Disclaimer: Twilight and any recognisable characters within do not belong to me, nor does any other recognisable content.

Let Me Go


I was the clumsiest kid on the playground.

I was the girl on the playground with the perpetually skinned knees, scabbed elbows and grazed hands.

There was this one time, in fourth grade, when I had fallen down a slippery hill and scraped the skin right off my entire left kneecap. I had been trying to run away from Emmett - he was always chasing me and trying to tickle me or goad me into something - but I should have known better.

My boy had been there though, and he had taken me inside to his father and held my hand as Carlisle gently wiped the wound with antiseptic. Then we'd gone back outside to play, and I'd fallen on the same exact spot and skinned my entire right knee.

"Only you, Bella," Carlisle had said, wiping up my other knee not half an hour after he'd finished the first one.

Edward held my hand through that one, too.

Carlisle had advised me to take it easy, perhaps try not to run around so much. But I've always been stubborn and never aware of what's for my own good, so two days later when both knees were lovely and scabbed up, I slipped on wet grass going uphill and took off the scabs that had formed, re-opening both wounds simultaneously.

I vividly remember the intense burning on my knees as I knelt on the grass, furiously willing the watering in my eyes to just go away, I already looked like a spaz I didn't need to be labelled a baby on top of that.

But Edward had found me, wiped my eyes and taken me gently by the hand, to see his father once again.

Carlisle had given me this look, this I told you so look, but I was adamant that it was the weather in Forks.

I blamed the wetness.

The atrocious weather of Forks, Washington. Forever damp, and grey, and dismal. The permanent damp didn't help my grace, but then again neither did ny inherent clumsiness.

So, I was the clumsy kid.

After that came junior high, where I was the awkward pre-teen.

A huge growth spurt between grades 6 and 7 had left me with gangly limbs that didn't seem to fit my body right; I was all knobby knees and sharp elbows, which I didn't know what to do with, more often than not resulting in a fair share of bruises.

Oh, and braces. All through junior high I had braces - and not the subtle, cool invisible ones you get now - no. I had full on metal-mouth, brace face braces that every budding teenager dreads.

At least I can be thankful that I didn't have headgear.

The mortification didn't stop there. I had hair that never seemed to lie straight - it always frizzed up at unfortunate angles leaving me looking as though I was always coming from just being shocked by an electric socket. And I had eyes that were far too big for my face, round intense things, and the chest of a twelve year old boy - which, believe me, is a huge deal when you're best friends with Rosalie Hale and she has the body of a fucking mud flap girl when she's only a year older than you at the tender age of fourteen.

All through this though, Edward never stopped being my friend. Even when it became 'uncool' for boys and girls to hang out together, he stuck by me, even sticking up for me when Lauren Mallory tried to bully me about… well all the unfortunate aspects of my being previously mentioned.

So, I was the awkward pre-teen.

But then, magically, something amazing happened… and now I can talk to animals!

No, nothing quite that exciting. But the braces did come off, and I filled out and got the boobs I'd always dreamed about, I got the hips and suddenly my knees didn't seem so knobby anymore and I grew into my elbows and my eyes and I figured out how to control my hair and all that other stuff… and I became… Bella.

Bella; the soft-spoken but nevertheless confident high school student, and then college student, and now soon to be graduate. Bella with the great friends and even greater boyfriend, and who was just living a great life.

And the 'even greater' boyfriend who had been there for me throughout.


He had loved me when I was clumsy, and scabby, and then when I was awkward and self-conscious, and then even more when I was self-conscious anymore (though he claimed he thought I was beautiful even with the braces and the electro-shock hair). He was my awkward first date, and even more awkward first kiss, before becoming the best boyfriend, friend and lover a girl could ask for.

I had a great life going. Soon-to-be-college-graduate, with not a clue about how life was going to go but ready to take it in stride. My great friends, all paired up with their other halves - Rosalie and Emmett, Alice and Jasper, Angela and Ben… all of them with their perfect relationships.

And then there was me, with my perfect boyfriend. My genius, older boyfriend who had graduated early and gone on to medical school two years ahead of the curve, my other half, who was sweet and attentive and caring some nights, and dominating and possessive and ohsofuckhot others.

He was my rock. There for me when I fell down, there for me through the braces and the awful hair and the really awful dress sense, and he still found it within himself to like me, to date me, to love me.

Because we were in love. And he had always been there for me. There when my mother left without a word and my father took to drinking to drown his sorrows, finding more solace in the bottom of a beer bottle than he ever even attempted to find with me. He was there when it felt like my whole world was falling apart - there to remind me that it wasn't, and that he was there.

He was my rock, my world.

Perfect, right?*

All of this should equate to the perfect life. Great group of friends, even better boyfriend, soon to be graduates, the whole world out oyster… right?

So why did everything feel less than perfect? Why was I feeling like I was being suffocated, like I couldn't breathe right being so trapped in this life. I was supposed to be staying in Seattle with everyone else, doing part time work over the summer before starting grad school to become a teacher in the fall. Edward and I had recently moved into out own apartment together… and I thought it was what I had wanted at the time…

But now I was feeling boxed in. Trapped. Trapped by this life that I thought I wanted.

I was feeling tied down. I worried that it was my mothers latent flighty gene coming through - reasoned with myself that that was all it was.

But that didn't stop the feeling. More than anything I didn't want to be tied down anymore.

I wanted to be let go.


*Always read the fine print.