Chapter 2:

I don't remember how I got home yesterday. This happened sometimes. My mind felt like the static of a radio when changing stations and everything else seemed to blur around me. It was like being drunk and all of your inhibitions being removed.

I lay in bed, feeling as if I'd just got run over by a car. Carmen said this was my reaction to stress. Some people felt too much and I felt too little.

There was a knock on the door and Charlie entered.

It was dark with the purple shades drawn and I buried myself beneath the sheets. My room was small with just a double bed, bureau, and fuzzy white rug I'd picked up from the yard sale a few years ago. It screamed pre-teen due to the disgusting amount of purple that I was too lazy to change.

His mustache twitched and running his hands through dark hair, sighed. Charlie didn't know what to do with me. I didn't know what to do with myself.

"Bella?" his voice was scratchy from too many cigarettes. He'd given them up several years ago but the damage had already been done.

"I got a call from school. You skipped?"

It wasn't intentional, I wanted to say. Instead, once again, my shoulders shrugged. He stared for what felt like the longest second before running the palm of his hand over his face.

"I know there are times when you aren't… well," he grumbled, "but you know to tell me when this happens. Everyone understands, Bella. We can't help you if you don't let us."

The need to help was a strange concept that I'd struggled to wrap my mind around for years. While people claim to act out of pure selflessness, nobody is that caring or giving towards others. It's just another way to feel better about themselves whether people want to admit it. There's always some ulterior motive.

For example, my father. Bound by state laws, I was required to go to school and he was required to ensure I attended. If I was found to be neglected that would mean bad consequences for him. So to say he wanted to help was not entirely true. It was more of a requirement, a duty. His job was his first love as was obvious to anyone who met him.

"You're appointment with Carmen is tomorrow. I'm coming with you." the door slammed shut. He knew I wasn't going to talk so he didn't bother to stick around.

That's why I called him Charlie (in my head). He was not my dad, just a parent. We were merely bonded by blood and nothing else. Being a dad meant more than just reluctantly fulfilling your parental duties.

I let my eyes shut, a desperate attempt to disassociate myself from the chaos ensuing around. It's never worked before but I still try. I still hope.

By this point I knew, wishing was for the hopeless but I still hung on. The wire hadn't snapped yet.

ooOoo

Most people loved the weekends but they left me rather drained. The sun had disappeared behind the clouds, the town once again shrouded in misery. Or perhaps it was just my own.

I often compared myself to the grey puffs in the sky. Dreary and cold and ominous, no one liked the look of them.

I leaned my head against the window, pelted by droplets of rain as we rode in the cruiser. I hated the damn vehicle because for someone trying to remain invisible, it was the most conspicuous one could get.

Big meaty hands wrapped around the wheel, knuckles cracked and calloused. He'd hugged me once. Seven years ago. His skin was sandpaper rough against my smooth and pale complexion. It'd taken all my strength not to push him away.

"You know why I'm doing this, Bella."

My teeth grind together and I turn my wrists in repeated circles, distracting my mind from the thoughts I really wanted to say that would tear him apart.

It felt as if the world was breathing down my neck; like I was just a little bug stuck under a microscope being examined and prodded and dissected. A voice louder than my own resided within me but that's what would get me killed.

I was just a bug waiting to be stepped on.

Charlie never came to the appointments. The only three places you could find him were: fishing on the lake, at the precinct, or on the couch infatuated with a football game, munching on pizza and stale beer.

"I know," I said.

He made three more right turns and then the left into a parking lot. It was a tall three-story brick building but only the first two floors were usable due to construction. It was only half full and a majority of the patients were elderly.

Mental illness among older people was not commonly talked about and I found that incredibly heartbreaking. Charlie never talked about it but his mom died before I was born. The story was that she'd died of a sudden heart attack but there were always the quiet whispers about what caused it. No one would admit the truth we all knew.

Entering the building we walked straight down the hall to the last door on the right. There were four plastic chairs in the waiting room, a People's magazine on the wooden table, and the faintest oder of mold which never seemed to leave.

"Hello, how can I help you today?" Randall asked in a flat voice.

Every week he was here, checking people in. That was reason enough for his boredom. Randall asked the same question every time as if he didn't know the answer or who I was but I suppose it was just protocol. I didn't take it personally. He seemed to like being a receptionist as much as I wanted to be here.

"Appointment with Carmen Denali."

"Name?"

"Isabella Swan."

He was typing before I could even respond. He knew who I was. I didn't have to say much as he asked the rest of the mandatory questions.

Charlie was already sitting down when I came and sat beside him, ankles crossed and hands clasped in my lap.

We were alone if you didn't count Harry Styles staring up at me from the front page of the magazine. Agh! I didn't know what people saw in him. His music is decent, I'll give him that but everything else? Average.

"Bella?"

My eyes quickly dart up to find Carmen standing at the open door.

"Why don't you come on in."

ooOoo

Did I mention I hate therapy?

Charlie told her what happened knowing full well I would not and left quickly thereafter, anxious to get away from anything that involved sharing intimate feelings.

Her office was warm and looked like any other. A picture of her family hung on the wall and my eyes focused on the Cullens. The fact that Dr. Cullen and Carmen were cousins was an unfortunate factor. Carmen and her husband had three adopted daughters: Tanya, Kate, and Irina. Running in Edward's group, they'd never acknowledged my existence but I sure as hell knew who they were. Somehow in this town, everyone seemed to be related in some way.

It was not ideal, I know, but the next reputable therapist was all the way in Port Angeles. One hour and six minutes away. I was not about to drive that every week.

"Did you bring your journal today, Bella?"

No.

I relaxed into the soft cushion and wrapped my arms around my curled-up legs. I chewed on a mint, already unwrapping a second one. The flavors tingled my gums and I focused on that instead of the scratchy tip of the pencil on paper.

Carmen may have been one of the most beautiful women I've ever seen. She was Hispanic with thick dark hair, olive skin, and a face round and kind. She was a good therapist, there was no doubt about that.

It was a testament to my hatred against her. It wasn't really hatred but loathing that she brought out these emotions within me I never wished to feel. Confrontation was scary and something to be avoided. But she would not allow me.

"Well, did you follow the prompt for this week?"

I was an absolute shit liar. My face betrayed me before I even had the chance to speak.

Each week there was a prompt I was supposed to journal. I loved writing, in fact, I breathed it. It was amazing how much could be said with just one tiny word.

"The prompt this week was 'The thing I am most worried about…'" she sighed. "I'll give you until next time to complete it. Does that seem fair?"

I nodded my head. It was more than fair really. I don't know how she's put up with me these last several years. My lips stayed shut with the mint locked between my teeth. My jaw ached and I rubbed my sleepy eyes, willing myself to stay awake.

I'd slept during sessions before and she never was angry. Never berated me for wasting her time. Yet the guilt ate away at my insides.

"For today, why don't we do a little exercise," she slid a notepad and pencil across the table. "Write down any feelings you've experienced this week. It can be happiness, sadness, anger… you name it. You have five minutes."

She liked these little exercises to start things off. They weren't completely overwhelming and it was a good way to ease into everything.

I thought of Biology and the sound of Edward's voice. Soft and velvety. It wrapped around me like a warm hug and my stomach fluttered with butterflies.

Unease.

Annoyance.

Irritation.

As said before, confrontation was to be avoided at all costs. Dealing with foreign emotions was not a part of my to-do list and it was all his fault.

Perhaps it was because nobody had ever given me the attention he'd given in that forty-five minutes, and perhaps this was what it felt like to be normal and have friends and to not be a freak.

But then again, it was probably nothing. He made small talk as one attempts to do with their partner. I was nothing special as was apparent at the grocery store.

"Bella?"

Shit.

"Can you share with me what you have written?"

Five minutes passed.

I slid the paper around for her to read.

"What caused these emotions?"

How could I tell her it was her own relative. The Cullens were a very family-oriented bunch. She wanted to hear about my obsessive fascination with Edward just as much as I wanted to share.

I shrug in response and the pencil twirls in her hand.

Was it hot in here? My face was flushed and my eyes burned into the ground.

Don't look up.

Only then would my resolve begin to crack and the wall crumble. It was made of steel and cement and stacked together so tight that not even the strongest forces could bring it down.

"Did something happen at school? At the store? Remember it's normal to feel overwhelmed, Bella. There is nothing to be ashamed of."

An airy laugh passed through my lips.

There was a lot actually to be ashamed of.

My lips curled up.

She didn't know half of it.

Somedays I felt like talking and writing and other times… nothing. That's when the guessing game started. Eventually, she would get it right.

"Did someone say something mean to you?"

Quite the opposite actually.

"High school can be a tough place. Trust me, I was once in your shoes if you can believe it."

Let her believe what she wants. It's better than the truth.

ooOoo

Author's Note:

Hey everyone! Thank you so much for reading and following, I really appreciate it. I would love to see some reviews because I love hearing what you all have to say! Constructive criticism is great as well! Reviews really do motivate me to write more and update :)) I should post again soon so stay tuned!