FORKS - carlisle cullen

F I V E

Eleanor Martin's POV

That day at the hospital had been Gran's last good day. The entire family had flown in and everyone was there in her hospital room the evening that she drew her last breath.

"Ellie?" Mom approaches me once we were back at Gran's place, waiting for her body to be prepared for the funeral this Saturday. "You should probably see this."

I get up from my place on the couch, weaving among the crowd of sniffling aunts, uncles, and cousins. I follow my mom into the small sewing room/office that Gran had set up years ago but rarely used in the later days. Mom grabs a document off of the desk, and I can see Gran's shaky signature emblazoned on a line at the bottom.

"She gave you the house, Honey," Mom says with a sad smile, tears welling up in her eyes. "She signed it over to you."

I sigh and sink into the rolling chair, stretching my legs out and rubbing my tired, overused eyes.

"Okay," I breathe out, taking the paper from between Mom's fingertips, grabbing a pen and reading over it. "Okay."

꧁꧁꧂꧂

I watch as every member of my family leaves Gran's... I mean my house, hugging them all as they get into their rental cars to get back to the airport now that Gran's funeral is finished.

"We love you, Honey," Mom hugs me tightly. "You don't have to stay here if you don't want to. You could always put the house on the market and come back to Tucson with us."

"No, I'll stay," I say, letting go of her. "Gran wanted me to have the house... I'm not going to sell it right after I got it."

"That's sweet, Ellie," Dad hugs me. "But we sure will miss you."

"I'll miss you guys too," I reply, kissing both of their cheeks and squeezing them one last time. "I love you."

"Love you too, Honey." Both of them say at the same time, making me smile.

I help them with their luggage out to their rental car, waving to them as they beep once and drive off down the street, soon disappearing from my sight.

I release a huge breath, rubbing my face and tilting my head back, my warm breath creating hot puffs of fog in the cold air. I take a look back at the house, no signs of life inside. It's almost as empty as I feel. I feel so numb and incomplete now that Gran is gone. She's really gone.

In a spilt-second decision, I go inside to grab my purse before hopping into my car and driving to a liquor store that I had seen on my way into town. 'Fork's Liquor' the neon sign glares through the waning daylight 'The Coldest Beer in Town'. I pull into the parking lot, locking the car behind me and making a beeline inside to avoid the cold.

I grab the first handle of whiskey that I see, not bothering to look at the brand or price. I place it on the counter, pulling out my credit card and producing my I.D. when prompted by the store clerk. As soon as I am home with my car parked in the garage, the bottle hits my lips and I begin to drink.

But I'm not drinking to have fun. I'm drinking to forget. I'm drinking to dull the ache in my very being. To rid myself of the loneliness.

After a few hours and about half of the handle, I find myself sitting on one of the deck chairs on the back porch. Will I drink myself to death? Maybe. Do I care? Probably not. My mind is far too muddled to process that at the moment.

As I sit in the freezing cold air I begin to sober up, but another long swig from the bottle undoes any sobering that may be happening, sending warmth down my throat and into my stomach. After some amount of time I begin to fall asleep.

It could have been a second. Could have been a minute. Could have been an hour. But as I fall asleep under the light of the moon, stars, and the flickering porchlight, I wouldn't care if I never woke up.