I sat in front of a blank computer screen for three hours trying to decide how to write this. I'm not completely happy with how it turned our, but it's something. Review please:)

PAUL'S POV

The funeral was today, and Michelle still hadn't gotten out of bed. 3 days and she hasn't eaten anything! I talked to Carlisle and he told me this was her way of dealing with things and that she'd come around. I was worried sick and wanted to take her to see him, but she wasn't ready to be moved. I think Emily coxed some water into her the other day, but other than that nothing!

On the morning of the funeral, I found Michelle curled up in bed. How could I force her to go through with this? To see her father being buried.

"Michelle," I breathed, touching her cheek, "Michelle, it's... y-you have to get ready."

She didn't move, or even blink. Tears filled my eyes and my voice became shaky.

"Michelle, I don't know if you can hear me, but I-I'm sorry. I'm so sorry this happened, just… please say something," I pleaded, "Please baby. I love you!"

She blinked and I sighed in relief as her focus was on me. Finally!

"Paul," she breathed.

"I'm here," I sighed, "Emily's going to come in and help you get ready."

I watched her hand reach out and touch my cheek, like she couldn't believe I was in front of her. I grabbed her hand.

"I can do it," she said in a monotone. She was like a zombie. A sad, cold zombie.

"Are you sure?" I asked carefully.

She didn't answer, she just sat up slowly, staring at the wall in front of her. Stumbling over to the door, she opened it and looked at the floor. I took that as my cue to leave. Getting up, I walked to the door.

"I'll be right outside," I told her, kissing her head.

She didn't respond, so I went out into the hall and closed the door. Sliding down the wall, I put my head in my hands. I could hear her shuffling around in the bedroom. Emily had laid out an outfit for her to put on. She was the only one that had been back to Michelle's the house yet, and she brought Michelle back a few outfits.

Michelle came out a few minutes later with a plain black dress on. Her hair was in a black headband, and despite the sadness that filled her face, she still looked beautiful. I smiled at her and stood up, but her eyes remained on the floor as she walked stiffly into the living room. Luckily, no one else was home because they were all out with the funeral arrangements. Michelle just curled up on the couch and stared out the window.

Twenty minutes later we were getting out of the car to go the funeral. Michelle's expression stayed blank, her eyes straight ahead. I grabbed her hand, but she didn't entwine her fingers through mine like she usually did. They just stayed limp in my hand. Sam looked at me sympathetically and we took out seats in the church.

I didn't know Michelle's dad well, but he seemed popular enough. A bunch of the guys he worked with gave speeches, but the most touching was Charlie's. He told a stories about college and got chocked up at the end. I frequently glanced over at Michelle, but there was no difference in her face. Looking around the church, I wondered if she had any other family. She may have mentioned an aunt? But everyone here either lived in Forks or La Push. I wonder if Sam and Emily will let her stay with them. If not, then she's living with me.

The funeral ended, and Emily and Sam were letting everyone come back to the house for the reception. I cried, Emily cried, I'm pretty sure Sam cried, Seth cried, Kim cried, there were tears in Leah's eyes. And most of these people had never even met Michelle's dad. I waited for Michelle to stand up as everyone filed out of the church around us. It was just us left in the church, and I lightly touched Michelle's arm.

"Are you ready to go?" I whispered.

She stood up and walked up to the casket that held her dad. Slowly, she touched the top of it and closed her eyes. After a second, she nodded and walked quickly out of the church. I followed her out and to the car. When we got to the house, Michelle brushed past everyone and went upstairs to her room. Everyone let her, they understood.

MICHELLE'S POV

You can only hold back the numb pain for so long. Three days is long enough, but what I thought would be sadness was anger. Anger towards everyone. Anger towards my dad. Anger towards my mom. Jesse. Paul. Nobody understood what was happening to me. I was raging, nothing was controllable. In my room, nobody could hear me. The reception was too loud. Nobody deserved to be there. He was my dad, they didn't even know him. Charlie was the only one that should be down there. Not the rest of them.

Looking around the room, I noticed the small trinkets Emily had brought back from my room. Pictures and such. Stupid scented candle. I threw it across the room and it gave a satisfying shatter. Nobody would hear nobody would care. I threw a lamp, too. The picture of my dad and I. Glass littered the floor. I threw a vase, but it didn't shatter so I bent down to throw it harder. I ended up falling and landing on glass. It cut into my hands, but I embraced the pain and squeezed the glass until it shattered in my hands.

Paul found me and hour later, curled in the comforting ball I had been so accustomed to, in a corner. No emotion was left, the numb feeling replacing it. I stared again, at the huge mess again. Blood dripped from my palms, ruining my black dress. Who the fuck cares? It just didn't matter anymore.

"Oh Michelle," Paul whispered, kneeling down in front of me.

I didn't make eye contact, I didn't want to feel anything. He took my hand in his and gasped at the glass and blood. I squeezed my palm shut, embracing the pain again. Because that was better than the emotional pain. The glass pushed farther into my hand, blood gushing out again.

"No Michelle," Paul breathed, like he was talking to a fucking dog.

"What happened?" Emily gasped, appearing in the doorway.

Paul turned to look at her and I couldn't see his expression. Emily just nodded.

"I'll get the first aid kit," she whispered, walking away.

She was gone and silence took over for a few seconds, "Please Michelle," Paul pleaded, "Talk to me."

I couldn't talk. I was a zombie. A ghost of the girl I used to be. There was nothing left except a body, a hollow body with nothing to live for.

This was really hard to write. I'm used to happy, light stuff. This was really sad and I want to know if you think I did it justice? Maybe?