A/N: In which Bella has a huge emotional explosion... O.o

Sorry for the major delay; Word crashed, then my computer crashed, and then we got a virus. I think the world hates me. But up and running and here we go!

Disclaimer: I wrote this using another person's characters. *Gasp!* Naughty of me, but fun to do anyway.


Chapter Twelve.

On the fifth day I was at the Cullen household, my back felt better, and my thighs less ginger. I could almost walk the length of the entire hallway on my own. Only a bit longer and I'd be perfect to go out into the big bad world.

Before I healed and disappeared, Jacob got me to promise to meet up with the pack and share some "trade secrets". And he pulled an adorable face at me, asking me so nicely to go, I caved. And maybe I could pick up some tricks in turn. Though I doubted they could show me something that didn't need claws.

Also, I was very much interested in seeing what Jacob would look like morphed. I imagined a huge gray wolf like the ones in Europe. Or maybe black, to match the sheen of his short hair, which was as dark as oil or as black as a starless night.

But all of that had to wait until I was able to run around and catch my own lunch.

Right now, I was investigating the top floor, something I had avoided before because I couldn't walk up all those flights of stairs, and I felt bad to ask Jacob for help all the time. At the moment, he was out on another patrol with his pack.

I thought there might have been some level of awkwardness in the air between us when we woke up together, but there wasn't. Well, apart from Jacob and I sharing matching blushes as we woke up in the same bed. But after all that, we still acted the same around one another. I mean, we still talked about meaningless stuff like music and movies and books.

Jacob loved speaking car, and was trying to teach me to understand in the insides of an engine, but it didn't really hold my attention. Just like books didn't hold his. I liked how he was generally relaxed around me, his jokes corny but always making me laugh.

"In the Color's family household, the phone rang: "Green green!" The daughter pink-ed up the phone and said, "Yellow?" That was a terrible example, but I laughed at his accompanying actions and motions.

Pushing a mahogany door open as I shook my head at the memory, I was accosted by the scent of Carlisle. His study then, I concluded, peering around curiously. It was queer that none of the Cullens, sans Rosalie, minded me up and around their house. Also equally unnerving was the reality I now could identify each vampire by scent alone. I'd been here much too long if that were the case.

You know, I'm sure I'd hesitate in killing them. Huh. I'm not sure that I was going to kill the lot of them before I leave. After all, they have been unusually nice for vampires. Maybe I'll let them survive for another decade or so. As a thank-you to them.

Letting them live, even if they are "vegetarian" seems risky... It only takes one bite to pass on the curse, and I did swear not to leave a single vampire standing before I bid goodbye to life. Shaking my head, I looked around the room.

Books lined the wall, many of their spines displaying gold letterings, telling me that they were mostly medical textbooks, a few about history. The size of the room was large, but seemed smaller, swallowed up by the sheer number and volume of books. Walking inside the study, I felt a small sense of awe fill me.

Turning around, I saw that the wall with the door was covered in paintings. Paintings of all shapes, colours, sizes, and quality adorned the wall, shocking in their intensity and variation. I was momentarily blinded by the sheer number of images.

Soon though, I started looking at each individual painting, staring in amazement at it all. Was this some of Edward's work? But looking at all the paintings, I noticed that they were all painted with different styles, different brush strokes, and different paints. I concluded they were done by a variation of different artisans.

The door was burst open as Alice stormed in, her eyes dancing with worry. Her frantic demeanor worried me for a moment, my eyes automatically darting around the room, searching for the cause of her distress.

Until it hit me; she was staring at me, her eyes roaming up and down, as if to make sure I was really there.

Her gaze was a tad annoying, so I snapped, "What the hell?"

"You look fine..." she muttered under her breath. "Sorry," she apologized suddenly, rubbing the back of her head with an air of embarrassment hanging over her. "Just another vision malfunction."

Resisting the urge to roll my eyes, barely withholding the desire, I said, "Didn't we already discuss this? You already said that you can't see my future at all. Like you can't see a thing of the La Push pack." And we did have an in-depth conversation on this.

A few days ago, I was bored and started talking to Alice, wondering if she could see when exactly I would be cured. I found out that my future was as corrupted as shredded documents. She could get nothing from me. Well, not nothing. On occasion, Alice could get a flash, but nothing terribly interesting.

We threw around various reasons as to why she couldn't see me, somehow finding Edward and Carlisle joining the conversation. For an afternoon we wondered; well, they did. I had an inkling of the reasons. It could be because of my barrier, but the more logical reasoning would be my cross-breeding heritage. Alice couldn't see the wolves either, so not getting me made sense.

"So what did you see?" I asked without giving her my full attention, my eyes still scanning the beautiful artistry with interest.

A nervous laugh escaped Alice. "I saw a lot of blood and screaming. Must have been something else entirely because—" At that point, my ears stopped working, and I stopped hearing her.

I froze as my gaze landed on a certain image. My heartbeat raced, and my palms began to tingle, feeling itchy. My eyes widened, and I felt the air leave my lungs. It was hard to stop the reflex to vomit as my stomach heaved.

No, this can't be here. THIS CAN'T BE HERE!

"Alice," I said in a scary-calm voice, devoid of emotion. "What's that picture of?" I pointed to the offending image with a hand that barely escaped shaking. After listening to Alice's brief description, I nodded tersely and muttered, "Huh."

Hobbling down the stairs, a confused Alice following, I heard her ask me something. A strange buzzing had taken residence in my ears, drowning out the sounds of the world. Because I couldn't seem to hear anything, I just responded with a non-committal, "Huh."

Looking down, I couldn't register the usual lancing pain from my legs and back, so I dropped my clutches, still feeling nothing. Huh. The smell of my blood permeated the air, and I frowned at the thick coy scent.

Somehow I found myself outside, walking to the forest, my eyesight blurring. There was someone in front of me, shouting things like "Stop", "Bleeding", "Wounds" and "Crutches". It was easy to shove past them and into the forest. The smell of pine needles crushed by my feet barely registered.

A second later, I zoned out. I didn't see red like in the stories, nor did I see black. What I experienced in my barely concealed anger and rage was an overwhelmingly blinding white that covered me up, rendering me without sight. Somehow I was aware that my body was doing something, yet I was oddly detached from everything.

I remembered Alice's words... Oh, that painting? It's sort of like a group photo of Carlisle and his brief encounter with the Volturi. It's like him with all the scientific vampires at the main castle...

Standing to the left of Carlisle, close to the gold leaf frame, was the devil himself.

My father...

It was merely an image, so I don't know why I was so damn angry. So fucking angry and hurt to see his face again. Maybe it was because I had thought that he was gone, eradicated from this world in the pyre I so happily built from his torn limbs. To see his face again was like a punch in the gut. An unwanted experience, that's for sure.

The bastard never laid a hand on me, so at least I was thankful he wasn't abusive. In fact, if I looked up a textbook definition of a competent father, he'd ironically fit the description. He fed me, cared for me (not loved me though, cared for me as one would a priceless antique), taught me things and never ever hurt me if he could help it.

But I hated him with the same fervor as if Hitler was my dad. If you knew about the Holocaust, and Adolf Hitler was your father, no matter how nicely he treated you, you would be disgusted; horrified even. To know that the person who gave you life was a fucking murderer, a torturer, a madman!

You'd detest them. Especially if they were training you to follow in their footsteps.

His blood lived on through me, and sometimes that fact drove me to the brink of insanity. Of course, if I thought it could help, I would have gone to a psychiatrist by now. Huh, yeah, I'm going to gush all of my supernatural problems to a shrink who'll then probably institutionalize me. The padded walls would probably be a nice place to sleep though...

I wanted to tear my skin off of my bones; I felt so dirty, so infected with something I couldn't cure or control—a lineage I would forever detest and feel shameful of.

Not too often, but often enough for discomfort, I wondered whether I was evil because I was my father's child. Nature over nurture? Was that the case with me? But then again, I had spent my childhood learning from him, so he affected me when I was at my most impressionable. No! I can't be totally evil! I mean, I try to fight for the humans, don't I?

That rat-bastard, messing with me even after death. That man was like a curse that couldn't be lifted, a shadow that followed me and made me scream at night.

I thought he was gone. No, I knew he was gone. Fucking gone from my life, that horrible piece-of-shit that I had to call a father. I killed him, ripped him apart with my bare hands, and set fire to his still-twitching pile of meat. Laughed with glee as his body dissolved into ash and floated away in the air.

Unfair to think that he was immortalized in paints on a canvas, a tangible object to prove he had existence, when my mother had nothing. Of course, I looked for something, anything, but in those days, most people couldn't afford food where I was brought up, and so finding an exact replica of her face was impossible.

Yet here was a picture of my dad, smiling oh-so blandly as some random artist copied him down. It was him to a tee. A perfect replica, so probably the work of another vampire.

And he worked for the Volturi, my top priority, my number one enemies. The pairing was as if fate was re-enforcing me to kill those so-called "royalty". But it did explain why that bastard knew so much about them, telling me everything so I knew some of their weaknesses...

Actually, he was probably building an army to take them down. With me as his number two in command.

That thought pulled me into reality. I looked around me in alarm. It looked as if I was in the middle of a huge meteor crater, everything around me with a hundred feet radius disintegrated and charred, wisps of smoke drifting upward into the air. There were no trees left, all ripped and blackened, as if a bomb exploded.

My legs suddenly felt fatigued, and I collapsed to my knees, sharp shocks of pain going up and down my spine. A warm pressure in my hand make me look down, seeing my blackened fingers holding on to my lighter with such pressure that the metal was starting to warp. When I loosened my grip, I looked up to see a collection of vampires staring at me, wide-eyed with surprise and fear.

Something moist dripped down my legs, and I realized that whatever I did must have re-opened my wounds. Shit. My clothes fluttered in the faint breeze, tattered and singed, looking very worse for wear. Peeking out from the hem of my shirt was a loose white bandage, splattering with crimson droplets; my bindings must have been unraveling. My arms stung, and I could feel a burning sensation start up in my forearms and shoulders.

"Oh," I breathed out, my eyes losing their focus, the world suddenly looking very wobbly indeed. Shaking my head, I glanced around, and exhaled heavily. "Huh."

Coughing heavily, I fell to the grounds on all fours feeling terribly weak again. "Well this is crappy," I complained to no one in particular. And that was when I passed out, fainting into the damp dirt like a little school girl. I was still semi-conscious, but I wasn't responding to the vampires congregating around me, voices colored with worry.

Shame. I would've expected more from me. After all, I've known pain all my life. What's a little more going to do?

It was hard to think past this point because I think I fell asleep.

I swam through the murky waters of a nightmare, unable to breathe properly. I saw my dad laughing at me from the top of a dark, jagged cliff as I tried to grab my mother's hand, slippery with water, only to have it escape as she fell into a dark void, a swirling pit of darkness, screaming all the while, "Why didn't you save me?"

I didn't even get to see my mom's face. All I got was to hear her scream.


A/N: And that be the catalyst... Poor Bella. But this is where things really start to get interesting.

My favourite bit to write in this story? The dream sequences, the short paragraphs explaining the things she sees. Even though they don't mean anything. I think.

That last one made me shiver, just a bit. O.o

Can you review? I'm feeling a little down. *Sigh*. Thanks for reading, anyway. Have a muffin.