Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, I just play with them. This story is rated M, and is not suitable for younger readers. Story contains violence, coarse language and sexual "situations". Please do not read if any of these things offends you.

Note: [Beta'ed by: adt216 & vasweetpea07]

Chapter 15 – Difficulty, part 2

Edward Cullen POV

It's a funny thing having people jumping to get out of your way when you walk down the hall.

People no longer stared or pointed at me, although they were still whispering – thinking I couldn't hear them. Did they think I was deaf or stupid or something? Yeah, probably.

At least they weren't fucking pointing and staring. Hell, they didn't even dare to glance my way in fear of me ripping their heads off.

And I couldn't be any fucking happier.

Punching Newton in the face turned out to be the best thing I had ever done in my entire life.

Now, the only thing people talked about was me being unstable and dangerous. There was no talk about the accident anymore. Not much anyway. The accident was no longer news-worthy, but me punching Newton in the face was. The accident was ancient news, and it was officially behind me.

Or so I thought.

Emmett was still being pissy with me, and he wasn't talking to me at all. He just kept shooting irritated glances at me, probably trying to make me feel bad or something. I didn't know why the hell he was taking this whole thing so personally anyway. He was behaving as though I had killed his fucking puppy or some shit. Lunch quickly became unbearable because of it.

Emmett not speaking to me, Alice acting like the mediator between us, Jasper being annoyed, and Rosalie just pissed made for an awkward lunch period.

I knew that Alice agreed with Emmett to a certain point, but I also knew she had my back. She didn't want us to fight, and she did what she could to try to solve it all. Which just bugged me, considering it wasn't her business to begin with. My fight with Emmett was just that, my fight. She had no reason to get involved, thinking she could change things. I was not about to change my opinion on the situation anyway, so she was fighting a losing battle.

Jasper was annoyed because he didn't like the tension in the group. He had always been sensitive to the emotions of the people around him, and if it were to become too intense he usually went into what we had come to call "the Jasper-mode".

The Jasper-mode was a pretty damn, frustrating thing. It took a lot of energy and patience for us all to be able to even be near him when he was like that. When he went into Jasper-mode, we all knew we had our shit cut out for us, and if we had grown attached to our balls, we had better stay quiet or solve whatever tension there was, if we intended to keep them.

Let's just say that it didn't take much for him to snap when he acted like that.

But this time, I wasn't going to budge. I was not going to retreat just to make him feel better. I was the fucking victim here. Not him. Nor Emmett or anyone else. So I'd be damned before I changed my mind on the matter.

Rosalie was pissed because… frankly, she was always pissed about something. I'm not entirely sure she was even aware of the tension or that something was off about our group, considering her self-absorbed personality. While we were sitting at the table, quietly seething and wishing we were somewhere else, she was probably thinking about her next appointment to get her pussy waxed or something.

Self-absorbed bitch.

Yeah, she was my friend, but that didn't mean I had to like her all the time. With Emmett being pissed at me, she automatically became my enemy too, considering with whom she was sleeping.

Besides, I only needed a reason to dislike her. It's not like we would hang out just the two of us anyway. We were not that close.

No, scratch that.

We were not close. Period.

It was only Thursday. And I couldn't wait for the week to be over.

There were no parties planned as far as I knew, but I didn't need a party to get drunk. All I needed was to get to Port Angeles so I could fetch some booze from our usual supplier. Maybe I could even score some weed or something, just to take the edge off.

It had been a rough fucking week, and I needed to chill out.

Don't fucking judge me.

The school day was cut short, due to some teachers conference or something, and I couldn't have been happier to get out of that dump.

Emmett drove us home. He was still playing the silent game with me, of course, and I wondered if he thought I cared. I honestly didn't. If he wanted to be a big girly baby, he could. That was his problem.

When we drove up to the house, I was surprised to see Dad's black Mercedes parked out front. It was only a little before noon, and he was usually never home during the day.

Maybe Mom finally made him take a day off, or come home for an early dinner, since we usually ate without him on weekdays. But something made me think that his early day had nothing to do with dinner or him having a day off for no reason at all.

We had yet to continue the discussion we had on Monday, which had been conveniently interrupted by his pager. A part of me thought he might just drop it, but when he turned out to be the first person we saw when Em and I walked into the house, I knew I was screwed.

"We're going to Port Angeles," Dad announced, and Emmett scrunched up his face in confusion.

"What? Why? I was going to head over to Rose's later," he complained.

"I was speaking to your brother," Dad replied simply.

Emmett threw a look at me and scoffed. "Yeah, get his ass as far away from here as possible. And preferably leave him there," he said, before trudging up the stairs. I glared daggers at his back, as Dad grabbed my arm and turned me to face the front door.

"Let's go," he said, and nudged me forward.

"Why do I have to go?" I asked, a little confused by the whole thing. "I have shit to do."

"We're going, and that's that," was all he said, and his tone left no room for argument.

I sighed, but did as I was told. I figured I might as well go, I could take the opportunity to stop by James while there and get me some booze so I didn't have to go there again this weekend.

Two birds with one stone.

Whatever that other bird was that my dad needed us to go to Port Angeles for.

I slid into the passenger seat of his Mercedes, and he threw me a look and shook his head softly as he turned the ignition. He was holding his tongue again, I could tell. I frowned and looked out the window. I was not going to crack. If he wanted to talk, he was going to have to open his mouth and talk. I was not going to encourage him by saying anything.

He was the one who said we were going to "talk later" not me.

He drove at his usual careful pace, down the winding driveway, down to the road, and when we reached it, he turned left.

Left.

Left.

Left.

Fuck no.

"Eh… Dad…. Where are we going?" I asked, trying to sound offhand and carefree, though my entire insides were suddenly screaming at me to get the hell out of the car. Immediately.

"Port Angeles, I told you that," he replied, giving me a strange look.

"Yeah, I know… but why are we… I mean, why don't we drive through town?" I asked with a light shrug, looking out the window so he couldn't see the terror in my eyes.

"Because this way is the quickest to the highway. What's wrong with you?" he asked.

The tone of his voice made me turn my head and look at him, and when I met his gaze, I realized he knew exactly the reason why I didn't want us to take this route.

My jaw clenched and I narrowed my eyes at him. "Son of a bitch," I hissed between clenched teeth, but he wasn't intimidated.

"This road happens to be the quickest road to Port Angeles. Do you have a problem with that?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at me and acting casual as though he knew I knew what he was doing. "Is there something wrong with this road?" he added, and I huffed and sank lower in my seat.

He might have kept talking after that, I'm not sure. I didn't hear him anymore. All I could concentrate on was the fact that we were getting close. Everything looked different in the daylight, while at the same time oddly the same.

I swear to fucking God that I could pinpoint the exact spot where I had hit that damn patch of black ice.

I didn't hear my dad talking. I couldn't even hear the quiet roar of the engine, or the radio, or anything anymore. I was deaf, except for the phantom sounds that assaulted my mind.

A sound of a car skidding across the road after hitting a patch of black ice. The sound of a girl hitting the windshield. The bumping sound of the car driving over the body. And a blood curdling scream…

I didn't realize I had closed my eyes, until I was brought back to reality by the sound of the engine, which roared louder as we accelerated onto the highway.

My fingers were numb, and when I glanced down, I saw that I was once again gripping on to the seat like it was the only thing keeping me there. I tried to relax and flex my fingers, and it hurt like hell when I did.

I glanced at my dad, and much to my relief, he wasn't looking at me. His eyes were trained on the road – like the good driver he was. I would have snorted at the ten-and-two position of his hands on the wheel, if it weren't for the fact that I was too pissed off, because he was purposely messing with me.

We had rode in silence for what felt like forever when Dad suddenly decided to speak up.

"I'm surprised," he said casually.

"Why so?" I asked with a scoff, keeping my eyes on the moving scenery outside. I could almost feel where this conversation was heading.

"That you have yet to complain about my driving, even though I have purposely driven ten miles under the speed limit for well over twenty minutes," he replied amused.

"Maybe because I know it's a wasted fucking effort. You drive like an old man, and I have learned to live with it," I replied sweetly, shooting him a wide fake smile.

"Yeah, I'm not buying it, but whatever works for you," he said calmly. Something was brewing underneath his tone, but I couldn't figure out what the hell that was. There was something he wasn't saying, and he was acting all superior, like he knew everything.

Why did I even agree to go, again?

Because I'm an idiot for not refusing. That's why.

And the booze. Of course.

"What are you doing in Port Angeles anyway, since you needed me to come?" I asked.

"We're going by the auto shop," he said, glancing at me. "I figured you wanted to come with and take a look at your baby. I haven't seen it since they brought it from the site…"

I clenched my fist by my side, keeping my eyes forward. I could sense his eyes on me.

"Yeah, that's great," I said, keeping my voice light.

"Yeah, isn't it?" he replied, using that weird tone again.

We rode in silence for the remainder of the drive. And I silently chastised myself for being so fucking slow and stupid. What the hell was wrong with me? Of course he was taking me to see my damn car. Why else would he take me to Port fucking Angeles? We've never had any reason to go there together before, except for the last time my baby was in the shop, so this shouldn't have come as such a surprise to me.

But for some reason, it did.

When we parked outside the shop, my eyes immediately shot to the space where my car had been the last time we were here. But there was no shiny silver Volvo there today. Instead it was occupied by an ugly motherfucking Toyota.

We stepped out of the car, and I followed Dad inside.

A man, dressed in dirty overalls, walked up to us as soon as we stepped inside. His long, black hair was pulled back into a ponytail, his hands and face were dirty with oil, but the dirt almost disappeared in the darkness of his skin. Almost.

He tried to wipe his dirty hands off with an even dirtier cloth, and I wanted to roll my eyes.

Fucking moron.

"Hello, Dr. Cullen, I wasn't expecting you until later," he said, holding out his dirty hand to my father.

Dad didn't even flinch before taking the man's disgusting hand in his and shaking it.

"Nice to see you again, Sam. I wasn't planning on coming until this afternoon, but then my son had an early day, so I figured we might as well come by early," Dad replied. "So where is it?"

"It's in our other garage, in the back," Sam said and began walking to the back of the shop, and we followed him. "I won't lie to you, Dr. Cullen. The damages on the car are pretty extensive, and it might take us a while to get it fixed."

"No problem, take all the time you need," Dad replied simply, and I glared at his back.

Take all the time you need? Was he fucking serious? I needed my fucking car! How else was I supposed to get around? It's not like I could borrow Emmett's car or even Dad's for that matter, considering he was never home to begin with. And what on earth could be so wrong with my car that it would take such a long time to fix it? I really wanted to see the damages for myself, and see whether or not this Sam guy was full of shit.

How long could it take to fix a windshield? It was the only thing she hit, and the only thing she smashed. So what the fuck could take so long? It was not like it needed to be custom made or anything. It was a fucking Volvo for crying out loud! Not some rare European penis car.

Sam opened a wide door, and we stepped through it.

"So here it is," Sam declared.

I brushed past Dad, glaring at him as I did so, before turning my head to look at my baby.

And I froze.

I wasn't even breathing.

Or blinking.

I was frozen fucking solid.

Swan was a small fucking girl. A hundred and ten pounds tops.

So how the hell did she managed to create this much damage?

The hood of the car was a fucking crater. The windshield looked like a spider-web. With a cracked hole smack in the middle where her body had smashed into it. And the car tilted in a strange way.

"… the windshield obviously, and the hood. Then there is the front axis… we will have to change parts of it, or maybe even the whole thing…" Sam's voice sounded like it was coming through a tunnel, and I was only aware of half of what he was saying.

I slowly made my way around the car, checking out every single inch of it.

The front tire on the right side was bent in a weird angle, like it wasn't attached properly to the car anymore. And it was punctured. Of course. Wasn't it enough that it was barely holding on to the car? No, of course not.

I looked down on the hood, and let my hand stroke the dented surface, which used to be so cool and smooth.

My eyes wandered up to the windshield, and from this point I could make out every little crack in it. I could even see the blood.

Blood.

Everywhere.

Blood.

I quickly took a step back, and looked away from the windshield.

But there was no use. Anywhere I looked now I seemed to see blood.

When I looked closely, I could see blood on the front tire, and there was a little blood splattered on the car doors on the right side too.

There was blood fucking everywhere.

"Are you ready to go, Edward?" Dad asked, bringing me out of the daze.

I nodded quickly, without looking at him.

"I'm done here," I choked as I brushed past him. I all but ran out of the shop and into the cold, November air outside.

I walked over to the car and waited for Dad to come outside. I paced back and forth beside the car as I waited, and I kept playing with my fingers. I needed a fucking smoke.

Or better yet – a strong drink.

Dad walked out from the shop right then and unlocked the car. We slid into the car, and after Dad had buckled his belt, he put a file in my lap.

"I got the estimate," he said. "It will cost a pretty penny to get it fixed, but the insurance will most likely cover it."

I didn't open the file. I just kept looking at it like it was about to jump up and bite me or something. Dad leaned back in his seat, not making any move to turn on the ignition and get us out of here.

He sighed deeply, and I stiffened in my seat.

I knew that sigh. It was not a good sigh.

"Son…" he said quietly, his voice barely audible. "You say you don't care, and that you are over it. You act like you're beyond it all and that this doesn't bother yo-"

I began unbuckling my belt when I realized where he was going with all this. I was not going to stay to hear that shit. I needed to get the fuck out. I could take a bus back to Forks. Or take a fucking cab. But I was not going to stay in this fucking car to hear my dad's bullshit.

But he stopped me by grabbing a strong hold of my wrists.

"I know, son! This is awful! I know you're hurt! But you can't pretend like everything is like it was before, because it's not! You will have to learn to deal with what happened, and not push it back like you have," he said, his voice overflowing with a million emotions. "It's okay to feel hurt. It's okay to feel bad! It's okay to feel anything you want to feel! But don't pretend you don't feel anything, because you do. You're feeling it. And you will have to deal with it before it eats you up and swallows you alive." He took a deep breath and was quiet for a moment before continuing. "I didn't take the short road to the highway to hurt you, I did it because I wanted to help you. And that is exactly why we are here today too. It would have been easy for me to tell Sam to just fix the car up, and drive you here to pick it up when it was done. But that would not have helped you. You needed to face reality and the seriousness of the situation. You can't walk around and think that this wasn't a serious accident, because it was. It really was."

I tried to swallow, but it was like there was a big lump of shit stuck in my throat. I wanted to puke.

"Can we go home now, or are you gonna continue lecturing me about something I don't give a crap about?" I hissed.

I was not looking at him, but I could feel his eyes bore into me.

He sighed deeply and let go of my wrists.

"You can't go on like this, Edward. You need to take responsibility for your actions."

I glared at him, and he frowned.

"I don't need to do fucking anything," I spat.

I turned to stare blankly out the window, and he didn't say anything.

There was simply nothing more to say.