Disclaimer: I do not own the Twilight series. That right belongs to Stephenie Meyer.
The skies were painted a soft shade of grey as I stepped from out of the car. Inevitable rainfall had been forecasted. It is amusing how some things could never change, and how those things become predictable. This weather, this omnipresent gloom, invaded in what would be a snow filled New Years day.
Yes, some things were so obvious that they may as well be flashing in your face like a neon sign. Everyone had known it would happen. It was unconventional. Of course she wouldn't be okay. Whoever thought so was in denial. I was in denial. I did not want to believe that she was capable of developing that behavior.
Blissfully unaware is what the town had become. We walked on eggshells around her. She was fragile and on the brink of shattering. The first few months were haunting. Her whole being was rendered vulnerable. She seemed so lost—so helpless—when it came to the slightest reminders of him. The most casual whisper of the long forgotten family sent her into a spiraling abyss of despair.
Some thought she was mentally insane, catatonic as the doctors had put it, but I knew there was something more. Mike told anyone who would listen about that night. How he described it was excruciating, and yet the whole school listened. We fed off of the knowledge. Forks wasn't the most exciting town and things barely happened. We were children and didn't know better. It is sickening how we took interest in her dismay. Some friend I was.
She eventually came back to school. Her movements ebbed and flowed, dragging with every ounce of her being, like the tides of the ocean. The day had been normal like any other. Upon hearing of their departure, the boys immediately flocked her like a pack of rabid dogs. Pathetic. No one mentioned the previous antics that had occurred. It was as if they were nonexistent.
But the routine had not been settled as it had once before. Some days it was unbelievable. As animated as the school had been, she did not budge. It was as if she wasn't there at all. Her eyes were hollow, empty without depth, and blank with confusion. She would stare with a wide-eye fear. The vulnerability was heartbreaking.
Soon things changed. Despite all of our attempts to cheer her up, she was unresponsive. Like a game of dominoes, the town had given up in a sequence. First had been Jessica. She had become bored of her behavior, throwing her aside like a past trend, and joined Lauren's tirade of spite. Tyler followed soon after, then Mike, and as sad as it may have been, I too followed the sequence.
So everyone had stopped trying. There were no more invites. No more hellos or goodbyes. No more trips to Port Angeles. Nothing. It was as if she too had become nonexistent. People avoided her like a plague. She didn't seem to notice. Her movements were robotic, almost calculated, and precise. She would go to school, study, and get good grades.
I did not lose hope for her yet. If she ever needed me, I would be there for her in a heartbeat. A person like her was hard to find. She was a genuinely sweet person who didn't deserve to be treated so harshly. I could see that she loved him deeply, and I believed he returned the gesture. Never once did I see him so talkative, let alone his family. She was just that special.
One-by-one the months passed, but she still wasn't okay. Her whole presence faltered. Her body wispy and thin, eyes sunken from lack of sleep, pallid; it was absolutely haunting. She frightened me with this drastic transformation. We all noticed this change. We could all see how little by little she began to disappear. No one said a word. Not one word.
Her mourning procession did not waver in the slightest bit. Each day seemed like another burden to bear for her. This frailty, this cruel frailty that embodied her so, was forever engraved upon her life. We all liked to pretend that she was slowly getting better. I too would imagine smiles and laughter emitting from her. It was all an act of desperation. We didn't want to believe that she wouldn't heal. We didn't want to believe in the truth. It was all a sad attempt at justifying the means of norms.
I don't blame her for becoming this way. Not in the least bit. I won't judge her for making the decision she made, fulfilling the desire she wished. She was old enough to know better. As wise and mature she had been, she was young enough not to care. Tragedy was the product of love; it was only fitting for Juliet to mourn properly. But her tendencies frightened me. She was too young, far too young to leave behind this world.
I glanced out of the diner's window and saw Chief Swan walk out of the pharmacy, a white paper bag in his hand. Sympathy went out to him. It was infuriating to see people check up on him, giving him casseroles, as if she had died. God only knew how he was dealing with the situation. It was a matter of time before people would question his sanity as well.
We stepped outside the diner's window. My father, noticing Chief Swan, walked up to him and made small talk. I stared up at the sky, breathing in the scent of wet asphalt, praying, the New Year would bring restitution. That was all I could ask for. It was all I could do.