waking up

October

 November

 December

 January

Time passes. Even when it seems impossible. Even when each tick of the second hand aches like the pulse of blood behind a bruise. It passes unevenly, in strange lurches and dragging lulls, but pass it does. Even for me.

Charlie's fist came down on the table. "That's it, Beau! I'm sending you home."

I looked up from my cereal, which had gone soggy, and stared at Charlie in shock. I hadn't been particularly invested in the conversation—I had a lot on my mind—and I wasn't sure what he meant.

"I am home," I replied, confused.

"I'm sending you to Renée, to Jacksonville," he clarified.

Charlie watched with exasperation as I slowly grasped the meaning of his words.

"Wait, why? What did I do?" I felt my face crumple. I was thoroughly confused. I had been the same as always, if not a little glum. The first week had been the hardest, but I figured that was normal post-breakup. After that awful week, I made a concentrated effort to go back to life as I had known it—as best as I could—I hadn't missed a day of school or work. My grades were perfect. I never broke curfew. I couldn't understand his reasoning.

Charlie was scowling.

"You didn't do anything. That's the problem. You never do anything."

"You want me to get into the trouble?" I wondered, my eyebrows pulling together in confusion.

"Trouble would be better than this… this moping around all the time!"

That stung a bit. I would admit to a general sense of gloom, sure, but not moping.

"Okay, I have not been moping around."

"Wrong word," he grudgingly conceded. "Moping would be better—that be doing something. You're just… lifeless, Beau. I think that's the word I want."

This might be moderately accurate. I sighed, I couldn't argue.

"I'm sorry, Dad."

"I don't want you to apologize."

"I've been trying, Dad. I know I'm not exactly… exuberant. I don't know why I'm so…" I couldn't find the word, so I just shrugged.

Charlie's expression softened and he sighed. "I know, Beau, I know." He put a hand on my shoulder. "When your mother left," he began, frowning, "and took you with her." He inhaled deeply. "Well, that was a really bad time for me."

"I know, Dad."

"I just…" he sighed again, "I know it was your first relationship and that's not something you just get over, but it's been months."

"Am I that bad?" I could hear the disappointment in my own voice.

He looked at me a moment, and sighed. "You're not that bad. But maybe with your mother—"

"I can go out," I objected. "I can call Jess or Angela."

"Why haven't you gone out before now?" Charlie pressed.

This was a touchy subject. I had realized not long after that first week that readjusting to life as it had been would be more difficult than I thought. It had dawned on me that I hadn't spent very much time with Jess or Angela, or any of my friends for that matter. I had tried to justify it—Jess and Mike hardly talked to any of us when they had been together—it was just something that happened when you were in a relationship… right? My lack of interaction had made things awkward with everyone. It didn't help that they all treated me like I was going to fall apart on them at any moment. It had created a horrible tension that didn't make me feel any better and I hadn't responded as well as I could have.

"I just want you to be happy, Beau." Charlie finally said. "I think you'll have a better chance if you get out of Forks."

My eyes flashed up to meet his.

"Dad, I'm not leaving." I said.

"Why not?" he demanded.

"This is my home, Dad. I don't want to leave Forks—or you." I paused. "Besides, I'm not going to let him drive me away." I muttered.

"Beau…" Charlie began, his voice soft.

"I'm not staying because I'm waiting for anything. I don't expect anything." I said, an edge of anger in my tone. "But he doesn't get to do what he did and make me leave Forks. He doesn't get to have that." I said, more to myself than to Charlie.

Charlie only stared at me, sadly. He could understand, to a point. After all, the divorce had hurt him pretty deeply. I knew he didn't want me to go; he just wanted what was best for me. Maybe—for him—the memories he and my mom had made in Forks had been a complication, a roadblock, in his healing process. I wouldn't let that happen to me. I wasn't going to let the memories drive me away.

"I have to get to school, Dad," I said quietly, standing up and taking my bowl the sink. "I'll make plans with Jessica," I said as I quickly rinsed out the bowl. "Maybe we'll go to Port Angeles and catch a movie or something."

He only nodded.

I grabbed my phone and my school bag and headed out the door.

It was cold, but it wasn't raining. I didn't mind the rain anymore; in fact, I had come to enjoy it. Rain was good. The rain washed everything away. A fresh, clean start. Maybe I did need to make more of an effort to move on. It had been four months, it was a new year. I wasn't going to let one bad breakup define me. I wasn't the first person to have their heart broken—I wasn't the first person to invest too much in a relationship. I wouldn't be the one person who fell apart because of it.

In the past four months I had come to understand what all the problems had been. It had been one hell of a relationship but I had put everything into it, like a kindling in a fire. It had burned too hot, too fast, and too quickly. It couldn't sustain itself. What didn't help was that I was promised it would last. I believed it would last. These were lies. It didn't help that I didn't get closure; I didn't get a choice in the matter. But I wouldn't cry anymore, I wouldn't waste any more time feeling sad or sorry for myself. I wouldn't waste a single tear, or thought, on Edward Cullen.

I had been so lost in my thoughts that I had driven to school on auto-pilot. The lot as already full by the time I got there, and I rushed to English. We were working on Animal Farm, and it was a welcome change from the romances that made up most of the curriculum. I settled into my seat, ready for the distraction of Mr. Berty's lecture.

The bell rang all too soon. I started repacking my bag.

"Beau?"

I recognized Mike's voice, and I knew what his next words would be before he said them.

"Are you working tomorrow?"

I looked up. He was leaning across the aisle with an anxious expression. Every Friday he asked me the same question. This was one of the things that had driven a wedge between me and my friends. I hadn't taken so much as a sick day, save for that first week, and yet he still looked at me with such concern. I imagined my panic attack in the woods hadn't helped anyone's perception of how I had handled the breakup. It had hurt me deeply, of course, but not enough to leave me a catatonic mess. You try getting lost in the middle of the woods at night and see how you feel, I wanted to yell at everyone.

"Tomorrow is Saturday, isn't it?" I said wearily.

"Yeah, it is," he agreed. "See you in Spanish." He waved once before turning his back. He didn't bother walking me to class anymore.

I walked grimly to Calculus. This was the class where I sat next to Jessica.

It had been weeks since Jess and I had spoken. I knew I had hurt her feelings with my antisocial behavior. The tension following that awful week had been unbearable. I had tried to justify my ensuing coldness by saying that the way they were treating me was detrimental to me moving past everything. But I couldn't lie to myself; I had been kind of a jerk to Jessica and she didn't deserve it. A fresh, clean start, I told myself.

I took a deep breath and opened the door.

Mr. Varner gave me a dark look—he'd already started the lecture. I hurried to my seat. Jessica didn't look up as I sat next to her. I was glad I had fifty minutes to figure out how to apologize.

This class flew by even faster than English, I grimaced when Mr. Varner dismissed the class five minutes early.

"Jess?" I said, hesitantly, waiting for her reaction.

She twisted in her seat to face me, eyeing me incredulously. "Are you talking to me, Beau Swan?"

I shouldn't have been surprised by her reaction to me, but it still stung a little.

"Yeah, I am. Hey." I said, awkwardly.

She continued to stare.

"Jess, I'm really sorry," I sighed, "It's been a rough few months—especially at first—and I've never dealt with anything like this before—and I know that's totally not an excuse or anything and you have every right to be mad at me—" I sighed again, "I'm sorry I've been a jerk."

She stared at me for a long moment. I was starting to think that she was going to just pick up her things and walk away. But suddenly she threw her arms around me and squeezed me tight.

"Like you couldn't just talk to me about it, you idiot." She sighed, "I've kind of got some experience in the breakup department."

I laughed, and it felt nice to laugh again. "I know, I know."

"So you're back?" She pulled away from the hug and looked me in the eyes, "For real?"

"I think so."

She squealed excitedly.

"So," I began, "since I'm back… do you want to go to the movies or something? I think I could use a girls' night out—like old times."

"Of course," she grinned, then her face got serious, "but you're paying for my ticket, jerk."

I laughed again, "Okay, deal."

"What do you want to see?"

"I'm really not sure what's playing," I racked my brain for a clue—hadn't I heard someone talk about a movie recently? Seen a poster? "How about that one with the lady who gets lost in space?"

She looked at me oddly. "Beau, that one's been out of the theater forever."

"Oh." I frowned. "Umm… is there anything you'd like to see?"

Jessica's natural bubbliness started to leak out as she thought out loud. "Well, there's that new romantic comedy that's getting great reviews. I want to see that one. And my dad just saw Dead End and he really liked it."

"What's Dead End about?"

"Zombies or something. He said it was the scariest thing he'd seen in years."

"Well, to be honest, I don't think I'm in the mood for a romance…" I shrugged.

Her eyes widened, "Oh, of course," she put a hand on my arm, "Oh my god, I totally get that. Okay, let's go see Dead End." She paused. "Do you like scary movies?"

"Yes?" I said, making a face. I wasn't even sure, if I was being honest with myself.

She laughed, "Zombies it is. Do you want me to pick you up after school?" she offered.

"That'd be great."

Jessica smiled warmly at me as she stood up to leave. "I'm glad you're doing okay, Beau."

I was glad too. I was doing better than I thought I would. I wondered why it had taken me so long to just start living again. The rest of the day was a blur. I was greeted warmly at lunch by my friends—Jessica had obviously informed them of my return to the land of the living—and I was grateful for their understanding. Isolating myself obviously wasn't the way to deal with this. Choosing to move on was hard, but it was what I needed to do.

Giving up is easy, trying is harder. It would be my new mantra, the thing that kept me going. I wouldn't lie to myself—or anyone else—I was still sad, and I still hurt. But I was going to be okay, I promised myself that.

When I got home, I hurried upstairs to change. I decided to wear a long-ignored red sweater—I had been wearing a lot of dark blue the last year. I was just pulling it over my head when my phone buzzed in my pocket.

I'm here! –Jess

I grabbed my wallet and ran down the stairs, I glanced at myself in the hall mirror before I opened the door, and I was pleasantly surprised to see that I looked happy.

"Thanks for coming with me tonight," I told Jess as I climbed into the passenger seat.

"Of course! So, what brought this on?" Jess wondered as she drove down my street.

"What do you mean?"

"Why did you suddenly decide to talk to everyone again? Go out?"

I pondered for a moment, "I guess I'm done feeling sorry for myself. I needed to start over and pick my life back up." I paused. "That's sounds so totally melodramatic and cheesy."

She giggled, "Kind of. But I get it," she hesitated for a moment before continuing, "do you want to talk about it?"

"I don't know," I answered truthfully, "I probably should, huh?"

"You don't have to if you don't want to." She said gently. "You guys were pretty serious, so I totally get that it's hard to talk about."

I didn't want to sour the night with sad thoughts, but I did have something I wanted to get off my chest. "The worst part is the memories."

"What do you mean?" She furrowed her eyebrows.

"They start fading." I said quietly. "I mean, part of me wants to forget him entirely for what he did—for hurting me like that. I almost feel like I'd be totally fine if I just let him go… but then, I don't want to forget him. When it was good it was… good, you know?"

She nodded thoughtfully.

"Some days," I continued, "I just sit and try to remember any little detail I can. His face, his voice…" I sighed, "but it's getting harder and harder."

"You don't have any pictures?"

"No." I hesitated. "I got rid of them all." I added quickly.

"Oh, yeah, I threw out everything Mike gave me after we broke up." She said, rolling her eyes.

"What is going on with you and Mike these days?" I asked, ready for a new subject.

"Ugh, don't get me started." She huffed.

"Have you been out with anyone else lately?" I asked.

"Not really. I go out with Conner sometimes. I went out with Tyler two weeks ago." She rolled her eyes again, and I sensed a long story.

"Tyler? Who asked who?"

She groaned, getting more animated. "He asked me, I swear I thought Logan was going to claw my eyes out."

"Where did he take you? Tell me all about it."

She launched into her tale, and I settled into my seat, eager to hear about someone else's relationship drama. When she was finished with her Tyler story, she continued into a Conner comparison without any prodding.

The movie was playing early, so Jess thought we should hit the twilight showing and eat later. I was fine with whatever she wanted; after all, I was having fun.

We chatted through the previews, but then I started to second guess my choice. My nerves really started with the movie. A young couple was walking along a beach while suspenseful music played in the background. I felt the goosebumps starting already.

"How scary did your dad say this movie was?" I whispered to Jessica.

"Really scary."

"I think I'm going to get some popcorn. Do you want any?"

"I swear, if you leave me in this movie all by myself I will throw you in the popcorn machine."

"I'll be right back."

Someone shushed us from behind.

I hurried out to the concession counter, dreading going back. I was definitely not brave enough for a horror movie. Sadistic vampires, sure, but not zombies. I slowly crept back into the theatre. I was barely back to my seat when a zombie stumbled out of a bush on the screen. The heroine screamed and I nearly tripped I jumped so hard. Jessica caught me as I fell into my seat, narrowly avoiding spilling the popcorn.

"This is terrifying!" She hissed at me.

I gripped the popcorn bucket tightly, unable to actually eat any of it. Jessica took big handfuls.

The movie continued on with gruesome zombie attacks and endless screaming from the handful of people left alive, their numbers dwindling quickly. I jumped at every little thing. Something else about the movie was making me uneasy though, and I wasn't sure why at first.

It wasn't until almost the very end, as I watched a haggard zombie shambling after the last survivor, that I realized what the problem was. The scene kept cutting between the horrified face of the hero, and the dead, emotionless face of his pursuer, back and forth as it closed the distance.

And I realized something disturbing.

I tried very hard not to think of the irony. But it was ironic, all things considered, that, in the end, I would wind up as a zombie. I hadn't seen that one coming.

Not that I hadn't considered becoming a mythical monster once—just never a grotesque, animated corpse. I quickly removed that thought from my head. I didn't want to think about it.

It was depressing to realize what he had done to me. That he had left me a shell of myself. I wasn't a zombie anymore, I was moving on. But the fact that he had so much power over me continued to disturb me. It upset me deeply—no, it made me furious.

The movie finally ended and Jessica let out a deep sigh of relief.

"That was the scariest movie I've ever seen."

"Yeah," I agreed. "Maybe not my best decision."

"I'll bet we're going to have nightmares tonight." She pouted.

"No doubt about that," I sighed. Nightmares I was used to at this point, but they weren't about zombies. Her eyes flashed to my face, curiously. Maybe my tone was more morose than I had meant.

"Where do you want to eat?" Jess asked.

"Something greasy and bad for me," I said, "I want to get fat."

She laughed, "Okay."

Jess started talking about the male lead in the movie as we walked. I nodded as she gushed over his hotness, I mentioned his shirtless scene and we both started giggling like idiots.

Jessica suddenly got very quiet, and I realized it was darker. I looked at her, confused. She wasn't looking at me. Her face was tense; she stared straight ahead and walked fast. As I watched, her eyes darted quickly to the right, across the road, and back again.

I glanced around us, trying to figure out what was wrong.

We were on a short stretch of unlit sidewalk. The little shops lining the streets were all locked up for the night, windows black. Half a block ahead, the streetlight started up again, and I could see, farther down, the bright golden arches of the McDonald's she was heading for.

Across the street there was one open business. The windows were covered from the inside and there were neon signs, advertisements for different brands of beer, glowing in front of them. The biggest sign, in brilliant green, was the name of the bar—One-Eyed Pete's. I wondered if there was some pirate theme not visible from the outside. The metal door was propped open; it was dimly lit inside, and the low murmur of many voices and the sound of ice clinking in glasses floated across the street. Lounging against the wall beside the door were four men.

I glanced back at Jessica. Her eyes were fixed on the path ahead and she moved briskly. She didn't look frightened—just wary, trying to not attract attention to herself.

I paused without thinking, looking back at the four men with a strong sense of déjà vu. This was a different road, a different night, but the scene was so much the same. One of them was even short and dark. As I stopped and glanced at them, that one looked up at us.

I stared back at him, frozen on the sidewalk.

"Beau?" Jess whispered. "What are you doing?"

I shook my head, not sure myself. "I don't know… I just…" I trailed off.

What was I doing? This was definitely a memory I wanted to forget.

"Let's go," I said quickly started to walk away.

"Hey, missy."

Jess and I both turned at the sound of the voice. One of the men against the wall was eyeing Jess, grinning drunkenly.

"That your boyfriend, sugar?" He slurred, taking a shaky step toward us. His buddies snickered.

"Y-yes." She answered, her voice trembling.

"Why don't you come over here, sugar, I'll show you what it's like to be with a real man." He flexed, unimpressively. His buddies guffawed.

"Leave her alone." My voice was loud and strong. It surprised me. Jess looked up at me with wide eyes.

"Buzz off," the short drunk spat, "I'm talking to the lady."

I took a step toward him. "I said, leave her alone." My voice was angry now. I wasn't sure what had come over me. Maybe it was the memory of that night, almost a year ago. Maybe it was because these men looked so much like the ones who had threatened me. I was lucky that night, but what if it had been Jessica lost in Port Angeles? What if these were the same men and what I they decided to start something? They outnumbered us and it was dark. It definitely wasn't a good situation.

"Beau, let's go." Jessica's voice cracked in panicked.

"Yeah, run off, little boy." The short drunk snorted, "Run home to mommy."

Without meaning to, I took several steps forward, squaring my shoulders. My jaw set. I didn't understand why, but I felt the need to prove something. Prove that I could defend myself and my friend. That I didn't need someone to drive up and rescue me. I felt a surge of adrenaline rush through me. It was exhilarating. I felt invigorated.

No, I felt alive.

I was halfway across the street when Jess caught up to me and grabbed my arm.

"Beau, please, don't be reckless." She hissed.

Something about her words stopped me. Reminded me of a promise I had made. A promise not to do anything dangerous or reckless. That promise lingered in my mind. I did promise, but what did I owe him?

"You want to mess, kid?" The short drunk smirked, rubbing his knuckles.

I didn't owe him anything. He wasn't here, he couldn't stop me. I took a defiant step forward.

"Beau, stop this right now!"

My muscles locked into place, froze me where I stood. Because it wasn't Jessica's voice that rebuked me now. It was a furious voice, a familiar voice, a beautiful voice—soft like velvet even though it was irate.

It was his voice.

It was like a slap to the face, my testosterone-fueled adrenaline rush subsided. I was more aware of the situation, of the danger.

I looked around myself in shock.

"Go back to Jessica," the lovely voice ordered, still angry. "You promised—nothing reckless."

I was alone. Jessica stood a few feet from me, staring at me with frightened eyes. By the wall, the strangers watched, tense, wondering if I was going to start a fight.

I shook my head, trying to understand. I knew he wasn't there, and yet, he felt improbably close, close for the first time since… since the end. The anger in his voice was concern, the same anger that was once very familiar—something I hadn't heard in what felt like a lifetime.

"Keep your promise." The voice was slipping away, as if the volume was being turned down on a radio.

I began to suspect that I was having some kind of hallucination. Triggered, no doubt, by the memory—the déjà vu, the strange familiarity of the situation.

I ran through the possibilities quickly in my head.

Maybe I was losing it. Months of self-induced solitude had caused me to conjure up voices in my head. That was possible.

Or, my subconscious mind was dredging up the memory of his voice that I was so afraid of losing. My mind was throwing me a bone, so to speak, keeping my memory fresh and talking to me in a voice that it knew I would listen to. We all have a small voice in our head that tells us not to do stupid things, right? Why shouldn't it be a voice we wanted to hear?

I didn't want to think of him, I had tried so hard not to think of him the last few months. I didn't want to think of what I lost or what could have been; that hurt too much. But maybe, just maybe, I could remember him without hurting.

"Guess he's scared."

The laughing sneer of the short man brought me out of my reverie.

Instinctively, I took an angry step forward, narrowing my eyes.

"Beau, turn around," the voice growled.

I sighed. This is foolish. This wasn't healthy. I glared at the men, only the short one looked like he wanted to fight. The others were still leaning against the wall, looking anxious.

"Well?" the short one called.

The voice in my head answered with a snarl, and I smirked.

"Not worth my time," I shrugged at him.

I turned back to Jessica, whose face was somewhere between terror and awe. I offered her my arm. "Let's go eat," I said.

I felt smug, strong, and confident as we walked down the sidewalk. I didn't need to be saved. I could stand up for myself.

"What were you thinking?" Jessica snapped. "They could have killed you!"

I shrugged, "Only the short one wanted to fight. I think I could have handled it. Besides, I didn't like the way he was talking to you. That wasn't okay."

She rolled her eyes, but she was fighting a grin. "You are so odd, Beau Swan."

"Sorry." I shrugged, smiling.

We ate in silence for a moment, and then she finally spoke. "You looked so tough out there." She gushed. "I was impressed."

I snorted, "Believe me, no one has ever called me tough."

"No, you did! If you were into girls I'd be all over you right now." She teased and we both had a good laugh.

When we got back to the car, she tuned the stereo to her favorite station and continued to gush about how tough I was and how grateful she was that I had stood up for her. I tried to listen but my mind was distracted now. I kept going back to his voice. I should probably be concerned that I was hearing it, but I realized that I felt relief.

As much as I struggled not to think of him, I did not struggle to forget. I worried that it was all slipping away. That my mind was a sieve, and I would someday not be able to remember the precise color of his eyes, the feel of his cool skin, or the sound of his voice. I didn't want to think of them, but I wanted to remember them.

He had taken everything with him when he left, but I needed to know that he had existed. That he had been real.

I was surprised when Jessica stopped the car in front of my house, I had been so deep in thought.

"Thanks for going out with me, Jess," I said as I opened my door. "That was fun."

"Of course, Beau." She smiled.

"I really am sorry if I scared you."

"No, thank you for standing up for me." She smiled. "I'm going to tell everyone what a badass Beau Swan turned into."

I chuckled, "Deal. See you Monday?"

"See you Monday."

"Text me, or something!" I smiled as I shut the door. She waved as she drove away.

Charlie was waiting for me in the middle of the hall, his arms folded tight over his chest with his hands balled into fists.

"Hey, Dad," I said surprised to see him standing there, "what's wrong?"

"Where have you been?" Charlie demanded.

I looked at him, surprised. "I went to a movie in Port Angeles with Jessica. Like I told you this morning."

"Humph," he grunted.

"Is… that okay?"

He studied my face, his eyes widening as if he saw something unexpected. "Yeah, of course. That's fine. Did you have fun?"

"Yeah, I did," I smiled. "We saw a zombie movie, ate some greasy food."

"Well," he raised an eyebrow, "Good."

"Night, Dad."

"Night, Beau." He let me pass. I hurried up the stairs.

I took a long, warm shower. Then readied myself for bed. I felt the evening catching up with me. It had been a long day and so much had happened. I sat on the edge of my bed, pondering to myself. I realized I was standing on the edge of something—something important. This evening had been a rainstorm, washing away the last four months—washing away the last year. I wouldn't be sad anymore, I wouldn't wallow, I wouldn't just go through the motions. I would remember, yes, but that's all I would do. Most importantly, I would move on.

I had been asleep and whatever it was that had happened tonight—and whether it was the zombies, the adrenaline, or the hallucinations that were responsible—it had woken me up. I felt alive.

For the first time in a long time, I didn't know what to expect in the morning.