AN: This isn't a long chapter, but it's an important one to me. It contains bits about my own past and the past of a friend combined, so it is rather personal...
Chapter 24: The past
Standing in front of this door, I suddenly hesitate again.
Jacob squeezes my hand and whispers, for the tenth time, "you don't have to do this, you don't owe him anything."
"I know," I reply, and then gather my courage, "but I owe me."
He nods, but I can tell that he doesn't really understand.
I try to explain, "I believe there is a reason why Tom wants me to write those letters. It's supposed to help me with closure. I'm not going to forgive him, but I need to see for myself that I'm not that scared little girl anymore."
"Then let's do this," Jacob says, and places his arm around my shoulder as I reach for the doorbell.
It takes a long time before we hear any movement, and I start to fear that nobody's home, just when I decided to need this.
But then the curtains move to the side, and a thin face appears.
Two seconds later, the door flies open and my mother pulls me inside.
"Bella," she shrieks, "you are here, it's really you!"
She wraps her arms around me and starts crying desperately.
I'm completely weirded out, because I don't remember my mother ever holding me or hugging me. I got all affection from my father and she resented me for it.
"I thought you were…" she hiccups, "I didn't know what happened to you."
I don't really feel like telling her now that I choose to stay away because I had nothing to say, so I just stay silent and the moment becomes awkward.
Suddenly she seems to notice Jacob and she quickly dries her face, "who is this young man?"
"This is Jacob Black," I answer, "don't you remember him?"
"Oh, the boy next-door," she says, as if she's surprised he's grown up just like me.
"Good morning, ma'am," Jacob greets her politely.
"Right," she mutters, not really knowing what to do next.
She looks so very thin to me, and I can't help feeling sorry for her. Her hair is all grey and hasn't been groomed in ages. She's wearing a dress that is too large for her boney frame. Her hands flutter nervously, and then she disappears into the kitchen, leaving us standing in the hall.
The anger I've been building against her, in the past year of therapy, is slowly fading as I realize that she's just a pathetic human being. She should have tried to save me, I know that, but seeing her now, I believe she couldn't have if she wanted to. I don't think I'll forgive her for not being on my side, for picking his side every single time, but I see now that her support wouldn't have gotten me out of there. She is just as weak as she always was.
"Come on through," she shouts and we hesitantly follow her into the kitchen. She's trying to make some coffee with trembling hands while smoking a cigarette.
"Should I offer help?" Jacob asks in a soft whisper, but I grab his hand tighter, willing him to stay near me and not leave my side. We both sit down and patiently wait for the coffee. All the while, she doesn't talk.
When we finally all sit down and the silence becomes deafening, she starts, "your father is ill."
I nod.
"I suppose you're here for him?"
In her tone I hear a trace of that old resentment, her assuming I couldn't possibly be here for her, only my hero father matters.
Again I nod, without replying.
"Thought so," she mutters, and under her breath she mumbles some other things that I don't understand.
"Well, he's upstairs in his bed, but I have to warn you. He looks nothing like he did back when you were still home. He's really ill. It won't be long now."
When we remain silent still, she adds, "well go on then."
We stand up and I guide Jacob through the hall, past my old bedroom and up the stairs, to the room I used to think of as hell. I knock on the door with shaking hands and Jacob moves closer to me, keeping me sane.
A low grunt is a sign that I've been heard, and I slowly open the door. A sickening smell hits me and I fight the urge to turn around and run. This must be the smell of cancer, of sickness and even death.
Hidden in between the blankets and the pillows, lies something that resembles a skeleton. Or a mummy rather, because the bones are still covered with a thin layer of grayish skin.
The sight is horrible and even though my mother tried to warn me, I feel like throwing up. This dying creature looks nothing like the man who beat me and abused me until I felt like dying myself.
His eyes that lie deep into his skull suddenly open and his gaze pierces me. That is the moment that I do recognize him. His eyes look just the same as they always did and I inhale a sharp breath.
"Bella," he breathes in a raspy voice, "come closer."
His voice is barely audible, but he still orders me in that same tone.
I imagined our encounter with so many anger, dreamed about beating him, about shouting, about making him see what he did to me. I wanted him to pay for his sins, make him feel terrible. But now I'm face to face with him, I can't do anything but obey. I shuffle closer to the bed and pull Jacob along with me.
My dad tries to sit up but barely shifts against the cushions. The way he looks it's amazing that he's alive still.
"Now tell me," he says, still with that frightening familiar gaze, "where on earth have you been?"
"I've, um," I stutter, "I've been going to college, and, um, plane tickets are expensive…"
"Bullshit," he mutters, with contempt in his voice, "so there's no phones in that state you live in? You and your brother both have been so ungrateful. Leaving your mother and father alone like that. Do you have any idea how much grief you've caused her?"
The mentioning that Edward has disappeared on them too passes me by without much thought, I simply file it away for later. I'm not ready to think about both Edward and my father. In fact, I realize now I'm not ready to face my father either. When I don't reply, he sighs and mumbles, "are you still upset about that other thing?"
"What other thing?" I choke out.
"About what happened between us when you were younger. Because that is a long time ago, Bella."
He looks at me as if I'm a spoiled brat to hold a grudge about something stupid like years of abuse. My eyes widen and I have no idea what to answer. How can he pass his horrible behavior in which he damaged me to no end off as a "thing", something that resides in the past and should stay there. For him it may be over, but for me it never might. And he blames me for the grief I've caused my mother.
I'm sure with time, this will cause more rage than anything else, but at the moment, all I feel is shock.
With a great effort, I manage to mumble without looking him in the eyes, "that thing you refer to happened to cause me grief as well."
"Come on, Bella," my dad rolls his hollow eyes, "those were just games. All you had to do was say stop. I admit, when you got older, we got into a few fights, but you needed the discipline."
At this, I start trembling and shaking violently. I swear if he utters one more word, he'll die a little sooner than he expects. I suppose it won't take that much effort to suffocate him.
But Jacob places a strong hand on my shoulder and pulls me back with him.
"Come on, Bella, there's no point."
I look back into Jacob's face, which reflects the same rage I'm starting to feel. Without breaking eye contact, I let him guide him out of the room, down the stairs and past my mom who waits for me. She speaks, but I don't hear a sound. Outside the house, Jacob hesitates, wondering where to take me.
I mutter, "out of here, away," so instead of entering his house, we both start walking.
When we're near the edge of a forest, out of sight, he pulls my shaking and sobbing form into his arms.
It takes me ages to finally calm down again. Still resting against his chest, I murmur, "of all possible scenarios in my head, I never expected him to be like that."
"Me neither," Jacob replies. "I'm really sorry, Bella, I had hoped that this would be helpful for you."
I sigh, "oh well, at least I tried. I won't have to regret not trying."
"True," Jacob responds. He checks his watch and then says, "our cab to the airport will show up soon. We should go pack our bags and say goodbye to my mom. Are you up for it? If not you can wait here."
"I'll be fine," I mutter, wiping my face clean with my sleeve. "Your mom won't be surprised by a few tears, I feel like she knows stuff."
"I haven't told her anything, but she probably always had a faint idea."
"Maybe," I reply, before we start to walk back to the house.
The cab arrives right on time. I know I probably won't ever see my dad again, but I don't think I'll feel the need to repeat that infuriating experience. Without looking back, I get in and close my eyes.
AN: Please share your thoughts, and more importantly, your feelings...