Disclaimer: SM owns Twilight. I own Truth. Lies and Hope are New Bella's.
A/N: Happy Thanksgiving to those of you celebrating it. May your mashed potato bowls never empty! Okay... well, mine at least. This won't spoil any appetites, I promise.
For those of you SHOCKED by the last chapter... If you're still here... Did you not see the trail of crumbs I left?
Chapter Five: Truth, Lies, and Hope
The walk back to my car was quick, but unhurried.
The drive home calm and relaxed.
The sound of the washing machine the only noise in the still house.
Just in case.
I was greeted with quiet.
And a dismantled box of tissues.
Figaro.
Perhaps he knew I didn't need them anymore.
...
Who am I?
Now?
The reflection in the mirror is unchanged.
I still stand here.
Looking.
For something.
Anything.
Any change.
But nothing.
My reflection is the same.
I'm the same.
My hands don't shake.
My lip doesn't tremble.
I don't look any different.
I don't feel any different.
Well...
I don't feel any guilt.
No sorrow.
No remorse.
But something...
A sense of...
Accomplishment.
That's different.
I haven't felt that since...
But I feel it now.
And I want more.
I want to accomplish more.
Work.
I want to work.
I start the shower with a smile on my face.
A smile because I found that part of me I'd lost.
The part that couldn't anymore.
There were no stories.
I couldn't hear them.
I couldn't tell them.
The pages were blank.
Empty...
But I hear them now.
The stories.
They're waiting to be told.
Shared.
Given.
Gifts to frightened minds.
Sweet dreams to replace their nightmares.
I'm going to fill the pages.
Chase the monsters from under the bed and behind the closet door.
Tired, dimple-cheeked heads will settle against soft pillows.
Wide, fearful eyes will close.
Unafraid.
We're going to sleep again.
...
Clean.
Refreshed.
Body.
Mind.
Heart.
The words come easily.
The pages fill.
As fast as my fingers can move.
My fingers.
His paws.
Figaro keeps jumping on the keyboard.
He's found a new game.
He thinks I'm playing.
My work is his play.
His play is more work for me.
I'm spending just as much time backspacing his contributions as I am writing my own.
But it's too adorable to bother me.
Bother me like my phone that's now ringing at my feet.
Who the hell would be calling me now?
I pull it from my bag on the floor next to me, look at the screen.
Alice.
Of course.
Maybe she had a nightmare.
She always calls me after she wakes from a nightmare.
Hoping I have a story that will chase it away.
"What's wrong?"
"You're up?"
"Yes. Would you rather have woken me?"
"No. I just figured I would. You know... being the middle of the night and all."
"Well, I know why I'm up, why are you up? Bad dream?"
"No. Not this time. Jasper got called to a crime scene."
Is that so? I wonder...
"And you're afraid to sleep alone in the house."
"Of course I am. Being married to a cop hasn't changed that."
"I'll turn the porch light on for you. Or are you also too afraid to leave the house by yourself?" Sometimes she is, sometimes she isn't.
"I think I can do it this time."
"Well, then come on. Figaro and I will protect you."
"Will you stay on the phone with me until I'm driving?"
"Of course I will."
"Thanks, Bella. You're the sweetest."
Am I?
I don't think so...
...
"You're writing? That's why you were up?" She stares in blissful surprise at the words on the open laptop as she pulls off her jacket, revealing pink polka-dotted pajamas.
Now, that is sweet. "I was feeling inspired."
She throws her arms around me with such force that it knocks me off balance. "Oh, Bella! You really are better!"
"You're like a miniature Mack truck, Alice," I laugh, "and yes, I suppose I am." Though some may not agree...
"I'm so proud of you. I knew you'd snap out of it."
Or just snap...
I nod my thanks and give her a wry smile. "So, want something to drink? Coffee? Tea? Hot chocolate? Something stronger?"
"Don't you worry about me, I can take care of myself. You get back to what you were doing. Your public, most importantly me, has waited far too long for their next bedtime story!"
I laugh as she pushes me back down on the couch and places my hands on the keys, knowing that Alice is my biggest fan over the age of six. She waits expectantly and I know she won't leave the room until my fingers start moving. I find my renewed focus easily and pick up where I left off, and Figaro instantly comes running to resume his game.
"You silly boy!" Alice squeals and picks him up. "You can help me in the kitchen, your mommy has a masterpiece to write, and we mustn't disturb her!"
I can't help but smile at the two tiny, dark-furred creatures as they leave the room. "Ow! Figaro!" I hear, "You're a kitten, not a tiger! Those little teeth sure are deceiving... "
Oh Alice, you of all people should know... NEVER judge a book by it's cover...
...
Sleep?
Haven't had any.
Alice?
Curled up next to me getting some for both of us.
Figaro?
In my purse.
And the recently printed pages.
Which he attacked as they spit out of the printer.
My accomplishment.
His.
Ours.
I gave him a home.
He gave me back my words.
A new story.
It didn't come from the clawing.
The clawing helped me escape the silent prison...
But he showed me how simple joy could be.
How easily found.
How easily jumped right into.
Claimed.
...
I look down at Alice, her feet tucked under my leg.
Sleeping.
Peacefully.
No fears.
She feels safe here.
Safe.
With me.
Should she?
Would she?
If she knew?
Would I ever again be able to calm her with a story?
Chase away her bad dreams?
Or would I be the source of new nightmares?
New fears?
I push the questions down and away as blue eyes meet mine. "Was I snoring?" she asks.
"No. Quiet as a mouse," I answer with a smile.
"Tell Jasper that. He says I snore."
"Men lie."
Her eyes turn instantly sad, but I tickle her feet and she forgets her pity just as quickly.
I always make her forget.
Somehow.
And she can never know.
The cover must tell the story.
The one I'm willing to share.
Not the one that lies inside.
Lies.
They're all I can give her now.
"So, it's done."
"Already?"
"I told you I was feeling inspired. The urge struck and I went with it."
"And you're happy with it? No second guessing?"
"No... it felt good."
"Felt or feels?"
"Both." Truth among lies...
"Illustrations?"
"Rough ones."
"Colored?"
"Not without you."
"You'll never be without me, Bella."
Truth?
I hope so...
...
At least she has hope for something...
As do I, I suppose. Reviews are like a day-after-Thanksgiving turkey sandwich.
