So you wanna fight me, are you big enough?
Kick the back of my knee, are you serious?
You keep on trying but
I like your blood on my teeth just a little too much
So bite me, slap me 'round the face
Now I'm twisting your arm 'till I hear it break
I get stronger every day
Chinchilla

Bella

The sound of applause seeped into my awareness.

My eyes focused and I took in Mr Hoffman standing at a podium in the gym, giving the final address for my graduating class.

The day I had looked forward to all year. The accumulation of twelve years of hard work and effort and planning; a day marked with promise and possibility. The feeling was the same, only warped. Endless routes I had now that I'd lost the only one I wanted.

Everyone around me suddenly screamed joyfully. Caps flew in the air. People were hugging and high-fiving. I plastered a grin on my face that fooled nobody and jumped up excitedly; posed for photos, signed yearbooks and caps, handed out my cell number.

The car ride back to Charlie's house was wooden. We'd never been much for conversation, less so now I'd stopped trying.

"Are you sure you don't want to go to a party?" he asked carefully. He never knew what would set me off anymore.

"I'm not really the partying type."

"Still, you're only a senior once."

'How many times have you been to high school?'

'Three. My first time was in nineteen twenty-five; quite an eye-opener.'

My arms were wrapped around my torso, desperately trying to hold myself together. It worked a little but I couldn't stop the weeping. My breathing faltered and Charlie looked away.

I felt terrible for him, he didn't know how to handle this. Charlie had tried comforting me, then berating me, then criticising him, but nothing worked.

I was too broken.

Back at his house, Charlie turned on the TV and watched a basketball game. I filled a bucket with soapy water and scrubbed the front steps and walkway just for something to do. The kitchen was spotless already. I didn't want to straighten the living room with Charlie trying to watch something in there. I'd washed my truck yesterday.

'I'm surprised it still works.'

I'd only been in my bedroom once since he'd left. Stumbling, crying—I'd grabbed my school things and a few outfits from my closet. I slept on the couch now, tucking away my new duvet every morning. My desk was the kitchen table, still spread with the textbooks I'd needed for final exams.

'There was an article in the Lancet about it.'

Charlie pretended he didn't know. He pretended that I didn't wake every night screaming from a nightmare in which I wandered a barren land alone. He pretended I didn't often refuse to sleep at all until I passed out from exhaustion and then still had the same bad dream.

'Did you have a nightmare?'

That's how we lived now. Each of us pretending.

I'd graduated with a perfect four-point-oh, made the honour roll, and gotten into all four of the schools we applied for. We'd planned to go to the University of Washington so that we could live at home.

I threw the letters away.

Work for a year. That had been my original plan and now it was back. I'd apply again later.

I asked for more hours at the restaurant and was fortunate to get them, and only then it was because Viola was moving to Spokane in the fall. Justine spoke next to me now, not to me. I knew the only reason I hadn't been fired was because I was good at my job and she needed the help.

Work became my talisman. There were hardly any triggers there.

"Bacon and eggs, please. Sunny side up."

'Popeye eggs.'

'That sounds disgusting. What is that?'

Almost none.

Without school, I had nearly endless time.

It was like it was mocking me. I'd wanted nothing but time and now it was both excruciating and finite. Painful and endless.

Everywhere was filled with memories. Charlie's house had deafening and pointed silences that neither of us knew how to address, even if there hadn't been countless memories of him there that tore at the ragged hole in my chest.

'Tell me.'

The woods were comforting until they weren't and then I'd careen in aimless ramblings until I emerged disoriented along the highway and had to walk to the nearest road sign to figure out my way home.

'Shall we see what we can find?'

I often ended up going to La Push, a place he'd never been. I would sprint up and down First Beach over and over until I was so tired I could barely move. I'd flop down into the sand and wonder what would happen if I simply refused to get up again.

Heavy footsteps registered. I sighed inwardly.

"Hey, Jake."

"Hey, Bella."

Jake thudded to the sand next to me. It was misting. I'd be soaked through soon.

"Aren't your feet sore?" Jake asked, his brow wrinkling as he took in my shoeless state.

"Nope."

"You must be cold," he insisted, flicking his eyes to my exercise clothes and no sweatshirt.

"Nope."

"How'd you get that scar on your ankle?"

"What's with the twenty questions?"

"Sorry. My mom asked me to come and see if you were all right."

"I'm fine."

"You're here a lot."

"It's a free country."

Jake scowled. "What I meant was, you seem like you're not … doing very well."

"I said I'm fine. Please tell your mom that, I don't want her to stress."

"I'll tell her," he said, but he didn't leave.

Jake didn't bother me as much as Charlie did but I'd still rather not talk to either of them.

"Any plans for the summer?" he asked.

Jake didn't tiptoe around me either. I couldn't decide which was worse.

"Just working. Might take a summer class online. You?"

"Building another car. I bought the frame of an eighty-one Rabbit."

That meant little to me but there was no mistaking the excitement in his tone.

"Sounds like an undertaking."

"Like you wouldn't believe. I've been scouring junkyards and salvage shops for the parts. Gotta stretch my allowance."

"You get too much if you can buy a car with it."

"Please, I get pennies. I'm just good at finding what I need for cheap. How much allowance do you get?"

"I'm allowed to live there."

Jake snorted though it hadn't really been a joke. I did wonder sometimes whether Charlie would ask me to leave. This was so far from the tranquil life he'd pictured when he agreed to have his self-sufficient grown-up daughter live with him.

"Wanna come and see the car?"

Jake was bursting with pride and wanted to share it with me. I briefly entertained the idea of telling him to fuck off just for the thrill of it but nodded. My bad attitude wasn't his fault.

I clambered to my feet, brushing the sand off my clothes. Jake had held his hand out to me and I snatched mine away when our fingers brushed together by accident.

"Sorry," he said, colouring; confused by my reaction.

I didn't answer. How did you tell someone that you hated being touched now? That any heat was too much heat? That icy showers and glacial rain sent you into a spiral of agony that left you unable to breathe even as you repeatedly chased them both?

We walked back to the parking lot and stopped by my truck so I could cram my feet into my sneakers. I didn't put my socks on. Maybe my toes would freeze.

Jake ambled next to me easily as we walked up the grassy hill to his house, at least until he noticed my slight limp; my weakened ankle was tender after my hours on the uneven sand. He hesitated again and I determinedly moved until I was an arm's length away.

His garage was a tin garden shed. It had only three sides and a concrete floor. It had previously held his Justy but that was now parked next to Sarah's car to make room for his most recent project. The frame of the Rabbit was propped up on bricks and parts were laid out neatly on an oily sheet, ready to be added when he could.

I smiled in spite of myself. He was clearly passionate and I'd always liked that in people.

"You won't get very far on brick wheels."

He rolled his eyes. "Those'll be last."

'You going for standard? Or monster truck?"

"Standard. I'm tall but I can't get in a monster truck."

"I'm sure they put steps in. How many twelve-foot-tall people do you know?"

"I can't have a car that's bigger than my house. Mom'll kill me."

"Maybe if you told her it would be your new room."

"Good idea! She's always wanted a craft space in the house."

I examined the parts more closely and took in the shell of a car. "You're going to need a lot more stuff."

"Yeah," he sighed theatrically.

"What about a trade?"

"Like what?"

"My truck's been making a strange noise when I start it. It works but … probably worth getting looked at. I'll pay you."

"Nah, I'd check it for free."

"That's not why I asked," I complained. "Either let me pay you or I'll take it to the mechanic in town."

Jake shrugged. "Okay, then."

We walked back to my truck and he popped the hood eagerly. "I'm so glad you took this. Dad was hinting I'd have to drive it."

"It's run great 'til now."

"Probably needs a new alternator."

Jake poked around under the hood then started the engine and looked again. He wiggled under the truck.

"Wow, what kind of brakes are those?"

"Ceramic."

He stood up, nodding appreciatively, then realised what I'd said. "Thought you didn't know cars?"

"I don't."

"They're new, I didn't put those in."

"My—Rosalie did."

The name didn't mean anything to him but he'd guessed from my tone who she was.

"It does need a new alternator, we'll have to pick one up. You free now?"

"Sure."

We drove to the auto parts shop and Jake found what we needed but he was also like a kid in a candy store as he examined all the other things on offer, excitedly pausing every few feet to goggle at something else. It was somewhat of a distraction to be doing something different, to be in someone's company again. Jake chattered to me easily and eagerly and it forced me to pay attention. I made myself listen to the things he described and tried to ask him questions.

At the counter, I riffled through my wallet to pay for the alternator and unearthed a glossy bank card, the sight of it making me pause.

He didn't care about money. I could use this. I could even spend everything and he wouldn't bat an eye, he'd just make more.

I shoved it back into my wallet. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction. He'd wanted me out of his life, fine; he wouldn't get even this glimpse into it.

Jake watched me out of the corner of his eye as we drove back to his house, wary at my growing anger and unable to tell what caused it. He gave up all pretence of trying to talk to me and there wasn't any room in my head to feel as bad about that as I normally would have.

Feinting patience, I thanked Jake for the repairs once he'd finished and handed him all the cash I had; tips from work I hadn't bothered to deposit yet.

"Er … this is kinda a lot."

"Keep it," I told him shortly. "It's an old car, like you said. I'll need you to fix something else sooner or later. Consider it an advance on your next service."

"If you say so," he replied awkwardly.

Jake and I both looked around when we heard the sound of people running. Two men were racing towards Jake's house.

"Hey!" Jake called. "What do you want?"

They doubled back, skidding a little on the damp grass. "We need to talk to Billy," the older one snapped, his eyes steely.

"He's not here," Jake replied irritably.

"Where is he?"

"At the Clearwaters."

The two of them left without another word; neither thanks nor explanation.

"That was weird," I observed.

"That was Sam and Paul, part of the La Push gang," Jake scoffed. He saw my surprised expression. "Not the kind you're thinking, the lame kind. They're all about tribal pride and 'protecting our land'. What's even weirder is that Paul wasn't even friends with Sam last year. Now he follows Sam everywhere. Same with Leah and Patricia."

"Leah's in the gang?"

I hadn't seen Leah in months, not since a dinner she and her family had been to at Charlie's house. Was that where she'd been?

Jake nodded. "That's not unusual though. That she's with Sam, I mean. She and him are dating. It's the others that's psychotic. They probably want to talk themselves up to Dad. He indulges them too much."

Leah had spoken to me of a boyfriend named Sam but I'd never met him. Her tales hadn't included anything about him being in a gang of do-gooders.

"They were dressed … traditionally?"

Jake made a face. "Yeah. It's what we all wear to meetings and tribal stuff, but they're the only ones who wear it all the time. Like I said, psychotic."

The men had been shirtless, wearing only a skirt-like cloth around their waist that went to their knees. It reminded me of something I'd seen on TV about Polynesian people.

"The gang had a big bonfire when the Cullens left town. All those old stories … they live and breathe it," Jake said shaking his head.

The hole in my chest burned—pain and wrath together.

Back in my truck, I pushed its speed. Jake had been bewildered by my fury though he seemed to know it wasn't at him, which I was grateful for; I couldn't explain it in a way that would make him understand. No one would understand because they didn't know what they'd been to me and why they'd been that.

Almost on autopilot, I drove to their house.

The place was a new kind of silent. I tried the front door handle again, half expecting it to swing open like always but it didn't.

Was there a security system? I was about to find out.

Grimly marching back toward the trees, I selected a weighty stone and then hurled it through the glass panel on the front door, enjoying the crash it made.

Nothing. Or a silent something.

I reached into the smashed glass and twisted the bolt until it clicked. Kicking the door open violently was also satisfying.

Glass crunched under my shoes, probably scratching the polished wood floors. I tried the nearest light switch but it didn't work. Neither did the taps in the laundry. Everything was gone, even the kitchen appliances. There were only gaping hollows where they'd been—fucking fitting.

I went through the entire house, opening cupboards and doors. The garage was empty; the panelling in Carlisle's office was gone; all the wall hooks that had formed a vertical arrangement in Emmett and Rosalie's room had been taken too; all of Esme's mounted papers and samples. There wasn't a single thread or hanger remaining in the hallway from where their artwork had hung. It was as if everything had been fake, their entire life here a counterfeit.

I left his room for last.

If I was expecting a letter or an explanation, I was disappointed. It was just as empty as the rest of his house. He'd left me the same as they had. As if I hadn't meant anything to him either.

Fury coursed over me like tar. How dare they do this. How dare he walk out and leave me with nothing; how dare they follow him as if his word was some fucking commandment that had to be adhered to.

I toyed with the idea of fetching the stone and flinging it through every window in the house. These back windows wouldn't collapse but I was sure I'd be able to at least shatter them in their frames. A sledgehammer would be a good choice too, I could definitely do some damage with that. Burning the place to the ground was also appealing. Would it take long? Would it bring the whole forest down with it? Would they return in a hundred years and feel regret about the human girl they'd treated so badly? Or would they simply razor it and start again?

There must be some freedom from the pain and anger. Something I could do that would end it. I briefly thought about doing everything …

But it wouldn't bring them back.

Furious, I stomped back downstairs, slammed the door closed and didn't bother to lock it; the smashed glass made it pointless anyway.

I spun angrily and suddenly, a vampire was standing on the front lawn.