An: Thank you to Buff82 for beta'ing as always.
Chapter 14: Year One: Destruction, Deconstruction
I'm gonna drive and never slow down,
I'm gonna drive until I breakdown.
Packing my things and getting out of this town,
I'm gonna drive until I breakdown.
"Breakdown" by Plain White T's
August (a couple weeks after Bella left Forks)
I wore a smile on my face; it hung there meekly, the corners of my lips barely turned up - but a smile nonetheless. It was supposed to be a happy day. Angela smiled back at me as we carried one of the largest boxes into the apartment.
The stairwell was muggy, the air thick as the dismal breeze that blew outside could not reach the stuffy corridors. The elevator was busted, so we lugged our belongings one-by-one up the stairs. Ben followed along, more than happy to help, stopping to supply Angela with small pecks on the cheek in between runs. I looked away each time, my stomach clenching tightly.
Leah gave me an encouraging smile as she passed me in the doorway, having already carried her load of boxes up the three flights of stairs with ease. I knew she was "acting human" for Angela and Ben, something she didn't really care to do, but I was grateful for her help. Leah had really been there for me the last few weeks, taking charge and helping me through the emotional mess that was currently my life.
Alice had also offered her help, but I wasn't ready to see her yet. I knew it wasn't her fault, in any way, what had happened between Quil and me, but some small part of me wanted to blame her. That perhaps if she hadn't had the vision that she did, it wouldn't have happened. It was completely illogical, but I felt it just the same. It took me promising to let her come over and decorate, to distract her from coming to my side immediately.
Overall, I was miserable. I was alone and I was miserable, but I wasn't curled in a corner of my empty apartment crying over things that were lost - things that were out of my control; not that Leah would've let me do that anyway. With a deep sigh, I pressed my feet harder into the mildewed carpeting that covered the old building's stairwell, pushing myself to keep moving, starting my life, fighting through the pain.
And there had definitely been pain, the kind that threatened to hold the air in my lungs hostage if I thought for too long, the stabbing ache in the pit of my stomach – there was plenty of pain. This was my life, what fate had dealt me, and I wasn't curled in a ball dying, but instead, I was pressing forward – surviving.
September
In theory I had thought that returning to school early would help ease my mind off the disastrous summer I'd had. What I hadn't anticipated was how it seemed that every male could suddenly sense that I was, for all intents and purposes – single. I'd never been the popular one, the pretty one, I wasn't that girl. So why were guys interested in me? I was broken, still trying to heal myself, and I wanted nothing more to hang a sign around my neck that screamed "run away while you still can" just so they would know that nothing good ever comes from being around me. Everyone I loved left me eventually, I was simply saving the poor saps at school the trouble of getting hurt themselves.
My birthday was in two days and I could have cared less. There was no cause to celebrate, and the only person who didn't seem to understand was my mother. Thankfully she was far enough away that I'd only have to suffer through a phone call. I owed that much to her, I had been avoiding her completely for several weeks, but there wasn't much to report back on. I wasn't particularly thrilled about rehashing the last few weeks.
The pinnacle of my terrible summer, and what was leaking into the beginning of the school year, was a few weeks back. I had taken my time unpacking, leaving a handful of boxes in my closet to go through when I felt up to it. A week before classes began I found myself bored and alone in my apartment. Angela and Ben were out at a movie, so I rummaged through my closet and pulled out the first three boxes I touched. Two of which were odds and ends, some empty picture frames, some old notebooks, and makeup I no longer used (nor ever had). I left it all in the boxes and marked them for Goodwill.
Opening the last box, my heart stopped cold in my chest. It was unmarked, and I was completely unsuspecting to its contents. My hands shook as I pulled out one 4x6 print after the other; a collage in pieces of our time together, one that once hung proudly on my wall. Smiling faces, kisses, gazes lost deep in the other's eyes – no clue the picture had been snapped. Friends surrounding us, lingering fingers laced as we walked down the beach. Each little moment, every smallest detail was there for me to see. The love in his eyes – I could see that too, but more so I could feel that it was not enough. That I was not enough, and my fingers twitched against the glossy paper; itching to rip it, to hear that crisp sound as I pulled it apart, destroying the history.
But in my heart I knew that would do me no good. Short quick breaths only barely controlled the tears that streamed down my face, staining some of the memories with fat drops. Dropping the pictures in hand back with the remaining contents of the box, I stood with blurry vision and fumbled for my dresser. Retrieving the item I wanted, I kneeled back down onto the floor, my body trembling. With weak hands I placed the small, carved, wooden wolf that hung on its worn, leather rope atop my printed memories. Sealed the box, I pushed it to the deepest, darkest corner of my closet.
The remainder of that afternoon was spent in my bed as I attempted to wash the vision of those pictures, of the happiness that was soundly in my hands, away with my tears.
October
The goo of the pumpkin's innards felt sardonically good squished between my fingers. I was getting some sort of sick pleasure out of ripping someone else's insides out for a change. I pulled the dripping mess in clumps from the round, orange vegetable and dropped it with a loud, soggy plop into the bucket at my feet. This was turning out to be very cathartic, I was enjoying myself.
Knife in hand, I was ready to give my pumpkin life, character. I contemplated for a moment how ironic that thought was, as that was something I had been struggling to find for myself over the past few months. What should I carve? If I were to put my face on this pumpkin what would it look like? I laughed bitterly as I realized that in that particular moment, it would have been blank. Maybe just a nose; I wasn't entirely sure. At times I felt like I was finding myself, but the pain still lingered and that angered me.
Stabbing the knife with a pointed jab, I settled on the only thing that seemed appropriate. The pumpkin was as empty as I was, so I gave it a fitting expression. It didn't take long to carve two X's for eyes and a flat, long mouth.
Placing the pumpkin on the balcony aside Angela's I smiled at the two. She had carved Snoopy into hers, and it was perfect. But so was mine in its own way. She grinned and placed a candle inside both, lighting them both. The pumpkins came to life, a warm glow billowing from their bellies, making their eyes dance. My smile dropped, the pumpkin and I no longer matched.
November
The wine in my glass swirled, lapping against the sides and my eyes locked onto it, mesmerized. I took one more bite of my turkey and sighed, dropping my fork to an almost full plate. Turkey, stuffing, cranberries, sweet potatoes … I had all the familiar things you'd eat at Thanksgiving, but nothing felt the same.
I stood and took my plate to the kitchen, clearing the contents into the trash. As I glanced around the counter tops I decided the best thing would be to pack the food up and take it to a shelter, there was no way I could eat all of the food myself. With an entire Thanksgiving dinner packed and ready to go, I left my apartment and headed downtown, content that at least someone would enjoy a nice dinner.
I couldn't bring myself to go home this year for the holidays, and at the time it seemed almost exciting to plan my own dinner – in my own apartment. Then, when all three of my guests cancelled on me, I had been stubborn and made the dinner anyway. Although the day had been slightly depressing and lonely, I knew deep down it was better than the alternative. I couldn't go back there – to Forks – not yet.
If you were to look closely I would have resembled a lace doily, held together by delicate fabric and ordained with intricate holes. But I could feel the threads fortifying, strengthening with time, and as I pieced my life together in a new place, I knew that separating every part of the old Bella from the new Bella was essential.
December
Last year Quil and I had spent the evening hanging decorations and stealing kisses under the mistletoe every chance we got. Charlie would clear his throat and glare in our direction, but I could see the underlying grin he was trying to suppress.
The fact that I possessed the ability to remember those moments and fondly at that, showed how far I had come. There was a familiar tug of sorrow that loomed, but I knew it well and welcomed it like an old friend. It was a part of me as much as the rest of my past, and I was learning to grow with it – in spite of it. But I was far from fixed and that was glaringly obvious when I phoned Charlie to tell him I wasn't coming home for Christmas; I begged off sick to keep my father from asking me to come.
Coward.
To make things worse I had also refused to help Angela decorate our tree, instead choosing to watch her and Ben. Perhaps it was the masochistic side of me wanting to see another happy couple enjoy the sentiments of the holiday, but either way, she thankfully didn't mind my 'bah humbug' attitude. It wasn't until she pulled out a familiar green, leafy ornament, that I instantly recognized as mistletoe, that I had finally burst out in tears. Ignoring their startled expressions, I ran to my room, locking the door behind me.
And it was moments like that which reminded me how far I had left to go.
January
I watched stoically as the crystal ball began to drop, people all around me had beginning to count.
Ten…
Nine…
The secret hope that a new year could mean a change in life, a real chance to start over, bubbled up inside me. I wanted, no, I needed to move on fully with my life.
Eight…
Memories still plagued me, holding me under. There were times I could break the surface, long bouts where I felt almost normal, but I would always inevitably succumb to the strength of Quil's undercurrent. One shining ray of hope – my constant life raft in the darkness – was Leah. She had become an ever-present person in my life, growing closer to me than even Angela, though that was more likely due to the fact Leah knew about the supernatural world, and Angela did not.
Seven…
Six…
Five…
I looked around at my fellow party-goers, feeling out of place among them. On the outside I appeared as if all were ok – my silvery dress falling mid-thigh, my make-up and hair done to perfection (courtesy of Angela and Alice), my lips were turned up in a smile. If a stranger were to walk by, they'd never know how much I'd suffered these past five months.
On the inside, however, I was barely keeping it together. New Year's marked the end of my time with Quil, with the pack. To me, at midnight, things would seem all-together final, and it would be time to start the beginning of my new life – a life with new people, new opportunities.
Four…
Three…
The countdown continued, and I began tapping my foot in anticipation.
Two…
Things were going to be different next year, no more wallowing, no more pushing to survive.
One… Happy New Year!
I, Bella Swan, was going to live.
February
If Valentine's Day had occurred last year, in the fall, and not post-New Year's, I could venture to guess that I'd be in my room, door locked, and crying as either Angela or Leah pleaded with me to come out. But, as it happened, I was currently in the supermarket, a smile on my face, and picking up flowers and candy for the both of them.
I had jokingly told Ben that he was sharing his Valentine this year, stating that I asked her first and that best friends trumped boyfriends. I'm not sure he agreed with me, but he laughed along anyway. Leah, God bless her, was coming up for the evening to keep me company. We had plans for dinner, since Angela and Ben had plans of their own, and then we were going back to my apartment to watch an action-movie marathon in boycott of Valentine's Day.
I couldn't have been happier.
May
It felt like déjà vu as I looked around the small apartment that I had shared with Angela for nearly a year. Boxes piled in every corner, Ben and Leah once again helping us move them out one-by-one. It saddened me to know that she and I would not be rooming together next year. Some part of me knew that it was only a matter of time before Ben would finally pop the question, and then they'd move on with their lives – together. That day had apparently been on a trip back home during spring break, where Ben had asked Angela to marry him at a family dinner party.
When she'd returned, ring on her finger, only a part of me had been jealous. My mind had briefly drifted to images of the ring I should have been wearing, but wasn't. In the end, however, I couldn’t bring myself to agonize over the 'what-ifs' or 'what could/should have been'. Instead, I congratulated two of my closest friends on taking the next big step in their lives, and I felt at peace with the fact that I would one day find who I was meant to be with.
Pulling out the last of my boxes, I double checked my closet for any lingering items of clothing. The light from my window barely lit the inside of the small, dark area, scarcely exposing the dusty corner of a brown box. I pulled it out, my brows furrowing as I did not recall packing anything and storing it in my closet. When I saw the packing tap that had been carelessly strewn across the lid, barely holding it closed, the memory of it came rushing back.
My life was in the box – my old life. I sighed heavily, grabbing a roll of packing tap and sealing the box up tighter.
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