to pat my bare leg. I raised an eyebrow, knowing he couldn't see me, focused as he was on his wild u-turn. I felt uncomfortable, but I knew intuitively that he wouldn't hurt me.

"It's okay, honey. You can stay in the car. I'm going to get your shoes back." He didn't sound like he was up for debating, but I couldn't help but think of ways to keep him from driving to the invented location. He muttered under his breath as I dredged my mind for some kind of diversion. I caught a few colorful words lighting up his vocabulary.

"No, please." I begged. "Please don't. I just want to get home. I don't care about my shoes. I just want to forget about this all and get home." My voice cracked on the last word, my tone pitching up much higher than usual. The words spilling from my mouth had much more truth than they were meant to have, and the hole in my chest seemed to deepen and quake. I keeled over, falling forward in the seat, no longer quite capable of keeping a hold on my self-control. I was hyperventilating.

He gasped. "Okay! Okay, honey. It's alright. I won't take you back there. I promise, okay?" His hand rubbed anxious circles into my back, meaning to comfort me. Tremors of agony ripped at my spine, my hands vibrating as they hung loosely by my feet. I just wanted Jacob. I just wanted it to be over.

I calmed a bit as he turned the car back in the correct direction, looking at me with worried glances every few seconds. It felt nice to have someone actually care about my well-being for once. He seemed like such a nice man. I wished I could stay friends with him after this, but I knew that would be impossible. He would never be able to see me again. I couldn't risk it.

"What's your name, sweetie?" He asked, taking my hand in his. This, too, was done in the attempts of comfort, not for any romantic reason. The heat felt nice against my fingers. I curled mine around his, my breath coming a little more even. I was so pathetic. Then I realized what he'd asked. And I panicked. What would I tell him? I couldn't say Bella or Anna. I knew they would be looking for that, the policemen, the hospital workers.

"What?" I asked, trying to buy myself some time. He looked at me, repeating his question. I pursed my lips, eyes narrowing. I saw good reason in not telling him, a good reason that I didn't think he'd be able to argue with. "Should I really be telling you my name? I don't know you or anything…" I mumbled innocently, quietly, staring at my lap.

He chuckled. "Would you really be getting into cars with strangers if you were that worried? I mean, what could be worse, telling your name, or getting into a car with me? I could have been a murderer! You wouldn't have known. But I'm not, and your name is safe with me." He chuckled again. "Though it's a little hard to believe you're so worried about protecting your name when you weren't nearly as worried about your life."

That was the thing. I wasn't so worried about my life. If I died, I looked at it as though it was just the end of my suffering. If heaven was anything like I'd imagined it to be, then I'd have everything I loved there with me. I wouldn't be so alone, so anguished and horrified. But after all I'd been through, I was beginning to think of reincarnation as more of an afterlife. So maybe I'd just be put back here…to go through the same misery. But either way, dying was better than being sent back to that place. So I had much better reason to protect my name. Only he couldn't know that. So I just made one up to make him happy.

"Riley." I whispered. He looked at me, his eyebrows knitting together for a minute. He seemed confused, shaking his head slowly at me, about to question the word. "My name." I answered before he could ask, using the same faint tone. His head lifted back, his mouth opening slightly as if to say a silent "oh."

"Kyle." He said, offering his own name in return. I smiled tentatively, blinking at him, my eyelashes still wet. His expression softened, the amusement there fading. "How old are you, Riley?" He asked. I pursed my lips. His amusement returned, pulling up the left side of his mouth. His eyes crinkled as he side-smiled, looking at me knowingly. He chuckled under his breath, seeming to have known I wouldn't answer. I surprised us both when I did.

"I'm eighteen." I told him curtly. My own eyes widened as the words fell from my mouth, but I was happy that at least I hadn't told the truth. I'd kept it a year short, still being careful. He looked me over carefully, speculating. His hand was still in mine. My wrist was going numb, sprawled out across the console. He suddenly, somehow, seemed to notice this, and lowered our hands so that the back of mine was resting on my leg. He kept his skin a safe distance from the flesh of my leg. I stared at our entwined fingers.

"You don't look eighteen." He admitted after a few minutes. I could sense he thought I was lying, but I wasn't sure whether he meant that I looked older or younger. I'd bet on younger. I tried to keep the conversation casual, though the twenty questions were putting my stomach on edge, my feet itching to flee.

"I get that a lot." I told him. And that had been true, when I was eighteen. I hadn't gotten a whole lot of "you don't look nineteen" yet because, well, I'd kind of been locked in a mental hospital for the entire year, and the only person who'd asked me about my age since then was him, and I'd lied about it.

He nodded slowly. "I'm twenty one." He said. I nodded, too. I'd figured as much, but I didn't tell him that. It wasn't really necessary, and I was too preoccupied by the slow speed he was traveling at. My teeth clenched, watching the little stick inch past the thirty mark, trying to contain a growl. My patience was wearing thin, no matter how nice my cabbie was, and I wanted to get to Forks as soon as possible. My body convulsed with impatience and irritation, trying to hold in a scream. Never once did I think I'd have to tell anyone to drive faster. Everyone that meant anything always drove faster than me, anyway. But this was the rare exception. He noticed the quivering of my hands.

"I'm sorry." He apologized. I raised an eyebrow. Could he read my thoughts? "Does this bother you?" He inclined his head toward our clasped hands. I felt my stomach loosen a bit, relaxing, as I realized what he meant. I shook my head quickly, feeling a little guilty for the subtle sting I detected in his voice.

"No, no. This is fine. Thanks." I smiled shyly, hoping he'd know that I was thanking him for all of his help, automobile-wise and comfort-wise. He deserved better than the lies I was feeding to him, but I couldn't give him the truth. It was too dangerous. "I just…I really miss my house. I want to be home so badly…" I murmured.

Thankfully, the speedometer suddenly hitched up to sixty. I sighed in relief.

"Right. Sorry. So, Riley, where is home?" He asked, tightening his fingers around mine and smiling. I smiled back, excited for a change. We were getting closer. Jacob was getting closer.

"La Push." I answered. I felt my stomach flutter as I realized what I'd said, knowing I'd meant to say Forks. But hey, his home
was my home, was it not? Or had that changed? My jaw clenched, my heart giving a little squeeze of its own.

I guess we were going to find out.