(Leah)
By the time Mike got home, it was already dark.
Not Forks dark, that happened around four in the afternoon, but real night. The kind where the house settled into itself, the wind brushing against the walls like it was testing them, the forest outside breathing slow and deep.
I was already in his bed.
Not asleep. Just waiting.
His room smelled like him; soap, wood, the smell of the forest clung to everything he owned, but I guess I was the same now. The window was cracked open, curtains shifting lazily with the breeze. I lay on my side, chin propped on my hand, listening for his car.
When I finally heard it crunch into the gravel, I exhaled.
The front door opened and closed quietly. Too quietly.
That was the first red flag.
His footsteps were slow as he made his way up the stairs, none of his usual careless noise, none of the absentminded humming or muttering. When he pushed the bedroom door open, he paused like he hadn't expected me to be there.
Then his shoulders sagged.
"Hey," I said softly.
He looked exhausted. Not physically; Mike didn't really do physically exhausted anymore, but emotionally wrung out. His jaw was tight, eyes dulled, like he'd been replaying something over and over in his head and losing every time.
I sat up, pulling the blanket higher around myself. "How'd it go?"
He didn't answer right away. He crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together so tightly his knuckles looked pale.
"…bad," he said finally.
That single word carried way too much weight.
I shifted closer. "Bad how?"
And then he started talking.
He told me about the party. About the Cullens' house, the cake, the gifts. About how careful he'd been, hovering like a paranoid parent, watching Bella's every move.
And then he told me about the blood.
How Bella bled because he scratched her accidentally.
And how the smell had set Edward off, enough to send Carlisle flying through a window in order to get his fangs on Bella.
The way the whole thing had detonated in seconds.
His voice stayed steady at first, like he was just listing facts, but I could hear the cracks underneath. The anger turned inward, sharp and vicious.
"It's my fault," he said, staring at the floor. "If I hadn't interfered, if I hadn't kept trying to meddle."
He laughed once, bitter and hollow. "I thought I was helping. I thought I was being careful."
I watched him spiral, watched the way his shoulders curled in on themselves like he was trying to make himself smaller, easier to blame.
"I shouldn't have been there," he went on. "I shouldn't have touched her. I shouldn't have…"
I slapped him hard.
The sound cracked through the room, sharp and final.
His head snapped to the side. He stared at me, stunned, one hand flying up to his cheek.
"What the hell?" he said. "Leah! Why did you do that?"
I didn't answer.
I just slapped him again, right across the other cheek, the one he wasn't covering.
"Still don't understand?" I asked calmly.
His eyes were wide now, more shocked than angry. I raised my hand again, letting him see it, feel the threat of it hanging there.
He lifted both hands in surrender. "Alright, alright! I get it!"
I raised an eyebrow, waiting.
He swallowed, then sighed. "I shouldn't blame myself for things I can't control," he said. "I can't predict every outcome. I'm not responsible for everyone else's instincts."
I slapped him again.
He groaned. "Ow! Why?!"
Because sometimes people needed to be snapped out of their own heads.
I burst out laughing before I could stop myself. "Wow," I said, shaking my head. "Now I understand why you like slapping my ass so much."
He blinked.
Then he laughed too, tension breaking like a snapped wire.
"Oh, that's what this is about?" he said, grinning despite himself.
Before I could react, he lunged forward, tackling me back against the bed. The mattress bounced as his weight pinned me down, his hands bracketing my shoulders.
"I'll have to pay you back for those slaps then," he said, voice light again, eyes finally alive.
"Try it," I shot back, pushing at him.
We wrestled, laughing, limbs tangled, the heaviness finally bleeding out of the room. His laugh was warm against my neck, familiar and grounding, and for the first time since he walked in, he felt here again.
Not stuck in the past. Not drowning in guilt.
Just Mike.
And I held onto that, because sometimes all you could do was knock sense into the people you loved… and then remind them they weren't alone.
…
Wednesday, September 14, 2005
(Mike)
If you ignored everything that mattered, the day was completely normal.
Forks High looked the same under its eternal blanket of gray. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. Teachers droned on about things no one cared about. Lockers slammed, laughter echoed, gossip slithered through the hallways like it always did.
Teenagers being teenagers.
I moved through it all on autopilot.
People talked around me, about homework, about the party rumors that had already mutated into something unrecognizable. Some complained about not being invited, some gossiped about how "something definitely happened at the Cullens' house," but no one actually knew anything. Not really.
I didn't bother to correct them.
What was the point?
It wasn't until lunch that I felt the difference.
The cafeteria smelled like overcooked fries, disinfectant, and wet clothes drying badly. Trays clattered. Someone shouted across the room. A milk carton exploded somewhere behind me.
And then I saw Bella.
She was sitting at the Cullen table all alone.
That stopped me cold for half a second.
The Cullens' table was usually a study in controlled perfection; empty seats with invisible "reserved" signs, golden heads bent together, their little bubble of untouchable calm. Now it looked wrong. Too big. Too quiet.
Bella sat with her shoulders slightly hunched, hands wrapped around an untouched tray. Her gaze was unfocused, fixed on nothing, like she was waiting for something that wasn't coming.
Edward's seat was empty.
So were the rest of theirs.
So I didn't hesitate.
I grabbed my tray and crossed the cafeteria, ignoring the looks that followed me. A few whispers trailed behind; "Isn't that Mike?" "Is he allowed to sit there?," but I didn't care.
I dropped into the seat beside her.
She startled slightly, then relaxed when she realized it was me.
"Oh," she said softly. "Hey."
"Hey," I replied.
Up close, she looked worse. Pale in that quiet, exhausted way. Eyes shadowed. Like she hadn't slept, or like sleep hadn't helped.
I glanced around the empty table. "So… where's Edward?" I asked. "And the rest of them?"
The moment the words left my mouth, I knew.
Her mouth trembled just barely.
Wrong question.
"I haven't seen him," she said, voice thin. "Since yesterday."
My stomach sank.
She stared down at her hands. "I tried calling Alice. She answered, but she didn't really… say anything. Just that Edward hadn't come back yet. That I shouldn't worry. That he would come around…"
She swallowed. "But that's all. She didn't even say they weren't coming today."
The noise of the cafeteria faded into something distant and dull.
Bella drew a slow breath, then whispered, "It's my fault, isn't it?"
I stiffened.
"If I wasn't so clumsy," she went on, voice cracking, "if I hadn't tripped…"
Oh hell no.
For half a second, Leah's solution flashed through my mind.
A sharp slap. Reset button. Brutal honesty.
Then I looked at Bella. At her fragile human bones. At my hands; big, way too big, definitely not calibrated for corrective violence.
Yeah. No.
I cleared my throat instead. "You know," I said carefully, "I spent most of last night thinking the exact same thing."
She looked up at me, surprised.
"I blamed myself," I admitted. "Thought if I hadn't interfered, if I hadn't been hovering, if I hadn't touched you at all, none of it would've happened."
Her brows knit together.
"Then Leah slapped me," I added.
She blinked. "She… what?"
"Yeah," I said. "She slapped some sense into my head, thrice."
Bella stared.
"She called it therapy," I continued solemnly. "Very hands-on approach."
I hesitated, then nodded toward her. "You want to try it?"
Her eyes widened instantly. She slapped both hands over her cheeks and stared at me in horror, then glanced pointedly at my hands.
"Oh god, no," she said quickly. "You'd probably kill me with those bear hands of yours."
I snorted. "Yeah, that was my conclusion too."
That got a small laugh out of her.
Just a breath of one, but it was real.
Her shoulders loosened a fraction. The tight knot in her expression eased, just a little. For one brief moment, sitting there with cafeteria noise crashing back in around us, it felt…
Normal.
Things were definitely not fixed. Hell, they weren't even a bit better.
But now they felt… survivable.
And I'd take that.
…
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