Places| A Twilight Fan Fiction|

Chapter 12

Emmett

It had been two weeks since Freddy's funeral. I could count the number of times Marley had spoken on both hands and how many meals she'd had on one.

Having a perfect memory meant I'd never forget the sound of her sobs, the frantic and glazed look in her eyes as she attempted to revive her father's corpse. The sight of her body curled up on his grave in her long black dress, refusing to leave for hours even when it rained, fingernails clutching the earth as if she could somehow reach him.

Rosalie and I were on the sofa. Marley had come to live with us, unable to go back to her house, and she was currently bundled up under the blankets on our bed.

"Em, I don't know what to do." Rose made a frustrated gesture with her hands. "She needs to eat." On cue, Esme flitted into the room with a bowl of something hot in her hands.

"Let me go up and see if I can get her to try some soup." I nodded for her to go ahead, before turning to rub Rose's shoulders.

"She's grieving," I whispered. I'd never seen someone look so hollow, so empty.

"It hurts," Rose hissed, turning to wrap her arms around my waist. I knew what she meant; our Mate's pain echoed through us. My chest ached. I listened to the sound of Esme opening our door.

"Marley, honey," she cooed gently. I heard the bed creak as she sat. "I made you soup." A deep breath, the sound of blankets rustling.

"Okay." Marley's voice was hoarse. I let out a relieved sigh at the sound of a spoon dipping into the bowl of soup, her chewing and swallowing. "It's good," she offered with a sniffle.

"You eat every bite. I'll be back in a little while for the bowl."

"Wait, Esme." Me and Rose were eavesdropping intently. "Will you stay with me?" My surprise was instant. She hadn't wanted company for days.

"Of course!" Esme's tone was warm, if a little shocked. Silence, more chewing. A swallow. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No," Marley murmured immediately. "I just need a mom hug, I think." The sound of the bowl being set on the nightstand. Esme patting Marley's back soothingly. Marley's calm heartbeat. I pictured them sitting in the bed, arms locked around each other.

"You'll always have a mother with me around." A trembling breath. A hiccuping sob. I wished I could shut out the sound of my Mate's tears. "It's okay."

"I should have—"

"No." Esme rarely sounded stern, but when she did it was effective. "Don't. Nothing you could have done would have prevented his death. Your father had an addiction. He was ill. But he loved you."

"I know he did," Marley sniffed, and I knew she was rubbing her eyes. "When my mother died, I found her on the floor of her bedroom. She'd killed herself, overdosed. I was too late to save her, too." She never spoke about how her mother had passed, but it seemed that Esme's presence was drawing out the weight that had been sitting on her shoulders for weeks. Rosalie drew a breath, sitting up straighter, as we both soaked in Marley's words. "I know logically it's not my fault. I know logically that they were both sick, in their own ways, and that I couldn't fix them." She let out a sigh, and her voice softened. "And I know that I have no right to be angry. But I am. I'm angry that I wasn't enough to keep them here."