Title: Escape From Darkness
Pairing: Jacob/oc
Status: In-Progress
Genre: Angst/Romance/Hurt & Comfort/AU
Rating: M
Summary: During Eclipse, a new girl; Raegan moves to LaPush to live with her grandmother because she was caught doing drugs by her mother. Jacob battles with his feelings for Bella and Raegan.
DISCLAIMER: I do not own the rights to the Twilight Saga and it's characters. This is purely artistic fiction drawn in inspiration from Stephenie Meyer's words.
Twitter Username : cerealgobinn
Chapter 1 - Fresh Start
Raegen's Point of View
The rhythm of the music pulsed in my ears through my earbuds, tuning out the reality of what was happening around me. It was a small comfort, one I clung to as my mom gripped the steering wheel of her grey Toyota, her knuckles firm, white and steady in anger—anger at me.
My mom had driven me from New York City, all the way to LaPush, because I was being sent to live here. I was in the midst of facing the consequences of my own choices. As we crested a small hill, the trees parted like curtains to reveal LaPush, the ocean sprawling beyond the horizon. I glanced away from the window, the blue waves sparkling under the sun, and turned my gaze to my mom. She was staring straight ahead, her lips set in a tight line that revealed nothing.
Guilt tugged at my conscience, but I shoved it back down with another thump of the bass from my playlist that played on a loop on my ipod. The winding road twisted through the heart of LaPush, and we passed quaint houses adorned with totem poles and gardens bursting with colour. I could see the mist rolling off the forests, filling the air with a salty aroma that mixed strangely with the scent of the pine trees.
There were children playing along the beach, shirtless, muscular, russet skin boys walking along the road, teenagers running down the street, the unmistakable sound of laughter threading into the air. For them, the day was a promise; for me, it was an impending sentence.
"Are you going to say anything?" My mom broke the silence, her voice soft but laced with an edge I hadn't heard in a while.
I yanked my earbuds out, the world suddenly amplifying with its sounds.
"What's there to say?" I muttered in a tone that was more sullen than defiant.
She sighed, a deep, weary exhale that seemed to fill the car.
"I just thought you might want to talk about it. You know... before you get to Grandma's."
"Talk about what?" I snapped back, resentment bubbling over.
"About how you're sending me away because I made a mistake? Because I wanted to chill for a second?"
"It's not just about the weed, Reagen." she insisted, glancing at me briefly before focusing back on the road.
"It's about your choices, about you not being honest with me, and what that might mean. I don't want to lose you to this... this lifestyle. The lifestyle and your friends in New York and your choices… they weren't healthy."
"Or safe." She added quietly.
The truth struck me hard, but I let it bounce off me as I turned back to the window, watching the view outside that was vastly different from my view in New York City—trees that towered like giants and clouds, low-hanging, offering a sense of intimacy I hadn't felt in a while. For a moment, my heart squeezed with a mix of longing and anger.
Did she even care how I felt about moving in with my grandmother?
"What about you? You just want to pawn me off on someone else! Pawn me off on Grandma so you can live peacefully without me?" I accused, swallowing hard against the sting of tears.
"You think leaving me in the middle of nowhere—in LaPush will fix anything?" I said, this time my voice louder, full of anger.
"I'm trying to keep you safe. LaPush is different; there's a community there, family, things you need. It's not a punishment." Her voice wavered, and I could hear the tremor of concern beneath it.
"Please understand, I wouldn't do this if I didn't think it would help."
The sharpness in the air faded, leaving a dull ache that reminded me of how lost I felt. I wasn't sure if I was ready to embrace LaPush—the place I was being sent to, until I finished high school. I remembered that Grandma's house had always smelled like lavender, and she had a garden that I'd loved as a child, but now it felt like the place I was going to was more of a prison than a sanctuary.
We pulled up in front of the familiar wooden house, with white panelling, and a small porch. It stood against the backdrop of ancient trees that felt capable of swallowing it whole. My chest tightened with an unexpected wave of nostalgia, but my stomach also started to churn more heavily and drop all at once and I felt like I was going to throw up my lunch. I felt sick.
As a kid, I used to have so much fun here, but now, years later, LaPush was an unknown entity to me. I didn't know this place like I'd used to and I barely remebred my old friends from here, that I'd met as a kid when I'd visit. I'd be alone here.
My grandma and mom are Quileute but my dad hadn't been. Although, I didn't remeber much of him. I'd alsways lived with my mom, for as long as I could remember. LaPush was a place where my heritage used to be celebrated when I visited as a kid. The sense of community in LaPush had always seemed so unmatched and abundant.
The Quileute people, with their deep connection to the land and their ancient stories, were so beautiful to me. My grandma and the legends she'd tell always felt so visceral to me, and full of history and loyalty. But now, I felt like an outsider, I'd lived in New York for so long that coming back to my roots just felt like a cruel punishment.
My mom parked the car and I stepped out of the Toyota, finally free of the conversation with my mom, yet feeling more captive than before, as my feet hit the dirt road and I realized how far from home I really was. My stomach felt as if it had suddenly dropped to my feet and I felt immensely sick all at once; my hands felt sweaty, my head felt groggy, my legs felt weak.
I wasn't supposed to be here.
"Just give it a chance, okay?" Mom said, her voice hopeful as she parked the car and stepped out behind me.
I nodded and pulled my arms up to wrap around my waist where my stomach felt wrong. Instead of looking back at my mom, I turned to face the rhythm of the ocean that sat before the house, trying to find solace in its relentless waves. Perhaps I would learn to find a piece of myself here, to reconnect with this wild, untamed land that had once felt like home.
It would take time—both to find my footing and to forgive my mom for what I perceived as a betrayal—but I knew deep down that she was doing what she thought was best for me. Because, of course, she didn't know what I was really going through and I'm the one who made the mistake of deciding to smoke weed and get caught with it..
Not only did I smoke weed in New York, I popped percs – prescribed pain medicine – and I drank too much liquor and smoked cigarettes every once in a while. My mom only caught me smoking weed though—but that had been enough for her. It was enough to shatter our life in New York City as I knew it, lead her to scramble for a solution to my "corrupted life" and she decided sending me to LaPush would shield me from the seductive allure of New York City's underbelly, the drugs, nightlife and friends that I had made.
I didn't do drugs thoughtlessly though. I did drugs with a specific intent, purpose. My depression had been a constant companion, a heavy cloak I couldn't seem to shed. It had driven me to seek solace in the fleeting highs of drugs, a desperate attempt to find even a sliver of happiness in the vast emptiness I felt. The pills, the cigarettes and the weed had brought a semblance of euphoria, a brief escape from the relentless gnawing sadness inside my head.
When I popped a perc, drank or smoked some weed, finally, for just a second, my head felt empty, and all my worries faded away. My emotions, normally a rollercoaster, constantly forcing me to feel sudden highs and vast lows, evened out and the drugs left me feeling calm, tranquil and at peace for once. And, I revelled in the feeling, the escape, the elusion of happiness, even if it was just temporary.
I first got percocets prescribed by my doctor after I'd gotten my wisdom teeth removed. The way those pills took away my depression was unmatched to any substance I'd ever used before. After I finished my bottle of pain meds that I'd been prescribed, I sought out my weed dealer for the same pills and from then on, my drug abuse only intensified.
But my escapes with drugs were short-lived. My mom, her face a mask of worry and disappointment, announced my exile one day when she caught me smoking weed in my bedroom. She said I'd be moving in with my grandma in LaPush, a remote town on the Olympic Peninsula, far away from the temptations of city life. The news hit me like a physical blow, a confirmation of my failure, my inability to cope with the pressures of life and the rollercoaster in my head.
"Are you coming, Reagen?" My mom asked sternly, pulling me out of my thoughts.
I uncurled my arms from around my stomach and walked to the back of my mom's Toyota and grabbed my duffel bag and backpack from the back seats. My bags felt heavy in my arms, each item a testament to the life I was leaving behind. My mom, her face etched with a mixture of sadness and resolve, carried a suitcase of mine up the porch steps of the small white-panelled house that sat beside the ocean.
I followed her, my stomach churning with the realization that this was my new reality. I'd be living here until I finished high school, trapped in a place that felt a million miles from everything I knew.
My mom's silhouette loomed in front of me, blocking the light as she knocked on the door. My hand gripped the strap of my duffel bag, each passing moment intensifying my unease. It felt like I was being sent into exile, and my past life—the parties, the laughter, the fleeting highs—dissolved behind me like the waves crashing onto the shore. I wouldn't miss the noise, I told myself. I wouldn't miss the chaos. But deep down, I knew I would. Immensely.
When my grandma opened the door, I was greeted by the warmth of her smile and the familiar scent of lavender that clung to her like a comforting blanket. Her skin was a light brown, and worn but beautiful, creased from years of laughter and wisdom.
"Oh, sweetheart!" she exclaimed, enveloping me in a tight embrace that felt worlds away from the cold judgment I'd faced back in New York.
"Welcome! I've been waiting for you!"
Inside, the house was small but bursting with character. Seashells adorned the windowsill, and worn, colorful throw blankets were draped over mismatched chairs. The small house, filled with the comforting aroma of woodsmoke and simmering stew, felt strangely welcoming. It was a stark contrast to the concrete jungle that I had called home.
My grandma's house felt more like a cocoon than a prison, yet the walls seemed to close in when I thought of what lay ahead: a life stripped of the only coping mechanisms I had found; drugs.
As I looked out the window at the vast expanse of the ocean, its endless horizon stretching towards the unknown, a small part of me wondered if maybe, just maybe, this exile could be the beginning of something new. The chance to heal, to confront my demons, and perhaps, to finally find the happiness I sought so desperately. The road ahead was uncertain, but the ocean, in its endless expanse, offered a silent promise of hope, a whispered invitation to embrace a new chapter.
But my past temptations would no doubt find me here…when the burdens of my depression become too much… when my craving for an escape, a brief retreat from my head full of suicidal thoughts and self-loathing became too heavy… I knew that's when I'd fall back into my old patterns.
Hope only lasts so long in someone whose mind is working against them.
My grandma led me to my new bedroom, the bedroom that's be mine—until I finished highschool. I took in the old wooden floors creaking beneath my feet, each sound filling me with nostalgia and dread. My stomach continued to work against me, churning, hurting and pulling me down with the weight of the consequences of my choices in New York City.
"This will be your room." Grandma said, gesturing toward the small room nestled at the back of the one story house before she walked back to the living room where my mother sat.
I stepped inside, pulling my suitcase behind me while balancing my two bags on my arms as I entered, before dropping all my bags in my new room, my heart sinking further. It felt like stepping into a box; the twin bed, the humble bookshelf with a handful of dusty, forgotten books, and a dresser that seemed to have seen better days.
I missed my life in New York—the sprawling expanse of my room, my queen-sized bed, and the full-length mirror that I had. Now, my room in New York felt like a fading dream. I was here now, in LaPush, and it wasn't a nightmare, it was real.
Tears pricked at my eyes, a raw ache blossoming in my chest. I missed the anonymity of the city, the endless possibilities that felt so far away now. I missed my friends, my routine, the life I'd built, piece by painstaking piece, even if it was chatoic and messy and now it was all crumbling beneath the weight of my actions.
But I wouldn't cry. Not yet. Not now. Instead, I swallowed the rising tide of emotion, replacing it with a wall of stoic anger. It was a fragile defence, but it was all I had. I could cry later, in the quiet of the night, when the house was still and the only witness was the sliver of the moon peeking through the window.
I walked around the small room, taking in my new space. The only thing that I liked about my room was the expansive window that filled the small room with so many rays of sunlight. It brought me a small shred of joy in this unknown, far-away place.
I slowly started to fill the small dresser with my clothes and amidst the quiet, the lack of car horns and the usual soothing city sounds that usually eased me, filling my mind with white noise, the echoes of my own thoughts started to fill the emptiness of the mundane activity, reminding me of the choices I'd made.
The anger, a shield I wore, began to crack a little. I was trapped between being angry at my mother and being angry at myself, and then there was the stomach-churning, growing feeling of sadness that was becoming harder and harder to ignore.
This pain. It hurt. It hurt so much.
My insides felt as if they were clawing at me. My guilt, my anger, my shame, and my disappointment in myself all suddenly felt like too much and I dropped to the floor and sat with my arms wrapped around me and my knees tucked to my chest, beside the dresser that I was previously filling with my clothes.
Tears started to pool in my eyes, and I was about to let them fall down my cheeks before I remembered that if I let one tear escape—a flood would ensue. So, I quickly turned my growing, confining sadness, and grief into anger, resentment at my mom and impatience at my quickly changing emotions.
Anger was a mask I wore often—to cover my hurt.
I angrily shoved the rest of my clothes into the dresser, put my bags and suitcase under my bed and walked into the living room to say goodbye to my mom before she left back to New York.
When I entered the living room, I saw only my grandma though. Something immediately felt off. I frantically looked around the room for my mom but she wasn't there. I looked back at my grandma and she had a sad look in her eyes, a look that mirrored the ache blooming in my chest.
"No!" The word escaped my lips before I could stop it, raw and sharp with disbelief.
I ran to the window, my heart hammering against my ribs, and scanned the gravel road that snaked through the woods bordering our small LaPush home. My mom's Toyota, the familiar gray that had always been a comforting sight, was gone. Her car was gone—she was gone.
A wave of nausea washed over me, a cold dread settling in the pit of my stomach. My mom had left me. She left me without a goodbye, without the comfort of a hug. My mom, who had always been my anchor, my protector, my confidante… at least until I'd become a depressed, self destructing, withdrawn shell of myself and started doing drugs—-was simply… gone.
Tears stung my eyes, hot and unwelcome. My mind raced, trying to grasp at straws, coming up with one agonizing explanation after another. Was she that ashamed of me? Was a goodbye too much for her to handle? Had she really been so ready to get rid of me? Or maybe, just maybe, she was too heartbroken to bear saying goodbye. Was she leaving because of the pain of me being her child or because she couldn't face the sadness of leaving?
And now, I'd never get a goodbye.
The thought pierced me like a shard of ice. My stomach dropped, and I felt sick with a mixture of grief, confusion, and profound loneliness. I was alone. I was utterly and completely alone in LaPush. My hand was pressed against the window, as I stared at the empty spot where my mom's car had just been thirty minutes ago.
I looked over to my grandma, her face etched with sorrow, approached me, her arms outstretched. I knew she would comfort me, try to bandage the gaping wound in my heart. But even her loving presence couldn't fully alleviate the crushing weight of abandonment that settled over me.
But still, I walked into her open arms and breathed in her lavender scent and felt comforted in her warm, gentle, soft grip as I held back tears whilst quietly getting mad at the pounding ache in my chest that wouldn't relent.
My mom was gone—and the world as I knew it felt like it had shattered into a million pieces. I lived in LaPush now. And, everything here would be so much different from my life before I came here.
I'd never felt more vulnerable. I'd never felt more alone. And the darkness inside me was threatening to swallow me whole.
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