A/N: Thank you to TwilightMundi, who so graciously helped me clean this up a bit.
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My whole life was about pleasing other people. First my mom, Renee, and then later, when I moved to Forks, my dad, Charlie.
Then I met Jacob.
I thought it was true love. The kind of fairy tale shit you dream of your whole childhood: romance, love, tenderness. I swear at times I wondered if I was transported directly into one of those fucking Disney movies I now hate so much for no good reason.
Okay, maybe there were some good reasons.
I had to watch Renee suffer and die from breast cancer. A woman so full of life, happiness and joy. She tried to fight. First they took away her breasts, pumped toxic radiation into her body, advised her to go through chemo. She did that, too, of course. Lost her hair. Lost her soul. Lost her whole god damned future.
Charlie was sweet. Even though Renee had moved on to Phil, he still asked me about her regularly. I spent the last six weeks of her life in Florida with her, holding her hand, brushing her peach fuzz hair. Watching her die. Watching her try to live, try to fight, try to live like each day was her last, because we all knew the truth; it very well could be. When it finally was her last, when she was lying in the hospice bed, "comfortable" from more toxic drugs running through her system (which I was grateful for), lulling her into feeling nothing as she slipped away, I didn't even have any tears left. All I felt was rage, anger, hatred. I was angry she left Charlie, left me, went to Phil when I needed her. Now, she was leaving when I felt like I just might need her the most. She would never see me get married, never hold my hand as I gazed into the eyes of my newborn.
Irony. Alanis had it right.
Irony was coming home to Charlie, mourning my dead mother. We hugged for maybe the third time in my life. Jacob came over and sat with me. Held me. Loved me.
Time went on, days went by, weeks passed. I would hold Renee's photo to my chest some nights. Letting it out. Crying and screaming when I knew I was home alone.
I was making lasagna, Charlie's favorite. I had been accepted to Dartmouth for the fall and had a full scholarship (another ironic twist - I didn't need the scholarship anymore; Phil was in the majors and set aside a very large bank account for me, something I would never truly be able to thank him for). I wanted to celebrate, for the first time in almost a year. I could smell the garlic bread while the lasagna rested on the stove, as I made the salad. Carefully chopping the tomatoes, tearing the lettuce, dicing the cucumbers, all for Charlie. I fucking hated tomatoes. As I drew the knife across the red onion, the door bell rang, startling me, and it slipped. I yelped; it wasn't a deep cut, but I was bleeding on the cutting board as the door bell rang out again. Cursing, I wrapped my finger in a towel, and made my way to the door.
Officer Yorkie was standing there, hat in his hands, and I knew. I slipped to the floor, door still open, Yorkie standing there looking at me with a pathetic pitying expression. It didn't even matter how it happened; Charlie was gone. Both of my parents, gone. One in the blink of an eye, one long and slow. I was almost 18, an orphan, on my way out the door to college.
Right about here is where the irony gets laid on extra thick, because losing my parents wasn't enough for me, apparently.
I made Yorkie leave, turned the oven off, got into my rusted out piece of shit truck, and drove to the reservation. Funny, an extra car in the driveway. I know, you already know where this is going. Too bad I didn't. I could smell it once I opened the door, though. Sex. Thick. Heady. Just how many rooms did they fuck in? I had to look, it was too tempting not to. Like a god damned train wreck. I could hear them long before my eyes found them, Jacob and Mike, two deep voices purring admissions of love at each other.
From the doorway, I could see Mike leaning over the bed, feet on the floor, knees resting on the mattress and Jacob was behind him, muscles flexing with each thrust. I made my way into the room silently, my eyes not willing to register the information with my brain until I could see it, see them fucking, see the traitorous bitch putting himself into Mike where I had not yet allowed him.
I walked to the head of the bed and they at least had the decency to stop once they saw me. Their heads snapped up, Jacob's lips drew away from Mike's shoulder, opening and closing, hands gesturing wildly. I heard nothing but the click of my shoes on the wooden floor as I walked away. Felt nothing but the wind in my hair as I drove back home. Saw nothing but the future in front of me.
All these years, all this time I'd spent giving my life over to everyone else's happiness. That day, I decided, was where I grew a backbone and gave up pleasing everyone else at my expense. I was trading in my fucked up fairy tale existence for something more along the lines of Carrie Bradshaw. Maybe Samantha Jones. Mix in a little Angelina. A sprinkle of Kat Von D perhaps.
Most importantly, it was time. My time. Time for me to finally be me. Who the hell was I? Even I didn't know anymore, but I did know that I had nothing holding me back, no one to disappoint, no one to impress, nothing left. A fucking reboot, that's what life handed me.