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Edward leaves Bella for the second time...
Bella has suffered so much already, barely able to be called human almost...
She tries once again to lead a normal life as if nothing had gone wrong...
But when she goes off to college and meets some interesting people who could help her change her eternity, will memories be enough for her to accept?


7. Painful Attempt

Rating 5/5   Word Count 1779   Review this Chapter

“So, your coming though, right?” Jacob asked. We were talking on the phone about his graduation ceremony, he sounded excited.

“Of course,” I murmured, happy to be going back home, even just for a little bit. Home. I had never imagined I would be calling Forks home. So much had changed when I had moved there. Almost a distant memory now, it seems.

“’Kay, it’s just good to hear, I haven’t seen you in so long. How’s college?”

“It’s . . .,” I contemplated on whether to tell him the truth, or to let him hear what I thought he wanted to hear. I decided on the truth, “It’s difficult, for the most part. The classes aren’t all too hard but . . . it just comes back to me ever so often, you know? I’m trying though. I started hanging out with this guy named Eliar.”

“Are you dating?” he asked.

“Yeah, nothing big though. Just hanging out at school and after school sometimes, for now.”

“Does he know?”

“About?” I hedged, already almost one-hundred percent sure I knew what he was talking about.

“You know,” he said, trying to get an answer out of me without wanting to hurt me by saying it.

I sighed, giving up, “Yeah, I told him.”

“That’s good,” he muttered. “He should know.”

I rolled my neck, leaning my head back against the empty wall of my room. I was tired, having had to pull an all-nighter last night because of an exam.

“Do you want me to pick you up then, at the airport in Port Angeles, or are you driving here again?” he asked. “You shouldn’t be driving so much, gas prices aren’t coming down anytime soon,” he added in a tone that reminded me much of my father.

“Don’t worry so much about my finances, I can take care of myself,” I lied casually. You could hardly tell a lie from the truth with me these days, my voice wasn’t animated anymore, it was flat, which came in very handy when lying about the emotional state I was in time and time again.

“Right,” he muttered darkly on the other side of the phone.

I laughed half-heartedly, “Don’t worry though, I’m arriving on plane.”

“Phew,” he exhaled in relief. I could just imagine him playing it up by swiping the back of his hand against his forehead, pretending to wipe off a few beads of sweat. “So when are you arriving exactly?” he asked.

“Umm . . .,” I rolled over to the other side of my bed, pulling the cord-phone with me, where my lamp crowded the little night table. I pulled open the top drawer, searching through the unorganized papers that filled it.

“Hold on,” I muttered under my breath, to where he probably hadn’t even heard me talk.

“Found it!” I exclaimed, opening the envelope where my plane tickets lay. I pulled out the letter and quickly scanned it with my eyes.

“What does it say?” he asked.

“Hold on, I’m getting there,” I whispered into the phone, preoccupied with finding the dates. “Okay. I’m leaving at six in the morning next Saturday. I should get to Seattle like at four in the afternoon and I should arrive in Port Angeles around five-thirty. Any questions?” I asked, joking around.

“Yes, just one,” he replied. “You’re not lying to me when you say you’re okay are you?”


“Well . . . not all the time,” I muttered, looking down as if he were right in front of me. I ran my nails under each other, as if scraping away dirt that wasn’t there.

“Don’t lie,” he whispered.

“I’m not lying right now.”

“Still, I want to hear the truth.”

“Wouldn’t you rather hear that I’m doing fine?” I asked him. I thought this was what they wanted, for me to be okay. It’s what I thought I wanted from myself anyway.

“Well yeah, but I don’t want you to be lying about it. It’s just worst that way,” he told me.

“How is it worst?” I asked, looking up at myself in the mirror propped up on the wall, across from where I sat pretzel style on my full bed. My eyes were dark, purple shadows lined under them. I was pale, the palest. I had been worse, but I wasn’t so far from that same state. Time wasn’t doing anything. Just a distraction as of now.

“Well,” Jacob started, trying to find the right words, I assumed. “We want you to be fine, but . . . if you’re lying about it, then we won’t be able to do anything about it, try to help you because we’ll think you’re fine, or content in a way at least but . . . we don’t want you to say you’re okay because you think it will make us happy, we want you to say you’re okay because you are okay. Plus, if you say you’re okay and you’re not, you’ll not only be lying to us, but you’ll be lying to yourself and it will be harder for you to move on because you’re not accepting the fact that you’re not okay, Bella! You may never be able to completely move on, forget about everything but Bella, you deserve to be happy, and right now, it just seems like you’re not even trying. Do you want to move on?” he asked then, concern lining his voice. He had whispered it, but it was the thing that most stood out. Did I?

I took a deep, ragged breath. That was a lot to take in at once. “I’m not sure,” I whispered, looking away from my image in the mirror. “I think . . . I want to, but at the same time I feel like it’s a wasted effort and I just don’t have it in me to try that hard. I don’t know anything anymore, I feel like I’ve . . . lost my grip on the world ,Jacob, and the sad thing is: I think I don’t mind it so much. I’m not sure,” I repeated, sighing. It really was a wasted effort, trying to move on.

There was silence on the other line. I thought the call had ended until I heard him exhale. “You deserve a happy ending,” he muttered, I thought he sounded angry.

“Well, my only happy ending would have been one with him, and as you can see, that’s not going to happen. Maybe I don’t deserve one,” I snapped, growing frustrated at myself. Was I trying to turn onto a different road than the one I was destined for? Was I fighting fate by not forgetting, or not wanting to, and trying to move on at the same time? Could I have both?

“You do,” he murmured.

I exhaled sharply, alert with anger. “Can we just stop talking about happy endings?” I snapped. “You want to help me, and this is what you bring up?”

“Sorry,” he muttered. “But you need this . . . in a way at least. You need to accept it and the sooner you do, the sooner you’ll move on. If that’s what you want to do,” he amended.

I thought about that for a long moment and sighed. Jacob was saying too much.

“Okay, I’ll try. And I mean it,” I added, hoping to get him off my tail. I laughed silently in my head; my tail.

“Okay,” he sounded pleased. “So I’ll pick you up in Port Angeles then. Call me when you’re about to leave Seattle that way I can be there in time.”

“I will.”

“Okay, bye.”

“Bye; I miss you.”

“I miss you too; take care of yourself,” and with that, he hung up.

I lay on my back, staring up at the blank ceiling, thinking about our conversation.


I thought I had already accepted the fact that he had left me. That he wasn’t coming back. What else was left to accept?

Hadn’t I already accepted the fact that he didn’t love me?

I stayed like that, thinking, pondering over whether I was lying to myself and not even knowing it. Could someone even do that?

And then I knew. I had been lying to myself. I had been lying to myself all along. There was a little part of me, in the corner of my brain that wasn’t moving on because it - or I should say I - was still praying and hoping that he still loved me. And as long as I kept doing that, I wasn’t going anywhere. Because I was stuck in that place, and I wasn’t trying to get unstuck, in a way, I was just covering it up.

* * *

I promised myself this last night. With memories, with him.

I hopped off the bed, crouching to the side of it, and pulled out a shoe box.

I breathed in a deeply, preparing myself for the numbing emotions that would soon take me under. I turned on the lights and stepped slowly back to my bed, climbing on top and crossing my legs under me before I took off the top.

I closed my eyes for a moment, a few last seconds of peace.

When I reopened them, there he was, staring at me. My eyes stung at the sight of him. I picked up his picture and just stared at it. He looked, as always, beautiful. His smile jumped out at me, his golden eyes comforting in ways I couldn’t have imagined myself.

It was hard . . . to look at him, but even harder to look away. I knew deep inside I didn’t want to move on, but what would I do for the rest of my life, just wait?

No. I wouldn’t be like that, I couldn’t. I did deserve a happy ending, everyone did and I was no different.

Tears welled up in my eyes. I didn’t blink them away, I let them stay there.

“I have a question.”

He waited warily.

“If I develop this film,” I said, toying with the camera in my hands, “will you show up in the picture?”

Edward started laughing. He helped me out of the car, pulled me up the stairs, and was still laughing as he opened the door for me.

I closed my eyes, gripping the picture as if it were truly him, not wanting to let go for the world. A tear slipped down my cheek, rolling down ‘til the very edge and falling, leaving only it’s mark streaked across my cheek.

And then I broke.

I rolled over onto my side, holding on to my stomach, trying to keep myself together. My heart frayed, tearing itself slowly, prolonging the pain.

More tears squeezed themselves out, staining my face, my eyes remain white, glassy almost unemotional I’m sure, from far away. But if you looked into the very core of them, you’d see the break in them, the shadow of my heart. The splintering pain I hold.

I didn’t want to continue.