A/N:

Thanks to What The Fun for your prereading and painful research ;) And thanks to everyone who reviewed last time.

This quote was actually cut from the tent scene, but I loved it when I read the screenplay, so I decided to still use it.

"I'm not just your wife - I'm a person all by myself. Or I ought to be. I was once. Sometimes you get me to believing I never was."

- Susan

July 30, 2010

Edward

"That's a pretty ring."

Startled by the sound, I snap the case closed with a resounding click. It barely misses my finger.

I look over my shoulder, toward Marcus' tentative voice.

"It was my mother's," I reply bluntly.

It's an asshole thing to say, but I want to be an asshole at the moment. I want him to feel bad for starting this conversation at all.

I look back at the satin case, not needing to refresh my memory. I have the ring memorized.

While he is correct in saying it's beautiful, I can't look past the history marring its glittering diamonds.

After about a minute, I turn on the bed to face Marcus, realizing that he still hasn't responded.

His patient expression makes me feel less antagonistic, but only adds to the growing list of things I feel guilty about.

"Sorry," I murmur for the millionth time. I have to stop using him as a punching bag. My character flaws aren't his problem.

That's what this current preoccupation is...a flaw. After all, what kind of kid gets angry at his parent for dying? What kind of adult carries that resentment around with him in his pocket?

Even though he doesn't know the extent of all that, I'm still lucky he puts up with my ever-shortening temper. He's surely cutting me some slack because of the circumstances, but everyone gets fed up eventually.

Maybe he's only bothering because I pay him.

The thought is too depressing to entertain, so I try to erase it from my mind.

"Did you want to talk about something?" I ask politely, hoping to change the subject.

Marcus doesn't answer right away, choosing instead to shuffle his feet.

Judging by his face, the answer is "yes." But I don't know why he is clearly hesitant to let the words out. I hope he isn't already regretting his decision to let me stay here.

"Yeah...actually, I wanted to talk to you about Isabella." The woman who left you. Who probably ran as fast as she could.

If I could read minds, I'm sure his thoughts would be something like that.

This definitely explains the hesitance.

"What about?" I wonder, suddenly cautious. Does he want the whole story?

We'd definitely need alcohol for that conversation. Too bad his can't be saved because he poured it down the drain.

Marcus sits down at the small desk against the wall, turning his body toward mine. I'm not sure what to make of his expression.

"I was thinking we could dig a little deeper before we give up hope. I have already checked out your main competitors, your ex-buddies from college, a few former employees, the activists you pissed off..."

He gives me a speculative glance, possibly wondering how someone who seems likable has left so many jilted people behind him. But isn't that how it usually works? Too often, nice guys finish last. And too often, nice guys remember that.

My friend - or perhaps my employee - shifts slightly, trying to get comfortable on the uncomfortable chair. His stare becomes deeper, more probing as he continues.

"I know you already think she left on her own, but can you think of any other potential enemies?"

July 17, 2010

Bella

This isn't safe. I can barely see the road.

The divider line is blurred by not-quite-cleansing tears, reducing it to only an approximation.

My dad's advice rings in my ears.

He knew I was a shitty driver; he always worried about me. I nearly gave him a heart attack while he was giving me lessons.

I know better than this.

Compared to other kids in school, my list of driving rules was quite extensive.

"Never drive while upset," was right up there with, "Don't even think about stopping for hippie hitchhikers."

I let out an odd sob-laugh at the memory, worsening my visibility even further.

I guess it's time to admit defeat; I can't even seem to run away properly.

Winning the fight against my emotions is obviously impossible. And even though my dad's no longer around to enforce his rules, it still feels wrong to go against them.

Not seeing any other cars, I pull onto the side of the road, slowing down until I can park.

This probably isn't the best place to stop, but driving without a destination wasn't the best idea, either.

I'm halfway out of the car when I turn back, grabbing my purse off the seat. I briefly remember that I left my phone charging back at the house, but I'm unable to give it a second thought. I need to get out of this small space before I suffocate.

I survey the area as I stand, noticing that I've stopped in a rather pretty area. Undisturbed trees, no outrageously priced condos in sight...

At least my misery will be more scenic.

Setting my sights on the top of a small hill, I tip-toe and totter over a patch of uneven ground, intoxicated by my wayward emotions. After I get past that rough area, the rest of the makeshift path isn't very difficult.

I take a small amount of comfort from my surroundings when I reach the top, selecting a place to sit. Instead of finding forests disconcerting, I've always been soothed by the ability to feel lost amidst the foliage. To blend in...

I hug my legs as I sit on the unkempt grass, supporting my back with one of the tree trunks.

Having completed the minuscule task of hill-climbing, it's far too easy for my mind to return to the real dilemma at hand. But now that I don't need to see clearly, I no longer bother to dab or wipe or hold back. It's less stressful to accept that the wetness on my cheeks is a permanent fixture, a never-ending stream.

For not the first time, I wonder if this amount of grief is normal. People lose their husbands every day, and they continue on somehow.

But I don't feel like I've lost my husband. I feel like I've lost everything.

I lost myself in him. And while that seemed perfectly natural at the time, now it feels like Edward took every part of me with him.

My entire world has lost its focus, but was it right to let my dependence get that far in the first place?

I rest my temple against my knee, hoping to feel less exhausted. My cheek rubs against wet denim as I try to breathe regularly. As I try to pinpoint exactly where we went wrong.

Everything was so much simpler before, when our only declarations were that we couldn't get enough of each other.

Maybe it was too soon to make our forever official, but neither of us wanted to wait.

It wasn't just about the sex. It was about starting our new lives together.

No more four-hour trips; no more goodbyes.

I was so sure, so blind to other options.

We couldn't continue to only see each other on weekends, but was marriage the right choice?

I absentmindedly wipe my eyes with my arm, only succeeding in smearing the tears around.

Beneath all the curiosity and regrets, I know it doesn't matter; it's too late to change anything. I have to focus on what I'll do now. Where I can go.

My dad's.

The answer should have been obvious, but it only occurs to me now.

His house is still mine, and it's paid off. That's what a lifetime of public service gets you, after all...a paid mortgage.

I sigh as I lie down on my back, staring up at the darkening sky. Looking for answers in the fading clouds.

All I know is that I can't stay in our house any longer, watching us die.

The thought of returning to Forks is so foreign, but I won't be totally alone.

Jess will come, and we'll blast The Fray and nearly drown ourselves in cheap wine coolers.

I almost smile.

But first, I should leave a note.

Get my phone. Pack some clothes, some food.

I'll have to give back the convertible later.

Even though trees are in the way, I throw a lamenting glance in the direction of my baby, mourning it already.

I fucking love that car.

But I love my old truck just as much, and it's sitting in Forks, unused.

I stand, my mind made up.

My truck was given to me by someone who loved me all the way to the end of his life. My Audi will only be a reminder that Edward won't do the same.

I start a brisk walk as I retrace my steps, knowing I need to hurry if I don't want to run into him at the house. I watch my feet as I move, not quite trusting them to take me to my destination safely.

My fingers clutch my purse strap tightly as I approach the road, needing something to hold onto.

It seems like it might rain soon, so I speed up even more.

My walk becomes a weird skip-hop as I avoid rocks and sticks on the slight decline. When I get to the bottom, I'm practically jogging.

I'm in such a rush that I almost run right into a T-shirt clad chest.

My heart lurches as my legs halt my steps.

The shock of being blocked fades when I realize that there is a person in front of me. The first one I've seen since I stopped.

I quickly swat at my face, wishing that I had brought my sunglasses with me. I must look so unstable.

Fortunately, the events of the day have diluted my ability to feel too embarrassed. I raise my downcast eyes warily, facing my near-collision.

My vision has cleared enough to notice that the stranger is looking at me with some kind of recognition.

Emotionally drained and strangely apathetic, I remain frozen as I'm greeted with quiet enthusiasm.

"Hello, little lady."