Trying to Breaking the Silence

Memories with a side of Guilt & Strange Woodland Fairies

BPOV

I laid back down after Esme and Carlisle left my room. I laid still, under my navy, white, and sky blue comforter that Esme had made for me when I first came to live with them. She designed my entire room around the fact that everything I owned when they met me was some shade of blue. Granted that wasn't much, but it was all I had from my old life.

On the wall behind my bed hung the quilt that my Grammy Marie had made for me as a young child before she passed away. She had always commented that she would have loved to have made it in pink or purple, traditional girl colors as she called them, but she laughed, saying was afraid I would have torn it to pieces for being so "girly". I chuckled to myself remembering how happy she looked as I toted that quilt everywhere with me.

When I was about 6, one of the quilt patches came undone, and I cried hysterically until my mother finally broke down and brought me and the quilt over to Grammy Marie's to have her mend it. I never meant anything by it, at the time I just couldn't rid myself of the horrific images of what would remain of my poor quilt after my mother's attempts to fix it.

The quilt was delicate, fragile, and I couldn't trust anyone to save it aside from my Grammy. My chuckle was abruptly halted as I remembered how put out and hurt she was that I wouldn't allow her to attempt to fix it. Even then, before I was broken like I am now, I hurt those I was supposed to love.

I quickly shot out of bed and decided to take a shower. There was no way I was going to let my previous good mood be shot down by an avalanche of memories, of which would only prove to me what a despicable person I truly am.

I gathered up my clothes and headed for the bathroom just outside my room. I'll never understand how Esme and Carlisle ever thought they'd need a house this large. Well I suppose when they bought it they'd envisioned it filled to the brim with the fruits of their marriage.

And cue the wave of guilt... I thought dryly.

This house is like a cemetery for souls that shall never come to be. It's also a walking ground for a person who doesn't deserve to be finding themselves comforted within the walls of a shrine devoted to the failed attempts and lost hopes of a very deserving couple. How they could deserve so much more and end up with something the likes of me is beyond my comprehension. I don't think I'll ever grasp the workings of the cosmos...or whatever it is that controls fate. It always seems that those who least deserve something, get it, and those that deserve it most are left to go empty handed.

I had asked Grammy Marie once, why good people often have to struggle so hard to obtain the things that make them happy, while people who could really care less about those things seem to have them handed to them without question. And her response was as cryptic as ever. She said "Isabella, my dear, when people are handed something it often disappears, whereas when people work for something it often lasts a lifetime." Yep cryptic as ever. Still doesn't explain why it's handed to them in the first place.

I set my clothes on the counter and turned the shower on. I brushed my teeth while I waited for the water to warm, which didn't take long, as there was already steam billowing out from over the glass doors. I hated those damn glass doors. They made me feel entirely exposed, nothing to shield the view of my flaws and scars from anyone who could possibly enter in the midst of my barest moments. I always waited for the glass to fog before I stripped down and jumped in before anyone or anything could see me.

Now, being me, I should know better than to jump into a shower...or do anything quickly for that matter. I have an uncanny ability to trip over dust particles, and the side of the tub is a much larger obstacle than a particle of dust. But still, I do it, because the stupid panic at the thought of someone catching me in a state of undress is unbearable.