(Bella)
God, I feel like such a cry baby, I bitterly wiped my tears away as I lifted my head from my pillow. All I do is cry anymore. I pushed myself up into a sitting position. I had done nothing but sob heavily since I had raced home as fast as I could in my poor elderly truck. I had fumbled with my house keys and had stumbled up the stairs to throw myself on my bed, not even taking the time to ensure the house was empty as I usually did every time I came home. With red, puffy eyes I lifted my bedside alarm clock to check the time, seeing that it was past noon, confirming that I had been crying for hours. What else is new?
Stupid jerk! I thought angrily, but instantly regretted it. Despite everything, I felt guilty lobbying insults at him. I didn't know him, and I couldn't deny that as mean as he had been, he did have a right to be upset. I was nothing but an outsider, I couldn't blame him for being angry that I was let in on what was probably the biggest secret of his life. It didn't change the fact that my feelings were badly bruised, though. I shook my head, it didn't matter who was right or wrong, there was no way I was going to allow Paul to waste my Sunday. I crawled off of my bed and began to dig through my closet for my art supplies, my folded up easel and tub of paints and brushes, and the half painted canvas I had started last weekend. I set everything up as I usually did in the corner of my room, where the natural light from my window was most optimal.
After I filled my cup with warm sink water and had squeezed various colors of paint onto my pallet, I stood in front of the canvas and assessed it. I had decided to paint the Sonoran desert from back home, bathed in dying sunlight as the first few stars came out from hiding during twilight. It had been based off of a childhood memory, of Renee taking me camping for three days in the desert surrounding Phoenix. It had been… certainly an adventure. I had enjoyed the trip, but it also solidified my disinterest in the outdoors. I loved being out in nature, I just hated sleeping or hiking in it. I'd rather paint or sketch a beautiful picture and then go home. I shook my head and refocused my attention to my art. I mixed the paint, making a light red with orange tint and began adding more highlights and shadows to the mountains I had painted, blending with a dry brush intermittently. My thoughts still swirled in my head, but eventually I was able to lose myself in the canvas, wiling away the hours. By the time the clock read five o'clock, I'd all but finished, simply adding the last few scattered clouds to the sky, the final details to the ghost woman I had painted, lonely and abandoned in the desert. Content with my work, I signed the bottom corner and left the canvas to dry as I gently closed my bedroom door and made my way to the kitchen to start dinner before Charlie was due home.
I had decided on warmed up macaroni and cheese and sauteed chicken breast with steamed broccoli, mostly because I was putting Charlie on a diet due to a slightly elevated blood pressure reading from his recent doctor's visit. He grumbled a lot, but I told him he would thank me later as I had sorted out and got rid of every red meat product we'd had. As I busied myself, I couldn't help but wonder how Jake was doing now, was he being punished because of me? I couldn't bear the thought of it, I racked my brain for any way I could help as I finished dinner and set the table. I doubted it would go over well if I stormed into La Push again like last time.
Charlie came home just as I had sat down to wait for him. I welcomed him back and eyed his face, trying to figure out how his conversation with Billy had gone, are they still friends? He looked troubled, deep in thought, which made me nervous. I didn't know how to broach the subject, at least not tactfully, when Charlie spoke up first.
"My talk with Billy went… well." He began as he fiddled with the serving spoon, absentmindedly.
"Oh, uhm, that's great, dad." I wasn't sure how to proceed but before I could struggle too hard over it, Charlie spoke up again.
"Bella, honey, is there anything…you haven't told me?" He looked up from the spoon but never stopped swirling it.
"Uhm, n-not that I c-can think of…." I really needed to tread carefully here, panic engulfed my brain as I tried to figure out what in all Billy could have possibly told my father.
"But- you would, tell me if there was… anything to tell me, right?"
I swallowed my nerves.
"Bella, I'm your dad, you know you can talk to me about anything, right?"
"Uhm, y-yeah, of-ofcourse…."
"No matter how… crazy you might think it sounds, you'll tell me, right?"
"D-Dad? W-what's on your mind?"
He sighed and put the spoon down.
"Nothing, kid. Just… a goofy old man who had way too many drinks with his best bud. Just- don't pay me any mind. Okay? But, remember that I'm here for you, and that I always will be, promise?"
"Y-yeah, promise, Dad…."
I didn't quite know what to make of the conversation, and mulled it over in my mind as we ate, asking Charlie about the rest of his day, mostly to distract him, but also in the tiny hope that he would give me some kind of hint to what in all he and Billy had discussed. It was futile, he gave me nothing substantial. I could only hope that whatever it had been, Billy had been wise enough to use discretion, he himself should know just how much danger Charlie could be in simply for knowing too much.
After Charlie cleaned the dinner dishes, we watched tv together for awhile, before I finally gave up learning anything more and bid him goodnight, heading upstairs and getting ready for bed. I worried over him as I brushed my teeth and exfoliated. Alarm bells had never stopped blaring in my head, but what can I do about it? The worst thing I could do was accidentally confirm whatever it was he may know about, and I refused to put him in any more danger than I already had. It was bad enough I was trapped in this hell, there was no way I was going to drag my father down with me.
Alone and in bed, I stared at the ceiling in the dark. I thought about everything that had happened during the day, trying to piece together the puzzle pieces. Not that it matters, I'm going to be dead soon anyway. I blew out a frustrated breath and turned towards the wall. I remembered the talk with Jacob, the stand off in the clearing, the cryptic little messages behind almost every word uttered. Then my thoughts turned to the silver wolf. The strange, silver wolf. I had only seen it-well, him- twice and both times I felt like I had been left with more questions than answers. I had to have had another nervous breakdown in the meadow, it made no sense otherwise. That meadow… I shivered. No, I can't go there. I can't. I curled into a ball and squeezed my eyes shut, willing the bad memory to go away. No, no, no! That memory came with baggage, it came with pain, it came with him, everywhere, everywhere. I tightened my arms around myself, willing my mind to clear. Tears welling behind my eyelids… Damn it!
I climbed out of bed and raced down the stairs, for no other reason than that I needed space, and I needed it now. I made it to the door, unlatched the lock and yanked it open, running out of it into the yard. I ran as I felt the shadows chasing me, right on my heels. I ran in the dark, I ran through the trees, I ran, and then I fell. I slowly brought myself to my elbows, about to bring myself to my knees and then my feet, when I looked up and saw a form in the distance. I froze in place, trying to figure out what danger I had put myself in now. When the form stalked closer.