Clearer (J.HALE)

01

The streets of Forks weren't busy.

I tapped my fingers on the truck steering wheel in time with the nasal baseline of the song on the radio. It was raining and the windshield wipers whined against the cold glass with each sweep from side to side, and my head hurt. It pounded. It felt like someone was slamming their fist against my temples over and over and over again, the force increasing by the second.

My phone buzzed against the base of the faded upholstered seat. I reached out and fumbled for it, glancing away from the damp road for just long enough to read the text on the screen.

Room sorted. Dinner? ~M

I smiled. She had to be getting tired of me at this point.

The number of times I'd turned up on her doorstep was almost ridiculous. She would always take me in for a few days, talk through whatever had caused me to think taking several buses from Meridian, Idaho to Washington was a practical solution, and send me back on a flight that she paid for. She never complained and she never snitched, and she always waited for me to tell her why.

She hadn't seen the newspapers yet. I brought one with me—it's easier than just saying it.

Her house was a quaint little building just outside the Quileute reservation on the coast. A little white house on the cliff, looking across at La Push beach and enclosed by thick pine forest. Suffocatingly quiet, but I needed to be smothered.

I turned the corner onto the drive leading up to the house. The trees seemed taller this time. Darker, denser. It wasn't unnerving, but it wasn't inviting either. The front door flew open and my aunt appeared in the doorway, butter-coloured light pouring out onto the steps leading up to the porch. She folded her arms across her chest and leaned against the doorframe, mane of wild black curls a little shorter than it was the last time I saw her.

I stepped out of the truck and shut the door behind me, suddenly unsure, but the wide and beaming smile on Aunt Meg's face melted the tension from me in an instant.

"Immy," she said, descending the steps and heading toward me with arms outstretched. Her voice was deep, and husky, and she smelled of oil paint with a hint of cardamon, and I nearly collapsed with relief when her arms closed around me.

"I've missed you," I murmured after a moment.

She pulled back and cupped my face in her hands—which were splattered with pale blue and sugared pink—and met my gaze. She then scanned my face, eyes rich and coffee-coloured, for anything that might be amiss.

"No obvious injury," she said, the smallest of smiles tugging at the corners of her lips. "So, why are you here?"

I scoffed quietly. "Nice to see you too."

"Do you need money?" she persisted. "Are you running from the law? Oh god, did you join a pyramid scheme?"

"What? No!"

"Because seriously, honey, those things will bankrupt you-

"I didn't join a pyramid scheme," I interrupt, somewhere between laughing and starting to cry.

She grinned. "Good. Now, come inside, I'll make us some tea."

It only took one trip to get my things inside. All I'd managed to shove in my bag were some clothes, a few books, a toothbrush and some saved up cash. I'd spent almost half of it on gas and food for the journey, but I'd give the rest to Meg. If she let me stay.