Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, Stephenie Meyer does. The storyline's mine :)

WARNING: This chapter contains some graphic and possibly disturbing description of self-harm. Proceed with caution if you are sensitive to such images or feel discomfort reading about related topic.

BTW, I really advise you to listen to this chapter's song. It beautifully represents its mood.

Enjoy. R.

6. Regina Spektor - Open

CHAPTER 5

When I Feel Too Much

"I am
In a room I've built myself
Four straight walls
One floor
One ceiling
And day after day, I wake up feeling
Day after day feeling, feeling."

"Potentially lovely
Perpetually human
Suspended and open
Open
Open
Open."

Friday, February 26, 1999

Twisted pictures of already twisted black spirals are in my head. They are not leaving the awfully bright white square-shaped room. The spirals dance frantically around my first, old wooden box of crayons, but it is not only wooden, it is also colorful. It's covered in a blend of various colors. I look at the spirals and I know they are going to attack it and hijack it. They are going to take it away and the thought is causing my heart to slap into my ribcage from inside me in a frenzied manner. I am looking at my old box of crayons and want to save it and protect it from this black spiraling tornado that doesn't emanate any noise, but it is its muteness that sends shivers down my spine.

If I didn't look at it, I wouldn't even know they are there.

But I do see them. And as strong as my desire to rescue my little box is, I don't move. I just watch the black monsters swirling and silently hovering over my little world. It is as if I watched the room from outside, like if I saw the room from behind the glass wall.

And in the end, I see how my little wooden box of crayons cannot resist the pressure anymore.

The blackness surrounds it completely.

And then it's gone.

It's gone.

It is only black and white now. I hate white, because it is the emptiest and the most boring and unfulfilling color ever. And I hate black, because you can't really paint on black. Sure, you can, but the nature of the colors is not expressed properly. At least not in the way I want them to be expressed.

Again, I can't breathe.

I can't breathe.

Can't breathe.

Breathe.

I can't.

"Uaaaaah," I gasped violently, finding my breath again. This time I was one hundred percent sure I hadn't been breathing for a few seconds. I could still feel the pain in my throat, burning of the swelling in my larynx. I touched the skin of the throat.

These dreams were, sure, going to kill me.

Still lying, I squeezed my eyes, trying to see in the dark. I reached for the lamp on my bed table and knocked something on the floor. After few seconds of mindless tapping, I put the light on.

I sighed, touching my sweaty forehead. "Calm down, Bella."

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Good.

And when I was starting to think that, luckily, tonight's show hadn't been loud enough to wake Charlie up, there was a knock on the door. "Bella? Are you alright?"

I swallowed guilt and took another deep breath to find my voice. "Yeah," I tried to say, but it came out as a very incoherent shaky noise. I coughed dryly. "I am perfectly fine, Dad. You didn't have to get up."

"Well… yeah," was his response. He'd said it wasn't the screaming itself but how hitched and out of breath my screams were that always woke him up.

"Really, Dad, go to sleep, I am good."

And he left.

I exhaled deeply, tears welling in my eyes. I clasped my fingers tightly under my back, focusing on the weight of my body as it pressed on my hands. It was only a question of time until he would send me away. I knew it. For how long would he keep me until it would be appropriate enough to give up on me? One, two more months? Was it even less?

I had to breathe deeply.

I clasped the fingers even more tightly.

I missed my Mom. I missed her so much. It pained in every little corner of my chest. Every time I thought of her face, her voice, her smile…her eyes. The way she'd hugged me when she knew something was wrong even without asking. The way she'd analyze my every drawing and painting, the way she'd sung to me when I was a little girl.

Where are you, Mommy?

I so don't want to be here.

Where are you?

I am so alone without you. So lost. So hopeless.

I knew what was coming. I needed to push it away – the hurricane of sadness, desperation, grief and desolation which was even more intense at night. I needed to push it somewhere else, to a different realm.

I turned to grab my sketchbook I kept by my side almost 24/7 these days, and realized it was the thing I'd knocked on the floor. I sat up and picked it up, reaching for the drawing pencil and resting against the headboard of the bed.

Inhale. Exhale.

Good.

Let's draw.

It was hard to describe the place I got into when I touched my paintbrush or pencil. It was like nothing else in the world. I stopped thinking about all the feelings, emotions and monsters that were trying to kill me. I stopped thinking about the new house, new room and new bed. I stopped thinking about Dad and Sue and their obvious discomfort caused by my presence in their house.

I stopped thinking.

And you would think that I stopped feeling.

But I didn't.

I felt, but I felt it all into what I was drawing or painting.

I hadn't realized it, never before, only now, when my pieces were so much darker, so much more… constricted, so much more… uneasy. They weren't nice to look at and I didn't like them despite how sickly attractive I found their depth.

I was weird.

Dad despised them, Sue as well. Actually, the first time she'd seen them was completely unintentional. I would have never showed her my drawings on purpose. It was the first week after Christmas holiday and I came home after another socially exhausting day in school. It'd seemed like no one was home and that never was a bad thing for me. We were still getting used to each to other at that point. I'd decided to go to my room, lock myself in and release some steam by listening to music and maybe later I would finally paint something after such a long time of using just a pencil or crayons. But when I opened my room, I found Sue in there, going through some of my stuff.

I swallowed an uncomfortable feeling of uneasiness and anger I shouldn't have felt and smiled apologetically. It was her house, anyway.

"Hey, Sue," I said, unsure if I should leave her there until she'd find what she needed. "I can come in later," I said, ready to turn away when I noticed my sketchbook open wide on the bed.

A knife sunk into my chest.

When she noticed where I was looking, she grimaced. "I found it in your drawer. Where did you get them? They're pretty awful, those things, you keep lookin' at them and they get you into a depression or something. And we don't want that, do we?" she giggled. I frowned. "I might get rid of them for you if you want."

"No!" I snapped. "Don't touch them!"

Oh, Bella, what are you doing?

Sue lift her brows in shock at my strong verbal defense and then frowned. "Watch your tongue, young lady," she said back in a harsh voice. "I might not be your mother, but I live with your father and I deserve at least some degree of respect."

I felt how my insides shrunk back to their places. "I'm so very sorry, Sue," I apologized immediately, fighting tears. "I didn't mean it, it's just… they're important to me."

"Just keep your voice down next time, okay? Does your father know about them?"

"I am fairly sure he knows about them, in a way," I said cryptically. He knew I was drawing. But I didn't show him my pieces often, particularly not those.

"And what does that mean?"

"He knows I'm drawing."

Sue's eyes opened. "Those are yours?"

I nodded. I felt my legs stepping backwards, it was like they had a mind of their own.

It was so wrong to disturb her. I should've just let her throw the pictures out and let her be. It was her house. Not mine. Her room. Not mine. Do you want to go to the foster care?

She snorted and turned her attention to what she was doing. She dismissed me. With fluid covering my gaze I quickly left the house, wandering around cold, wet and slushy Forks until it was too dark for me to see.

So, yeah. They weren't really fans. It hurt, a little, but I was used to that.

I snapped back from my trance and looked at what I was drawing. The spirals again. I lost the track of how many drawings that included spirals – in one way or another – I had, but it shouldn't have been so surprising given the fact I dreamed of them almost every night. And almost every night Dad knocked on my door, asking me if I was alright. And as always, I said I was. At first, a very little part of me wished him to come into my room anyway and hold me, or just hug me for a second. The pain wouldn't be so crazy to bear. But he never did, and I completely understood. He was tired and sleepy, working really hard at the police station. It wasn't my place to demand anything from him, I had so much already.

I had to take care of myself.

Because Mom wasn't here anymore.

And I was alone in this.

I had to keep myself out of trouble, so Daddy wouldn't need to send me away. But so far, nothing was in my favor. I couldn't get rid of my wild dreams, Sue didn't like me and he was barely talking to me…

Yep. I was so going away.

When my eyes started to flutter and the grip of my hand on the pencil loosened enough for me to not be able to draw properly, I gave up and drifted into dreamless but uneasy and shallow sleep.

Wednesday, April 21, 1999

"So, are you going to finally honor me with an answer, Bella?"

He was furious. So furious. I had never seen him like that before. And it was all my fault. It was all my fault.

I fought tears, because he hated when I cried. But I couldn't find the right words.

"Bella? I am talking to you, for Christ's sake!"

I gathered all of the voice strength I had. "It won't happen again."

He snorted. "Yeah, you said that three weeks ago."

I looked at fingers in my lap that were covered with little red scars. I laced them together, so he wouldn't notice.

I didn't say anything and shrugged. I didn't really know how not to sleep.

"Your teacher is getting on my nerves with her complaints about how you casually drift off during classes. Like I have any spare time to deal with that shit!"

Inhale, exhale.

"And why do you skip classes?" he continued.

I squeezed my eyes, still looking at my lap. "I didn't do it on purpose, Dad. I swear, I fell asleep on the toilets."

He breathed heavily. "Don't you sleep at nights?"

I shook my head, my cheeks red. I felt so ashamed, so lost.

"Are you going to send me away now?" I piped.

"What?"

"You're sending me away, aren't you?" I asked and looked up. He shook his head, but didn't say anything.

"There is one more thing we need to talk about," he said few seconds later, showing me few of my recent drawings. I knew they were new because spirals changed to dragons with slimy tongues and scary wings. Dreams had changed, approximately, a month ago and I couldn't find more than two hours of sleep since then.

"Where did you get it, Dad?" I asked, totally frightened. How did he get them? I hadn't showed him anything in weeks!

"Sue gave them to me," he explained.

I clenched my jaw. Not my house. Not my room. It was theirs. It was hers. It was her room.

"Why do you keep drawing this shit? Not that I like your other stuff but at least it's not as sickening as those are. This is what you do during nights?" he asked, and I couldn't look away from him. "Bella, look," he said, more calmly, "I am really trying to make this right, this whole dad thing, but you're not helping."

It was my fault.

"I am so sorry, Daddy," I said, tears now flowing down the creeks on my cheeks. "I didn't want to make you upset, I am so sorry, I promise, I won't fall asleep in school, again, I promise," I cried and if I wasn't sitting on the chair behind the kitchen table, I would fall on my knees and beg him like a slave.

Please, don't send me away!

He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Okay, okay. Just make sure you get some sleep, okay? I don't need this crazy teacher of yours call me all the time to tell me that you fell asleep during the class. Again."

I vigorously nodded, feeling nails in the skin of my fingers, pinching the not completely healed scars.

"But what about these?" he motioned with his head to my drawings.

My chest tightened. "What about them?"

"They're awful," he said, matter-o-factly.

I tried not to let him know how it hurt. "You don't like them," I stated.

"No one does."

"What about the other ones? I mean, my other paintings and drawings?" I asked, with a hint of hope in my voice. "How do you like those?"

He shrugged and looked down at my drawings of dragon stealing little wooden box of crayons. "You know I never understood that stupid thing your mother forced you to do. So useless," he said and then looked at me, chuckling. "You don't think you can make a living by doing this shit, do you?"

I swallowed.

I do.

I did think that. I wanted that. I actually started to look at some courses and art schools. There were some very good scholarships.

I looked at my fingers again.

He started laughing. "Oh, come on, Bella! This is just ridiculous! You can't possibly think it'll give you roof over your head," he continued.

I nodded. Because I knew. Even though I really wanted that, I knew how hard it would be to get so good at it I wouldn't have to do anything else. And I knew that no one liked what I painted and how I painted it…

There had to be some relevance to that.

Maybe I wasn't that good.

Yeah, I was probably pretty average.

Maybe even bad in some aspects, like technique or the ability to capture the atmospehere.

I just didn't see it. Mom would've never said to me that my piece was awful. Dad was just honest. He didn't want to hurt me, for sure.

I swallowed the lump in my throat. "Can I go to my room now?"

"Sure, sure… just get some sleep, 'kay?"

I nodded again, grabbed my drawings and ran to my room.

The moment the door closed, all bottled up tension got out. I started letting out long, soundless sobs that were hitching in my throat and making my chest tighten even more. I covered my mouth with one hand, supporting myself with the other that was holding the drawings, touching the wall. All sounds were buried but it was that more painful. My cheeks and eyes were wet, my knees so weak they broke and I fell on the floor. I pressed the pieces of paper to my chest and wanted to merge them with my body.

"No, no, no, no, no, no," I was mouthing soundlessly, sobbing.

Mommy, where are you?

Mommy, come for me.

Mommy.

Mommy.

I love you. I need you.

When my panicky breathing ceased enough for me to start thinking properly, I moved myself onto the bed. I covered my shivering cold body with comforter and started to focus on my breath.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Holding dragons and their tongues still closely to my chest, I felt sleep coming and for once I welcomed it with open arms… or I would've.

Bang, bang, bang on the door. "Bella! Dinner is on the table, where the hell are you?!" Sue.

I didn't respond. I didn't have the strength.

"Bella?!"

I shut my eyes again.

I heard Dad shouting something at her.

"Why do I even bother to take care of that bastard…" I heard her say as she was leaving, but before I allowed the crushing weight of her words fall on my shoulders, I'd already invited exhaustion sleep to take me completely.

XOXOXOXOXOX

I woke up panting and grasping for the air again. I had a routine already for nights like this. At first, I inhaled deeply into my lungs for three times and exhaled with a loud whoosh coming from my mouth. The sound helped me to realize that I was back in reality, helped me to distract my mind. Then I reached for the lamp on my bed table and I didn't even have to tap in the space anymore, I knew exactly where the switch was. Then, still lying on the bed, I reached for the cotton handkerchief I kept beside the lamp to wipe my forehead and then reached for the glass of water, because my throat was burning. But there was no glass.

Of course, I didn't bring any.

I was really thirsty, but in no mood to go down to the kitchen. I was so tired, yet I couldn't sleep, because if previous nightmares had been wild, these were downright scary. Black dragon with white eyes, but without any voice. He was howling, but no sound came out of his mouth. He was mute, just as the spirals. The whole picture of this dragon, his tongue, stealing my beautiful colorful box of crayons was terrifying. It felt almost real.

I missed Mom.

I missed her so much.

The images of tonight's - or better said yesterday's – afternoon flooded my head and I felt tears yet again. My eyes must have been so puffy and swollen. The pain made itself known again and if it was able to cause any physical damage I would have had a hole in my chest by now. We, humans, were actually lucky there was no such thing. I bet all of us would have a hole or two in our bodies. I hoped that with time the pain would be more bearable and less prominent. But no. There was nothing that would lessen its impact on me and nothing that would make Mom's memory more enjoyable and less painful. I couldn't even think of her without a tear or two and the sudden feeling of loneliness.

I swallowed and my throat burned. Skipping the water ritual, I looked at my sketchbook. I always started to draw after my nightmare, to refocus and to stop my thoughts from occupying my mind. But then I remembered Dad's words, how Sue was in my room, how they both hated the drawings and how it hurt. But to make them upset and ignite the fire even more was the last thing on my wish-list. Dad didn't say he was giving up on me, but I could never be sure. He didn't exactly deny it either. And he didn't like my pieces. Maybe I should really stop. At least with those dark drawings. I didn't need to get into more trouble than I already was.

He didn't even bother to knock on my door at the night anymore. For which I was grateful.

So, I laid there, on my bed, looking at the ceiling, my fingers feeling empty. I grabbed my comforter to stop them from mindless twitching. They always felt empty without a paintbrush, pencil or crayon, but now especially. I sighed and swallowed, feeling the burning.

I might as well go and get that glass of water. I am definitely not going to sleep anymore.

I got out of bed and went downstairs to the kitchen. I tried to be quiet, but I tripped over the edge of the little carpet in the hall hitting the wooden floor loudly with my other foot and catching myself by holding the doorframe. Standing still for a couple of moments I was trying to notice any noises that would indicate I'd woken someone up, but the house was dead silent. I proceeded to the kitchen lighted slightly by the moonlight and filled a glass with ice cold water. I sighed loudly at the feeling of chilly water running down my burning throat and closed my eyes in relief.

Good.

I filled the glass again with the intention to take it upstairs with me when I noticed a kitchen knife in the sink, the smallest one Sue had. My eyes darted to my fingers and then back to the knife. I put the glass aside on the kitchen counter and took a knife to my hands. The blade didn't look off-putting or scary enough to stop me from what I already had decided to do. I mean… it helped the other day, so why not tonight if I was forbidden to draw? I needed to stop this waterfall of confusion and pain and things I felt but couldn't get rid of. And it'd helped before.

I washed the knife thoroughly, dried it and returned to my room as silently as I could manage. I rushed, feeling sickly content in anticipation of cutting myself again. I would make myself feel better. It was painful, yes, but… I didn't think. I was focusing on the physical pain, on the odd rusty smell of blood and making it stop. Razors were good in a way how subtle they were. It didn't really hurt at first when I accidentally brushed the razor alongside my fingers in the shower. But a few seconds later, when the blood started to run down my fingers, the slight burning pain turned into a fire. And then I brushed the razor against the fingers again, but intentionally and more deeply. It took me quite some time to stop the bleeding, but never had I felt bigger rush of adrenaline running through my veins. How would a knife feel against my skin? And what part of my skin would I cut?

Like I said, it made me sickly content… happy even. Just the feeling I got from drawing.

I put the glass of water on my bed table and took the old t-shirt I no longer wore. I would need it later. Shaking a little I looked over my body and tried to critically think about what place should I cut next. The fingers? Nah, the scars from my previous cutting were not healed yet. The wrists? Too visible. Then, my eyes slid to my bare thighs, covered only with the hem of my shorts. Yeah, thighs would be good. The skin was not so thin and nobody would see a thing.

I put the t-shirt underneath my thighs and took the knife in my shaky hands. The first time was not intentional. But now… I was consciously deciding for it. And it wasn't a razor, but a knife.

Inhale. Exhale.

It would be okay, now, Bella. The pain would go away. All of it.

Just cut yourself. Now.

And I did. I put the knife closely to the white skin of my right thigh, put some pressure and was surprised how easily the blade penetrated soft flesh. The pain was immediate and it taken me aback a little. I hissed, but I didn't stop. I slid the knife horizontally across the thigh, not going too deep as I didn't want to cut any important veins, and watched how carmine blood was rushing out of the cut, creating a little stream flowing down, soaking into the fabric of the t-shirt.

Yes. I can feel it. It's good. It hurts, but not as much as my chest.

I made another cut. And then another. The fifth and last one was the deepest, most painful and most messy, but I didn't care. I felt good. Distracted. Numb. I felt as if I just draw a masterpiece, not with a paintbrush on a canvas though, but with a knife on my thigh. Five was just enough for tonight and even though I knew my deed was beyond wrong and sick, it didn't matter at that moment.

It felt good.

I reveled in the physical burning for a while longer, until I realized that I needed to take care of the cuts. I cleaned the blade with the t-shirt and put it aside. Then I covered my burning thighs with the cotton fabric and hissed again. It hurt, but I had to stop the bleeding. I put the pressure on the cuts, feeling the burning that now – when I was 'sober' - was becoming a little bit more uncomfortable, but never did it fail me in diverting my mind from the pain in my chest. And that was enough.

Eventually, I'd had to take another t-shirt, because the first one was soaked in the red fluid. But the bleeding stopped. I put both t-shirts in my schoolbag, knowing that hiding it in my room wasn't a sensible decision since Sue felt obliged to check up on me every now and then. I used some plasters on the cuts as I had no idea what to do about them. Exhausted and now entirely aware of what I did, I shut my eyes.

This was wrong. Utterly, entirely, sickly, downright wrong.

Crap, Bella. You're so stupid.

But I was tired and I had few hours left before the alarm would go off. I gently covered my injured leg with the comforter, trying to ignore subtle burning on my thigh, and fell into one of those restless but dreamless sleeps thinking of Mom, imagining her arms wrapped tightly around me and whispering in my ear, assuring me that one day, my dreams would come true.

Saturday, July 3, 1999

It was unusually sunny day in Forks. The school had finished and it was time for me to get ready for my first year in high school.

Hm, fantastic. Can't wait.

And since it was so beautiful outside and I couldn't hide behind homework anymore, Charlie insisted on taking me to La Push with him and Sue. She was a Native American from the Quileute reservation just a few miles away from Forks, and La Push was the place where the rez was located. He had a couple of friends there and it was his favorite place for fishing.

"Come on, Bella! We don't have all day!" Dad shouted from downstairs. I was considering taking the sketchbook with me, to draw some cliffs maybe since I heard it was a beautiful place, but because I had nothing else but dragons on my mind, I left it at home. I grabbed my backpack, hurried downstairs and tried to smile apologetically at Dad.

"Sorry, Dad."

He didn't say anything, but Sue emerged from the kitchen. "You're always so late! One day you're gonna pay for it, young lady."

I clenched my jaw. It was almost an automatic reaction. But I had to listen to Sue. It was Dad's house, her house, Dad's girlfriend and I had to listen. Dad was good to me, he didn't send me away and I had to be grateful for it. And I was.

After that fiasco of falling asleep in school it took some time until I managed to learn how not to fall asleep in school. The dreams hadn't disappeared, they just got more graphic and quicker in motion which resulted in my bigger confusion, pain and shortness of breath. Dad had never brought it up again. He didn't complain about anything, so I guess he must have been glad that I stopped drawing my dreams. The fact that he didn't send me away was speaking for itself.

However, as I stopped drawing, cutting continued. Suddenly it had become an urge. And I couldn't fight it anymore. I didn't want to. I still painted, of course, but what I painted was never something I wanted to paint. The paintings seemed too empty. As if they were lacking a soul and they didn't satisfy me anymore. So, I cut and then cut some more. Mostly thighs and my belly, because I was able to cover them. I never touched my wrists or fingers with a blade, pink scars on my white skin would be too much visible.

Sitting in the car I wondered why I hadn't come up with an excuse to this whole nonsense. Like I needed to go fishing…

But. It was for Dad. And I had to listen.

We arrived at La Push, parking in front of a little red wooden house. Well, red was a little bit general. It was the shade ranging from slight cinnabar red, with slight orange touch, to rusty red, but those colors were so shaded that it was hard to identify the original one. Anyway, the house was ridiculously small. Not that Dad's was huge or something, but definitely sufficient enough in comparison to this one. An old pickup was parked in front of it and if I was asked to identify that color I'd say it was atomic tangerine. Shaded orange with the hint of red and pink, basically, a little fluorescent aftertaste. Not my favorite color.

Dad and Sue get off the car immediately and it took me a few seconds until I persuaded myself to join them. Dad never said anything about who we were visiting but I already felt uncomfortable. I wanted this day to be over.

We entered the house and were greeted by the man in a wheelchair.

"Charlie! Come on, man! Haven't seen you in a while!" said the man and smiled widely. He had long dark black hair and even darker onyx eyes. "Hello, Sue, how is my girl holding up, huh?" he greeted her. After that he turned his eyes to me and I felt the need to touch my throat, massage it and make the lump in my throat disappear.

Inhale, exhale. Just breathe, Bella.

Couldn't I just go home?

"And you must be Bella," he said. "My name is Billy Black." He outstretched his hand.

I shook it lightly, uncomfortable at the touch.

"Where's Jacob?" Dad asked.

Billy frowned. "Ahh, you know. He's running around with this bunch of kids from the rez. He's never at home. And if he is, he's in the garage, working on his car."

Charlie didn't say anything.

"You're going fishing today, Charlie?" Billy asked.

"Maybe, I mean… we can ang out with you for a while and go later, what do you think, baby?" Dad turned to Sue. He never asked me what I thought about anything, but I guess he didn't really need to know what I was thinking.

"Sure," nodded Sue and then looked over at me. "Why don't you go for a walk, Bella? It's nice around here. Did you bring that wicked sketchbook of yours? You can finally draw something pretty," she giggled and I just looked down. Dad didn't pay attention to us, he was talking to Billy. It was obvious she didn't want me there and I had no desire to stay.

Wordless, I left the house. Guided by my instinct I found the First Beach and took a long walk alongside a beautiful ocean shore. It took my mind away from things I didn't wanted to think about. I watched wild ocean waves braking at the cliffs, the sky too bright for Olympic Peninsula and dark green forest too thick for me to enter, simply because I would get lost in five minutes. I breathed salty wet air and ignored my hair tangling itself because of the frantic wind.

Yes, it was a beautiful place and I could see immediately from what angle and in what atmosphere I'd like to capture the scenery in front of me. Maybe I'd return later and bring my paints and canvas altogether with an old easel my Mom had bought me years ago. I was slowly but surely running out of certain colors of paints, but I wasn't sure if Dad would buy me any if I asked him. Maybe he would, but I had to ask him when Sue wasn't around. She would never allow such expenditure and I knew she was right. It wasn't that necessary, my paints. I could live without them, couldn't I?

Breathing heavily again, I shifted the attention of my mind on the dark water again. It was almost black, but not quite. Space cadet blue, beautiful color. Blue was my favorite. Whatever shade… Well, maybe except for turquoise and its variations. Too shiny and bright for me.

I didn't know for how long was I walking around La Push but I managed to return to the Billy Black's house from the other side than the one I'd originally departed from. As I was approaching the house I noticed a building standing behind it, of the same shaded red color, but considerably bigger. Was this their garage?

I had to walk around it to get to the house. Because I knew I was out longer than I should've, I quickened my step. I took a sharp turn around the corner of the garage and bumped into something warm and hard. I fell down.

"Fuck, could you watch where you walk?!" that something called. I looked up and saw that it wasn't something, but someone, and that someone was a dark skinned, dark haired and dark eyed boy who looked just like a younger version of Billy Black.

When he noticed how I was staring at him, I turned my gaze away and pulled myself up quickly. I felt my face go crimson red. I was ready to – literally – run away, but he grabbed my elbow. I jerked at his touch. He was so warm.

I shook him off.

"Who are you?" he asked harshly.

I looked directly into his black eyes. "Bella. Bella Swan."

He looked like he was trying to remember my name and then his eyes reflected a recognition. "Chief Swan's daughter, right?"

I nodded and turned to leave.

"Hey! Wait!" he shouted and in seconds I felt him walking beside me. "Wanna hang out with me and my friends this afternoon?" he asked.

I looked up at him in shock. "What?"

He smiled smugly. "We might not know each other, but you look like you could use a company. And our dads are best friends."

"I am not really sure…"

At that moment, Charlie and Sue came out of the house, carrying fishing equipment. They noticed me and the boy standing just beside the old pickup.

"Hi, Jake!" waved Sue and smiled.

"Oh, hey, Jacob," said Charlie to the boy, but he didn't say anything about me being late. He didn't even look at me. Was it bad or good? Did I mess up?

Agrhh, I could never figure out what I was doing right and what wrong.

"Hi, guys," said Jacob.

"Come on, Bella, don't stand there like a stunned mule and get in the car, we have to go, weather's getting worse," Dad shouted in my direction. When I wanted to move, I felt something pulling my t-shirt on my back. It was Jacob's hand.

"Chief Swan, I was just talking to Bella and she said she'd like to hang out with me and the guys today," Jacob said, smug smile on his face. "If that's okay, of course."

What?!

But I couldn't say a word in protest. I didn't want to.

Charlie looked at me for the first time since we left home and contemplated if it was a good idea to leave me with Jacob. Something was telling me he was one of those bad guys. Charlie was a cop. He knew those things.

But he just shrugged. "Okay, she could use a little bit of fun, couldn't you, Bella?" he asked me but didn't wait for an answer. "Just stay out of trouble, Jacob, so I don't need to save you from arrest again, 'kay? And tell Sam to drive her home."

Jacob smirked. "Don't worry, Chief, I'll keep an eye on her," he said and winked at me. My stomach flipped.

Dad and Sue left in their car and I was left with Jacob who was now grinning at me like he won a lottery. Even though I liked his attention, it was too presumptuous of him to expect I wanted to spend time with him and his friends.

"Why did you do that?" I asked.

"What?" he looked at me.

"Why did you say I want to spend afternoon with you and your friends?"

He rolled his eyes. "Come on, Bella! What idiot would want to spend day with their dad fishing?" he looked at me like I was crazy for even thinking about doing it. "We're gonna have fun."

Was it that bad if I went fishing with them? Not that I wanted but…

"Don't stand there like a stunned mule and come with me," Jacob said and laughed when I didn't follow him to the garage.

So, I did.

Jacob showed me his Rabbit he was putting together, which was supposedly a car that now looked like anything but car. He said it was still in the process and there were still too many parts he was missing. It was impressive, though. I couldn't say the difference between a nut bolt and a nail.

He showed me everything in his little garage. He was passionate about it. He saw I was not really into having any conversation, so most of the time it was just him talking. Later, three guys came to see Jacob and I suddenly felt uneasy. Who were these boys? They were ogling me and whistling, making inappropriate comments about me and Jacob.

Why did I sign up for this?

Jacob saw my distress. "Hey, fuckers, shut it up. This is Bella and she's gonna hang out with us, today. Bella, these assholes are Quil, Embry and Sam."

Quil and Embry looked very similar and I knew that moment I was going to have a problem saying who was who. But Sam was obviously older than us. Later, Jacob told me that he, Quil and Embry were fourteen, just like me, and Sam was sixteen. He was going to be a junior at the Forks High and Embry, Quil and Jacob were starting as freshmen with me.

"Where the hell is Leah and Seth?" asked Jacob, looking at something in his 'car'.

Sam shrugged. "They wanted to see Sue, she is with them now." Dad was fishing alone in the end.

Jacob nodded and I had to remind myself later to ask who were Leah and Seth.

After a while we set off for the beach and when I timidly asked Jacob what for, he smiled and winked at me again. "That's a surprise, Bella."

It was already almost twilight. The sun was setting down through the clouds and once again I could see the scenery painted in my head. I definitely had to return back and capture it.

The boys gathered some driftwood and ignited a colorful fire. I had no idea if it was allowed, but the colors mesmerized me. Guys were joking and teasing each other, and I couldn't help but smile at the ease flowing between them. I was okay as long as I was near Jacob, but other boys made me feel nervous. In the course of the evening I smiled and I laughed and it felt good. The emptiness and pain were still there, but the novelty of the surroundings and people were a welcomed fresh air in my mundane existence.

Strangely enough, when I'd been alone with Jacob, it didn't feel unpleasant. He was obviously a problematic kid by the look of things and even though he made fun of me, it was never insulting. He made me laugh and that was a terrific achievement on its own. And he was smiling a lot. I liked it. Though, I couldn't overhear pack's – as they called themselves - profound vocabulary of swear words. But it didn't make me uncomfortable, it was simply who they were.

The only thing I couldn't understand was why Jacob wanted me to be with them. Why he was so nice to me and why he talked to me in the first place. I always thought I wasn't a good friend, because I never had any. Kids never wanted to be with me. Back in Phoenix I was a weirdo, a wallflower, that crazy girl who painted crazy things. So why Jacob did want me to come and sit around the fire with him and his friends?

Enjoy, Bella, enjoy. This is not gonna happen again.

But it did. Few days later Jacob called Charlie and asked him if I could come down to La Push. Charlie agreed but was reluctant to drive me there, so Jacob said Sam would pick me up. That night I met Leah and Seth and learned that they lived with their dad Harry and that Sue was his sister. Their mother died when they were only five and four. Leah was now fifteen and she dated Sam. Seth was a year younger and he was the brightest kid I've ever met.

And before I knew it I was hanging out with the pack almost every summer night. Charlie never said a word about Sam's car waiting for me almost every afternoon, only Sue uttered something about me having a bad influence on Seth and Leah. Well, if she heard those kids… One day I thought about my watercolor paints and how much I wanted to paint the ocean and the sky on the First Beach. But I decided against it. In Phoenix they didn't like me because I was painting. Now I could be Bella without paints, crayons and canvases. Just Bella and they didn't mind. I was a good friend with all of them. They liked me. I had to keep them. Even if it meant I couldn't paint. As long as their free selves and honesty I wasn't allowed to enjoy were pumping blood in my veins when I felt like dying, it'd do anything to keep them.

And Jacob? To him I was Bells. We always found some time to talk, just the two of us. Or better said, he was talking and smiling and making me feel like I belonged. I became very comfortable with him. The kids and Jake knew about Mom, of course, but never brought it up. One day, Jake asked me why did I always wear long jeans when it was finally so warm. I just shrugged.

He didn't want to see my scars.

And that was how my first summer without Mom looked like…

Bright during days with Jake, my friend, and his pack.

Dark during nights, fighting dragons and stopping blood running from the cuts.

A/N Any thoughts? Did you listen to the song? What do you think?

I apologize, but I won't be able to upload in the next two weeks, but I hope I'll get back to it as soon as possible.

Hugs and kisses,

R.