Chapter One

Bella

"I, uh . . . got you stuff."

I turned away from the window and looked over at Charlie. His eyes were trained on the slick road with his hands wrapped tightly around the police car's steering wheel — at ten and two, even.

"Thank you," I said softly, fidgeting with the cast over my wrist. I'd all but torn most of the padding away from around my thumb–sure to cause some kind of chafing problem soon.

He turned his head quickly, smiling nervously. "You're welcome. I mean, I didn't get it. I don't . . . girl . . . stuff. Do you like purple? Esme said purple's a good color. If you don't like it, we can change it. It's just bedding. And I didn't know what kind of clothes you'd like, so I just let her get stuff. She even washed it for me. I think I can still return it. You can get different stuff even if I can't. I don't mind."

"You didn't have to do that."

He shrugged. "It was no problem. I, uh . . . wanted you to be comfortable when we get home. Are you comfortable now? Does it hurt? Do you need medicine?"

"No," I said, shaking my head. "I'm okay. Um . . . Esme? Is she your wife?"

We hadn't spent but a day together, and I didn't know if he had a wife. This was so surreal and strange, and I wasn't sure if I should have asked that earlier. I wasn't sure about anything. Charlie Swan seemed nice. He seemed normal. He was nervous and I couldn't blame him.

I was terrified.

I'd just learned who my real father was, and he just learned that he had a daughter. A sixteen year old, walking, talking, disaster of a daughter. He caught the first flight he could to Phoenix upon learning this news, and I was still trying to piece together why.

Why did he want me?

"No," he said. "I'm not . . . married—or have a girlfriend. Esme's a friend's wife. I mean, she's a friend too, I guess. She's nice."

I nodded. "Oh."

The silence returned once again as his hands loosened up on the steering wheel. I looked back out the window, finding the dreary weather somewhat . . . nice. It never rained in Phoenix. It wasn't green like this. I found the forest oddly beautiful as it whizzed by us on our way to Forks—my new home.

The last five days passed like a blur, and it almost seemed like a dream—a both horrifying and good one. I was free, but I was alone. The bruises on my skin would heal and new ones wouldn't replace them—unless I tripped, which was a fairly decent possibility. I wouldn't have to cower every night or jump at every sound. A yell wouldn't turn into a punch or kick. It seemed impossible that this was true, but according to Charlie, it was.

And I believed him.

For some unknown reason, the man beside me felt . . . safe. I wasn't even sure I'd know what that felt like, but . . . I did, and it felt good. With all the pain that filled my heart and body, this feeling was one I relished. It kept me from thinking of the loss and what I'd never see again—who I'd never see again.

It kept me from drowning in the life that was now mine.

"Do you know how to drive?"

Twenty-three minutes of silence passed before Charlie spoke again. I lifted my head from the window as we passed a sign.

Welcome to Forks, Washington

"No," I said. "He . . . no."

Even thinking of his name made the ache in my heart reappear. No, more like searing pain. I had to close my eyes to will the tears away, though they slipped past anyway. I quickly brushed them away before Charlie could notice.

He nodded. "I'll teach you, if you want."

"You would?"

"Yeah." He smiled kindly. "I'm not telling you where the speed traps in town are, though."

I wanted to laugh at his joke. I mean, it wasn't even all that funny, but he deserved a chuckle. I couldn't muster one up, though. My lips curled up slightly and I hoped that was enough.

"I'll try not to get caught in one, at least."

"Good," he said, turning down a road into the heart of town. "I'll, uh . . . show you around tomorrow, okay? There's not much to see, though. This is about it. Port Angeles is nice. We passed through it about forty-five minutes ago."

I nodded, remembering when the forest broke way to another town—one of the many on our long drive from Seattle.

"It's quiet," I said, noticing the few people and cars around.

It was like a different world compared to Phoenix. As if it was some little town untouched by modern society. It was peaceful and quaint and felt . . . fresh and new.

Like a second chance at life.

"Yeah, not too much happens here," he agreed. "It's nice, though—the people. It's a close community. I think . . . I mean, I hope you'll like it."

I nodded. "Yeah. I hope so, too."


I don't own Twilight

If you follow me on Facebook, you know why nothing has updated since I finished Matters of the Heart. Life is weird right now. I'm a stay at home cat mom without a job for the first time since I was sixteen. Hopefully that means I can write more. This is another experiment and I'm flying by the seat of my pants. I always wanted to try to rewrite Twilight, so here it goes. It'll get dark and angsty, but there will be light and love too.