HTSAL - Outtakes.pdf - How to Save a Life - moniq25

Summary: Select segments of "How To Save a Life" from Edward's POV. I'd read

all of HTSAL before getting into these, just my opinion.

Chapter 1: Things To Be Thankful For

Things To Be Thankful For (HTSAL Ch 10 - EPOV)

This EPOV scene takes place on Thanksgiving, on and around the time that

Edward delivers the pie to Bella's doorstep. There has been the ugly bus incident

at this point, as a refresher. Edward has also had his big confession to Bella in

the courtyard about what he is going through, and she has had her breakdown in

Biology when she confessed about her mom disappointing her for Thanksgiving.

Though I don't know why I chose to smoke sess

I guess that's the time when I'm not depressed

But I'm still depressed, and I ask what's it worth?

(C.R.E.A.M. - Wutang Clan)

Seriously... this day was never going to fucking end.

I stared with blatant annoyance, okay, blatant anger at my father, clenching my

fists below the table and trying to keep the emotion of my face. He had to be

fucking kidding me with this Walton Family bullshit.

It was only four o'clock, and it had already been a Long. Fucking. Day.

A day that started with Annoyance #1, Alice barging into my room without

knocking at nine-thirty A.M. There were several things wrong with this little

scenario. So many rules broken here. First off, anyone should know better than

coming into my room without knocking. What the fuck? Second, nine-thirty? On a

day off? Of course Little Miss Bright-Eyed and Bushy-Tailed thought nothing of

this, she'd probably been up since the ass crack of dawn or something. But I

didn't sleep during the night most of the time anymore, the fucking nightmares

seemed adamant about that. When you're used to finally drifting off around three

in the morning, you don't really appreciate someone waking you up a mere six

hours later unless it's absofuckinglutely necessary.

Which it wasn't.

Sure, she dreamed up some excuse, some bullshit question to ask me, but my

sister has always been a terrible actress, and I saw right through this charade. It

was all too easy to imagine what had transpired in the kitchen moments earlier.

My parents and Alice were probably sitting around, smiling at each other and

celebrating their general fucking cheerfulness over heaping mounds of pancakes

and French press coffee. They were probably talking about what a perfect fucking

day it was going to be. And then my mom's face had probably clouded, ever so

subtly and not so subtly at all, the way it did all the time anymore, and she'd

probably worried out loud about what I might do to mar such familiar perfection.

She probably sent Alice to check on me, to make sure I hadn't bounced without

them realizing it, that I'd actually be around today to "keep up appearances."

Where was I supposed to go, anyway?

And as much as I was not in a mood to celebrate a holiday - today would

certainly be torturous - leaving wasn't an option. Not with Uncle Aro on the guest

list.

Uncle Aro was one of the few people who refused to leave me alone these days.

The image of one other person who fit that description popped into my head, and

I quickly pushed it aside. My parents, Alice... they were so easy, so damn

skittish, balancing on eggshells every damn second. They would start to push,

but they'd never follow through on it.

Uncle Aro wasn't like that. Shit, if I was absent, Aro would hop in his car and

drive around town for hours until he found me. He'd look me in the eye and call

me out on my shit. He'd make me face it. He said words to my face that no one

said. Aro would say "Tanya," he wouldn't defer to the more innocuous-sounding

pronouns of "she" and "her" that were the most I got from family members. He

would use the word "depressed," would throw the word "pot" right in my face. He

wouldn't pretend not to notice these things.

So, in some regards, sticking around was the lesser of two evils. Because, Lord

knows, everyone around here seemed to thrive on ignoring things.

After Alice had interrupted, I knew I wasn't going back to sleep. So I'd dragged

myself out of bed and taken a shower, returned to discover Annoyance #2. Two

hangers were hooked over my door - one holding a pair of pressed, tags-still-on

khakis, the other a starched button down beneath a navy Polo sweater, also

apparently brand new.

My mother's idiocy made me want to put a fist through the wall.

I mean, somewhere in my brain, I knew she was a smart lady. So why the fuck

was she acting like clothing could cover anything up?

And again... more of this bullshit tiptoeing around me. Had she been lying in wait

until she heard the shower turn on so she could sneak this shit in here?

Obviously, she wasn't going to ask me to my face.

I ripped the clothes from the hangers with one angry slash of my arm, letting

them fall into a pile on the floor. They were so starched up they resisted, and sat

in a stiff mountain on the carpet. I ignored them, pulling my much softer, dirty

jeans from the floor and picking up the t-shirt I'd worn last night. I gave it a

tentative sniff. Christ. Well, that left little doubt to what I'd been doing after

hours.

I held it limply at my side, and stared back at the pile of clothes I had no

business putting on.

And had one of those brief, frustrating flashes of guilt that would sometimes cut

through the anger unexpectedly.

It's not their fault, the guilt reminded me.

I kept my mind blank, repeating these words to myself as I forced myself to pull

on the bullshit preppy ensemble, maybe something I would have put together on

my own at some point, but felt like a fucking foreigner in anymore.

It's not their fault, it's not their fault.

It's no one's fault but your own.

So keep it together, keep your mouth shut, don't start another mess.

This is your fault.

It's not their fault.

I found myself trying to remember to repeat this phrase over and over again

throughout the day anymore. It was the only way I could keep from lashing out

at them. Sometimes it didn't work, either.

I hid out in my room until I heard the doorbell ring and I knew guests were

arriving. Eventually, I forced myself downstairs.

And proceeded to suffer through Annoyances #3 through #47,923.

People plastering on fake smiles and attempting to talk to me. Aro clasping a

hand on my shoulder, as if human contact was okay. That fucking ridiculous

stuffed, dancing turkey that my mom had gotten at Hallmark. Alice singing along

with the song that accompanied it, bobbing her head back and forth and "shaking

her tail feather." I chalked that little act up to Annoyances #3,032 through

#4,623. What the fuck was wrong with that girl, anyway?

I turned away from the laughter, while everyone was distracted by her antics and

slipped some whiskey into my soda, even though it wasn't the kind of buzz I

wanted, even though it wasn't going to get me out of this room. It just made me

tired, and I collapsed on the couch and stared at the Thanksgiving game in a

stupor, eyelids struggling. Damn her for waking me up.

Time didn't seem to be passing, and I was becoming convinced the day was

never going to end.

The only thing I was actually looking forward to was eating. I hadn't had

breakfast or lunch, and the familiar and almost comforting smells coming from

the kitchen were making my mouth water. The whiskey had soured my empty

stomach, and I really fucking wanted something to eat. Plus, I was counting on

the fact that when everyone had their mouths filled with food, they wouldn't be

able to irritate me as much by actually speaking.

By the time we finally, finally, finally sat down to dinner, I thought the only thing

standing in the way of some roast turkey and stuffing was my dad's bullshit

serenity poem. Sometimes, he was just so queer. Did he really think I didn't feel

his eyes burning into my forehead every night when he said it? I mean, shit, why

didn't he just preface it with a blatant, "EDWARD, THIS MESSAGE IS FOR YOU!"

Put something out on the fucking table, for once. Jesus Christ, it was so lame.

And plus, this wasn't fucking Alcoholics Anonymous.

But tonight, tonight... he had to one up his previous efforts. Tonight, he decided

to introduce some "tradition" of everyone going around and naming something

we were thankful for.

So now here I sat, facing Annoyance #47,924, and trying to keep from screaming

in my father's face.

Rage pounded against my temples, thundered there. It was such a loud

sensation, I was actually semi-successful in blocking out what other people were

saying. I didn't want to hear it, anyway. So I have no idea why it was only Alice's

response that I heard, when her voice was softer than everyone else's, keeping

her eyes toward her lap and softly sharing, "I am thankful for hope."

My throat constricted, and I promptly tuned out again.

Instead, I pondered my possible responses.

Even amused myself a little bit, found myself having to fight back the smirk I felt

twitching at the corner of my lips.

I am thankful that Thanksgiving only comes once a year.

I am thankful for the huge bowl of mashed potatoes I am staring at, that will

soon be in all your faces, keeping them quiet for two fucking minutes.

I am thankful for the hefty bag of weed that is waiting in my bottom drawer

upstairs and the few short hours that stand between me and it, that I have

something to look forward to today.

I looked up, and realized that everyone was staring at me expectantly, a

sensation I hated pretty much more than anything else. Even under Aro's gaze, I

was tempted to voice one of the various options I'd considered seconds ago,

succinctly ruining the moment.

And then at the last fucking second, her face popped into my head again.

Her face, crumpled with sadness and dripping with tears as she'd sat there in Bio,

trembling hands tearing at the edges of her worksheet, her voice as broken as I'd

ever heard it, even after all the things I had said and done to hurt her, as she

told me about her mom bailing on Thanksgiving. I pictured her right now, maybe

sitting alone and eating a sandwich or something, maybe actually wanting

someone to talk to her.

And another unexpected flash of guilt cut right through me, as I sat there,

surrounded by my huge, cheerful extended family, in this big house, with a

fucking feast before me, with parents and a sister who, for some very unknown

reason, still seemed to want to be by my side.

Her mother couldn't even be bothered.

The words popped out of my mouth, surprising the shit out of me.

My voice was low, the message rushed. I stared straight ahead, seeing nothing.

"I'm thankful for my family," I muttered.

The resounding silence was almost enough to drive me to dart from the table. I

dug my heels into the thick carpet, making sure I stayed put, staring down at my

plate. I did not want to see if my mom's eyes filled with tears, if a small, hopeful

smile now graced my father's face.

They're just words, I cautioned them mentally. I can't deliver on anything.

After about ten years, someone finally re-started the conversation, passing the

yams and the crescent rolls.

My breathing returned to something approximating normal, and I forced food into

my mouth, disappointed to find it didn't taste as good as I'd anticipated. It didn't

transport me back to Thanksgivings of better times.

After the pumpkin pie and coffee had been served, as everyone finished eating,

they leaned back in their chairs, hands folded over full bellies, leaving their near-

empty plates before them. My mom and Alice began clearing the table, but

certainly didn't seem to be accomplishing the task very quickly. Could anything

go quickly today? The quicker the table was cleared, the sooner people would

start thinking about leaving. The sooner people started thinking about leaving,

HTSAL - Outtakes.pdf

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