Breaking the Silence By SparklingTwilight.pdf

Breaking the Silence By SparklingTwilight

http://www.fanfiction.net/s/4805000/1/

Summary: Bella has suffered in silence for 5 years. What happens when

EsmexCarlisle become her foster parents, and a perky pixie moves in next door &

tries to break her out of her shell? AH ExB, Canon cpls.

Prologue

I've often wondered how it was possible for people to change as drastically as

they often do. Do they really change? Or is it not the people themselves that

change, but everything else that has an effect on their surrounding environment

and circumstances...thus making it appear more logical to assume that it is

indeed the person themselves that has changed and nothing else?

For example..how is it that the people that come and go for brief periods in our

lives are only capable of making the most inconceivably minimal changes to our

lives, but the ones that come into our lives permanently are capable of creating

such drastic changes that the world seems to invert itself? Shouldn't it be the

impact of those come and gone, and what they leave behind that's capable of

that degree of chaos?

I contemplate this theory daily as I observe my consistently dreary surroundings

as well as the people that intermittently occupy them. I haven't always been an

observer by nature. In fact, for most of my childhood years, I was quite the

opposite. I had friends, I had family, and as far as I was concerned, I had places

to go and people to see. The lives and surroundings of those around me meant

virtually nothing...well as long as it wasn't affecting my day to day life.

But all that changed. One by one things changed. At first, nothing was entirely

noticeable. The changes seemed to affect nothing. Or maybe I was just oblivious

to anything outside my own bubble. It seems the only definitive answer I have is

that it seems I woke up one day and everything changed. Everything.

If I could go back, I would. But only to see how everything changed so

dramatically. I'm not saying that my life this far has been a regular bucket of

sunshine, but for the most part I've been as content as I believe possible under

the circumstances. I've always been the suffer in silence type of person, even

before the silence part of that character trait took on such a drastic new meaning

over the past few years.

It's been over 5 years since I've spoken a word. Not one peep, grunt, or even a

scream to rid myself of any stress or anxiety. In the beginning, it was just

because I simply couldn't, but quickly the reason was taken over by fear. Fear

that one even barely audible sound would cause my world to come crashing down

around me yet again.

Over time, the silence simply became a protection to those around me. I had lost

everything that ever truly meant anything to me, and really it would have been a

blessing to have been able to just make one sound to make everything stop. The

pain, the inevitable build up of emotions, the emptiness...everything. However,

that would have been the most selfish act I could have ever committed. For in the

wake of the absolution of my desolate and nightmarish life, the normal and

peaceful lives of those around me could and almost undoubtedly would be thrown

into chaos unnecessarily. So I vowed to keep silent...if only to spare them my

existence.

I know there are probably millions of questions floating around in response to my

cryptic explanation, but I promise...in due time all answers shall be received. For

now, however, I need to fulfill my seemingly fathomless curiosity. I wonder how

many others will answer the following questions as I do. If their answers will be

the same as mine, despite the desperation with which I sought for the light at the

end of the blackened tunnel.

Is it just because of what I have experienced that leads me to answer as I do, or

does everyone on some level retain the knowledge that some things are worth

fighting for. That some things are invaluable. That happiness, above all,

sometimes requires that a person walk down a path in life that they would have

otherwise veered away from at all costs.

With that said...if you could be certain that all the hardships, pain, and frustration

you endured would lead you to profound happiness...to what degree would you

be willing to suffer? How much would you be willing to sacrifice? How much would

you be willing to lose?

My name is Bella Swan...and my answer is...everything.

Silent Initiations for Conversations

BPOV

"Bella? Bella. Wake up." Esme, my foster mom, was shaking me...attempting to

pull me from one of the least fitful night's sleep in my abundant collection of

restless nights.

I can't remember the last time I actually slept through a period of time greater

than two hours. Two god forsaken hours that only provided the miniscule hope of

escaping the horrific images that frequented the backside of my eyelids in the

conscious state...and even more frequently in the unconscious state. It truly was

a blessing when only darkness would loom around me, and of course it had to be

during this darkness that someone would attempt to pull me from it.

"Bella, honey. Please wake up."

Oh, what I wouldn't give to have this blissfully blank state for just a few more

hours. I rolled over and roughly started rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. I was

quite certain that, judging by the puffiness under my eyes, I looked every bit as

hellish as I felt.

"Bella, Carlisle and I wanted to talk to you about something important."

I stopped rubbing my eyes, and turned my attention to Esme with a confused

expression on my face. I quickly glanced past her to the alarm clock on my

nightstand. It was only just past 8am, and it was a Saturday for crying out loud!

What could they possibly want to talk to me about? Have I done something

wrong? Were they going to send me back to the group home? I shot up, my eyes

darting around the room as the panic began to rise and take me over.

"Oh..Bella dear, please calm down. It's nothing bad, and you aren't leaving us,"

Esme whispered as she clutched me to her chest, trying to ease the

overwhelming emotions from taking me over completely.

It's only happened a handful of times..that she's aware of...but nontheless, it isn't

pretty. Occasionally, when I'm overcome with panic, I end up catatonic for an

indeterminant period of time. Frozen in my body as the panic seizes every nerve

and muscle. Like I said, it isn't pretty, but at least it doesn't happen often

anymore.

Esme still had her arms wrapped tightly around me, gently swaying from side to

side, making quiet shushing noises in my ear. Her warmth and smell comforted

me slightly. She was a mother in every sense of the word...nurturing, warm, and

kind...but she isn't my mom, and it kills me that I can't be the daughter she

deserves. The daughter that she can connect with, share things with, laugh with,

and most of all bond with. I feel horrible that she has to crave for something she

can never create on her own, her own child to bond with, and instead is left with

a shell of a person who is no doubt more work than any worth.

I wonder from time to time how different her life would be had she met another

child in the group home I was living in instead of me. Would that child have been

able to bond with her and give her the relationship and closeness she so greatly

deserves? Would she feel complete right now instead of an utter failure..which

she's tried to hide from me, but I accidentally overheard her pouring her

undeserved sorrows through streams of tears to Carlisle a few months back.

The panic slowly started to ebb away little by little, leaving only room for guilt.

Guilt that I make her feel this way, because I'm damaged... flawed... broken.

Damaged...that's a phenomenal word. It alone encapsulates so many levels of

imperfection. Something can be damaged but not noticeable...or it can be

damaged beyond repair..and every degree of imperfection held between. Unlike

broken, which means just that..broken, unable to be fixed, past ability to

repair...basically garbage. Yep that's fitting to what I am...I think I'll stick with

that.

Esme's voice became clear once again, effectively luring me out of my internal

diatribe, "There there, sweetheart. It's alright. I'm not going anywhere, I

promise."

I just nodded, both to acknowledge that I'd heard her, and to assure her that I

was alright and hadn't crossed that metaphorical threshold of panic that rendered

me frozen and unaware.

I pulled back slightly when I felt the slight moisture that had seeped into the

shoulder of my shirt. I eyed the darkened spot and tentatively brought amy hand

up to touch it...internally praying to whatever deity could possibly hear me that

this spot was anything other than Esme's tears.

I cautiously turned my head just a fraction to chance a quick glimpse at Esme's

face to give me the answer I knew would be in the form of an unanswered

prayer. I slowly raised my eyes in the direction of her face and braced myself for

what I knew would break me even further. As expected, Esme had shiny trails of

tears that had already fallen, running down her gentle face.

I met her eyes with mine, waryness still the dominant expression upon my face,

sorrow on hers. It killed me to see her this way. To know that I caused it. To

know that because of my existence in her life, she was filled with sorrow.

I slowly brought my fingers to her face, and gently trapped a tear that was slowly

making its way over her cheek between my fore and middle fingers. I broke from

my gaze and looked down at my fingers and scowled.

It's been years since I've been able to do that. Years since I've been able to

release any type of emotion whatsoever. Years. And yet, here Esme is, unable to

stop her tears from brimming the edge because I make her feel like a failure.

That she somehow isn't capable of being enough for me, when the truth is... I'm

far from being enough for what she deserves.

If only I could convey that to her somehow. If only she could see that she's more

than I could have ever hoped for in a mother...that in some ways she is more

than my own mother. She's so many things that my own mother never was...

stable, maternal, nurturing, forgiving to an abhorred degree, whereas my mother

was quirky, childish, and often immature...but she was my mother and I loved

her friendly childlike spirit. But Esme was more, she was what I always longed for

in a mother when my mother was alive, if only I could convey that.

I looked back into Esme's eyes, which had thankfully dried during my struggle to

overcome my envy for that moisture still lingering on my figertips, and pouted. It

was the only way I knew how to show her that her unhappiness made me

unhappy as well. I didn't wish to cause her pain. I didn't want to make her feel

this way. If I needed to run to the end of the Earth to make her happy I would,

but I couldn't do the one thing that I knew would heal her. I couldn't speak.

After a few silent moments, I suppose she resigned herself to the fact that my

voice, as usual, wouldn't suddenly make a miraculous appearance. She sighed

and took my hands into her warm ones, giving them a gentle squeeze, apparently

steeling herself for what was to come.

I regarded her warily, not knowing what could possibly have her unnerved if it

wasn't her telling me that she couldn't do it anymore. I couldn't fathom anything

else that would warrant it, but I maintained my focus on her, patiently waiting for

her to say something...anything really.

Finally after what seemed like eternity she spoke, "Honey, Carlisle and I have

been doing some thinking, and we'd like to ask you to try something with us."

She spoke softly, no doubt in hopes that whatever their ideas were I would

respond without panic or absolute rejection.

Carlisle chose to enter my room at that point, no longer standing in the doorway

watching the scene unfold before him as he had for at least the last few minutes

I'm sure. He approached my bed slowly as Esme scooted over, leaving just

enough room for him to sit on the edge. She released my left hand and quickly

joined her right hand with his left in her lap. She gave him a quick smile and

turned her attention back to me.

"Good morning, Bella," he said softly. I managed a tight smile and nodded as my

return greeting. Envy quickly invaded my system as I thought of all the people in

the world that have the ability to just respond in kind without a second thought

about it.

"Bella, we think we've come up with an idea for how we can all communicate

better with each other. I'm not saying it will be easy, but it would please us

greatly if you could at least give it a try." He regarded me carefully, no doubt

choosing his next words wisely.

"I know that we've made some progress with your willingness to write responses

to questions on paper, but I can't help to think that there has to be a better way.

I think it's safe to say that you hold back a lot of what you could say and resort

to using the writing technique only when absolutely necessary." He and Esme

both smiled slightly, almost encouragingly before he continued.

"We want you to be able to feel as though you can express yourself, and in a way

that doesn't make you feel as though you are inconveniencing us. We could settle

for the writing if you promised to actually use it to express yourself when you

want to, but we would rather have a method that we could all use. I know that

asking you to speak is far too much to ask at this point, but we would like to ask

you to learn a different way of speaking with us," he said with a hopeful tone. I

immediately froze.

Different way of speaking? There's only one way of speaking..to speak! And I

can't! How can I get it across to them that it isn't that I don't want to speak...it's

that I can't! I physically cannot force myself to do it, the fear locks me up

instantly the second I brace myself to attempt it. Why can't they understand this?

They've witnessed it firsthand!

"Bella! Please calm down, we're not asking you to use your voice." His voice was

almost frantic in attempts to cease the panic that was making a furious attempt

to overcome me. Esme's grip on my hand was almost proof of her trying to keep

me in the realm of the conscious and aware.

"Deep breaths, Bella, deep breaths. It's okay, there's nothing to fear." Esme's

soothing voice quickly pulled me back from the ledge and forced me to refocus on

them.

"Are you okay?" Carlisle asked while cautiously rubbing my shoulder.

I looked to him and nodded briefly, wondering just how bad this was going to get

before it was over. He eyed me cautiously as if attemtping to weed out some sign

that they should just discontinue this path before it becomes a disaster that no

one was prepared to deal with at the moment. He quiked an eyebrow and looked

to Esme, whos face clearly represented the fact that she, as well, didn't know if it

was safe to continue. I took this as my sign to interject on their behalf.

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