-

Denial

“I won’t go to Florida!” Her voice broke through the silence that had been hanging above their heads for days, like the clouds that always blanketed the small town.

“Bella--“ Renee started, her voice desperate.

“No!” she shrieked, jerking the suitcase out of Renee’s hands. Charlie’s eyes widened and he took a step backwards; this was the most she’d moved in the five days since he’d left.

Clothes flew through the room—a khaki skirt landing less than gracefully on the heavy rocking chair, a red shirt tumbling out of the open window (she’d insisted on keeping it that way for five days, even the nights when it rained). When her searching fingers found the old, blue blouse, she staggered to the bed, collapsing without a sound.

Renee and Charlie met their gazes for the first time in fifteen years, her blue eyes snapping with anger, his brown ones pleading.

For a few moments, the room was entirely silent, save their breathing. Renee and Charlie stood on opposite sides of the bed, both staring down at their prone daughter, whose face was now pressed into the pillow.

To an outsider, it would have been a picture-perfect Norman Rockwell painting; two parents watching their daughter sleep. But the worry lines that had been etched on Charlie’s face, the downward tug of Renee’s mouth, the pearly white stillness of Bella’s body told a different story.

A phone rang downstairs, and the two adults jumped. Bella didn’t even hear it. All she heard was his honeyed voice, echoing in her mind.

“Look after my heart—I’ve left it with you.”

She clenched her fists violently. He wouldn’t leave her. He loved her. He—

The bed sank under her as Renee sat down on the edge. Charlie had slipped out of the room to answer the phone—probably another bonfire in La Push, or an accident on the freeway.

Bella shuddered slightly as a warm hand caressed her cheek gently. It wasn’t the right temperature.

“He’s not coming back.”

Yes he is. Yes he is. He wants me. He loves me. He—

“He is gone.”

And for the first time in five days, Bella cried.

-

Anger

The door slams.

She kicks off her shoes and they hit the wall, but she doesn’t care.

A noise comes out of her throat, a sort of keening, like an animal, terrified and hurt and most of all angry, and she falls to her knees, gripping her head in her hands.

Rage washes over her; rage at the snow and rage at the sleet, rage at school and rage at home, rage at Jane and Elizabeth and Juliet, all with their Mr. Rochester, Mr. Darcy, Romeo.

But most of all, rage at herself, for believing that it was all possible. That she could fall in love and have a fairy tale ending.

The steps groan under her angry feet as she rushes up them and into her room, her eyes wild.

She empties the bookshelf with one sweep of her twig-like arm, knocking all of her fantasies to the wooden floor.

The first book she picks up is Wuthering Heights, and she almost laughs.

The pages flip open of their own accord, the creases in the spine dictating their path.

“I am surrounded with her image! The most ordinary faces of men and women—my own features—mock me with a resemblance. The entire world is a dreadful collection of memoranda that she did exist, and that I have lost her!”

She laughs, bitterly and the laugh turns into a sob and the tears stream down her face and she’s tearing, ripping, pulling pages from their bindings.

A frenzy of pages surround her, a blizzard of white paper stained red by the paper cuts covering her hands (and the irony doesn’t escape her).

Cathy and Heathcliff are on the floor in pieces, just like Bella Swan.

-

Bargaining

“Edward.”

It was the first time in almost five months that she’d spoken his name, and it hurt just as badly now as it had every time she’d thought of him, every time he crossed her mind.

“What are you waiting for, Bells?” Jacob’s voice cut like a knife through the haze of her thoughts.

She was standing on the shoulder of the highway, legs thrown across her motorcycle. Her shoulders were tight and her hands were knotted around the handlebars, poised to kick off and go.

“Bella?” Jacob asked again, concern colouring his tone slightly.

She glanced at him over her shoulder and tried to smile. “I’m going, Jake.”

She sucked in a deep breath and lifted her foot off the ground, waiting for it to begin. As she gripped the clutch tightly, she heard it.

“Bella.” It was a growl and she reveled in his anger. “Don’t do this.”

“Why?” she whispered into the wind, straightening up slowly.

“You promised you’d be safe.”

“I am safe.” She slammed her foot down on the petal.

“No!” The bike was accelerating down the road now, and she could hear Jacob’s whoops and cat-calls in the background, but ignored them, instead focusing on the velvet echoes in her head.

The bike lurched forward and the voice changed tactics. “Please, Bella. Please, don’t do this. I’m begging you.”

She smiled. This is what she wanted.

“Come back and make me.”

“I can’t.”

The road was coming too fast now, she was losing control.

“Bella!” His voice a silken shout as she veered faster and faster towards the trees. “Stop!”

“Come back!” This wasn’t the careful, teasing voice that she’d been using to lure him back. This was a throaty scream, echoing off the tar highway. This was a woman using her last breath to beg her lover to come back. This was desperation.

Her eyes watered. It’s the wind, she thought. The wind.

Her bike hit a root on the edge of the road, and she sailed, head-first into the trees. She could hear his shout in her mind, and for a moment, she thought that he might be just as desperate as she is.

Then, it all went black.

-

Depression

She runs, her head twisting back to try to catch a glimpse of whatever was following her. Tripping over her feet, she sprawls to the ground, nails sinking into the dirt like teeth into flesh.

Who is following me? she asks herself. Why am I running?

But then she can hear him (him?) coming, and she picks herself up and runs again.

She’s terrified. She doesn’t know where she’s going or why. Why doesn’t she just let him catch her? It would be so much easier that way…

And she stops, her aching leg muscles giving out beneath her. She can only stare up at the sky and wait for him to come and get her.

He does come, darker and more terrible than she could have ever believed, and she wants to get up and run again, but he’s on her and she can’t run, she can’t move, she can’t—

She wakes up.

As the last waves of terror wash over her, she pushes the dream away, ripping through the spiders-silk of her nightmares.

Is she finally scared of monsters after all this time?

Without warning, a cloud of hopelessness rolls over her. The pain in her chest is back, and it aches so so so badly, that all she wants to do is reach into her breast and pull out her heart and throw it on the floor, just to end this.

As if he hadn’t done that already.

Her lip is trembling and her eyes are screwed shut, and her hands are pressed over her ears.

She won’t speak of him, she won’t see him, she won’t hear him.

But she can’t stop herself from thinking about him.

And now, she can smell him in the air, and he’s sodeliciousgood and she can’t stop herself from sucking in the air, to feel his scent rolling over her tongue and maybe if she opens her eyes he’ll be there and he’ll hold her and he’ll love her.

She doesn’t let herself believe it.

And she slips another notch farther into the dark abyss of her mind.

Maybe he’ll be waiting at the bottom.

-

Acceptance

Alice was back for the moment, but that changed nothing. True love was forever lost. The prince was never coming back to kiss me awake from my enchanted sleep. I was not a princess, after all. So what was the fairy-tale protocol for other kisses? The mundane kind that didn't break any spells?

Maybe it would be easy­ like holding his hand or having his arms around me. Maybe it would feel nice. Maybe it wouldn't feel like a betrayal. Besides, who was I betraying, anyway? Just myself.

Keeping his eyes on mine, Jacob began to bend his face toward me. And I was still absolutely undecided.

Did I want this? Did I want his lips on mine and his body wrapping around me, keeping me warm?

Didn’t he already make me feel warm?

Alice was back, but he wasn’t. Edward (the name still hurt), was never coming back. He didn’t want me; I’d never been his Juliet, no, I’d only been his Rosaline, his distraction.

Jake’s face was coming closer, his lips slightly puckered to capture mine.

Did I want him to take me, to make me forgot?

Could I ever forget?

No.

I would never forget the feeling of an icy hand softly stroking my cheek, or a marble body pressed up against mine in the dark of night. I could never let go of the memory of his lips softly molding to mine. His whispered words of love would always be there, imprinted in my mind.

But I could let him go.

I would never be as happy as I had been when I was his and he was mine, but I couldn’t live this half-life forever.

I had people I needed to live for—Charlie, Emily, Angela… Jacob.

My eyes fluttered shut. The warmth of Jacob’s face encompassed me completely. Romeo wasn't coming back, but Paris was here.

We were just an inch away from each other, just an inch away from a breath and a kiss and a new life and--

The phone rang.