Distractions - complete.pdf - A - D - moniq25

Distractions

http://www.fanfiction.net/s/5759303/1/

In September Edward Cullen told me he didn't want me anymore.

Then he left.

And he took everything ... photos, gifts, my best friend. My heart, my soul. My

future.

He would leave me with no reminders ...

... as if I could ever forget.

I sleepwalked through October and dragged myself into November. Charlie

threatened me with Jacksonville and my mother. My mother threatened me with

counselling. I stuck a smile on my face and pretended to be a whole person.

But in December a Christmas tree pushed its way through the front door and

everything changed.

It was a Friday afternoon after school and the knock at the door was unexpected.

Even more unexpected was what met me when I answered.

Bushy green branches slowly curled around the door as it opened, as though they

were taking a sneaky peak to see if anyone was home. I took a startled step

back, pulling the door with me and the wider the opening the more green

appeared, the branches becoming bolder now and pushing their way in.

"Er, hello?"

"Bella? Hey!"

"Jacob?"

"Yeah, it's me."

His voice came from somewhere beyond the green.

"What ... um ... ,"

"You'd better stand back, this thing is big."

Obediently, I moved out of the way as the narrow hall filled with foliage. Behind it

was Jacob Black.

"I think I might have overestimated," he said, parting some of the branches so he

could grin at me. "So ... where do you want this thing?"

His face was expectant. Obviously, I was supposed to know what was going on.

I didn't.

And that must have been obvious too, because Jacob's face fell slightly.

"Charlie didn't call you, did he?"

Charlie?

"No, I ... oh!" I jumped as the phone started ringing. "I guess ... that's probably

him, right?"

I started towards the kitchen, wondering what exactly my father was up to, but

the ringing stopped just as my hand touched the phone. I stared at it for a

second, then turned back towards the living room. Jacob opened his mouth to

speak and the phone rang again.

I snatched at it this time and was met with Charlie's voice on the other end. He

sounded slightly sheepish when I asked if he knew anything about the

unexpected Christmas tree.

"So, Jake beat me to it, huh?"

"Looks like it. So, what's the story?"

Charlie hesitated a little, then cleared his throat.

"Well, it's Christmas," he said firmly, almost a declaration. "I thought ... I don't

usually do much in the way of trees or decorations, but I thought you might like

to."

"Oh, okay."

"And you seemed to get on okay with Jake at Thanksgiving, and last week when

he came over with Billy ... I thought you wouldn't mind his help."

I gritted my teeth as I closed my eyes. It was easy to read between the lines.

Charlie was trying so hard to distract me, to help me, to bring me out of myself. I

swallowed and leant my head against the kitchen wall. "Yeah, Dad. That'll be

great."

"Yeah?" He sounded almost surprised. "Good, that's ... good. Listen, don't worry

about dinner, I'll grab a pizza and maybe you could ask Jake if he wants to stay."

I nodded, then realised he couldn't see.

"Sure, okay."

We said goodbye, the phone was back on its hook and I needed a moment.

Charlie cared. My pain was killing him, but everything he did to try and help me

was just another way of emphasising what was wrong.

Not that the wrong needed emphasising. It was everywhere.

I didn't go to school now, I went to school without him.

My room wasn't just my room anymore ... it was my room without him in it.

When I washed dishes ... I washed dishes without him flicking me with soapsuds.

There was no relief ... school, home, Forks, the Thriftway, driving past the

hospital, Port Angeles, Charlie, my friends, Volvo commercials ...

He wasn't everywhere.

I dragged my arm over my face and tried to take a deep breath. Memories

flickered, painful and raw, pulling at the loose threads of my barely-there

composure, trying to unravel me. This was just going to be Christmas without

him.

"But you never had a Christmas with him," I muttered, hugging myself. "So you

have no reminders, no comparisons." I bit down hard on my lip. Maybe I could

make this Christmas a new memory ... without him.

"Bella?" Jacob startled me as he walked into the kitchen. "Everything okay?"

I pulled my hair back behind my ears and nodded. "Yep. Fine."

He hesitated while I stared at the floor, trying to fix the smile back on my face as

I wrapped my arms around myself again.

"Did Charlie ... do you want ... I can go ... ,"

I heard myself tell him it was okay, he should stay, we'd decorate the tree.

He didn't move or speak for a moment while my eyes stayed trained on my feet.

There was mud on the tip of my left sneaker, I noticed.

I worked at my expression until I was finally satisfied I had something resembling

a smile, then I looked up and his eyes were hesitant, unsure. I cracked the smile

a little wider and he smiled back, gingerly.

"Oh, and you should stay for pizza. Charlie's bringing it home." I put as much

enthusiasm into my voice as I could and it must have sounded real because

Jacob's smile became more confident.

"Okay, well, lets get started." He turned to head into the living room and I

followed.

"So ... where?" Jacob stood, arms folded across his chest, looking around.

"Um, I don't know."

"How about the corner over there?"

I shook my head. "No, it'll cover part of the flat screen."

"Oh, yeah. No good."

"Maybe by the window?"

"It'll cut out some of the light."

I shrugged. "That's okay."

Jacob nodded and walked over to grab the tree and drag it in from the hall.

"Is this thing going to fit?" I didn't know how much help I was being but I was

pushing and pulling as much as I could.

"Um, yeah, but only just, I think." He gave a nervous little laugh.

The leaves at the top were brushing against the ceiling as we stood it up. Jacob

held it steady, I tightened the screws in the stand and then we stood back and

looked.

"How did you even get this here?" I asked, realising I had no idea whether Jacob

had driven or caught a lift. Surely he hadn't dragged it from La Push ... although

looking at the tree now, maybe he had.

"My dad's truck," he said. "Well, what do you think?"

I stared at the tree a moment. It leant slightly to the left, the curtain was caught

up at the back, some of the branches were bent at odd angles and it was already

dropping needles.

And Jacob looked so proud, I gave him a soft smile.

"Yeah, it's good."

Decorations were a problem. Charlie had said he kept a box at the top of the hall

closet, but by the look of them, and the layer of dust that held them together, I

didn't think he had done the Christmas thing for a while.

There were some cracked baubles, tinsel that fell apart when I touched it and ten

cardboard stars, each painted a different colour, all sprinkled with glitter and

curling at the edges with age. I could sort of remember making them. I'd been

five and Charlie and I had sat at the kitchen table, the same one he had now.

There'd been newspaper spread out, a box of paints, small containers of glitter,

cardboard, safety scissors and glue. He'd sat with me and painted his stars while

I painted mine. He'd helped me with the glitter, pouring it in a small pile in the

centre and then giving me a spoon to spread it around. Then he'd done the same

with his own. We'd poked string through the tops and hung them all over the

tree. I remembered thinking it was wonderful, and even though now, years later,

I knew the Christmas craft would have been Renee's suggestion, Charlie's smiles

had been his own.

I touched one of the stars and the memory warmed me in a way nothing else had

in the last two months. Then I handed Jacob the box.

"Um, it's not much of a collection," I said. "I don't think Charlie's had a tree since

I was five."

Jake nodded. "That's okay, we can make some decorations. We used to do it all

the time when I was a kid."

He walked to the coffee table and bent down, sorting through the magazines that

were stacked underneath.

"We could cut some of these up," he said, picking up a magazine and flicking

through the pages.

"Not the Fishing Digests!" My voice was sharp and Jake looked up, surprised.

"Charlie would kill us." I explained more gently.

Jake grinned. "Yeah, he probably would. What about these?"

"The National Geographics are fine, we can use those."

Jake nodded and grabbed a copy with Krakatoa erupting on the front.

"And what about these?" He smirked as he pulled out two copies of Seventeen. I

grimaced. I'd forgotten about those.

"Those you can cut up," I said flatly and turned back to the tree.

They were the leftovers from Jessica's attempt to cheer me up with a surprise

movie night. She'd arrived one Friday night, unannounced, bouncy and bubbly,

armed with magazines, movies, a selection of nail polish and a bag of chocolates.

It had been only two weeks afterhe left and though her gesture was kind her

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