Saturday, October 22, 2005
Charlie's cruiser was already idling when I pulled up, exhaust fogging the cool Forks morning. He had one foot out the door, thermos in hand, jacket half zipped like he had dressed on autopilot. He glanced up when he saw me and his face eased into a tired smile.
"Morning, Mike," he said. "Here to see Bella?"
"Yeah," I replied, shutting my car door. "That's the idea. I'm planning to drag her out of the house. See if I can finally get her out of her funk."
Charlie huffed a breath that might have been a laugh on a better day. "Good luck with that. And hey, thanks. For everything you're doing." He opened the cruiser door the rest of the way. "Now if you'll excuse me, I've gotta get to work."
"Sure," I said. "Don't let me stop you."
He gave a short wave, slid into the driver's seat, and pulled away down the road, leaving behind the low rumble of the engine and the quiet that always clung to this place.
I turned back to the house and knocked once, more out of habit than expectation. Nothing. Not even the shuffle of footsteps.
"Figures," I muttered.
I tried the handle. Unlocked. I pushed the door open and stepped inside.
The living room looked lived in, but in the wrong way. Takeout bags stacked near the trash can. Cardboard containers on the counter. The faint smell of old fries and soy sauce hung in the air.
"Charlie's definitely been cooking," I murmured to myself.
I closed the door behind me and headed upstairs, my steps familiar enough that I didn't have to think about where I was going. Her door was closed. I knocked lightly.
"Bella?" I waited. Nothing.
I knocked again, a little louder. Still nothing.
I could hear her though. And by the rhythm of her breathing I knew she was awake. Or at least not asleep.
"Alright," I said quietly. "We're doing this the hard way."
I grabbed the handle and yanked the door open.
Her room was dim, curtains pulled tight like she was trying to shut the world out. Bella was curled into herself under the covers, facing the wall, dark hair spilling over the pillow. She didn't move, but her breathing hitched just slightly.
I walked over and grabbed the edge of the blanket.
"Rise and shine, Bella!"
I yanked the covers away in one clean pull.
She yelped and lunged for them, fingers scrabbling uselessly at the air. "Mike! Give them back!"
"Nope," I said, holding the blanket out of reach. "You've been cocooning long enough."
She squinted at me, eyes red-rimmed and unfocused, like she hadn't slept properly in weeks. Her voice cracked as she sat up, clutching the pillow to her chest.
"What are you doing here?" she demanded, though it came out more tired than angry.
"Saving you from yourself," I replied. "Or at least trying to."
She glared at me for a second, then dropped her gaze to her lap. Her shoulders sagged. "I'm not going anywhere."
"Yes, you are," I said, softer now. "You don't even have to like it."
She swallowed, blinking hard. "Mike…"
I stepped closer, draped the blanket back over the bed instead of handing it to her. "Get dressed. Five minutes. If you don't, I'm opening the curtains, and neither of us wants that."
She huffed a weak, humorless sound. "You're an ass."
"Yeah," I agreed. "But you're still getting out of this room."
She hesitated, then nodded once, barely there.
"Five minutes," she repeated.
I turned toward the door, giving her what privacy I could. As I stepped into the hallway, I heard her sigh, long and shaky.
It wasn't a victory. Not even close.
But it was a start.
…
When Bella finally came out of her room, I had to stop myself from reacting too fast.
She looked… bad. Not horror-movie bad, not yet, but bad enough that it made something twist uncomfortably in my chest. Her clothes hung looser than they should have, like they belonged to someone else. Her skin looked dull, her eyes too big for her face, shadows clinging stubbornly beneath them. She wasn't a walking corpse, but she was clearly headed in that direction if someone didn't grab the wheel soon.
I must have let something show, because she immediately rolled her eyes.
"What?" she asked, defensive already. "Where are you taking me?"
"First of all," I said, folding my arms, "you look like shit."
"Wow," she muttered. "Good morning to you too."
"Second," I went on, ignoring that, "remember that stupid clearing you're always rambling about? The one where he-who-must-not-be-named took you?"
She froze just a little, then scowled. "He's not Voldemort."
"Then why does his name make you wince every time someone says it?" I shot back without missing a beat. "Edward."
Sure enough, she flinched. It was quick, almost imperceptible, but it was there.
I pointed at her. "See?"
Bella exhaled slowly and crossed her arms, shoulders hunching in on themselves. "Alright," she admitted. "You might have a point. But he-who-must-not-be-named is such a mouthful. Let's stick to you-know-who. Or just Voldemort."
I snorted. "Fair. Though I'm personally fond of he-who-sparkles."
She shot me a look, then, miracle of miracles, a small laugh slipped out. It was weak and rough around the edges, like it hadn't been used in a while, but it was real.
I smiled before I could stop myself. "There it is. See? Your laugh still works."
"Don't get used to it," she said, though there was no real bite behind the words.
She hesitated, then asked, "Do you even know where that clearing is?"
"Nope," I said cheerfully. "Not a clue."
She blinked. "Then why…"
"Because we've got the whole day to find it," I cut in. "But before that, we're getting some food into you, because you look like you definitely need it."
She glanced down at her hands, fingers thin, knuckles a little too sharp. She flexed them slowly, like she was seeing them for the first time.
"…Yeah," she said quietly. "Maybe I do."
I grabbed my jacket from the chair by the door and gestured for her to follow. "Trust me. One step at a time. Today's step just happens to involve pancakes. Or burgers. Or anything with actual calories."
She hesitated only a second before nodding and slipping her shoes on.
It wasn't fixing everything.
But again, it was a start.
…
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