WIDE_AWAKE 1-44.pdf

Angst Goddess 003

1. GINGERBREAD ZOMBIES

BPOV

I hate this room. With a deep-seeded fiery passion of a million hells. I don’t mean to

be melodramatic, really. But it’s a fact. In the brighter daylight hours, it’s nearly

bearable. But here, near midnight, it’s anything but. Dark, desolate, suffocating, and

hidden corners and crevices. I could feel the familiar fear and panic creeping up my

chest just opening the door. I couldn’t even get an ounce of comfort from the full

moon tonight, blocked by the clouds so common here and even more so by the

Cullens’ freakishly large mansion towering outside my window. Aunt Esme and Alice

worked so hard to decorate this room for me; I almost felt a swelling of guilt when I

reached in just far enough to snatch my school bag from the floor beside the door

and bolt away from the room towards the kitchen.

This was where I had been spending my nights since I moved up here to Forks,

Washington a week ago. The kitchen was warm, and open. Always bright, and full of

good memories. Nothing awful has ever happened to me in a kitchen. I’ve been

doing all the cooking since I arrived. Esme was slightly peeved at first, surrendering

her kitchen duties to a 17 year old girl, but she eventually gave in, seeing how much

I enjoyed the tasks. And it was such a rarity to witness me enjoying anything.

So I’ve made a careful routine of spending my nights in here, baking, cooking, and

doing homework. Anything but sleeping in that wretched, dark bedroom. Everyone in

Phoenix called it insomnia. I’ve already had the lectures from physicians and

professionals, all specifically trained and formally educated to keep my ‘well being’

their ‘top priority’. I’ve had the sleeping pills, and courses of medication meant to

keep me knocked out for the customary eight hours per night. Of course, they’d

never really understand. It’s not so much that I can’t sleep, but I won’t. I catch my

sleep in 10 minute bouts during the day, though even then I try to fend it off. It’s

difficult to do, and I spend my days in a cloudy lethargic haze, but it’s better than

having the dreams. Dreams full of hitting and scratching, screaming and hiding,

bruises and tears, and monsters hiding in my closet, biding their time. And those are

among the more pleasant ones. The ones of my mom, Renee, were the worst by far.

Her cold, limp body slung over the couch in a pool of her own blood. And her eyes…

I snapped out of that line of thinking and begin immersing myself in my English

paper while waiting for my cookies to bake. It was a new recipe. I’ve been baking a

new cookie every night for the last week. I’ve adopted it as my new habit. When I

lived in the group home in Phoenix, I could cook up a lot of things during the night

and the boys would always eat it up long before it had the chance to spoil. But Alice

and Esme’s appetites couldn’t accommodate my particular level of nighttime

boredom. So I settle for cookies. They always enjoy my creative recipes and names.

Thankfully, they haven’t questioned my weird late night mannerisms. They were too

happy that I finally gave in and moved here with them to chance pushing me away

with questions I had absolutely no desire to answer. Esme begged me to come here

a year ago, when Renee died, but I wanted to spare them my dark mood and

reclusive behavior, I hated to burden them. Yet here I am, I thought bitterly.

I let them think they had a kind of victory in my decision to move here from the

group home in Phoenix. But really, I just couldn’t stay there anymore. There were

too many people. Too many males crammed against me in such a small space. I was

in a near-constant state of panic, and it was exhausting, which isn’t exactly beneficial

to someone who’s trying to stay awake. I didn’t like boys, and I despised men. They

terrify me after Phil. It’s irrational, I know. Not all of them are out to get me. Even if

I wanted to take the chance, my mind and body had an automatic reaction that I

simply couldn’t stop. My old psychologist mentioned something about defense

mechanisms and anxiety attacks or what not. I didn’t care what they called it, I

hated it. Never being able to get close to anyone of the opposite sex without

hyperventilating and shaking in fear, even if I wanted to, was a major inconvenience

in a co-ed group home. Suddenly the prospect of living with two women was too

appealing. Maybe they did have some kind of victory after all.

But Forks was better. Small and quaint. I wouldn’t say I was happy here, because I’d

never be happy, no matter the place or company I kept. I had seen too much. But it

was a few steps closer to happiness than Phoenix was, so I couldn’t regret my

decision.

DING

I jumped up, dropping my pencil; startled from the loud sound of the timer signaling

the cookies were done baking. Get a Grip Bella, Jeez. I waited for them to cool

before I bean decorating the little man-shaped cookies appropriately.

Once the men had their costumes complete, I produced 3 Ziplock bags and used my

marker to write the name of the cookie on each white rectangle label. Gingerbread

Zombies. It seemed all too fitting to the fact that I was, in fact, in a zombie state for

most of the day today, as I would be tomorrow, as I have been for months.

Five hours, four cups of coffee, and two English papers later, I had breakfast made

and was already dressed for school, donning my usual black hoodie and jeans, and

wearing my long brown hair down. Esme had already rushed out for work,

Gingerbread Zombies in hand, sending a wry smile to me regarding my newest

creations.. Alice arrived to breakfast perfectly awake, as usual, and bounced in

bright, shiny and bushytailed. She positively radiated refreshed, positive attitude. It

made me want to vomit.

Her usual attitude was bubbly and excited. My cousin Alice was slightly shorter than

me, with short, spiky black hair. We were born within a month of each other and our

mothers were sisters. Still, gene pool aside, we were polar opposites. She was

popular at Forks High School and could make friends with anyone. I naturally shied

away from everybody. She kept up to date on all the latest fashion trends. I went

out of my way to wear nothing attention grabbing. She was excited and graceful. I

was introverted and clumsy. See where I’m going with this?

“Goood Moring! Mmm, Bacon and eggs! Are those Waffles? With Blueberries?!” She

chirped and slid into one of the stools. Her little legs were swinging from the stool

back and forth like a 17 year old toddler. “So help me God Bella, I’m going to gain so

much weight while you’re here. Is there syrup? Maybe I should pass on that

anyways…”

I just rolled my eyes at her and stuffed some eggs into my mouth. I loved Alice like

a sister, but there was no getting a word in edgewise with her in the morning. When

she looked up from her plate she stopped mid-sentence. Then she got that look that

I instantly recognized as ‘Concerned Alice Face’. Here we go…

“Good grief Bella! You look terrible! Didn’t you get any sleep at all last night?” I

cringed. I look terrible… Jeez, thanks, Alice for the self image boost. I simply gave a

non committal shrug like I always did when she asked me that question, and kept

eating. With a deep sigh and a disapproving shake of her little head, she let the

matter drop.

Alice was like this often when it came to me; concerned but cautious. She was

always trying to get me to open up to her so she could understand. I knew she only

meddled like this because she cared, but I stayed quiet about my problems. I

couldn’t explain it to her right, and she’d just get even more worried if I tried.

EPOV

Where the fuck did I put that lighter?! I spun around in the middle of my bedroom

for the third time, raking my fingers through my hair utterly frustrated. I had just

woken up after a whopping 20 minutes of sleep from a particularly fucked up dream,

and I really needed a fucking cigarette. Leave it to me to have a full pack and

nothing to light one with. I really need to clean this shit hole and get organized.

Think, Edward! Fuck! Last time I had it… Oh, right! I flung open the door to my

balcony and immediately spotted it lying on the railing. There you are, I smirked.

I lit the cigarette and performed a reverent pull. Ahh, much better. I never smoke

inside my room. Because that shit clings and stinks. Carlisle was having a moment of

precognition when he gave me the room with the balcony. Daddy C. sure knows how

to put up his orphans. He adopted me 4 years ago, from a rather unseemly foster

‘situation’. Dr. Carlisle Cullen is a fundamentally good man and upstanding citizen of

the Greater Forks Community. We don’t usually butt heads much, but then again,

the good doctor is rarely home enough to do otherwise. Fine by me. He keeps me

clothed and fed and rarely asks questions.

I suppose to most 17 year olds, it’s the ideal living situation. I’m probably as close to

happy as I’m ever going to get. Emmet lives with us too. Another one of Carlisle’s

acquisitions. Emmet is a year older than me and was here first. He loves throwing

that up to me. As if I care. He’s the fucking golden boy of Forks, and a constant kiss

ass. When the elders aren’t about, he’s also crude as hell. We don’t get along. At all.

After a year of constant fighting and bitching from Carlisle, we made an unspoken

agreement to stay out of each other’s hair. He’ll be gone in a year anyways.

I looked out over the balcony from our rather ambiguously large house to the dark

back yard and took another pull from my cigarette. Fucking nighttime. I loathed this

time of day. Much like a bad piece of Russian literature, it was long as fuck, and

boring as hell. I had my hobbies, and sure, I could spend 9 hours sketching and

listening to music. But if I was being honest with myself, and I very rarely am, there

was only one thing I wanted to do in this world more than anything. Sleep. The last

time I had a good, entire night’s sleep, was so many years ago, I don’t even

remember what it was like. Carlisle was worried at first, probably still is, but there’s

nothing he can do. It was like this every single night. Barely any sleep at all, if I

even made an attempt to do so. It was the dreams… always with the fucking

dreams. It literally, wasn’t even worth it to try to sleep anymore.

I threw my spent cigarette over the edge of the balcony just as the rain drops

started to fall in typical Forks fashion. Once back inside the warmth of my spacious,

albeit cluttered bedroom, I plopped down on my bed and resumed my sketch from

earlier in the evening. It kept me awake almost as good as Daddy C’s secret stash of

amphetamines, which was in serious threat of total depletion I might add. I’ve

always limited my drugs to uppers for obvious reasons. Occasionally I’d get go get

drunk with my friend Jasper, but not often.

Jasper Hale and I were friends since the first day of freshman year, and I told Mr.

Johnson – our horribly under educated History teacher – to ‘go fuck himself’. Jazz

loved that shit. He was the only friend I ever had, or needed here in Forks. We often

have a rather silent relationship; we could always read other through looks and body

language. It’s not a bromance or anything, it’s just how we are. But even though

Jazz always has my back, and is always there to listen to my all my fucked up

problems, I can’t help feeling alone. He tries to understand, but how could he? When

he asked why I was always tired, I told him the truth. I’d rather walk around like a

fucking zombie than experience the dreams that haunted me. Of course, he thought

I was crazy. So I never brought it up again.

I finished my sketch and signed my name and date in the bottom right corner,

shutting the book with a sigh. What to do now? I drummed my fingers on the hard

leather bound cover of the book. Schoolwork. I suppressed a groan.

I had been out of school for the past week due to a minor disciplinary infraction.

Suspended five days for smoking on campus. Wow, what a punishment, five days of

freedom. Boredom is more like it. I always get good grades in school. Especially

here, where I could probably teach most of the AP classes, even half awake. I mean,

I did have 9 free hours a night to study and work.

With that thought, I began a rather lengthy Trig worksheet. Sleep deprivation makes

every task more difficult. Most people don’t even realize how important it is to your

health, both mental and physical. No one knows better than me. Before the incident

8 years ago, I never realized how much I took a good night’s rest for granted. My

mother would always hum me to sleep at night after tucking me in. Of course that

was before she hated me, before she sent me away and left me in the hands of

underpaid social workers and poorly run institutions.

She couldn’t even look at me after what happened, couldn’t even bear to be in the

same room as me. She never even fucking said goodbye. I wish I could say I blamed

her, but I really can’t. I took away the one person she loved more than anything.

More than me, obviously. Even now, 8 years later, I can see the flames clearly in my

mind. I can feel the heat and smell the smoke. And if I sleep deep enough, I can

watch perfectly as my father lies burning on the floor, screaming for help that will

never come. I began shaking my head, unwilling to take that train of thought any

further.

Once the sun was beginning to show signs of rising, I closed my textbook and began

getting ready for my grand re-appearance at Forks High. I never really put much

thought into what I wore, usually a simple t-shirt and jeans, my favorite black

leather jacket, and scuffed boots. I probably looked much less well-to-do than I

actually was, but I could hardly find it in me to give a fuck. The only real reason I

even go to school anyways is to hang with Jazz and have something to occupy my

time. Well, that and the fact that if my GPA drops below a 3.5 Daddy C. takes my

Volvo away. All things considered, the good doctor knows how to bribe effectively.

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