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CHAPTER FOUR
ᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴ ꜱɪᴄᴋɴᴇꜱꜱ
The sun had barely peaked through the clouds when we took off in a taxi toward the airport. My mother was engrossed in a manila folder filled with important documents she would need upon our arrival in Forks. I could easily tell by her pin-straight posture and clenched jaw that this transfer was far more complex than she'd anticipated. I guessed with Forks being such a small town that they were more careful with whom they decided to hire.
I stared out the window, keeping my forehead pressed against the cold glass. I could feel a headache slowly but surely build up just behind my eyes. Motion sickness was a common occurrence for me. I could never ride in a car for too long before my brain started protesting against the unpredictable movement of the vehicle. It always started with a throbbing headache and after a short amount of time, it transformed into unbearable nausea.
My mother handed me her purse without a word, keeping her eyes trained on the papers in front of her. I felt queasy just thinking about reading the tiny sentences written on the pages. I rummaged through her purse, searching for the motion sickness gum that never worked and some advil for my headache. When we arrived in Forks ─where I would need to ride to school with my mother every morning─ I'd need to invest in better products that would actually work against the nausea.
Part of me was excited to reach Forks. Once again, I would start over. New first impressions, new friends, and new teachers. If I just acted according to how I wished for them to perceive me, they couldn't judge me. At least not how I was judged daily here. No more homophobic slurs, no more whispering hauntingly in my ear in class, and no more notes tangled in my hair. It could be perfect if I wanted it to.
But another part of me, a much more dominant one, knew that for everything to be perfect, I would need to hide away my true personality and feelings. I'd done it before, and I didn't wish to do it again. I'd rather them judge me for who I was than like me for who I pretended to be. But that was a hard thing to admit as a teenager. Like most people my age, I dreamt of being liked and accepted, being part of the popular clique, and being asked to prom by the hottest guy ─or girl, in my case─ in school.
I didn't want to move, at least not really. I'd grown used to my life in California and to start over once more in a new town, a small one where everyone knew everyone, seemed excruciatingly exhausting. But I needed to see it as it was. An opportunity for a life of normalcy and everything I'd wanted for so long.
It went faster than I expected and before I knew it we'd reached Washington. I woke up just in time to watch us drive past the oddly eerie 'Welcome to Forks' sign. The sky had grown dark and I admired the way the stars seemed to crinkle so much clearer out here than back home. I supposed that was because a thousand buildings and skyscrapers weren't blocking the view.
We arrived at a luxurious cottage on the outskirts of town. I was well aware of the fact that my mother preferred to live uninterrupted. My gaze scoured the area as I stepped out of the taxi. Not another house in sight. I was used to living in isolation. Part of me preferred it. I didn't mind being surrounded by nothing but trees. But a part of me wished things would've changed this time. Part of me thought that maybe we would have neighbors.
My room was decent enough. It smelled of wet wood and most of the furniture was old and worn out. My mother promised we'd get new things in a few days, a week at most. I wasn't bothered. It reminded me of when we weren't as well off as we are now. We used to live in a tiny apartment with only one bed. I had thought it was perfect back then. My mother and I cuddled every night as she read me bedtime stories. When I finally got a room of my own, all of that stopped.
My mother said I was too old for cuddles. I was a big girl and had to learn to take care of myself. Her words didn't sit well with seven-year-old me. Now that I'm older, I've learned that it's just how she is. I was fun to be around and take care of when I was a toddler. But when I grew into a child, the charm was gone. I had become a burden, something she was forced to care for. Something she no longer wanted.
It was hard to realize that I was unwanted. But I grew to accept it. I spent most of middle school striving for her love. It was a losing game, one that I soon figured out I would never win. Because it's hard to win a game when your opponent isn't even playing. My mother was unaware of my attempt to earn her love. She thought I was clingy. And maybe I was. But that didn't make her reasons for treating me like dirt any better.
When I reached the young age of fourteen and started High School I stopped fighting. I accepted the fact that she would always hate me. I learned to live with the fact that we would never be like a normal family, and not because my father wasn't in the picture. But because she didn't love me like a normal mother should. And after a while, I stopped loving her like a normal daughter would.
In my mind, she would always be a bad mother. I would always despise her like she used to despise me. And if she wished for it to change, it would be her turn to earn my forgiveness, her turn to fight a losing game, and her turn to feel like a failure in the eyes of the one person who was meant to love her no matter what.
Some would probably describe me as petty. My mother maybe. But I didn't care. I didn't want to go to bed crying for my mother as she ignored me in the room next to mine anymore.
The mattress dipped at my weight as I sat down on the bed, staring mindlessly at the wall facing me. I got lost in its simplicity, thoughts of my childhood swirling inside my head. I couldn't stand it. The white walls almost reminded me of an asylum and I grew claustrophobic. It felt suffocating, almost as if I was stuck inside the room.
My legs shook as I stood and the bed creaked. I stomped out of the room, taking long strides. I could hear my mother humming in the kitchen, listening to some kind of classical music. She turned to look at me when I entered the room, smiling over her glass of red wine. The liquid swirled as she placed the glass on the counter, giving me her undivided attention.
"Cassandra," she spoke my name with such formality I was taken aback. She only ever used my full name in serious situations or when we had company. But we were alone in the house, not another soul in sight. "What can I do for you?"
The smile remained on her lips as she awaited my reply and for a moment I was nervous, fingers fidgeting at my sides. Her gaze swept over me, observing my body language. I hated how she could read me like an open book.
"Uh, I just wanted to ask if we could maybe paint the walls in my room?" I searched my mind for a bogus explanation as to why. I knew I couldn't very well tell her I felt trapped. She'd only make me feel guilty about it. "The white is kind of intense, makes it hard to think." the words sounded forced falling from my mouth and I knew she could tell I was lying.
But she didn't press me for answers. Maybe she was afraid I would go through with my threat from the other day and leave her behind. It wasn't likely. I knew she didn't care if I went with her or not. But the little girl in me couldn't help but hope that was the reason. She still longed for her mother's love. I quickly urged her away.
My mother clasped her hands together, the whites of her teeth showing as she smiled with her whole face. I couldn't help but stare at her as if she'd gone mad. Maybe all the paperwork finally had gotten to her head.
"Of course! Just not a too crazy color, we want the house to remain professional."
I suppressed the urge to correct her. We didn't want anything. She wanted the house to look professional, to lack the warmth of a home. I bit my cheek to stop rude remarks from unwillingly falling from my lips. I should just be happy she agreed at all.
"I know, mom." I said, forcing the corners of my lips to form a small smile. "I was thinking maybe I could paint the walls a soft pink. I could paint just the wall by my bed gray to keep the modern theme if you'd like."
The idea seemed to delight her. She practically bounced on her feet.
"Oh, that sounds just lovely, Cassie!" this time she used my nickname again. My body visibly deflated, muscles relaxing. "I'll order the paint at once and make sure they'll get painted while you're at school so as to not disturb you."
I smiled, genuinely this time. "That'd be great, mom. Thank you."
She was already scrolling on her phone, barely hearing my words. "It's no trouble, Cassie." her gaze found mine across the room. "Oh, before I forget! Could you write a list as to what kind of furniture you want in your room? Colors and such too."
My lips pursed as I nodded. "Sure, mom."
I left the kitchen and retreated to my room once more.
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A/N
Finally finished this update after like two months, I apologize for the wait y'all. I'm not to sure what I think of this chapter, I struggled slightly with the writing at the end. Do tell me if I mention Cassie's obvious mommy issues too often, I feel like most chapters revolve around them at the moment. But then again, the next few chapters will barely mention Mira and instead focus on Bella and the gang as well as the Cullens!
I'm very excited to write about Cassie meeting her future wife and in-laws. I also can't wait to introduce my OC Jillian. She and Jasper are very dear to me. Have a wonderful day/night, my loves, and don't forget to take care of yourselves! See ya'll soon <3 (hopefully)
-Jazz