Wide awake

Chapter One Ginger Bread Zombies

THIS STORY BELONGS TO ANGSTGODDESS003 i'm simply posting on here so everybody can see how awesome it is! all characters  belong to stephenie meyer  . NO COPYRIGHT INFRINGEMENT INTENDED

Ginger Bread Zombies.

B.P.O.V

I hate this room. With a deep-seated fiery passion of a million hells. I don’t mean to be melodramatic, really. But it’s a fact. In the brighter daylight hours, it’s nearly bearable. But here, near midnight, it’s anything but. Dark, desolate, suffocating, and hidden corners and crevices. I could feel the familiar fear and panic creeping up my chest just opening the door. I couldn’t even get an ounce of comfort from the full moon tonight, blocked by the clouds so common here and even more so by the Cullens’ freakishly large mansion towering outside my window. Aunt Esme and Alice worked so hard to decorate this room for me; I almost felt a swelling of guilt when I reached in just far enough to snatch my school bag from the floor beside the door and bolt away from the room towards the kitchen.</p>

This was where I had been spending my nights since I moved up here to Forks, Washington a week ago. The kitchen was warm, and open. Always bright, and full of good memories. Nothing awful has ever happened to me in a kitchen. I’ve been doing all the cooking since I arrived. Esme was slightly peeved at first, surrendering her kitchen duties to a 17 year old girl, but she eventually gave in, seeing how much I enjoyed the tasks. And it was such a rarity to witness me enjoying anything.

So I’ve made a careful routine of spending my nights in here, baking, cooking, and doing homework. Anything but sleeping in that wretched, dark bedroom. Everyone in Phoenix called it insomnia. I’ve already had the lectures from physicians and professionals, all specifically trained and formally educated to keep my ‘well being’ their ‘top priority’. I’ve had the sleeping pills, and courses of medication meant to keep me knocked out for the customary eight hours per night. Of course, they’d never really understand. It’s not so much that I can’t sleep, but I won’t. I catch my sleep in 10 minute bouts during the day, though even then I try to fend it off. It’s difficult to do, and I spend my days in a cloudy lethargic haze, but it’s better than having the dreams. Dreams full of hitting and scratching, screaming and hiding, bruises and tears, and monsters hiding in my closet, biding their time. And those are among the more pleasant ones. The ones of my mom, Renee, were the worst by far. Her cold, limp body slung over the couch in a pool of her own blood. And her eyes…

I snapped out of that line of thinking and begin immersing myself in my English paper while waiting for my cookies to bake. It was a new recipe. I’ve been baking a new cookie every night for the last week. I’ve adopted it as my new habit. When I lived in the group home in Phoenix, I could cook up a lot of things during the night and the boys would always eat it up long before it had the chance to spoil. But Alice and Esme’s appetites couldn’t accommodate my particular level of nighttime boredom. So I settle for cookies. They always enjoy my creative recipes and names.

Thankfully, they haven’t questioned my weird late night mannerisms. They were too happy that I finally gave in and moved here with them to chance pushing me away with questions I had absolutely no desire to answer. Esme begged me to come here a year ago, when Renee died, but I wanted to spare them my dark mood and reclusive behavior, I hated to burden them. Yet here I am, I thought bitterly.

I let them think they had a kind of victory in my decision to move here from the group home in Phoenix. But really, I just couldn’t stay there anymore. There were too many people. Too many males crammed against me in such a small space. I was in a near-constant state of panic, and it was exhausting, which isn’t exactly beneficial to someone who’s trying to stay awake. I didn’t like boys, and I despised men. They terrify me after Phil. It’s irrational, I know. Not all of them are out to get me. Even if I wanted to take the chance, my mind and body had an automatic reaction that I simply couldn’t stop. My old psychologist mentioned something about defense mechanisms and anxiety attacks or what not. I didn’t care what they called it, I hated it. Never being able to get close to anyone of the opposite sex without hyperventilating and shaking in fear, even if I wanted to, was a major inconvenience in a co-ed group home. Suddenly the prospect of living with two women was too appealing. Maybe they did have some kind of victory after all.