resurfacing

Submerged in dark waters, unable to breathe. Perhaps only minutes left to live—but in those minutes, each second lasts an agonizing eternity. No catharsis, no release.

So it was for me, as time marched on without remorse.

"I'm sending you home, Beau."

I blinked, looking up from my cereal. I'd spaced out again—I did that a lot—and I had no clue what we were talking about. "Come again?"

Charlie was sitting across the table from me, the pile of pancakes and scrambled eggs I'd made that morning only half consumed in front of him.

"You're going home," he repeated. "To Jacksonville, with Renée. I just can't stand this anymore."

I stared back at him a long minute. It always took a little while for words to filter down through the murky waters around my foggy brain. "Can't stand what anymore, Dad?"

"This," he said, gesticulating vaguely. "You—acting like this."

I paused, my brain working to compute that. I couldn't seem to remember doing anything to bring this on. For the past four months, I hadn't missed a day of school, at least not counting that first week. My grades were good, and I never got home late. I was cooking more than I ever had before, so we were almost never stuck with leftovers.

"Acting like what?" I asked at last.

Charlie was frowning deeply. "Beau, I think we both know this isn't working. You can't just sit around the house all day, every day. You should be out doing something, like other kids your age."

I shook my head slowly, forcing my sluggish brain to work. "What exactly are you looking for, Dad? To see me out tagging fences or smoking behind the school? I've been keeping up with all my subjects, I've been doing all my chores. I...don't get what the problem is."

Charlie shook his head. "Okay, it's not that you aren't doing anything—but you aren't doing anything you enjoy, for yourself. Of course I don't want you tagging fences, but at least it would be something. Right now, you never get excited about anything anymore. You're—you're like a robot, going automatically from one thing to the next. That's not a healthy way to live."

I didn't know what to say. I'd been doing my best to seem normal so Charlie wouldn't have to waste time worrying about me. I thought I'd been saying all the right things, doing the right things. But apparently he'd seen straight through the charade. It sucked to think all that effort had been a waste.

Charlie was gazing at me evenly across the table as I silently tried to work out a response. He said slowly, almost hesitantly, "Beau, I think it's time—I think you and I really need to talk."

My attention returned to him. Something in his tone made me uneasy, though in a distant, drugged-out sort of way. "About...what?" I said dully.

Charlie leaned forward toward me, resting his arms on the table. "Look—I know what you're going through, kid. I went through it myself. Feeling like everything's lost it's color—but there comes a point when you've got to let yourself let go. You haven't gotten any letters or phone calls—that's a sign, son. It's time to...move on. And I think that would be easier for you if you were able to get away from here."

It took me a moment to process, to hear through the deep waters forever insulating my mind and work out a response. "I'm fine, Dad," I said at last. "Honest."

Charlie's expression was a mingle of concern and frustration. "Beau, I really think it's time for a change. I've left you to yourself to come to terms...to deal...But obviously, this isn't working. It's really time to try something else. Renée and I have mostly left you to make your own decisions, but it's to the point now where I'm going to take action if I have to. You're depressed—and I'm not going to just sit here and let it go on anymore. I should have done something long before now."

I hadn't felt much of anything in a long time, but this was enough to arouse in me some alarm. Whatever happened, I wasn't leaving Forks. That much I was absolutely decided on.

I reached deep into my sluggish brain, batting aside all the normal phrases and modes of communication I'd come to rely on, and tried to find something meaningful and therefore reassuring to say that would have a ring of truth.

"I'm...not leaving. I live here." I meant my voice to come out upbeat, cheerful, but it sounded flat, dead, even to my own ears. If anything, Charlie's deeply troubled frown only grew more pronounced.

I added, trying to superimpose a more normal tone over the lifeless monotone, "For one thing, I'm in my last semester for my senior year. It would mess me up to change schools now."

Charlie surveyed me for a long moment. Instead of answering, he said, "I really think you could use some professional help, son. Or you can always talk to one of us—I don't think you'd be so bad off if you just...let it out. Talk yourself through it."

I stared back at him. I usually did my best not to think too much about things—to think too much was to invite memories, and memories were like broken glass, cutting me up from the inside out. So I just went along on autopilot, not thinking if I could avoid it. But I was coming to the slow realization that I must look pretty bad—worse than I realized. Professional help—Charlie had never held a lot of stock in professional counselors and psychologists. And what was more, he was about the furthest thing from the touchy-feely type, who'd just come straight out and offer to listen to someone talk about his problems. If he did, I'd expect a whole lot more embarrassed coughs and uncomfortable looks. The fact he was being so candid could only mean the situation felt so extreme to him that it seemed beyond awkwardness.

I knew I had to do something. First and foremost, shut down any and all plans that involved Jacksonville. "I'm fine, Dad," I said. That line was in my bank of pre-prepared phrases I'd used often, so I thought it came out more natural. "Really." However, I felt my voice slip accidentally back to a monotone as I added, "I'll do something different today. I'll go out with some of the guys."

Charlie shook his head vigorously, again looking frustrated. "You know that's not what I meant—"

"I'll go out and do something tonight," I said again, with more force this time. I added, "I like it here in Forks, Dad. I'm not going anywhere."

Charlie looked like he had more to say, but I abruptly got up from the table.

"I'm going to be late for school," I lied. As I slung my pack over my shoulder and pulled on my jacket from the coat rack, I said over my shoulder, "I might not make it back for dinner tonight. I'm going to try to catch a movie at Port Angeles. I'll be with Jeremy, maybe Allen."

I closed the door hurriedly behind me before my dad could reply.

I arrived at school way too early, so I spent it trying to work on my Calculus homework. Math had always been my worst subject, but recently I'd been getting in the low A range. I had a lot of empty time to use up these days. I concentrated on thinking only of the numbers, letting them fill my mind, letting everything else fade to white noise.

I drifted to English, and sat through it without looking at anyone, only scratching notes in my notebook. When the bell rang, McKayla came over to my desk, as she always did on Fridays. Almost tentatively, she asked, "Are you working tomorrow?"

"Course," I said vaguely, shrugging. However, through the noise I heard the buzz of Charlie's voice in the back of my head, commenting how dull I seemed. I tried to force a bright note into my voice as I added, "Tomorrow's Saturday, isn't it?"

McKayla didn't smile, only nodded, regarding me uncertainly. Now that I was paying attention, it occurred to me my voice really did sound fake. Like a bad actor reading a script.

"Okay," she said. "See you in Spanish, then."

I dragged my feet to Calculus. Jeremy and I had Calculus together, so if I was going to ask him if he wanted to go see a movie in Port Angeles tonight, I'd have to do it then. The problem was, I hadn't spoken to Jeremy in months, and he preferred to ignore me. We didn't usually move in the same spheres anymore.

Calculus sped by all too quickly, and Ms. Varner ended class early, giving us a few minutes of free time.

I worked up my nerve—no way was I going to go back home and give Charlie the chance to start in about Jacksonville again—and I leaned over across the aisle. "Hey, Jer," I said, as casually as I could.

Jeremy didn't even look at me, just kept scribbling away at a crude doodle in the margin of his notebook.

I cleared my throat and tried again. "Hey, Jeremy."

He stopped drawing, and slowly rolled his eyes in my direction. "You talking to me?" he drawled sarcastically. He regarded me suspiciously.

I figured I probably deserved the cold shoulder to some extent, and I didn't take the attitude personally. "I was just wondering if you wanted to catch a movie tonight or something. I got nothing to do." The words were all right as far as I could tell, though the tone still came out dull. Maybe I could work harder on that—I bet I could sound normal with a bit of practice.

He stared at me for a minute, brows coming together to form a line above his eyes, mouth slightly open in surprise. At last he recovered, and half his mouth turned up in a kind of grin, though his eyes remained wary. "Are you asking me out, man?"

My brain knew I needed to say something witty back, but I was out of practice. I stared blankly at him.

Jeremy sighed and rolled his eyes. "Sure, whatever. Allen's out on one of his dates again, and there's nothing going on anyway. What should we see?"

I honestly had no idea what was out at the moment, and I struggled to remember something. "What about that cars one?" I asked.

Jeremy raised an eyebrow. "Do you mean Death Race Six? That's been out of the theater forever, man."

"Oh. Well, you heard about any good ones?"

Jeremy grinned. "Now that you mention it, there's Blood Lust, that one's supposed to be good. That thriller about the vampires. I heard the girls are hot. There's also Dead End, I know some of the guys said that one was worth seeing."

I tried to keep my face blank, but I grasped at the second title. "What's that one?" I asked.

"Zombie flick," he said, grinning. "Supposed to be the scariest thing in years, though I bet they're just saying that."

"Sure, that sounds good," I said quickly. "Let's do that."

Jeremy glanced at me. "I never took you for a horror guy. I figured you for a marshmallow. Considering you faint at the sight of blood." He grinned a bit.

"Condition," I said automatically. "Weak vasovagal system." However, the moment the words were out of my mouth, I regretted it. Not because Jeremy's half grin had gotten wider, not at all impressed with my jargon, but because they brought on the barest flash of a partial memory. It slipped through my defenses like a barracuda, sinking its teeth into my flesh before I got a hold of myself. I forced my mind to go blank, shutting it out.

We decided that Jeremy would be the one to drive us down, and he came to pick me up at my house after school. He pulled up right into the driveway beside my truck, and I went on out, pulling myself into the passenger seat.

Jeremy raised his head, squinting at something inside my truck. "Hey," he said. "What's that hole in the middle of your dash?"

"Hole?" I repeated vaguely.

"Looks like you don't have a stereo."

I shrugged, then turned to look out the window as Jeremy backed out.

We made some conversation on the way over. Mostly I just deflected the questions he asked me back to him. I got him talking about cars for a while, what model and make he would get if he only had the money, and after that it was basketball, which college teams would make it to the playoffs this year. I didn't have a whole lot to contribute to those topics, so I mainly just nodded when he made some point, and periodically prodded him to keep going. However, eventually we got around to the topic I would have preferred to avoid.

"So, man, what's been up with you lately?" he asked. "I mean you act like a total space cadet, then suddenly out of the blue want to hang out?"

I shrugged. "Just felt like it guess. I realized how long it had been."

Jeremy stared at me, his face mingled pity and disgust. "Are you still moping around about Edythe Cullen? I mean really, man, you knew she was going to ditch you eventually, you said it yourself. Just get over her already."

At the mention of the name, I felt something rip through my chest. Above all else, in the system of defenses I'd worked out to insulate my mind from the waiting pain, the name was forbidden. I never said the name, not even in my head.

However, I kept my face blank.

Jeremy shrugged, looking a little irritated, but to my relief, he dropped the subject and moved on to something else.

We arrived at the theater just a few minutes before the next showing was scheduled to start. We were planning to hit the movie, then grab something to eat afterward. I figured that would be enough of an outing to placate Charlie for now.

I sat rigid in my seat through the movie previews, doing my best to ignore them as one for Blood Lust came on and female vampires in skimpy clothes flashed across the screen. I concentrated instead on prodding Jeremy with new topics of conversation. When the screen faded to black, I settled myself in to endure the couple hours of gore.

However, as the opening sequence began, I shifted restlessly. A young couple was walking along the beach, swinging hands and discussing the depths of their love with endless, sugary hyperbole.

I felt sweat break out on my palms, and my eyes dropped. I leaned over and said to Jeremy in a low mutter, "Hey, did we get the right theater? I thought we were seeing the zombie one."

Jeremy glanced back at me, frowning. "Yeah, this is the one." He eyed me warily for a minute before he turned his attention back to the screen.

I nodded and leaned back into my own seat. I fidgeted for a minute, then abruptly stood up. "I forgot, I wanted popcorn. You want any?"

"No thanks," he said, and looked a little irritated.

Someone shushed us from the row behind, and I awkwardly made my way back down the row, ducking my head so as not to block the screen, until I was safely out of the theater. I took several deep, steadying breathes before I headed over to the concession stand. I intentionally picked the longest line, and when I neared the counter, I smiled and politely waved several girls to go ahead of me. They giggled and thanked me. I loitered around the lobby for a few minutes more, then headed back to the theater doors. I listened carefully outside until I was sure I could hear mindless screaming issuing from the speakers, then went on in.

"What took you, man?" muttered Jeremy. "You missed a ton."

"Long line," I said. I set the popcorn between us and Jeremy took a handful.

The rest of the movie was what I'd expected. Gruesome zombie attacks and endless screaming from the handful of people still alive. However, even though this was what I'd been wanting, toward the end I began to shift uncomfortably again.

As the last survivor ran shrieking from a haggard zombie, and the scene kept cutting back and forth between the two faces, it suddenly occurred to me that the zombie's face had a familiar look to it—It was the face I saw in the mirror every day.

I sat rigid in my seat, frozen, staring up at the screen. Then I closed my eyes, letting my head drop. I clenched my fists on the armrests.

"Seriously, man?" I heard Jeremy whisper next to me. "There's like, two minutes left."

However, I didn't open my eyes until I heard the credit music start and the lights came back up.

As we were walking out, Jeremy was shaking his head. "Man, I was thinking you were made of steel that whole time, you didn't even react when the zombie—" He inserted something violently graphic I didn't even remember—"but then you totally wilted at the end."

"I guess it finally got to me," I said, shrugging.

"You going to have nightmares tonight?" he said, grinning, and wiggling his fingers spookily in my direction.

"Probably," I admitted, though I knew they wouldn't be about zombies.

Jeremy dropped his hands, frowning. I realized then that I'd inadvertently let my voice drift back to monotone.

"What's been with you these days, man?" he said suddenly. "You're just so—weird."

I shrugged again.

I hoped he would let the subject go, but Jeremy continued, "You're just always locked up in your own world. You just—sit there. It's freaky." He paused, giving me a sideways look through narrowed eyes. Then he suddenly accused, "It is Edythe Cullen. I know it is. Don't try to lie."

I didn't look at him, only stared straight ahead. "Where do you want to eat?" I asked evenly.

"It's your own fault, you know," he went on. "You should have known better than to get serious about someone like her. It lasted longer than anyone expected. But I'll guarantee, the second you were out of her sight, she forgot you existed. She probably already has another guy in L.A."

I had stopped walking now, my eyes still focused on the buildings across the street. I continued as though he hadn't spoken, "I think there's a McDonalds on that far side—"

"Come on, man!" Jeremy exploded. "This is just pathetic. Man up and admit she was toying with you, then forget about her. That's just what her kind does."

I finally turned my head to look at him then. I wasn't sure what kind of expression I was wearing, but Jeremy suddenly took a step back from me, fists raised.

"Yeah," he repeated more loudly, challenging. "You heard me, I said you're pathetic. Pa-the-tic. Got a problem with that?"

I looked away from him again, my expression settling back to neutral. He could call me pathetic all he wanted. He was right, I was pathetic. But if he insulted—if he insulted her again, then I might just punch him in the face.

As he saw the fight fade out of my expression, he stood down too, looking annoyed. "Whatever," he muttered. "You can just mope around the rest of your life for all I care."

We were silent for a long moment then. Jeremy looked toward his car, but I wasn't looking forward to the long car ride back with the atmosphere being like this, so to break the ice I said, "So where do you want to eat?"

Jeremy still looked miffed, but he thawed a little at this. "Micky-Ds is good enough for me. Let's just grab something quick and head back."

We headed straight for the yellow double arches, and Jeremy led the way as we cut through a dark, unlit stretch of street. On one side I noticed a bar, a brilliant green sign identifying it as One-Eyed Pete's. I wondered if there was some pirate theme not visible from the outside. The metal door was propped open, and several people were lounging around outside it, beer mugs in hand.

Jeremy seemed to have already gotten over our tense moment earlier, and he grinned. "Hey," he said, elbowing me in the side. "Want to go get a drink?"

I studied the place as we passed, and as my eyes fell on the figures just outside the door, I stopped.

Three of the figures were men, one was a woman. In the shadows of the street, I couldn't make out their features, but an old memory, a memory from the forbidden archive, touched the back of my mind. Two men and a woman, staring back at me. A pair of glinting guns. A rusted pipe.

Without knowing quite what I was doing, I took a step toward them.

Jeremy seized my arm. "What are you doing?" he hissed. "I was joking, man."

I shrugged him off, and took another step forward. My eyes flickered up to the sign again, and I heard a distant voice in my head, cruel and vicious with delight. "How's that pirate song go? Dead men tell no tales."

I stepped off the sidewalk into the street.

"You're crazy, man," Jeremy called after me in a low voice. He sounded nervous.

Maybe I was crazy. That particular memory should have me running for my life, or at least retreating back into the numb, zombie-state I'd been living in all this time. But strangely, I didn't feel any fear at all. In fact, for the first time in months, I could feel my blood beginning to pound in my ears. Adrenaline—not out of fear, but something like excitement. It was the first time I'd really felt much of anything for so long.

"Don't you dare, Beau."

My step faltered, and I looked around. I'd heard a voice, and not Jeremy's voice, either. It was female. And—familiar.

"Go back, Beau. You swore. Nothing stupid."

I was sure I was hearing that voice, but it wasn't coming from anywhere. Like the other woman's voice, it was in my head. Only that voice had been a memory. This one was saying something new. Talking to me, right now.

Jeremy was right, I really have gone crazy, I thought. But it was definitely a crazy I could get used to.

I continued toward the group, more boldly this time.

"You swore," the voice reminded me again, insistent, but fading now, as though the volume were being turned down on a radio.

Most probably I was crazy. Or maybe this was my survival instinct kicking in, my subconscious speaking to me using the only voice it knew I might actually listen to to get me to turn around and get myself out of danger. However, if that was what my subconscious was going for, it had definitely made a mistake.

For months I'd kept my mind from straying in her direction. I'd carefully kept the insulating layer of cold, numbing water around my mind, only slipping up and letting the barbs of pain through on occasion. Now I expected the ripping pain to tear through me, to burn my lungs and make my failed heart try to work, setting off the damaging cascade of internal bleeding. However, no pain assaulted me. Instead, I felt exhilarated. I wanted to hear more.

I took another step forward.

"Beau, you're being ridiculous," she said again, almost sternly.

I was almost to the other side of the street now, my eyes still on the woman.

One of the men by the wall tensed at my approach, straightening and flexing his muscles, which were covered in tattoos.

"You want something, kid?" he asked in a low, deep voice. I heard a hiss in response in my head.

I stopped walking, but didn't turn away, and the man shifted slightly, taking a step sideways, so he stood between me and the woman. She regarded me curiously over his shoulder.

I studied the woman's features. She had dark hair and red lipstick, just like the other from that night so long ago, but I was close enough now I could make out her face. She wasn't the same woman from that night.

I felt the adrenaline fade, and I shook my head. "No, I just...I thought one of you was someone I knew. Sorry."

The sense of danger was passed, and her voice was gone. Shoving my hands into my pockets, I shuffled away, back toward Jeremy.

"What were you thinking, man?" he muttered in a low, angry tone as we walked quickly down the rest of the dark street and emerged on the other side. "Staring at that woman like that—that guy was probably her boyfriend. He looked like he was ready to take you apart."

"Sorry," I said, looking away. "I thought she was someone I knew."

Jeremy shook his head, his mouth twisted with annoyance. "There's something really wrong with you, man."

I didn't reply. I didn't think there was any need to agree to the obvious.

We grabbed the takeout and munched on our burgers in silence as we walked the long way back to his car. He kept a little ahead of me, ensuring I couldn't start up another conversation. I could tell he was pissed off. If he'd known hanging out with me would mean hanging out with a lunatic, I bet he would have stayed home.

In the car, he turned up the stereo until I could feel the heavy rock vibrating through my seat, making any potential for communication impossible. I turned my eyes to the window, watching the dark road whip by outside. As it did, my thoughts wandered.

Forget about her. That's what Jeremy had said. But that was really the funny thing about mid-drowning, zombie-me. Zombie-me spent a ton of energy trying not to think about her, or about anything. He stored phrases and lines in his head to automatically whip out so he had to do it as little thinking as possible. But forgetting was never part of the goal.

I could handle this life. I could handle living, even without her, even if it was dull and pointless, and an agony always lurked just below the surface, ready to spring up from the depths like a shark and drag me down again. But I wasn't going to forget.

I could handle this because I still knew she existed, that she was still out there. I didn't want to think about her, but she had to exist, she had to be real. But the only place she would continue to be real to me was here in Forks. That was why I couldn't leave. Because if I let the memory of her fade into nothing more than a fantasy—then I really would go crazy.

At the front of my house, Jeremy stopped the car with an abrupt halt.

"Thanks for the ride," I said. "See you Monday."

Jeremy didn't look at me, only glared out the front windshield. "Okay, man. Whatever."

He drove off up the street with a screech of tires, as though he couldn't get away from me fast enough.

By the time I was inside, I'd already forgotten about him.

I was a little surprised as I discarded my sneakers by the door to find Charlie wasn't in his usual place in front of the television. He was standing in the middle of the hall, arms folded over his chest, looking much more like a police chief than I could ever remember.

"Hey, Dad," I said, ducking past him. His eyes followed me on the way to the kitchen.

"Where have you been?" he asked.

I turned my head around to stare at him. "I told you I'd go down and see a movie with one or two of the guys, didn't I? Jeremy drove us down to Port Angeles."

Charlie studied my face, and he blinked. "Oh," he said. "I guess I thought...I thought you might just be saying that."

"No, we went," I said.

Charlie hesitated, then asked, "How was it?"

"Not bad," I answered. "We saw Dead End, that zombie movie. Pretty gruesome."

Charlie examined me suspiciously, and I could tell he was thinking that I'd never shown an interest in horror movies before now. But there was something else in his expression, too. He looked warily pleased.

Before he could try to continue the 'opening up about feelings' conversation he'd started that morning, I turned quickly in the direction of my room. "Night, Dad. See you in the morning."

"Good night then, Beau."

I shut my door behind me and collapsed on my bed, then stared up at the ceiling, waiting for it to hit me.

It did.

The sense of water closing over my head, the slow suffocation, which I'd been dealing with by ignoring, by focusing on the numbing cold, returned in full measure. I focused on trying to get myself back to my usual insulated, zombified stupor, but I couldn't. The events of today had caused my head to break briefly above water, and even though I was still drowning, the breath of air reawakened me to the burning in my lungs, in my chest.

The pain clearly hadn't lessened any with the passage of time, but I was surprised to find it almost durable this time around—maybe I was more mentally prepared now. I knew, even if every minute was a torture, I could handle it. Live with it.

As I laid where I was, staring out the empty dark window of my room, I felt a mixture of confidence and apprehension war inside me. Confidence, because now that I was experiencing the pain I'd been avoiding to the fullest, I knew for certain I was strong enough to bear it. Apprehension because, for the first time in so long, when the morning came, I didn't know what to expect.

okay thanks for the reviews guys :)

and yes I know it's still basically new moon but it has to be there's going to be things in here that are different just like the first book because it's all leading towards my version of breaking Dawn please be patient. also yes new moon was also my least favorite book/movie. but we have to get through it and I'm going to try to make it more exciting.