By: BellaScotia Bella once told a lie. A lie that cost her everything she ever wanted. My decision to remove them seemed like a good one at the time, however, it turns out it was a bit pointless. I lost all my lovely reviews which is a bit sad, but I had fun reading them at the time

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By: BellaScotia Bella once told a lie. A lie that cost her everything she ever wanted. My decision to remove them seemed like a good one at the time, however, it turns out it was a bit pointless. I lost all my lovely reviews which is a bit sad, but I had fun reading them at the time Chapter One "No, Dad. I balance the receiver between my ear and my shoulder as I rummage my pockets in the hope of finding more change. He never visited again. I think Renee and Phil were too much for him, and there was no way I could come to see him in Forks.

Until now. His voice had been even quieter than normal, his words even more stilted, and I could hear the regret when he practically begged me to come.

I hang up and ignore the loud groan from King Douche behind me when I pick the receiver back up and, take the number out of my purse to call the rental company. I make the arrangements to pick up a car at Sea-Tac, and then I head back to the departure lounge and wait for my flight to be called. Sitting alone in the departure lounge surrounded by strangers, my mind starts to wander to the reason he has summoned me back to Forks. I want to be in the privacy of his home when he breaks my heart.

My flight gets called, and as I hand over my ticket to the attendant, she beams at me and tells me to have a pleasant journey. The cheesy in-flight movies keep my mind off things for the most part, and the young man beside me sleeps for most of the journey.

He barely acknowledged me when I sat down and that pleased me. I was in no mood for making small talk with a perfect stranger for several hours. It seems the gods are with me when I get off the plane; my bags are among the first to come riding along the carousel and that in turn means there is only a short line at the rental desk because most people are still waiting for their bags.

By the time I get the keys and my instructions for where to find the car, the line is three times as long as it was when I got there. I glance at the sign as I drive past it and try to work out how many of the people who live here will still know me.

The day I left I would imagine that almost all of them over the age of about fourteen would have heard of me, or at least, about me. Driving through the town, it strikes me that nothing much has changed. Everything looks the same and it even feels the same, though the backdrop of slate-grey skies and lush, green trees is a far cry from the sun-soaked beauty of Florida, and might take a little getting used to again.

The heavens have opened, and rain is lashing down on to the mostly empty streets. Only a few people have braved the elements, and are scurrying along as if running will help them dodge the raindrops. I grab my bag and hurry through the rain while he holds the door open for me. He helps me peel my wet jacket off and hangs it up for me while I prop my bag against the wall.

I turn to face him at last and the sight of him knocks the wind out of my sails. His skin is sallow and loose on his too thin face. It sags in on his hollow cheeks and is craggy at his jaw line, not tight and smooth with just a hint of stubble like I remember.

His hair is mostly dark grey now, still thick and cut in the same style, but that only accentuates the thinness of his face even more. His eyes are the worst, and not because of the deep lines etched into the delicate skin surrounding them.

Every month —when I talked with him on the phone— I pictured him with thick, dark hair, a bushy, brown moustache, and still with that cynical glint in his eyes. I pictured him at least twenty pounds heavier, with rugged good looks and darker, slightly weather-beaten skin. He takes my arm and gently leads me into the front room before sitting me down. He paces across the room.

I can feel his tension as I look up at him, and his eyes are troubled now. His bony fingers curl around my hands which are clamped together on my lap. I feel him shift beside me, and he separates my hands, taking the left one between his. He was never a tactile father, so that little action strikes fear into my heart. This is bad. His breathing is deep and calm but, judging by the way he is gripping my hand, I guess that it is not without great effort.

But it only makes it worse; I am assailed with images of hospitals and doctors and Oh God! What about chemo? They talk about them in the newspapers all the time.

Hot tears slide down my cheeks as I nod. I feel his bony cheek pressed to the top of my head, as I fight against the sob bubbling in my throat. I revel in the feel of his arms around me and know that I really want these last few months with him. He pulls back and gently brushes away my tears with his thumb. It seemed such a waste now, all those years of staying away, of missing out on time with Charlie.

Coming back here and avoiding them for a few days is one thing, but actually living here, and knowing I will have to face them soon is a whole different ball game. It hurt too much. I pull my hands free, and sweep my hair back off my face. He stands up. Grabbing my bag, I take the stairs two at a time, only just managing to keep it together until the door is closed behind me.

My body convulses from the force of my sobs, and eventually they become so loud that I have to clamp my arm across my mouth in an effort to stifle them. So many emotions are coursing through me: sadness that this dreadful thing has happened to my father, guilt that I left him here to face the mess I made and regret that I let it keep me from him for all this time. It takes no small effort to gather my wits again and force myself to calm down.

He needs me to be strong, and if his way of coping with this is by carrying on regardless, then I have to find the strength to do that too.

I wipe my eyes with my sleeve and stand up slowly. While my panic recedes I take in my surroundings. The room is exactly how I left it. My posters of the musicians, actors and sportsmen I thought were hot during my awkward teenage years, still adorn the walls.

The cork board above my desk still holds all the silly mementoes and photographs I had held so dear, and my purple dream-catcher still hangs from the headboard above the bed. The bed is the only thing that reveals the lack of occupancy; it has been stripped, probably long ago, and is as bare and empty as I feel. I lay my bag on it and move to the desk, looking at the collage of memories on the cork board above it.

That smiling face of hers is not the image I have recalled any time I have thought about her in the last decade. No, the picture my brain has held of Alice is of the last time she spoke to me. It recalls the image of her tear-filled eyes, and the utter misery my actions caused her, that was etched into every detail of her beautiful face. Hurt and disappointment had hardened her pretty features, and it cut like a knife that I had caused it.

I turn away from the board and move to the heavy chest by my bed. I pull my damp jeans off and change into a pair of grey sweats. My top is still dry so I leave it on and pull a sweater over it. I brace myself before opening the door, and my nostrils are immediately filled with the delicious smell of garlic and herbs wafting up from the kitchen. My stomach growls briefly but then the thought of eating kicks in, and I lose my appetite completely.

I stop and check in the hall mirror that my face shows no signs of my crying fit, before I make my way down to rejoin Charlie. I recognise the pictures and plates on the walls as being the same ones that have always been there, probably even since Renee lived here. Time seems to have stood still here too.

He is pouring sauce over spaghetti when I enter the kitchen. He glances up, and his eyes are just a little bit livelier than they were earlier. He offers me a tight smile, which I return, and then he nods down at the food. Charlie puts cutlery on the table, and my heart swells a little at the familiarity of our actions as we move around the kitchen in silence.

Just like old times. It appears neither of us is particularly hungry and we talk more than we eat. At one point he gets up and opens a drawer, and shows me the worryingly large collection of pharmacy bottles contained within.

He admits that there is a question over whether he will be allowed to work much longer due to insurance issues, but he has been looking into ways to get round this by way of a disclaimer. He is not ignoring the cancer; he is accepting it, but not allowing it to rob him of his way of life too soon. I scrape our uneaten meal into the trash and wash up as Charlie lines up his pill bottles on the table. He systematically goes through them, opening the lids, and shaking out the pills, before swallowing an alarming amount in one go.

He chases them down with water and then wipes his mouth. If you have any questions, feel free to ask. Your review has been posted. Favorite : Story.


Secrets and Lies

Ball BellaScotia Author of Secrets and Lies Waiting till everyone is out of the room and stealing kisses like a couple of goddamned teenagers. He helps me peel my wet jacket off and snd it up for me while I ljes my bag against the wall. As Edward and I leave, I smile when I hear him asking Emmett to promise that bellascogia take him for a drive in his Jeep soon. All I want is to know that Jacob will be treated right by you and your family. At one point he gets bellascootia and opens a drawer, and shows me the worryingly large collection of pharmacy bottles contained within. In answer he presses his lips firmly to mine and slides his tongue into my mouth. Even though it was me, I still feel sorry for that girl with the broken heart.




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