Unforgivable Lacerations

Chapter Twelve

Arriving at the house, with nothing to do after putting away the various books, clothes, and discs, I sat on my bed, letting my mind wonder to the thoughts of my mom, naturally. 

She had been a beautiful woman, more so than me, her eyes held more emotion than I had ever seen and could flicker visually from happiness to sadness in a split second. Mom was different to anyone I had ever seen, it was as if she had a teenage mind in an adult body, making me take on the role as the parent from an early age. I didn't mind, though. 

Being the 'parent figure' as a child made me different from other children, more observant and mature, but being different also meant the lack of friends and teasing. I tried to ignore, and succeeded, using my hair as a shield from their cocky smirking. It wasn't easy lying as to where the small hand bruises came from and the cuts I had from being tripped up, but everyone knew I was clumsy- it was a great excuse. I hid behind a book, pretending to be in someone else's life for a few hours. It was an escape from my own life briefly. But when I would return home, all was fine; perfect even. Mom's laugh would fill the air and her beaming smile would reflect upon my face, even on the worst days.

I missed her.

So much.

We were called 'sisters' more than once, Mom pretended that she didn't like it- saying that she should look like a parent- but the twinkle in her eye gave her away, she loved it really. I grasped the locket, which was clasped around my neck, with my fingers. She was set free now.

Glancing at the mirror, holding the depressive reflection of me, I stood up, walking to it until I was standing before it, looking myself in the eye. 

"Get it together Bella. Carry on," I murmured to myself, trying to convince myself that I needed to carry on, practice that fake smile and get a scholarship into further education. Right? That was the correct and expected thing to do. 

I kept looking at the mirror, though, even after I failed in my 'pep talk', seeing which features came from which parent. My large doe, dead, eyes stared back at me. Charlie; his eyes were featured in me. As soon as I thought his name, the memory of the covered body leaving the house shot through my mind. It was as if I was watching it from another view, I saw myself, my face- lost and denied. When I kept going through the memory, until I found Charlie, I remembered the letter. One with 'Bella' written on it and another with 'Edward'.

I tapped my foot on the wooden floor, contemplating. I wanted to see what that letter was, but I didn't want to go into that room and be bombarded with hideous memories that I could preferably do without. My foot's pace of tapping on the wood kept increasing.

Tap...Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap-tap. Tap-tap-tap...

My foot stopped because I had turned and walked out of my bedroom door and into Charlie's. My hand was on the door handle, resting there, debating whether or not I should go in. Do it. I turned the handle and pushed the door open. The door creaked open and smashed against the wall behind as I hadn't stopped it. I took one step in, my eyes instantly darted to where Charlie took his last breath, I carried on, though. One step. Two step. I had reached his bedside table, my eyes on the prize of the letters. They were there as I left them, two of them. I snatched the letters and ran out of the room with my knees trembling. I kept running until I was safely in my room, the door slammed shut.

Eager to know what was inside my letter, I jumped onto my bed, landing on my stomach, and carefully tore the envelope open, unfolding the A4 piece of paper that was stashed inside.

Bella,

I really don't know what to say or where to start as I've never been one to express my love for you, that was always your mother's job. But now, knowing that I won't be able to tell you these things without tearing up, I'm writing it, for something to leave behind after I go.