fragments of her

I had been right, something was deeply wrong with Bella and Edward. The phone call from Charlie confirmed my worst fears. Bella was missing.

He had called, frantic and panicked, his voice shaky with a level of anxiety that was foreign to him. I had never heard my father so vulnerable. "Mari," his voice had cracked through the phone, "Bella's gone. She isn't answering her phone. I've checked everywhere. I-I don't know what to do." His words had come in a rush, disjointed and desperate, like he was grasping for something he couldn't hold onto.

My heart had skipped a beat, panic flooding my chest. I didn't even wait for a second response before I was moving-moving as fast as I could out of Jacob's house, not bothering to explain. He had followed me without a word, his steady presence a quiet reassurance even as my mind raced with worry. The seconds seemed to stretch, the distance from Jacob's house to my own feeling like an eternity.

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When we finally arrived at my house, the sight that greeted us was nothing short of surreal. Police cars lined the street, lights flashing in the gloom of the evening, casting harsh shadows that seemed too sharp for the quiet night. Uniformed officers were gathered in front of the house, some talking in hushed voices, others pacing, their faces a mixture of concern and frustration. And standing at the forefront, leading the group, was Charlie. My father was hunched over, speaking rapidly to a man in a navy blue uniform, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. His face was a portrait of fear, lines etched deeper than I had ever seen them.

Charlie's eyes caught mine as we approached. Without hesitation, he rushed over to me, wrapping his arms around me in a tight, almost desperate embrace. It wasn't like my father to show such emotion, but in that moment, I could feel his fear radiating off of him. The anxiety that had taken root in my own chest spread to my limbs, causing them to feel heavy, as though I could barely move.

"Mari," he murmured into my hair, his voice barely audible. "I don't know where she is. I've looked everywhere. She's just... gone."

"Dad, it's going to be okay. We'll find her," I said, though even I wasn't sure of the words coming out of my mouth. The thought of Bella being out there, alone, frightened, it felt like a heavy weight in my chest, like I couldn't breathe for her.

Jacob, who had been standing a few feet behind me, stepped forward then. He didn't say a word, but the look in his eyes told me everything I needed to know-he understood what was happening, and he was there for me, as he always had been.

"Look," Jacob said quietly, his voice a little more steady than mine. His arm was outstretched, pointing toward the edge of the forest, toward a small hollow where the trees seemed to sway gently in the breeze.

I followed the direction of his finger, and my breath caught in my throat as I saw him. Sam Uley. The last person I ever expected to see at that moment, though I knew deep down that if anyone was likely to find Bella in the woods, it would be him. His presence, though usually a calm and steady one, was unsettling in this moment. Sam emerged slowly from the trees, and I could see his hands cradling something in them. My eyes narrowed in an instinctive response, straining to make out the figure.

And then I saw her. Bella.

She was limp in his arms, her face pale and streaked with tears. Her once-vibrant skin, usually so warm and alive, was now ashen, almost ghostly. Sam moved with a quiet urgency, his expression tight with a mixture of concern and frustration. As he approached, I could see the care with which he handled Bella, but I couldn't stop the overwhelming wave of fear and guilt that washed over me. I should have been there. I should have known something was wrong before it got to this point.

"Is she...?" I didn't even finish the question. The fear that had tightened in my chest was enough to stifle my voice, to stop the words before they left my lips.

"She's alive," Sam said gently, his voice low and controlled. "But she's not okay. You need to take care of her."

The moment he said it, I knew. I knew that Bella wasn't going to be the same. Whatever had happened in the woods, whatever she had gone through, it had broken her. And I wasn't sure that anything, or anyone, could fix it.

As Sam passed Bella into my fathers arms, I could see everything wrong, She was cold, shivering slightly despite the surprising warmth of the summer evening. I looked down at her, her eyes vacant, distant, and I could feel the tears welling in my own eyes. But I couldn't cry. Not then. Not when she needed me to be strong.

I turned to Charlie, but the words felt stuck in my throat. I had no idea what to say. "I'll take her inside," Charlie finally said, his voice hoarse with emotion. "We'll figure this out."

Inside, the house was still, the silence oppressive in its heaviness. It was the kind of silence that settled deep in your bones, the kind that made everything feel wrong. I tried to help her up from the couch, desperate to move her to her bedroom. Her grip was weak but insistent, as though she were holding onto something, anything, that might bring her back. I didn't know how to help her, how to break through whatever wall she had built around herself.

Days passed, and it became clear that Bella wasn't going to wake up from this-at least not emotionally. The nightmares began shortly after that, the kind of horrific dreams that rattled her to her core. The kind that tore her out of sleep with screams so loud they echoed through the entire house. Each time, I would rush to her side, trying to calm her down, but the only thing I could offer her was silence and warmth.

I remember one night in particular. Bella had woken up screaming, her hands clawing at her wrist- as though it was on fire. I held her as she trembled in my arms, unable to make her stop. "Bella, it's okay," I whispered, though I didn't know if I truly believed it. "You're safe. You're here with me." But it wasn't enough. Nothing was ever enough.

Charlie, despite his worry, still didn't understand. He still couldn't see the depth of Bella's suffering, still couldn't grasp what had happened to her. His attempts to console her were always met with silence, with avoidance, or worse-anger. He hadn't seen her in the same light I had, hadn't witnessed the change in her that had been so obvious to me.

I could feel her slipping away, and there was nothing I could do. I couldn't fix her, couldn't bring her back to who she was before-before Edward had left her, before she had lost herself. I couldn't even get her to talk to me anymore.

The nightmares worsened, each one more vivid and violent than the last. I had taken to sleeping on her floor, wrapped in a sleeping bag, just so she wouldn't be alone. At least then, when she cried out, I would be there to hold her, to remind her that I was still here. Still trying. But it wasn't enough.

There was nothing I could do.

One evening, I lay there on the floor, staring at the ceiling as the wind outside rattled the windows. I was exhausted, both physically and emotionally, but sleep eluded me. Bella, curled up in her bed, still hadn't said a word since she had returned from the woods, and the only sound was her shallow breathing. I couldn't help but wonder if she was even aware of the world around her anymore, or if she was lost somewhere in the depths of her own mind.

Suddenly, Bella sat up in bed, gasping for air, her body jerking as if some unseen force had gripped her. I bolted to my feet, rushing to her side. Her scream shattered the silence, raw with grief. "Bella," I whispered, my voice trembling with worry. "Please, talk to me."

But she didn't respond. She just stared ahead, her eyes distant, unseeing. The emptiness in them was terrifying.

I held her tightly, my arms wrapped around her as if that might somehow bring her back. But it wasn't enough. It never was. For the first time, I felt the crushing weight of loss in a way I had never known before. I was losing her-slowly, surely. And there was nothing I could do to stop it.

"Please, Bella," I whispered again, my voice breaking. "I need you to come back."

But there was nothing. Only the sound of her shallow breaths and the silence that seemed to envelop us both- until a sob broke out. "He left me.." I shook my head, cradling my sister; yearning to shield her from the world.

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The kitchen felt colder than it ever had before, a quiet, sterile emptiness filling the space where warmth once resided. The rhythmic ticking of the old clock on the wall seemed unusually loud in the silence. I found myself staring at it for far longer than I should have. It was as if time itself had become suspended in that moment, frozen in a hopeless stillness. I had tried to fill the silence with the mundane sounds of everyday life-clattering dishes, the hiss of the coffee maker, the soft clink of a cup set on the countertop-but none of it reached her. Bella was still there, sitting at the table, her posture slumped, her face hollowed out by grief and loss.

She had been like this for weeks-no, months. And each day, it felt like I was losing her a little more. The girl I once knew, the one who would throw her head back and laugh at something as silly as a bad joke or a clumsy stumble, was gone. In her place was a shadow, a mere echo of the person who used to light up the room. Her once-vibrant eyes, full of life and curiosity, had become dull, empty. I watched her now, her gaze fixed on some unseen point in the distance, her hands resting limply in front of her, the faintest tremor in her fingers.

It was as if she had retreated into herself, building a wall so high that no one could climb it, not even me, her sister. I had always been able to talk to Bella, to reach her in a way that no one else could. We shared a bond-an unspoken understanding that had always transcended words. But now, that connection was fractured. There was a gulf between us, one that seemed insurmountable.

I set the cup of coffee down in front of her, the steam rising lazily from the mug, but she didn't even glance at it. I didn't expect her to, but I did it anyway. The small, ordinary gesture felt like a desperate attempt to hold onto something normal, something real, in a world that had been turned upside down.

Her lips were slightly parted, but they didn't move, didn't speak. Her face remained utterly still, like she was carved from marble, a statue of the person I once knew. Her eyes, those eyes that had once shimmered with intelligence and life, were now fixed on some far-off place, as if she were trying to find something in the emptiness of the room, in the silence of the house, that would make sense of all this. But there was nothing. There was nothing left to find.

"Bella," I whispered, though I wasn't sure if she could hear me, if she even registered my presence in the same way I did hers. "Please." My voice caught, but I cleared my throat, forcing myself to continue. "You can't keep doing this. You can't keep shutting everyone out."

I swallowed, my heart tightening in my chest as I tried to find the right words, tried to break through the thick barrier that had formed between us. "You have to talk to someone. You have to let someone in."

But as soon as the words left my lips, I knew they were futile. She didn't respond. She never did. The silence was suffocating, a physical weight pressing down on me, making it harder to breathe, harder to think clearly. Each word I said felt like it was swallowed whole by the void that had consumed her. I could feel myself slipping into the same despair I saw in her eyes. The more I tried to fix her, the more I felt like I was losing pieces of myself too.

I pushed my chair back, the sound of the legs scraping across the floor harsh in the quiet. It wasn't a movement of anger, though the frustration was there-frustration at my own helplessness, at my inability to reach her. No matter how many times I begged her to talk to me, to look at me, to remember the way we used to be, there was nothing. It was like I was speaking to a ghost, to someone who had once existed but was now lost to some unfathomable place.

I looked at her, my sister, the person who had always been my other half, the one I had relied on when things got tough. And now, she was a shell of herself. It was like looking at a photograph that had faded and crumbled, the image blurred beyond recognition, the memories slipping through my fingers like sand.

I wanted to scream at her-to shake her, to force her to come back to me, to snap her out of whatever dark place she had descended into. But I knew that wouldn't work. I knew that the Bella I remembered-the Bella who was full of quiet fire and soft spirit-wasn't coming back. Not without a fight. And right now, I didn't know if I had the strength to fight. I didn't know if I had the power to bring her back from wherever she had gone.

I stood there for a moment, the weight of the situation pressing on me, feeling more alone than I had ever felt before. The tears I had been holding back threatened to fall, but I wouldn't let them. I wouldn't cry. Not yet. Not while she was still sitting there, so broken, so far away.

"Please, Bella," I whispered again, my voice barely audible, but thick with emotion. "I need you to come back to me. To us."

Her only response was the faintest flicker in her eyes, a brief moment where it seemed like she might hear me, like she might wake up from the trance she was in. But it was gone as quickly as it had appeared, leaving me with nothing but the dull ache in my chest.

I walked to the window, needing a moment to collect myself. The sky outside was overcast, a pale gray that matched the mood inside the house. The wind whipped the trees, the branches swaying in an almost mournful dance, and I could feel the chill creeping in through the glass, seeping into my bones. The world outside seemed to mirror the emptiness that had settled in here, in our home, in our hearts.

The coffee sat untouched, the steam rising into the air, but I knew it would remain like that. There would be no comfort in it. There would be no solace in any of the small, routine things we had once cherished. I wanted to fix her, to give her the love and support she so desperately needed, but every time I tried, it felt like I was pushing her further away.

I turned back to look at her, my heart breaking all over again. Bella was still there, unmoving, her face as pale as the winter light spilling through the window. She hadn't even touched her coffee. Her hands were still resting on the table, her fingers splayed out in front of her like a child who had given up playing with her toys. And yet, there was nothing childish about this. This was no simple phase she was going through. This was something deeper, something darker.

I walked over to her, my steps slow and measured, as if I feared disturbing her fragile state. I crouched down beside her, my fingers hovering just inches from hers. I wanted to hold her hand, to reassure her, but I was afraid that even that small gesture might be too much. I was afraid that I might shatter her completely.

"Bella," I said, my voice trembling, quieter now, more gentle. "Please, I need you to talk to me. I need to know what's going on inside your head."

She blinked, but the motion was slow, deliberate. It was as though her mind had to catch up with her body, as though she wasn't quite sure if she wanted to return to the present, if she even wanted to acknowledge my presence.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she spoke. Her voice was low, distant, and almost unrecognizable. "I can't," she whispered. "I just... can't."

The words shattered me. I hadn't realized until that moment how desperately I had been holding onto the hope that she would come back to me, that we would find our way back to the sisters we had been before. But hearing her say that, hearing the hopelessness in her voice, was like a cold slap to the face. It was the realization that she wasn't going to heal, not easily, not without a tremendous amount of effort that I wasn't sure either of us could summon.

She swallowed, as if trying to gather her strength, but her voice trembled again as she continued. "I don't know how to fix it. I don't even know what's broken anymore- its my heart, it hurts..."

I felt my heart break further, the weight of her words sinking deep into my chest. Her eyes, which had briefly flickered with some semblance of life, were now completely distant again. It was as though she had gone even further away in her mind, retreating deeper into the shadows.

"Bella," I said softly, fighting to keep the tears at bay. "Whatever it is, we can fix it together. You don't have to go through this alone."

But she shook her head slightly, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I don't even know who I am anymore," she whispered, her voice breaking with the strain of her emotions. "I don't know who I'm supposed to be after he left me..."

My breath hitched. The darkness she had been consumed by was deeper than I had realized. Through the short time I'd known about Edward, he had truly messed my older sister up, horribly, broken her completely. and I was left to clean up the pieces.

"You're Bella," I said desperately, my voice trembling with emotion. "You're my sister, and I need you. We need you. You're not lost. Not to me. Not to Charlie. We're here for you, always."

She looked at me then, her eyes more focused but filled with sorrow. "I wish I could believe that. I wish I could believe that I'm still... me." She paused, her voice lowering to a near whisper. "I'm scared, Annie. I'm so scared I'll never be her again, not without him.."

And just like that, the dam broke. The tears I had been holding back flooded over, and I reached for her hand, this time not hesitating. As I held her, the depth of her grief washed over me, and I realized that maybe, just maybe, reaching her wasn't about having all the answers or fixing everything in an instant. Maybe it was simply about being there, about offering the fragile hope that even in the darkest of times, we could still find our way back to each other.

"You're not alone," I whispered as I hugged her, pressing my forehead against hers. "Not ever. I'll help you find your way. I promise."

And for the first time in what felt like forever, she nodded, as if, for just a moment, she believed me.