Disclaimer: Not mine

A/N: So I sat down to write chapter 13 of 'Silent Auction' and this came poring out. It has not been through the hands of my beta, so any mistakes are mine. I have no idea when it will update, but let me know if you want more!


Damn this rain. Always raining in this town named after cutlery. This was the last place I wanted to be. I had spent 18 months running, being a coward. I had told Alice not to look after her, but I was weak. I wanted to see that she was as broken as I was. But the problem was, she wasn't. She was still living her life as if I never existed, just as I wanted.

How could she not feel this pain? I know I had fractured her heart, just as I had done the same to mine. She wandered the forest for hours after I told her the most vicious of lies. How she believed me, I will never know. My heart was breaking along with hers as I spouted that filth. I could not exist without her. I am a shell of what I once was. What I had not known was that I had always been a shell. It was only when she came into my life did it have any meaning. And in my reckless attempt at keeping her safe, it seems I had only hurt myself.


Pills, pills, pills. I am beginning to hate these pills. I can't even remember what I take these for. Charlie says that is the reason I need the pills. I can't seem to remember anything but these pills.




Another Blue



I get flashes of my life before pills. At school everyone gives me a wide berth. Angela Weber is my only friend. She tries to tell me about my life before pills, but it is all very vague. I had more friends before, but they are gone. I feel the aching loss, knowing that there is something missing.

It really feels like everyone is hiding something from me. Charlie says that paranoia is a side effect from one of the blue pills. Every couple of weeks they will add a new pill. I have tried to figure out the reasons for why they change it up, but the only thing I notice is that Charlie looks really bad before it happens. He looks tired, and .... old. Then I get a new pill, and a week later Charlie is back to his old self, for a while.

I have tried to keep a journal so when I want to remember something I can write it down. After the new pill gets added, I can't find my journal. Charlie says forgetfulness is a side effect from the yellow pill.

I really hate these pills.


"Good night Bella." I yell as she goes up the stairs after dinner.

I have two more hours till it starts. I can only hope that this new dosage will help. Jane says that it is only a matter of time till we find a regimen that works. After 18 months of daily phone calls, she insisted I call her Jane and not Dr. Miller. After we found Bella in the woods, catatonic and nearly frozen, Jane was my only hope. Renee came up and discussed institutionalizing Bella, but I could not do that to my little girl. I knew she just needed time to find her way out of the fog. Jane agreed, and we started with the pills.

At the beginning, we had to re-teach Bella everything. She knew who I was, and who Renee was, but that was about it. She had no idea how to do anything, from simple math to driving a car. She did however remember how to cook. Thank God for that, cause I was useless.

I will never forget her screams from the bathroom the first time she got her period after she 'woke up.' She thought she was bleeding to death and I thought I would die of embarrassment. None of us though to explain that to her before.

She went back to school after a few weeks of being home. She was in remedial classes, having to learn everything over again. The only friend she had left was Angela Weber. She would tell Bella a little bit about what her life was like before, and tried to help her re-acclimate to life in high school. We never told Bella what the pills were for, and she just accepted it. She was as trusting as a child, and I hated it. I wanted my feisty little girl back. Who made fun of me when I got mac and cheese stuck in my mustache and complain when I brought trout home for dinner again. Now she just sat there, like a mannequin. She was medicated out of her mind, but it was the only way she would be able to function.

There were so many things she was clueless about.

Until she slept.

Everything came back to her when she was asleep. The screams, his name, the terror. The first time it happened, a week after I brought her home from the hospital, I ran into her room with my service revolver. It sounded like someone was killing her. She was thrashing on the bed, screams tearing from her lungs.

"Edward, no come back. I'll change. It won't happen again. Please?" She wailed.

I held her as her tears subsided, and mine started. I felt so useless, there was nothing I could do to help her. He had left her, the whole family packed up and moved in the middle of the night. Something about a new job in Los Angeles.

It would take her an hour to calm down go back to sleep. I would stand there and watch her curl back up, looking so peaceful. I thanked God every day that she had no memory of these events. She would wake up thinking she had a peaceful sleep. I would wake up nauseous and dreading the night.

When the nightmares were lasting 2-3 hours each night, Jane suggested we change medication. She was taking enough sedatives to take down a horse, but after a few weeks the dreams returned. We would switch medications again and again. Hoping that one of these combinations would help. After each switch I would have to go though her room and take her journal. I would never read them, just put them in a box in the attic. She would ask about it the next day, and I would tell her that she was mistaken and memory loss was a side effect from one of the pills

I had just started to doze on the couch when her I heard her cries. I jumped off the couch and took the stairs two at a time. I heard running feet as I got to her door, opening it to find she was having one of her worst dreams. In these she would try and run after him, and I would just have to sit by and watch as she ran circles around her room. She would yell his name and beg his forgiveness. Tears would run down her pale cheeks as she bounced off of the furniture, not feeling the pain. There would be bruises I would have to make up excuses for in the morning, and twice before she had broken a toe.

As I sat on the bed watching her suffering, tears running down my cheeks as well, I imagined every possible way to kill him.