Scourge // Felix Volturi

Chapter 6: Moving On

September bled to October, and October bled into November. With every passing day, the Swan house sounded more like an eighteen-hundreds lunatic asylum than a home. Bella screamed overnight; it was bloodcurdling and harrowing—it was loud and shrill enough to wake the dead. 

Bella barely ate. She barely slept. She barely moved. Every day that passed she became more and more comatose. When Dad and I tried to talk to her, she flat out ignored us, often times pulling the blankets up and over her head. She had missed weeks and weeks of school, and her friends stopped by nightly to drop off her assignments. All she did was sit in her rocking chair and stare out into the backyard...into the woods that Edward had left her in. 

Out of all her friends, Angela and Mike were worried the most. There had been a few times when they had come up to visit her, but they didn't last long. Mike stayed for less than five minutes, and Angela left in tears after ten. 

For the first month, I had treated Bella delicately, like antique porcelain. I made her favorite meals, played her favorite songs, and I even did her homework for her so that her grades wouldn't slip. 

By December, my patience and tolerance had been completely depleted. Work had been a nightmare. Numerous motor vehicle accidents that resulted in broken limbs, concussions, bloody noses and whiplash. And on top of that, a family dropped off their ninety year old mother who was at the end stage of dementia. The woman had tried biting me three times, and she ended grabbing me to the point I had to call security for help. I was done with this month. I was done with this week. I was done with today. 

Dad was shoveling the driveway, and when he saw me pull up towards the house, he moved to the side, allowing me entry. My car, a white 1993 Jeep Cherokee, slipped and slid into the driveway, and after parking the car and removing the keys from the ignition, I grabbed my bag and hurried out of the car. All I wanted to do was eat a hot meal, take a scalding shower, and get a full night's rest. Was it too much to ask for?

"How is she doing?" I asked, spinning the keys around my finger. 

Dad set the shovel down and he looked up at the house. All the lights were off, aside from the faint glow of the television that he had left on. "Same old, same old."

A dejected sigh slipped past my lips and I headed towards the front door. "If you hear yelling and screaming, don't come running. Trust me."

"What are you planning?" Dad asked, narrowing his dark eyes. 

"Just what's necessary." Giving him a quick peck to the cheek, I hurried towards the house. Opening the door, I removed my jacket and kicked off my boots without bothering to undo the laces. 

My plan was simple. Bella was leaving her tomb, aka her room. I didn't care if I had to grab her feet and drag her out of bed. And if she wasn't in bed, but sitting perched in her rocking chair like some lame bird, I would grab a hold of the chair and push it out of the room and down the stairs. Bella and I used to slide down the stairs when we were children, she would be fine. Well, she might get a few lumps and bruises, but overall she would be fine. They would heal. 

Bounding the steps two at a time, I reached Bella's closed doors within seconds. Without knocking, I opened the door and entered the room. The air was stale and smelled of dried sweat and tears—salty and warm and absolutely pathetic. She was in her bed, lying down, the sheets drawn up and over her head. 

"Rise and shine, pretty bird!" I said, waltzing to the foot of the bed. Bella did not move, she did not stir. She just stayed curled up in her ball. My eye twitched and I felt what little patience I had slip through my fingers like the water of La Push. That was it! I had had it!