New Story. Don't Own. Review. Please.
We were six kids all from different universes. Nothing in common except despair, emptiness and somehow even though our personalities clashed and many times our arguments ended with a new cut or bruise and sometimes even the a trip to the hospital we loved one another and in each other we found someone that actually understood us, someone that made us belong. But that was when we were kids. Now, we were complete strangers. And no longer did we belong, not even to our families. Outcasts.
I sighed miserably, smiling sadly at the Newton neighbors we had when I was a teenager, Mom would have liked to seen them.
My father's withered hand slid into mine and I turned to see his eyes blossoming with moisture and salty silver streaks of tears staining his sunken cheeks. His white hair, slickly brushed back with dark shadows beneath his eyes, aging his appearance greatly.
"Your mother would be so proud of you right now, Bells," he murmured, his voice thick with tears. I shrugged my shoulders and patted his hand soothingly, quickly raising to my feet as a new wave of mourners came to seek condolences, which I did not need.
I ignored the pitying looks my relations and neighbors gave me and smoothly side stepped Aunt Marley who had broken down on the floor, sobbing uncontrollably crying out my mother's name hoarsely. I scowled internally, knowing there was no blood lost between my mother and her sister, a vile bitter woman who thrived on attention and of course others knew this also that was why no one helped her up only the revenant Charmers.
The kitchen was crowded with weepers and condolers who sipped tea and reminisced with each other about olden times and some shore news about their lives now, each with a drawn expression on their faces, sadness creeping in their tone of voice.
Slipping up the stairs I was glad to find a eerie silence mostly just with the hum of chatter below me and the howling of the wind battering against the double glazed windows. I wrapped my arms around diminutive shoulders and walked into Mom's and Dad's room now just Dad's. I let out an exasperated sigh out when I noticed the bed had yet to be made, never used since Mom had last been in it. The night she had suffered from the stroke.
Slowly -almost cautiously- I glided over to her side of the bed and let myself fall onto it, hearing the old springs moan faintly in protest. My knees instantly came up and I cradled them to my chest, making myself into a protective ball, like I did when I was younger.
I smiled at the strong scent of my mother lingering on the pillows and bed sheets. A unique fragrance; expensive scotch and old gin with her cheap perfume that she loved more so than the countless bottles of upmarket ones I had sent back from my travels in Europe.
I pursed my lips and remembered vividly my mother's stubbornness and inflexibility that had caused many fights and arguments between both of us. It was the reason I had moved out when I was eighteen and rarely visited incapable of fighting anymore with her.
Perhaps that was the reason I was incapable of showing emotion or even grieving for her like my father did so strongly. Or maybe it was the company that swarmed me, strangers and my father also belonged to that category.
Even those that I had once gone to school with were alien to me, those who had regarded me an outcast when I was younger and now I knew they were correct in their assumptions. The only people that I regarded as family weren't here and I hadn't heard from them in a near decade.
I heard my Uncle Ben call my name clearly, obviously upstairs and with a parting groan I got to my feet fluidly and walked over to the door meeting my Uncle as he appeared in the doorway, looking tired and miserable and who could blame him when you have to attend your younger sister's wake it's bound to upset you.
"Yes?" I asked in a gentle tone, smiling at my shell of an Uncle. He gave me a brief smile and wrapped his arm around my shoulder as he never did and began to steer us to the stairs, to my utter dismay but I kept my distaste for any human contact concealed with a smile.
"You've grown up so much Bella since you moved away," He began, and I nodded weakly remembering lucidly the scrawny eighteen year old I was when I had seen him last, my brown hair frizzy and untamed, chapped lips and thick eyebrows, my glasses larger than my face and my acne plagued skin, my clothes much too baggy for me and my scrunched posture.
But now I was grown, a twenty five year old woman, with my brown hair usually cascading down my back in loose curls. My lips full and tainted a rose, my eyebrows perfect, my contacts and smooth alabaster skin. My tight fitting clothes that showed my curves and complimented my shape and my small physique somehow larger as I walked straight and with my chin up.
"I know you and your mother didn't always get on but you know she loved you more than life, don't you?" He asked solemnly and I nodded, knowing he was telling the truth my mother had told me this before I had left but knowing him I could easily read into the double meaning behind his words and I knew that he knew that I knew him well enough to. Limey bastard.
We emerged downstairs and I ducked under his large muscled arm, diving for a secluded spot to think and reflect upon things.
Their was defiantly untouched feelings I had reckon with. Almost like inner demons. I didn't like being here, not even for this, especially for this. I didn't even want to be in the same state no country as my estranged family, that is after all why I left. But now I loathed the fact that I had. Even though I despised it here I should have stayed, looked after her and my father. Not drop them a line every once in six months, leave them wondering whether I was death in a ditch or worse.
"What kind of daughter am I?" I pondered aloud, casting a look over at my father who was battering half heartedly at some old friend he had served in the army with.
With a heave of a sigh I sneaked out through the patio doors and descended down the wooden steps and onto the stony pathway that led down to the river bank of which I followed absent mindly. I kicked off my blank pointed high heels and walked closer to the water, not caring that the pointed stones and rocks tore and ripped at the skin of my feet, piecing my heels and then I sat on a sharp jagged rock that hung over the rippling water, a dirty green color that seemed to be a little appealing than it did when I was younger, swimming to my hearts continent.
My feet met the surface of the water gradually, my toes scrunched together and curled up in anticipation. The water wrinkled as soon as my skin made contact with the ice cold water and I withdrew my feet hastily but after a deep breath I plunged them in again, quickly this time. I let the numbing feeling take over my feet and forcedly kicked up water, watching as the little droplets made dozens of self made currents.
I looked up and watched as the sun was enclosed by a mountainous ominous cloud, blocking any sunlight that was due to warm me. The winds whistled in anger around me and I gazed as a sea bird flew gracefully over the water, it's large wings beating down rhythmically, the wind not even bothering it.
I wrapped my arms around my torso and laughed humorlessly as I remembered all the problems I had prior to my weight. I used to believe I was overweight, ugly. That it was the reason I never fitted in, but once I started sticking my finger down my throat and still no one deemed me one of them I couldn't stop. Then Mom found out and tried to stop me, and even then I couldn't break it off, the deepening pain to be thin was overwhelming and that's when I was sent to St Martins Clinic in Texas. I was fourteen years old then when I went in.
That's where I met them. We were all outcasts there, each with different problems, different personalities and different backgrounds and yet we were all different together and then we realized we were so different after all.
They were my family, my true family, my reason for being. They helped me as I them and then when I was fifteen I was sent home, fully better and I didn't even get the chance to say goodbye.
I was the baby of the group, suffering from anorexia. Emmett was sixteen and was caught numerous occasions using steroids, that's why he was so muscular.
Jasper was sixteen as well, he was severely abused by his drunkard father after his mother left them.
Rosalie was fifteen, a raging alcoholic, who loved to drown out her pain with a Jack Daniels. She was raped by her boyfriend Royce.
Alice was sixteen and had twice committed suicides, which failed fortunately. She thought she could see things before they happened.
Edward was the eldest and the only person I ever thought of clobbering. He was an addict, of course but was the most obnoxious, playboy I have ever met and I had thought of him regularly opposed to the others.
Hearing a door slam I turned to look over my shoulder, Georgia, mother's best friend from childhood had arrived from San Francisco and I sighed, almost angered from my interruption. I slowly got to my feet, slipping back into my high heels and went back into a darker place, of mourning and grieving, crying and death. Away from my happy place.