By the time Bella and I got home, the house felt unusually quiet the kind of quiet that made the hum of the refrigerator sound like a thunderstorm. Charlie had been called back to the station for some late paperwork or police duty whatever mysterious tasks kept small-town crime in Forks running smoothly. Honestly, I pictured him sitting at his desk, drinking lukewarm coffee, and filling out a report about a raccoon knocking over someone's trash.
The living room was dim, the kind of soft, gray light that seeped in from the cloudy afternoon and made everything feel muted. Even the old clock on the wall ticked louder than usual, counting the seconds in judgment.
We pushed through the door, and I immediately kicked off my shoes with the grace of someone shedding armor after a long day of battle. Bella set her bag down gently, because Bella is the kind of person who doesn't like her stuff looking like it survived a hurricane.
For one blissful second, I thought maybe she was too tired to talk about anything. Maybe she'd just flop on the couch, grab a book, and pretend the hospital never happened.
No such luck.
Bella rounded on me almost instantly, her eyes sharp despite the dark circles under them. She crossed her arms, clearly ready for an interrogation.
Great. We'd barely been home two minutes, and she already had her "talking to a stubborn toddler" stance loaded.
I braced myself.
"So," she said, arms crossing, "what exactly was that back at the hospital? With you and…" She hesitated, her voice dipping conspiratorially. "Lucien?"
I flopped onto the couch like a dramatic Victorian maiden. "That," I said, pointing at the ceiling, "was me not liking someone telling me I'm lying. Or worse, that I'm delusional. Which, for the record, I am not."
Bella tilted her head, studying me. "You kind of…snapped at him. Which is weird, because you never snap at anyone."
"I did not snap." I flailed a hand. "I raised my voice politely. Okay, maybe not politely. Fine, I snapped. But who wouldn't? He basically looked at me like I was some fragile little idiot who couldn't tell the difference between what I saw and what he wanted me to believe. Newsflash I know what I saw."
Bella frowned, still puzzled. "He's…intense. I mean, I barely know him, but wow. He's the kind of guy you don't pick a fight with, you know?"
Yeah, tell me about it. My brain immediately supplied the horrifying truth: A vampire who could literally snap me in half like a Kit-Kat bar. Yeah, I know. Don't remind me. Believe me, I'm already having an existential crisis about it. Who yells at a vampire? Who does that?
Out loud, I forced a weak laugh. "Yeah, well, apparently I like living dangerously. Who yells at Lucien? Who does that?"
"You, apparently," Bella deadpanned.
I shot her a look. "Thanks, cousin. Very supportive."
Bella smirked. "I just think it's funny. You, snapping at someone."
"Ha. Hilarious." I dragged my hands down my face. If only she knew he could probably snap me in half like a glow stick at a rave.
Bella smirked. "I just think it's funny. You, snapping at the someone."
"Ha. Hilarious." I dragged my hands down my face, trying to hide the fact that my insides were busy staging a meltdown. Then I stood, stretching stiffly. "You know what? I'm going to my room before I say something even dumber and make my obituary extra spicy. If anyone needs me, I'll be upstairs…regretting all my life choices."
My little nook upstairs looked out over the woods. I pressed my forehead to the cool glass of the window and muttered to myself, "Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. Snap at a vampire, why don't you? Next time maybe spit in his coffee. Oh wait, he doesn't drink coffee. Even better."
I sighed, half-laughing, half-panicking. "I am officially going crazy. Someone please mail me back to my old universe before I get myself killed."
The hospital smell still clung to me sterile antiseptic and faint plastic. Yuck. I grabbed fresh clothes and dragged myself into the bathroom for the hottest shower human plumbing could provide.
Steam filled the room. I scrubbed my hair like it personally owed me money, and by the time I stepped out, I felt half human again. Blow drying my hair, I spotted my reflection in the mirror: slightly pale, eyes tired, but still intact. "Congratulations," I muttered. "Still alive. For now."
And then my stomach growled loud enough to qualify as an animal attack.
"Nope. Not cooking," I told my reflection firmly. "Not today, Satan."
I changed into comfy clothes and padded downstairs.
To my delight, the living room smelled like salvation specifically, Chinese takeout. Charlie was home, sitting in his usual chair with the remote abandoned on the armrest. A brown paper bag sat on the coffee table, still warm.
"I brought food," he said gruffly, as though it wasn't the single greatest act of love anyone had ever performed.
I gasped dramatically. "Charlie, you absolute hero. You life-saving, food-providing legend."
His mustache twitched, which was as close to a smile as Charlie Swan got. "Don't make a big deal out of it."
"It is a big deal," I said, already tearing into a carton of fried rice. "This is a miracle in a bag."
Charlie shook his head, amused but quiet. He didn't hover he never hovered but the concern was written all over his face. "Where's Bella?"
"In her room, probably journaling about her tragic near-death experience and Edward Cullen's marble cheekbones," I said around a mouthful of noodles.
"Mm." Charlie didn't comment on the cheekbones, wisely. He just leaned back in his chair. "And you? You okay? After the accident?"
I paused mid-bite, then nodded. "Yeah. I'm fine. Nothing happened. Totally normal. Just a truck deciding it wanted to kiss us goodnight. No biggie."
Charlie gave me a look the patented Dad Look but didn't press.
"Good," he said finally, standing up and stretching. "I'll check on Bella."
"Tell her dinner's here," I mumbled with my mouth full.
Charlie raised a brow. "What was that?"
"I said..." I swallowed dramatically..."that you are, once again, a lifesaver."
This time, he really did smile just a tiny, reluctant twitch of the lips but it counted. A full-blown, heart-melting grin was not on the menu today, apparently. Then he shuffled off, muttering something about "teenagers" under his breath like he'd just survived an encounter with a particularly difficult alien species.
I glanced at the steaming pile of food in front of me rice, noodles, and whatever mysterious takeout sauce Charlie had deemed acceptable and grinned. If near-death experiences ended with hot, comforting food like this, maybe Forks wasn't such a terrible place after all.
I shoveled another bite into my mouth, eyes closing in bliss. Crunch. Slurp. Chew. Repeat. I may have looked like a raccoon in a rice bowl, but honestly? Who cared. The important part was the pure, unadulterated joy of eating without having to fight off runaway trucks, overzealous vampires, or my own dramatic instincts.
"Hot food: 1, traumatic day: 0," I muttered to myself, letting the chopsticks become a tiny baton for my solo victory parade.
I leaned back in my chair, sighing contentedly. "Seriously, Forks, you could do worse," I muttered. "Much worse."
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