VIOLENT DELIGHTS | Rosalie Hale

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

MR. BRIGHTSIDE

WE DIDN'T TALK ABOUT THAT FIRST WEEK. I kept waiting for her to just snap out of it, but that never happened. Charlie and I both stayed home all week long, neither of us daring to take our eyes off of her for even a second. Dr. Gerandy was throwing around words like 'catatonic', but we were too scared to let him drive over to see her again. It could've triggered her into doing something worse. She wouldn't eat, she wouldn't drink, she wouldn't move.

It was my idea to get Renée to fly over. I was so sure it would work, that Bella just needed her. She needed laughter. She needed the sun. She needed someone to cry to, and she didn't want that someone to be me so it had to be our mother. But it didn't work, and that was a little more frightening. I'd expected her to snap out of it the minute she saw her. No one ever made Bella light up the way our mother did. It wasn't until hours later, when we started packing her clothes for Jacksonville, that she woke with a vengeance. I'd never seen my sister like that before. She threw her clothes everywhere and screamed that we couldn't make her leave—and then she finally started crying. I thought that was the end of it all. I was wrong.

It was October now, the tree line dotted with vivid oranges, yellows and browns between the evergreens. I had to rake the lawn twice a day to keep up with the shedding. It was the only chore I was still allowed.

Bella wanted to do everything. All the cooking, all the cleaning, all the laundry. There was something mechanical about her now. An empty shell who worked diligently through all the motions of pretending to be a perfectly functional human being. She ran on a clockwork routine. She was back at school, she took on more shifts at the Newton's store, she ate and slept and did her homework. She only ever spoke when someone spoke to her first, and it was usually short answers, but she was there at least.

The gifts were gone. I'd noticed the morning after they left. Every picture, every trace, gone. The only proof I had that the Cullens had ever existed was my locket. I remembered what Rosalie said. It was supposed to be a family heirloom one day. I'd gotten into a habit of fiddling with it whenever I was thinking hard enough, my thumb tracing over the etched letters on the back. I still hadn't found any pictures to put inside it.

It was October now, and I'd just gotten back from seeing The Killers in Seattle with Jess, Lauren and Conner. It was the first night I'd gotten to spend at the cabin in over a month. Adam had finished the bathroom at long last, a relief, because we used to have to go behind a bush in the forest. It was nice to have running water that wasn't freezing cold in a bucket. I returned form changing into my pajamas, dropping back against his side on the singular couch by the fire. He'd gotten a cheap, brick TV—we didn't have cable. We did have his Playstation 2 though, and Adam was distracted playing Silent Hill 4. I groaned low, settling in better as he lifted his arm, still aggressively jamming his thumb over buttons as he let me in against his chest. "Tired?"

"Exhausted." I hum, fiddling with my damp hair. "I need to cut my hair again."

"You said you were growing it out." He remembered.

"I always say I'm going to grow it out." I grumble sourly, because it's true. The fantasy was lush golden hair that fell to my waist, but I never had the patience for that. He curses under his breath, trying to fight some creepy two-headed thing. It was hard to see details, the TV screen was pretty grainy. "The hell kind of game is this?"

"Fun." His answer made me snort. "You could just stay here, you know."

"I'm just tired from the concert babe." I mumble.