"How's she holding up?"
"About like you would expect," I sigh, slumping down in the empty seat across from my father at the kitchen table, the now-empty bowl of puppy chow for the moment resting forgotten beside the sink. Despite my best efforts, Bella hadn't been up for much of an actual conversation about what happened with the Cullens, and so we had settled for more superficial topics, instead. School. Our shared memories with Mom. Maybe even a few from summers spent in Forks when we were younger.
It hadn't taken long before I became the person carrying the conversation almost in its entirety, and not long after, Bella made her excuses about needing to get a head-start on some homework. And that left me with no other choice but to return downstairs to find our father, while worry threatens to gnaw a hole inside of my chest.
"She didn't want to talk about it. About him. It's like—it's almost like she can't."
"She can't," My father repeats, his tone carrying a certain skepticism that he cannot entirely keep hidden, "What the hell's that supposed to mean?"
"It's too painful. Whatever he—whatever Edward did, it's like she can't talk about it at all without—"
"Without getting herself into a world of pain."
"That's the general idea, yeah."
"She tell you anything about the nightmares?"
"Nightmares?" I repeat, the shock that makes its way into my expression clearly indicating that, whatever my sister and I may have discussed, this particular topic did not factor into it at all, "What nightmares?"
The sigh my father gives in response to the question is hardly reassuring, but I do what I can to avoid allowing any of that to show in my own expression, my attention instead fixing on waiting for him to explain further. I can tell that he wants to, one hand running over his face, before he regards me for a moment in silence. It takes far more resolve than I feel I am truly ready for, but I allow that silence, waiting for my father to choose to elaborate on his own.
I know far more than most that if I push him before he is ready—before he has found the proper words—I will only end up with half of the information I truly need…
And that is a reality I simply cannot afford.
"She's been waking up, screaming every night. Won't tell me what she's dreaming about, but—"
"You think it's Edward?"
"What else would it be?" My father demands, frustration apparent in the way the words seem to shake, as though he is holding onto the very last vestiges of self control, "I never should've let him talk to her again after they broke up the first time."
"It's not your fault, Dad—"
"Yeah? Tell that to my conscience."
Frowning as soon as the guilt in my father's features becomes abundantly clear, I flounder for a moment, trying to think of something—anything, really—that I could say to take it all away. I know, from what little he'd already told me over the phone, that he'd never really gotten back to trusting Edward after the so-called baseball game, gone awry. That Bella nearly leaving him again had taken more from him than he would ever want to admit.
The idea that my father actually blames himself for what Bella is going through, now, as though she wouldn't have persisted in seeing Edward anyway, no matter what he had to say, is honestly ludicrous, but then, so is the idea that I could actually talk him out of his guilt after the fact. And that leaves me with nothing to do but reach across the table between us for his hand to deliver what I hope will be a reassuring squeeze.
"We're gonna get her through this."
"Yeah. Yeah, I know, Ems."
"Well you could try to sound a bit more convincing, then. For my sake?" I tease, forcing a smile, or at least what I hope will seem like one onto my face as best I can, and finding that the gesture becomes just a smidge easier when he favors me with a faint grin of his own.
"I'll try my best, kiddo."
I am more relieved than I probably should be upon hearing the words, given that I cannot entirely shake the idea that I should be doing more, somehow, to help him through this. To help my sister through this. I cannot help but wish I could've come home sooner, but there is clearly very little I can do to change that particular reality, now.
All I can do is the best I can while being here, now. And that is what prompts me to opt for a slight shift in conversational topic, my gaze drifting back to the abandoned bowl for the puppy chow for a moment before I break the silence between my father and I once more.
"Want anything particular for dinner?"
"Your sister usually takes care of the cooking."
"I think I can give her a break for one night," I insist, pushing myself up from my seat at the kitchen table, and heading over to the refrigerator, my hand on the door before I turn back to look my father in the eye, "So. Choices?"
"I think there might be some chicken left over in the freezer."
"Perfect. I'll pair them with the potatoes I saw in the pantry."
It is a relief to throw myself, head-first, into the process of preparing dinner. Far more of a relief than I am truly prepared to admit, because the idea of having something constructive to do is something I honestly cannot resist. If I can't help my father, or Bella in any sort of tangible, emotional way, then the very least I can do is see to it that they have something suitable to eat.
Anything else will simply have to be taken care of after the fact.
…
After dinner is finished, and the dishes are all safely stowed away, Bella retreats back to her bedroom for more homework, and our father, somehow, finds himself called into the precinct, leaving me effectively on my own for the evening as a whole. Hardly a desirable outcome, all things considered, since the few meager belongings I brought along with me to Forks are hardly worth the time it takes to arrange them in my old room. In fact, I finish with the task in just over an hour, the music I'd selected for use on what is honestly one of my favorite possessions—an old fashioned record player—hardly doing a thing to dull the tumultuous nature of my thoughts.
I can't seem to stop circling back to Bella. To how distant she is, where before, it had been near to impossible to get her to stop talking whenever I was around. For all of her talk about preferring to be reserved, staying silent and observing when around those she does not know, our own relationship has always been much different.
And saying anything other than that this recent change to our dynamic disturbs me would be a lie.
Of course, I can understand the reasons why she is so reticent, given my own experience with breakups, and relationships gone south. More often than not, it seems to be easier to avoid talking about such things at all. But Bella and I always had a deal, of sorts, between us. If one of us asked questions, the other would, in fact, provide answers, no matter how reluctantly. There were no secrets between us, as a rule.
Now, however, I can tell quite clearly that there is something holding Bella back. Something she is keeping from me, though for what reason I honestly do not know. Given her intentions surrounding secrecy, I can already say that I dread exactly what it may be that truly went down between her, and Edward Cullen.
Whatever it is, though, I am already beginning to suspect it is more than a simple decision to go their own separate ways…
In fact, I am already starting to believe that the true reasons behind their separation can hardly be anything good.
Exhaling in exasperation at the prospect, I slump down to perch on the edge of my bed, my fingers automatically straying to fiddle with a loose thread in the faded quilt I've kept with me ever since my mother gave it to me on my sixteenth birthday. It's a nervous sort of habit of mine, even in spite of her best efforts to keep me from doing so, particularly since she is always the one prevailed upon to fix it when the squares inevitably begin to come apart.
For a moment, I catch myself getting lost in the melancholy of the similarity this one faded blanket possesses when compared to my life, at least insofar as it pertains to my ability to be of any use to Bella at all. But just as quickly as the thought comes to mind, I am doing what I can to push it aside.
I refuse to allow myself to think like that. I can't think like that.
I will be absolutely no use to my sister at all if I allow myself to become lost in self-doubt and obsessions over the prospect of even the hint of failure. So really, the fact of the matter is that I have no choice but to continue forging ahead. To continue trying anything and everything I can to help.
Even if I am attempting to do so with only half of the information I need.
Trying to cling to that fact, if nothing else, is far more difficult than I might have initially thought, but the sound of the house phone ringing downstairs in the kitchen effectively pulls me back to the present in next to no time at all. And, half in an effort to keep moving forward, I hurry to head back down the stairs to grab it, knowing that Bella will not be very likely to budge from her room at all.
"Swan residence—"
"Emmy?"
"—Cass?"
"Oh my God, it is you!" The caller exclaims, the volume of the words prompting me to pull the phone back from my ear just a bit, while a startled smile pulls at both corners of my mouth, "Mom and Dad said you were back, but I didn't believe it!"
"And I'm guessing my dad told them?"
"That's small town gossip for ya, baby."
"Baby?" I repeat, unable to fully resist the laugh that bubbles up in response to the term of endearment coming from who is probably one of my oldest friends. I honestly should have known she would find out I was back in Forks sooner, rather than later, given her mother's almost supernatural ability to know the ins and outs of every single one of the lives of our small city's inhabitants. But regardless of whether I missed the obvious or not, I would be a fool to pretend hearing Cassandra Newton's voice on the other end of the line is not a far greater relief than I probably deserve.
"Would you prefer another nickname, instead?"
"I think that would depend on the nickname—"
"Sexy Mama? Hot Stuff?"
"Okay, that's enough of that."
"Speak for yourself," Cass laughs, the sound a welcome one even in spite of the roll of the eyes I give as a direct result of her antics, "I'm just getting started."
"Why am I not surprised?"
"Maybe because you just know me too well."
"That's definitely it," I agree, turning to lean against the nearby door frame, and twirling a part of the phone cord around my finger not long after, "I'm glad we finally came to a conclusion we can both get behind."
"Oh shut up."
"You love me and you know it."
"Do I, though?"
"You damn well should!" Cass enthuses, the words a little muffled, given the sudden influx of thuds and a muted oath as well, "Ow, damn—"
"What exactly are you doing right now, Cass?" I inquire, some small part of me hoping to use the distraction presented by the thuds on the other end of the line as a means of avoiding the eventual questions my friend may have as to the reason for my return home, "Because it kinda sounds like you're bringing your apartment down around your ears right now."
"I may or may not be attempting to reorganize the kitchen cupboards."
"Sounds like it's going well."
"It would be going a lot better if I had my best friend over here to help me."
"Is that a hint?"
"What do you think?"
The predictable nature of the response has me grinning again, even if I know that I have absolutely zero intention of leaving home—of leaving my sister on her own, right now, regardless of how Cassie may beg for me to come join her. And even if I do realize declining the implied offer of an invitation to her place will only provoke her concern, I still force myself to opt for an at least partially honest reply.
"I think we need to set up something, soon."
"Not today?"
"You can't have possibly missed me that much—"
"What's really going on over there, Ems?" Cassie presses, all traces of humor and teasing now absent from her tone as she allows concern to take over, instead, "Listen, I was talking to Mike, and he said that Bella—"
"Bella's fine," I cut in, hoping that the assertion is at least somewhat convincing, even with the small flare of distaste that bubbles up at the thought of my sister's supposed friend clearly having no qualms about discussing her status at will, "Listen, Cass, I'll call you with a date to hang soon, but I've gotta go."
"As long as you really do call. I'm not above staking out your house, and pouncing the minute you step out of the front door."
"I'll call."
Cass seems to take my words at face value, and the line disconnects not long after, the reprieve that I am still not honestly certain I want allowing me to exhale in a rush as I replace the phone in its cradle, and allow my head to drop back to rest against the wall behind me. I would be lying if I were to pretend that a part of me did not wish I could be more open with Cass. That her own interactions with Bella over the years, and countless summers spent roaming the city, or lazing on the beach could be pooled together with my own to help her.
Knowing my sister as I do, though, I am well-aware of how reluctant she is to share her innermost thoughts and feelings with just anyone. I know she will not want her sorrow over Edward Cullen broadcast for the whole world.
Whether I want to be or not, I am well and truly alone in this, at least for the time-being…
A reality that has me praying fervently that my own attempts at pulling Bella out of her funk will be enough.
…
Hello, darling readers! And welcome to another new chapter in Emily's tale! I'd initially planned to have one more scene in this particular installment involving Garrett, as I've decided to bring him in earlier in the story than they did in canon, but I felt that ending it here made more sense (and made things a little less jumpy as a result, at least in theory?), so he will for sure be showing up the next time around, instead! With that said, I truly hope I haven't disappointed anyone too much, and that this chapter isn't too boring as a result. My intent, here, was to introduce a little more of Emily as far as her relationships with Charlie and Bella go, as well as giving her an older OC friend tied to an existing canon character, too, so she can have friends of her own outside of Bella's sphere. But now that we've set that up, I feel confident that we can begin moving forward, and things should hopefully start to pick up from here!
As always, my heartfelt thanks go out to each and every one of you that has taken the time to read, follow, favorite and review this story so far (and special thanks to agabriellafigueiredo and Guest for leaving such kind feedback the last time around)! I truly do appreciate the support, and I hope you all enjoy this chapter, filler though it may be, as much as the last!
~FireAndBlood1415