ECHOES OF A NAME
The ride home was tense, the cab of the truck filled with unspoken tension. Bella hadn't noticed his disappearance earlier, nor did she question why he had been walking from the far side of the school. Her focus was elsewhere, wrapped tightly around her own thoughts. She didn't hide her irritation—her movements were sharp, the press of her fingers on the steering wheel leaving little half-moons in the vinyl.
Sirreth, however, couldn't focus on her. His mind was caught in an endless loop, dragging him back through the journal entries, the fragmented memories they had unearthed. Each word seemed etched into his mind, a weight that gnawed through him like teeth on raw bone. His chest felt constricted, breaths shallow, as the phrases spilt over themselves in a tangle of guilt and bitterness.Raul. The name scalded his thoughts. He was barely present, his gaze unfocused on the road stretching ahead.
Bella's words—if she spoke at all—were muted, lost beneath the static that filled his head. Even the rumble of the truck's engine felt too loud, the vibrations against the floor rattling through his overly sensitive skin. Everything felt too much, yet he was trapped, spiralling deeper into himself, unable to claw his way out.
The effects of the cigarettes slowly wore off, leaving behind a dull ache in his chest and a sharper awareness that he wished he could dull again. But the same entry pulled at his thoughts, sinking deeper into him like claws.
"Raul's touch is too much. I don't want him close anymore."
The words felt as if they'd been carved into his mind, replaying in a relentless loop. The memory of writing them was faint, blurred at the edges, yet the emotion in the words was sharp enough to draw blood. He could feel the tremor in his hand that must have held the pen, the way the letters had slanted into chaos by the end. The weight of it suffocated him now, pressing into his ribs with every turn of Bella's truck.
He didn't notice her glance toward him or the way her lips parted as if to ask a question before stopping herself. If she spoke, he didn't hear it—didn't want to hear it. His thoughts were too loud, and the journal's phantom pages refused to close.
The night was worse.
The moment Sirreth stepped into the house, he moved with a hollow determination, his footsteps heavy as though each step dragged him deeper into the weight of his thoughts. He bypassed Bella without a word, his focus narrowed to one goal: the shower.
The bathroom door clicked shut behind him, but the sound barely registered. He peeled off his clothes mechanically, dropping them to the floor like they were something foreign, something tainted. Steam billowed around him as he stepped under the scalding spray, the water hitting his skin with an intensity that should have hurt. It didn't.
He stood there, unmoving, letting the water stream over him. It plastered his hair to his face, pooled along his collarbones, and seared down his back, but he didn't adjust it. His arms hung limp at his sides, his chest barely rising with each shallow breath. He didn't close his eyes, didn't blink away the drops running into them, didn't flinch when the heat prickled at his skin.
His mind was elsewhere, tangled in the journal's words that refused to let go.
"Raul's touch is too much. I don't want him close anymore."
The sentence played on a loop, relentless, the emotions behind it scraping raw against his already frayed thoughts. The memory of the pen in his hand, trembling as he wrote those words, felt closer than the water against his skin. And now, here he stood, letting the words take shape again, haunting him with their weight.
It loomed over him, like a shadow in the fogged room, cold despite the heat. The grip of it was suffocating, pressing against his neck, his shoulders, his very breath. He didn't react, though. He didn't fight it, didn't scream, didn't cry. He just stood there, motionless, as the water ran over him, soaking him, consuming him.
At some point, Sirreth found himself downstairs, though the memory of leaving the bathroom was absent, like so many other moments slipping through his mind. His damp curls were a messy, tangled heap atop his head, water droplets trailing lazily down his neck. He wore an oversized shirt—probably Charlie's—that hung loose on his frame, its hem brushing against his thighs as it soaked up the lingering dampness from his skin.
The kitchen table was a chaos of open textbooks, crumpled worksheets, and bright sticky notes, their neon edges peeking out like desperate reminders. He sat hunched over the clutter, his bare feet tucked beneath him on the chair, his hands fumbling with a pen that seemed to move without purpose. The oversized sleeves of his shirt hung low, nearly obscuring his fingers as they gripped the pen tightly, tapping it rhythmically against the edge of a notebook.
He couldn't focus. The words on the pages blurred, fading in and out of clarity as his gaze drifted. He stared at a math problem he'd reread five times, his pen still poised to answer, though no numbers came to mind.
He pressed harder with the pen, scrawling a jagged line across the margin of his notebook. The scratch of ink against paper was sharp in the otherwise silent room, but it wasn't enough to drown out the phantom grip around his throat or the memories gnawing at his mind.
The oversized shirt, the homework, the tapping of his pen—it was all an attempt to ground himself, to pull himself from the ever-tightening grip of his thoughts. But it wasn't working. The air felt too thick, the light too harsh, the silence too loud.
That was until Bella came down, her quiet entrance startling him. Sirreth's pen stilled against the paper as he looked up at her, his wide, unreadable gaze meeting hers. She paused near the doorway, her arms crossed loosely over her chest, a tension in her posture that didn't quite match her calm exterior.
"I think I want to confront him," she said abruptly, her voice low but firm.
Sirreth blinked, the weight of her words hanging in the air between them. He didn't respond, just stared at her, his expression blank but his confusion evident in the way his fingers loosened their hold on the pen. Confront who? The thought was there, but his mind felt too distant, too fogged by the journal's words to ask it aloud.
Bella hesitated, her eyes searching his face for something—anything—that might tell her he understood. But the way he looked at her, quiet and detached, made it clear. He didn't know.
She sighed, the sound soft but heavy like she'd been carrying the weight of the day alone. "Hold on," she murmured, more to herself than to him.
Moving with a calm deliberateness, she stepped into the kitchen. Sirreth didn't watch her leave; his gaze fell back to the papers in front of him, but he didn't see them. The faint hum of the coffee machine filled the silence, punctuated by the occasional clink of a spoon or the drip of brewing coffee.
A few minutes later, Bella returned, setting a mug down in front of him with a soft thud. The steam rose gently, curling into the cool air, and the warmth of the ceramic seeped into his fingertips as his hand brushed against it. She sat across from him, settling into the chair with her mug in hand.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Bella sipped her coffee, her gaze flickering between him and the table before her features softened. "You don't know what I'm talking about, do you?" she asked, her tone quieter now, almost resigned.
Sirreth looked at her, his face giving nothing away, but the silence that followed was enough of an answer. Bella sighed again, leaning back in her chair as she tucked her legs underneath her.
Bella shifted slightly in her chair, wrapping her hands tighter around her mug before she started again, her voice quieter but more direct. "You know who the Cullens are, right?"
The name struck a chord, faint but insistent, tugging Sirreth's thoughts in an unexpected direction. Carlisle.
Charlie's voice echoed in his mind, laced with quiet admiration. He had spoken of the doctor before, describing him as a man of unmatched skill and compassion. Charlie had always seemed certain, almost reverent, when he talked about Carlisle Cullen, the doctor who had stepped in when no one else could, who had done what others deemed impossible.
Sirreth's gaze dropped, his curls slipping damply into his eyes as he tried to process the memory. Bella's words swirled around him, laced with curiosity, each one leading back to that name.The Cullens. Slowly, Sirreth nodded, his movements deliberate, as though too much haste might shatter the fragile threads of his thoughts.
His fingers brushed the ceramic mug in front of him, its lingering warmth bleeding into his palms. He brought it closer, letting the heat seep into his skin, grounding him, pulling him back to the present even as the name tugged him deeper into the past.
Carlisle.
It wasn't just Charlie's voice that lingered. It wasn't just Bella's questions. Carlisle's name was more than familiar—it was written in his own words.
The journal. The one he'd found not long ago, tucked beneath his locker like a forgotten relic. Its pages had been filled with fragmented thoughts, and messy scribbles that mirrored his fractured mind. Somewhere within those chaotic entries, he had written about Carlisle.
Bella watched him for a moment, then continued, her voice steady but laced with the faint incredulity she'd been carrying all evening. "Jess told me about them. You know, the way they're all adopted, but..." She hesitated, as if unsure how to phrase it, then sighed and pressed on. "They all date each other. Except Edward."
Sirreth lifted the mug, the steam curling against his face as he took a slow sip. Her words settled over him, piecing together a narrative he didn't entirely know what to do with. He didn't react visibly, but internally, the familiarity of Carlisle's name gnawed at him. It lingered like a phantom sensation.
Bella leaned forward slightly, her fingers drumming absently on her mug. "It's weird, right? I mean, who does that? And Edward—" she cut herself off, exhaling sharply as her frustration peeked through. "Did you see how he looked at me in biology?"
Sirreth tilted his head slightly, his fingers curling tighter around the ceramic mug. The heat seeped into his palms, grounding him, though the question seemed to hover in the air between them, unanswered. He had seen it, albeit briefly, but he hadn't lingered on it. His thoughts had been elsewhere, spiralling through the journal's words and the lingering shadows of Raul.
Bella misinterpreted his silence as confusion. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table as she spoke more quickly now, her frustration spilling over. "He looked at me like I'd done something—like I'd personally offended him by existing. It was... it was insane." She shook her head, her lips pressing into a thin line.
Sirreth didn't respond, though her words registered faintly, brushing against the edges of his consciousness. The mention of Edward stirred something deeper, something familiar in a way he couldn't place.Carlisle.The connection clicked faintly in his mind—an echo of familiarity—but his focus was too scattered to latch onto it fully.
Bella's gaze dropped to the swirling coffee in her mug as she continued, her tone sharpening with something closer to indignation. "And then—get this—I caught him trying to switch classes. Like,switch classes to get away from me. I saw him arguing with Mrs. Cope about it."
Sirreth blinked, lifting his head slightly, though his expression remained distant. The steam from his mug curled against his face, grounding him just enough to keep listening. Bella's words swirled in his mind, fragmented, like static breaking through an already frayed signal.
"He didn't even try to hide it," Bella pressed on, leaning forward slightly, her frustration breaking through her calm façade. "He looked right at me before he stormed out. LikeIwas the problem." She huffed, shaking her head. "What's his deal? I don't even know him, and he's already treating me like I did something unforgivable."
Sirreth finally shifted, his fingers tightening around his mug as he took a slow sip. He didn't know what to say—if there even was anything to say. Bella sighed, sinking back into her chair as she watched him, her gaze lingering as though waiting for him to offer something. Anything.
But he couldn't.
The next few days felt strange, and disjointed, like a kaleidoscope slowly turning, images coming into sharper focus only to blur in flashes of racing memories. Piece by piece, his world was becoming more lucid, but the clarity came with a weight he couldn't carry.
Bella, on the other hand, was determined. He could see it in the way she moved, her lips pressed into a tight line every morning as she stood by her truck in the school parking lot, her eyes scanning the students milling about. She was waiting for Edward. She made it obvious. But Edward didn't show up. Not once that week.
Her rants didn't stop, though. Every evening, as the house settled into its usual quiet, she would find her way into his space, pacing, arms gesturing, spilling out her frustration and confusion. Words like strange and infuriating punctuated her speeches, and now and then, Cullens slipped in, her tone laced with bewildered anger.
But he didn't understand her.
It wasn't that he didn't try. He listened, or at least he thought he did. He caught fragments of her words—something about the Cullens' odd dynamic, the way Edward looked at her in biology. She was sure it was personal. She was sure he hated her.
Sirreth nodded at the right moments, and kept his head down, a soft hum of acknowledgement here and there, but his mind was elsewhere. The journal, Raul, the injections—they loomed like shadows, gnawing at the edges of his thoughts.
He caught himself one night, staring at Bella as she stood in the kitchen doorway, mid-rant. Her arms were crossed, her fingers drumming against her sleeve as she scowled. He blinked, realizing he hadn't absorbed a word she'd said.
"You didn't hear me, did you?" she said flatly, her voice cutting through the haze.
He shook his head, almost imperceptibly.
She sighed, her shoulders dropping as she looked away, muttering, "Never mind." But she didn't leave. Instead, she lingered, leaning against the doorway, her gaze fixed somewhere over his shoulder.
He turned back to the worksheets spread across the table, the neon sticky notes blurring together under the kitchen light. The pen in his hand tapped absently against the wood. Bella started talking again, softer this time, recounting something about biology class.
He wasn't sure why, but he found himself paying attention—not to her words, exactly, but to the way her fingers curled against her arm, the slight tremble in her voice when she said Edward's name.
By the time Friday arrived, Bella's frustration had finally softened into something quieter, less sharp. It wasn't gone, but it had settled enough that she didn't seem ready to boil over. When she mentioned running out to pick up groceries, Sirreth surprised her by agreeing to come along.
The drive was uneventful. Bella made a few comments about prices or what Charlie might want for dinner, but mostly, the car hummed with silence. Sirreth walked beside her in the store, hands in his pockets, trailing her as she filled the cart. The ordinariness of it felt strange, almost surreal as if the week's tensions had been tucked away beneath fluorescent lights and checkout counters.
Back home, Bella moved into the kitchen, busying herself with chopping vegetables and seasoning meat, her movements efficient and precise. Sirreth took his usual spot at the kitchen table, his history essay sprawled out before him, pen moving steadily across the page. The air smelled faintly of onions and garlic, mingling with the familiar warmth of home.
Charlie's arrival broke the quiet. Sirreth heard the metallic clink of his gun belt as it was hung by the door, followed by the scrape of boots being kicked off. The sound of the front door shutting was solid, grounding. Moments later, Charlie stepped into the kitchen, his eyes taking in the scene before him.
"Smells good in here," he said, his voice low and gruff, but softened by an underlying warmth.
Bella glanced up from the stove, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Figured I'd make something decent tonight."
Charlie leaned against the counter, crossing his arms as his gaze flickered between the two of them. His expression lightened when his eyes landed on Sirreth, hunched over his paper. "And look at you—finally catching up on schoolwork, huh?"
Sirreth didn't lift his head but gave a faint nod, his focus unbroken.
Charlie chuckled softly, the sound carrying a note of weariness. "It's nice, the three of us being in the same room for a change."
Bella didn't say anything, her hands busy stirring something in a pan, but Sirreth made a soft hum in response, the sound almost imperceptible.
For a moment, the kitchen felt almost alive. The rhythmic chop of the knife, the faint scratch of pen on paper, and the heavy, quiet presence of Charlie leaning against the counter created a strange sort of harmony. It wasn't loud or vibrant, but it was enough—a fleeting sense of wholeness amid the week's chaos.
When dinner was done, the plate sat mostly untouched in front of Sirreth. He hadn't eaten much—he never really did. He pushed the food around his plate with his fork, the rhythmic scrape of metal against porcelain the only sound in the room. The three of them sat in silence, the air thick with an unspoken discomfort until Charlie cleared his throat awkwardly.
"So, uh..." He glanced at Bella, his fingers drumming lightly on the edge of the table. "How's school? Made any friends yet?"
Bella nodded, leaning back in her chair as she twirled her fork idly between her fingers. "Yeah, a few. There's this guy, Mike Newton. He's... friendly." She hesitated, the word weighted as if she was carefully choosing it.
Sirreth didn't look up from his plate, but the mention of Mike Newton stirred a vague recollection. He hadn't noticed him much and couldn't muster the energy to care. The name was just a sound that passed through him, leaving no impression.
As Bella continued to speak, her tone shifted slightly, her curiosity peeking through the cracks in her usual demeanour. "Dad, do you know the Cullens?"
The name hung in the air, pulling Sirreth's attention like a thread snagging on fabric. His fork stilled against the plate, and for a brief moment, his gaze flicked upward. The Cullens.
Charlie leaned back, his expression unreadable as he shrugged. "Yeah, I know of 'em. Dr. Cullen, mostly—Carlisle. Good man. Runs the hospital here."
Bella's eyes narrowed slightly, her fingers tapping against the table. "They're... interesting," she said, her voice cautious, testing the waters. "They've been in Forks a while, right?"
Charlie nodded, his brow furrowing slightly as he looked at her. "Over a year now, I think. Why? Something wrong with them?"
Bella shrugged, resting her chin on her hand as she played idly with the fork on her plate. "Some of the kids think they're weird," she said, her voice casual but probing. "They don't really talk to anyone, and Edward... well, he's different." Her gaze flicked to Sirreth, but he didn't react, his focus now firmly on the untouched food in front of him.
Charlie's expression darkened slightly, his posture stiffening. "Weird or not, that family's done more for this town than most people ever will," he said, his tone carrying a subtle edge of defensiveness.
Bella blinked, taken aback by his reaction. "I didn't mean anything by it," she said quickly, her hands lifting in a gesture of innocence. "It's just what people at school say. I'm curious, that's all."
Charlie leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms as his gaze settled firmly on her. "Dr. Cullen is a good man. Best damn doctor this town's ever seen." He paused, his jaw tightening slightly before continuing, "And, more importantly, he's been the only doctor to help Sirreth."
The words hung heavy in the air. Bella's eyebrows shot up, surprise flickering across her face. "I didn't know that."
"Well, now you do," Charlie replied gruffly, his voice softening as he glanced toward Sirreth. "When no one else could figure out what was wrong, Dr. Cullen stepped in. If it wasn't for him..." He trailed off, the unspoken weight of his words filling the silence.
Bella sat back in her chair, clearly caught off guard. "I guess he must be pretty incredible, then," she murmured, more to herself than anyone else.
Charlie nodded firmly. "He is. And so's his family. People like to talk, especially in a small town like this. You shouldn't pay them any mind."
Sirreth didn't lift his head, his fork frozen in his hand as the conversation rippled through him. Carlisle Cullen. The name carried a sharpness, a connection that tugged uncomfortably at the edges of his thoughts. He didn't say anything, didn't let his face betray the flicker of unease the topic brought.
He just couldn't remember him, not an ounce.
Bella glanced at him, hesitating before she turned back to Charlie. "Still, they're... different. Edward especially."
Charlie gave her a look, his tone resolute. "They're good people. That's all that matters."
The conversation petered out after that, but its weight lingered. Sirreth kept his gaze on his plate, the quiet in the room broken only by the occasional clink of silverware.
The weekend slipped by in a blur, quiet but far from restful. The nights were the worst, filled with nightmares—or were they memories? Sirreth couldn't tell anymore. They twisted together, vague and fragmented, pulling him from sleep just as he thought he might find it.
One of those nights, pacing his room in frustration, his foot caught on something uneven beneath the rug. He froze, then crouched, peeling it back to find a loose floorboard. His fingers pried it up, revealing a small, hidden stash of cigarettes. He stared at them for a moment, the familiar scent of tobacco faint but unmistakable. Without much thought, he pocketed one.
It became a habit after that. When he couldn't sleep—and he rarely could—he'd slip quietly out of the house and head toward the forest that edged the property. The dense trees wrapped him in their shadows, and there, with only the night for company, he'd light up. The first drag always hit sharp and harsh, but the burn steadied him, the smoke filling his lungs and pushing back the storm of thoughts in his head.
The overwhelming sensory chaos from the injection was fading, though not completely. It was like his body was relearning how to exist, inching back toward a tolerable equilibrium. Still, the process left him frayed, his nerves taut like overplayed strings. The cigarettes dulled the edges just enough, quieting the hum in his mind and helping him feel like himself—if only for a moment.
He didn't wander far. Always within the treeline, where the faint glow of the house remained visible through the branches. It was comforting, in its way, knowing it was there even if the silence inside felt like it might swallow him whole. Out in the woods, the cold air biting at his skin, he could breathe.
Yet nothing could have prepared him for Monday.
The morning felt unremarkable at first. The sky hung low with heavy grey clouds, and the first dusting of snow drifted lazily to the ground, melting as soon as it landed. The school parking lot buzzed with the usual chatter of students, voices blending into a familiar cacophony. But then he saw it—him.
The face was unmistakable. A face that had been buried deep in the tangled mess of Sirreth's mind, scratched and blurred beyond recognition until now.
He stood there, surrounded by others, but it didn't matter who. All Sirreth could see was him.
The world seemed to tilt as Sirreth stepped out of the truck. The chatter around him quieted as though the air itself had been sucked from the space. Students turned to stare, their conversations tapering into hushed murmurs. It was as if they were waiting for something—for him to shatter, to break apart before their eyes.
Bella, oblivious to the shift at first, turned toward him, her tone light and distracted. "Sirree, look—" She paused mid-sentence, her brow furrowing as she caught sight of his face. "What's wrong?"
He didn't respond. Couldn't. He stood frozen in place, his breath caught in his throat, his chest tight. His eyes didn't blink, locked on him as the memories began to crash over him in a wave too strong to fight.
It was him. The one he couldn't forget, no matter how much he wanted to. But now there was a face.
Raul.
—
LAST EDITED:22/11/2024