Perspicuous (J.HALE)

09

"The landlord found her last night," Elliot said, scratching the back of his neck. "Overdose."

He was watching my face, waiting for me to cry or scream or yell or run away, but I was stuck. My body was both alight with misplaced adrenaline and weighed down as if laced with lead.

Our mother was cruel. Neglectful, and selfish. She deprived us of carefree childhoods, but when she was sober, she could be sweet. Even thoughtful. It was rare, but it happened.

I couldn't make my mouth move. Even if I could, there was no sound in my chest.

Elliot took a hesitant step toward me. "Immy?"

He lifted a hand to touch my shoulder, but I pushed his arm away. The movement broke me from my paralysis, and I lifted my eyes from the ground back up to his face.

"You best come inside," I said, clearing my throat when the words came out a little strangled.

He stepped back. "Oh, no, don't worry-

"Get over yourself," I mumbled as I turned and walked back over to the deck.

I was a little too stunned to think about the fact that it wasn't even my house—I didn't have the jurisdiction to invite people in. Especially people that none of the Cullens knew about. Elliot begrudgingly trudged along behind me, not making an effort to catch up.

They were all waiting for us, of course.

They'd probably heard our conversation, or at least some of it. Or maybe Alice saw him coming. They all attempted to look casual, draped over the couch or standing by the piano, but it was obvious that they were all a little on edge.

I cleared my throat as I stepped inside. "Sorry, uh...This is Elliot."

He bristled under the family's sceptical gaze but attempted a wave. "Hi."

"He's my brother," I said softly.

"Hey, man," Emmett greeted with a nod, the rest of them offering curt smiles.

"Uh..." I pinched the bridge of my nose and took a breath. "You guys still stock coffee, right?"

Carlisle frowned at me. "It's a bit late for coffee."

"I'm not sleeping tonight," I mumbled. "I'm sorry to commandeer your kitchen, but we've got some stuff to sort out. I hope you don't mind."

"No, go ahead," Esme said, the skin between her eyebrows crinkling.

"Thank you," I breathed, gesturing Elliot to follow me.

He leaned stiffly against the kitchen island, arms folded, and lips pressed into a thin line. I faffed around making coffee, opening the wrong cupboards and forgetting to count each spoonful.

"Where've you been, then?" I asked, pushing the cup of coffee across the marble counter towards him.

"Oregon," he said. "I, uh, went to see my dad."

My eyebrows flew up. "You found him?"

"Actually, he, kind of, found me," Elliot said. "That's why I left."

Our mother never spoke of Elliot's dad. She talked about my father every now and again, with a soft and humorous tone that implied a nostalgia for his company. But Elliot's dad was a mystery—a painful memory, maybe.

"He has a wife, now," Elliot said. "And a kid."

"Nice happy family, then," I said.

He swallowed. "You moved in with Meg?"

"Yeah."

We both sipped at our coffee.

"Are we doing a funeral?"

"That's what I came here to ask," he said. "They're holding the body for us until we can get back to Meridian and sort out some paperwork-

"I'm not going back."

He blinked at me.

"I can't," I said. "I won't."

"Right," he said slowly.

My gaze dropped to my hands wrapped around the coffee cup. "Did she leave a will?"

"Not that they could find. She didn't own much, anyway."

I nodded.

"We need to decide if we want burial or cremation."

I rubbed my eyes. "Yeah, okay."

There was a long stint of silence.

"We might make better decisions in the morning," he said.

"Mm," I hummed in agreement. "Do you need money for a motel?"

"I have money," he said. "I've been working."

"Oh?"

"Hospital porter," he said with a shrug. "It's not a lot, but it's something."

I offered a meagre smile. "Good for you."

He put his cup down and straightened off, brushing off his hands. "Thanks for the coffee."

"No problem," I said.

He paused on his way to the door, a hand in his hair. "It's good to see you."

I met his eyes but said nothing. He found his own way to the door.

I leaned against the counter to take a few deep breaths, the butts of my palms pressing into the surface and my head lolling down. I stayed there for a little while, before steeling myself to go back into the living room. They all lifted their heads when I walked in, graciously pretending to have not heard me coming.

"Is everything alright, Imogen?" Carlisle asked.

I sniffed and rubbed my aching eyes, fingers coming away with streaks of black and lavender sparkles. "Mum died last night. He wanted to talk about the funeral arrangements."

The silence that followed made my head hurt.

"I'm going to, uh..." I trailed off, gesturing toward the stairs. "I'll, um..." I didn't finish my sentence, taking the stairs two at a time.

~~~

It was starting to get light outside. A pinkish tinge was creeping under the drapes, laced with buttercup yellow, and I hadn't slept yet. I'd just stared at the ceiling, each blink a mechanical effort.

There was a soft knock on the door.

He made sure to make noise as he slipped into the room, so I knew it was him. He padded around the bed and crouched beside me, eyes flashing in the dimness. I turned my head slowly to look at him as he lifted a hand to touch my cheek. The freezing touch was a welcome change from the numbness, so I leaned into it.

He moved as if he were going to leave, but I took his hand before he could. He tilted his head in questioning as I tugged on his arm—very gently—and lifted the duvet, moving back to make space for him. He sank down onto the mattress and settled, the both of us facing each other on our sides. I closed my eyes.

His breathing helped me sleep.