A/N - I wrote this to help with my case of Writers Block.
It was the first thing of mine my mother had ever read, she gives it a 9 out of 10.
Beautiful they say, glorious they whisper. The only proof I had was a photograph of a very depressed woman.
Isabella Marie Swan.
A mystery, a memory, my mother. For years I had questioned my purpose in life only because I knew my mother's; me, and I had killed her for it. I had murdered my mother, I had left a shadow in my father, I had been resented by my aunt.
It's been fifteen years. I've grown. I've lived. Fifteen years of a life without my mother but that isn't completely true. Rose was always there, teaching me right from wrong, life and death. Whereas my grandparents taught me studies, how to keep the living alive. I entered high school unsure and awkward. My family forgot me to teach me one important thing.
How many times did I get cornered up in the locker room? How many times did I go home with a black eye? How many times did the boys feel me up even though I protested? How many times did I lose control? How many times did I kill? How many times did my family sigh in disappointment when I came home with blood tainting my clothes? How many times did I cry at night for the only person who ever did love me truly and unconditionally?
It's time like those that I wish someone had killed me before I killed her. They say that if you kill yourself, it's the most selfish thing you can do. What my mother did was even more selfish - she took her life away just so I could be born.
Out of this whole thing there was one person I could turn to. One person that I could trust to have memories of my mother where they didn't consist in the eyes of ones who wanted to murder her.
He should have killed me when he had the chance.
As I sat on the shore of First Beach, I thought about my life. The funny thing, it was getting harder to remember. It was like looking through a curtain and a jar of fog. As I tried to think about the moment I was born, the clarity of it all, it was no longer seeable. As if someone had erased it. I groaned with frustration, throwing my hands in the air then fisting it through my God-awful bronze curls.
"Nessie?" a raspy voice questioned. I snapped my head into the direction, glaring daggers at the Quileute who said it.
"Ruh-nez-may!" I growled through clenched teeth. Seth backed up with a frightful look on his face. He put his hands into the air, palms facing me.
He took a step back. "Jeeze, sorry. I forgot."
I took a deep breath and faced the gray waters. The waves crashed onto the rocks, a loud soothing sound reached my ears. I let my eyelids crawl over my muddy circles and pictured the water in my head.
I was aware of the sound of Seth's feet padding to me. I heard his joints pop and his grunt as he sat beside me. He was colder than anything around me, it disturbed me quite horribly. I scooted an inch away. I could feel him looking at me, I ignored him. It was so easy to ignore the stares. I'd done it for the most part of my life, seeing as how I attracted the boys like moths to a flame. Some say it's a gift, I say it's a curse.
"What are you doing here?" Seth asked out of the blue.
I sighed and let my eyes slowly open. I felt the pressure in the air change, there was a salty taste touching my tongue. I felt a drop of pale rain touch my nose, I wiped it off.
"I don't know. I'm surprised I even came," I admitted. I slipped off my shoes and stuck my toes into the damp sand. It felt like velvet. I let my hands stretch out behind me and supported all my weight. My head fell back as the softness coated my snowy feet. I rolled my head to Seth. He had his bottom lip caught in-between his white teeth as he stared at my rising chest.
I scoffed, "Just because Jake is gone doesn't give you the right to treat me like the others."
His cheeks flamed a light shade of pink. His eyes shifted to the waters and he began scratching his elbow uncomfortably. I stared at Seth; his feet were planted flat onto the gray sand, his arms were crossed, resting on his knees. His black hair was short, but long enough to fall into his eyes.
Seth had gotten older.
Instead of looking like the nineteen year old, he was now looking almost into his early thirties. In fact, that was how old he was. Thirty year old Seth. He'd stopped phasing once my family and I moved away. From what I heard, everyone stopped phasing. I don't blame them - if I could have had a chance to live my life like it was suppose to be, I'd do it too.
"Why are you here? Seriously?" Seth asked.
Any other person would have thought it was a rude question. All I saw was the truth, and the time to face why I was here. No matter how much I had lied to cover up why I was leaving Alaska, I could speak the truth here. Because sitting on this beach, feeling the rain drops coat my hair - I was home.
"I'm going to see my mother," I stated in a nonchalant tone.
Ever since I was young I'd wanted to go, but no one would take me to the grave, and I was too terrified to go alone. But now that I'm older, now that I'm independent, I could do whatever I pleased without second thoughts or regrets.
"I wondered when this time would come," Seth said, stretching his legs out.
I stared at him as he looked up at the sky. I followed his lead. Just as my eyes touched the dark clouds, lighting striked, and thunder began to roll over them. I remember watching my family play a game of baseball once. I had to sit on the sidelines as they showed off with their vampire skills. I wanted to play; I guess I was too fragile.
"Would you like me to come…with you to her grave?" Seth asked with deliberation. I sighed and lifted myself off the ground. Seth followed my lead. I brushed the sand off the back of my cloths and picked up my shoes.
"Ness, what happened to you?" he asked as I bent back up. I sighed.
"I don't know what you mean," I spoke quietly as I gazed at a group of fallen trees near the forest.
"I think you do. What happened to the bubbly, happy, life loving Renesmee?" he asked, throwing his arms in the air dramatically. I pursed my lips and stared at me feet. I chaffed my hand against my bare arm. I felt his cool fingers graze the space beneath my chin; he lifted my head up until my eyes met his. His dark eyes looked into mine, as if he was trying to read my soul.
But it wasn't his soul to read, it wasn't even mine.
"You want to know what happened to her?" I growled, my eyes narrowing at his. He nodded his head briefly, his pink lips were slightly parted and I could see the glisten on his upper teeth. I brought my eyes back up to his; they were staring intently at me again.
"She died," I said with a strained voice. "She died when she was raped, when she was beat. She died when she realized what the world was really like and how many sick bastards crawled underneath the streetlights. She died when people laughed from amusement when she was bleeding." Seth's eyes were caked with fear. My hands were balled up into fists and I could feel the sharp nails tearing through my skin. I could smell the blood.
"Worst of all, she died when she became the monster she truly was," I pulled my head away from his trembling fingers.
I glared at him one last time before I stalked past him and trudged to my rental car. I fished the keys out of my pocket and got in. The last thing I saw before I drove away was a large, sandy beast. I could hear his howls. They haunted me, they taunted me.
Worst of all, they made me cry.
I had stopped crying; crying didn't do anything for me. It only made everyone pity me, even though I did deserve the pity, I just didn't want it. I had no need to cry. Why waste my useless life spilling tears? But it had been years since I last cried, since I sobbed uncontrollably. I found myself pulling to the side of the road and gripping the steering wheel as the tremors escaped from deep inside and spilled out. I couldn't see past the blurs, I couldn't feel past the pain, I couldn't breathe past the gasps.
It was like I was stuck in a black box, with no way to escape. I just wanted out, that's all I wanted, all I needed. But I deserved this; I deserved the taunts, the lies, the deaths, the hate, and the beatings. Everything that happened to me was deserved because none of these would compare to the fact that I had killed the being who loved me most in the world.
As I resolved my reason for these tears, they vanished. I started the car once more and headed to Forks. I would finally meet my mother. I'd finally get to apologize. This is what I needed, this is what she needed and I could only hope she would be listening. I could only pray that she'd forgive me even though I knew I wouldn't get it. But if I went to hell, I'd want to repent my sins and there's only one sin I want to let go.
I stepped underneath the Forks Cemetery gates. All I could think was, this is it, I'm here and there's no going back, only going forward. I roamed the graves, waiting to fall upon hers. I passed a grave; it made me stop dead in my tracks. It was the grave of a three year old, only three years of life and already this child was placed into the ground. At least she would never have to see this horrible place; at least she'd never have to experience the things I did.
They say god created humans. I laugh at that.
Who in the hell would create these monsters? Who would create my family's kind? I understand why the earth and animals were created but why us? We don't deserve to be here, we don't belong here.
Save the planet, kill yourself.
Maybe I will. It wouldn't matter. My family would move on, they had many years to do so. The only place I wanted to be was in the grave with someone who appreciated my life more than anyone, more than me. There was only person I'd stay breathing for, one person that I'd say good things about myself for. If only he was still around, if only he was still my Jacob.
I came to stop at a statue of an angel; it was made out of marble and had a glorious ivory shade. The angel looked like her, my mother. I let my eyes fall down to the writing on a tomb stone in front of the angel.
Isabella Marie Swan-Cullen
1987 - 2006
Beloved Daughter, Wife, Friend.
"To be what we are and to become what we are capable of becoming is the only end of life."
That was all it said. I remember the part where it didn't say beloved mother. How could they put those words there? As if my mother didn't get what she wanted, they had to rub it in her dead face. I knew my family were monsters, but I thought they were trying to move past that. I guess you can only be what God wanted you to be, I just wish he wouldn't have created me at all.
I sat down above where my mother had been buried. I let my hands run through the wet blades of grass. I closed my eyes and breathed in the air, it smelt like moss and dirt. But the small was homey, it was peaceful. But I suppose that's all there is here, peace. I felt the cold drops touch my hands, I wasn't sure if it was my tears or the rain.
I'd gone numb, I'd finally felt peace myself.
"Renesmee," a voice whispered behind me. I only shut my eyes and let the connection I felt with my mother continue to run through my veins.
"How'd you find me?" I questioned while his footsteps dragged over to me.
"It wasn't hard, you've been thinking about coming here," he stated. His footsteps began to patter over to the statue. I opened my eyes to see him staring up to the beautiful angel.
"She is beautiful. This doesn't do her justice." My father touched the ivory statue, he ran his bone colored fingers against it and brought it back to his side where he casually stuck it in his pocket. My father turned to me but his eyes narrowed down to the grave. His eyes were a dull shade of gold; his mouth was curved into a frown. I would like to say he looked sad but he always looked this way.
"Is that such a bad thing?" he asked, looking at me. "That I've continued to grieve over the love of my life instead of moving on? Is it such a bad thing to want to die?" I sighed and removed my eyes from his hold.
"You may think you deserve to die but your wrong. I deserve to die, I killed your mother. Not you. You're such a fool to think that you caused her death when it was just an accident," he spoke with a tone I'd never heard before, it made me feel guilty.
"What you did was an accident," I stated, he only chuckled and walked a few inches away and stared of at the snow covered mountains.
"I knew what we were getting ourselves into. I could have killed her that night," his voice broke at the end.
"But you didn't because you loved her enough not to. I loved her more than anyone and yet I killed her." To this he remained silent. He took a deep breath and sighed.
"I can't convince you that you weren't a mistake. I can only tell you that you weren't. You feel guilty for taking your mother's life, she only did what she did so you could live," he turned to me with a dark look. "What you're doing is going against everything she wanted! Wanting to die won't bring her back! It won't fix anything! The best thing you could do would be to live the life she so willingly gave up for you!"
I stood up, my jaw clenched. I glared at my father. "You don't think I've tried!? Every day I tried to be happy, I tried to love life! But all of that was taken away from me! I got beat for living like that! I got raped for looking like this! I was only six years old dad!"
My father's eyes tightened. "I'm very aware of what happened. But you're not the only one who's gone through this sort of thing!"
"Don't you think I know this!?" I growled.
"Then why do you keep bringing it up!?" he roared back, we glared at each other with such fierceness I was sure someone would lose.
"Because when I came home no one was there to tell me everything was alright. Because when I cried no one was there to wipe away my tears and tell me that it would never happen again!" My father's anger vanished, his face flooded with guilt and pain.
"I did apologize for that, we all did," he stated with a somber tone.
"Yeah, but it doesn't change the fact that I was alone," I turned my attention back on the grave stone.
"Now if you don't mind, I came here for a reason and I'd like to accomplish that." My father stared at me for a moment before he walked past me. I let my head fall forward with shame. I listened to my father's ghostly footsteps continue until they could be no longer heard.
I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Instead I felt tears brim in my eyes and the hopeless need to run - to runaway. My mind flashed to the time I was born, I couldn't remember it. My mind flashed to my first birthday, it was gone. Like old photographs that had been burnt to a crisp, gone forever. I can't remember. I whimpered.
Why couldn't I remember?
But that's when I realized it…my mother had forgiven me. The only way for me to be free of this guilt would be to forget. She did love me. I turned my back on her grave.
"Goodbye," I whispered those words as I started to run through the pouring rain, and out of the cemetery.
I'd come for forgiveness, I got that and so much more.
A/N - Special thanks goes to sisterhoodfan who helped me try to figure out what to do and to ochalke5, who had to take five minutes to come up with a response to the preview I sent her. She chose speechless.
I loved writing this. I think it's amazing. That may just be my ego taking over, but compared to the other things I have written it is.