It's Our Last Chance to Feel Again

I sighed as I heard the door shut, and even though I didn't feel the least bit cold, I brought my knees up to my chest and hugged them close to my body. It made me feel safe and untouchable, and I although I knew I was deceiving myself, I didn't want to feel the pathetic vulnerability that washed over me.

"Where's Katherine?" I heard someone I was guessing to be Embry ask.

"In the room," I heard a familiar female voice reply kindly, and in an attempt to preoccupy my mind, I frowned. I couldn't have forgotten whose voice that was.

"Oh. Yeah, that's probably best. So wha- Wait. Where's Jake?"

"In the room with Katherine," Sam answered knowingly, and as I looked at Jacob, who was watching me, from the corner of my eye, I couldn't help the tiny grateful smile that played on my lips.

"Why?" Embry demanded, obviously having some issue with Jacob not being present at their werewolf meeting.

A person, I'm guessing Paul, replied impatiently, "He's just watching out for her, man. He's convinced she's going to try and do something stupid. Can't blame him for thinking that, though. She looked like she was having a seizure or something, when we were bringing her back."

I shuddered at the memory of the internal fight, and momentarily regretted my decision of handing the cruel truth victory and allowing it to grab ahold of me. But remembering the relieved expression on Jacob's face when I had finally regained my sense of speech, every doubtful thought immediately dissolved. If I couldn't live for myself, I could at least live for Jacob.

"Um, okay," Embry spoke doubtfully, before asking the question the meeting was called for in the first place, "So what are we going to tell everyone?"

"I don't know, depression?" An unfamiliar voice asked.

My eyes widened with horror as I looked to Jacob with disbelief. Were they that disrespectful?

"What? No! That's horrible. We've got to honour Ryan for what he did by coming up with the best lie for the reason of his death. It's the least we can do," Jared scolded, and I felt the urge to cry in gratitude at the dumb wolf's feet.

There was no way I was letting the people of La Push believe that my father, who had so courageously given his life for me, had committed suicide because of an event that happened more than a decade ago.

"Okay, okay. It was just a suggestion. Geez," That voice defended, which thankfully met a scoff from someone else. Offended, the voice accused, "I don't see you coming up with anything better, Leah."

"See Matt, that's because I'm taking the time to think," Leah snapped.

A much needed silence followed soon after, and even though it helped calm my frenzied mind down, I vainly hoped for the noise to return. Though their chatter hadn't helped in soothing my nerves, it had helped distract my mind from the painful truth that my father was dead. And it was all because of me.

I should've done something. I should've stopped the vampires. I should've died instead of him. But I hadn't. All I had done was stand dumbly as I watched the ruthless murder of my father.

Furious at my incapability, I grabbed the sheets beneath me, crumpling the once crisp fabric into my sweaty palms.

"Kat, are you okay?" I heard Jacob ask softly.

I wanted to nod my head, to shy away from the obvious answer that I was anything but. But for some reason I couldn't fathom, I blatantly ignored what I wanted and shook my head.

Immediately, I let go of the sheets that had become moist from my sweat, and glared at the plain wall in front of me in a variety of emotions that threw my state of mind into a confusing vortex full of memories and dreams.

I was outraged at myself. How could I have just betrayed my own feelings? And how could I have just stood helplessly by the side?

I was confused. Why had I so easily confessed my true state of mind? And why hadn't I put in more of a fight to at least try and save my dad?

I was scared. What if at this point, Jacob had finally decided I had too much issues for him to handle? And what was I supposed to tell my mother?

I was in grief. This was all my fault. I should've listened to my father. I should've listened to Jacob.

But I hadn't. I was far too stubborn, far too ignorant to listen to anything anyone else had to say. And this was what I got in return. This was my lesson. The price I had to pay.

It didn't seem fair. It wasn't fair at all. Why did I have to suffer so much just because I made one silly mistake? Couldn't I have learnt through a method that wasn't as harsh as this?

I felt the air around me close in, and shuddered as the temperature of my surroundings increased quickly. Before I knew it, I was in the arms of my personal heat source.

I hadn't intended to cry. In fact, I hadn't even known that I needed to cry. But, I was beginning to realise, it seemed like Jacob had a power over me that made me go all sorts of crazy: I was imagining a future I'd never imagined before, I was talking a lot more than I was used to, I was finding out things about myself even I didn't know. And so, the moment his arms secured themselves around my shoulders, I let my body sink into his, and felt a surge of relief wash over my body as the warm tears of utter grief made their way down my cheeks.

"He's dead, Jake. My father's really dead," I sobbed.

Of course I knew that Jacob knew. But there was a certain conviction that hid in the power of admitting to the truth out loud, and that conviction was going to tear me to pieces so tiny it would take years for me to even try to repair myself. But that conviction was also going to strengthen me the moment I picked myself up, and I needed that.

As Jacob's warm arms tightened their grip on me, I felt myself slowly losing composure, slowly slipping into that delirious state of mind, and into Jacob's strong wall. I could hear myself wailing, I could feel the snot build up, I could see Jacob's determined face as he tried to remain strong for me.

But I couldn't see, or feel, or hear. Not properly, at least. It all felt superficial, yet so real at the same time.

I didn't know what happened after: I didn't know if my cries continued to increase in volume. I didn't know if the people outside heard me. I didn't know if I had requested for anything. I didn't know if I had gotten too uncontrollable.

All I knew was that something had happened, and Jacob had carried me to a house that was too painfully familiar.

As I stared at the door that Jacob was trying to get open, I felt whatever shred of composure I have break down. Was it just last night that I had knocked on it? Was it really just last night my father had comforted me, had let me into his house with open arms, alive and well?

It couldn't be because as cliched as it sounded, it felt like forever. It felt like years since I was brought back from the woods. It felt like years since I witnessed my own father die for me. It couldn't have been just last night that he was still alive.
Time couldn't have gone by that fast...

I squeezed my eyes shut as Jacob finally managed to kick open the door, and curled myself into a tinier ball in his arms. The door my father had opened was gone, and so was he.

---

Every step I took was a stab at my heart. A shove in my stomach. A kick in my brain. Everything was hurting me. Even breathing made me want to puke. But I had to do this. I had to walk in the rooms of my father's house one last time. Or at least before anyone else got to do it.

If there was anything I'd learnt from reading books that centered around a tragic death and watching movies or TV shows that involved death, it was that I had to get some sort of closure. Or at the very least, the finality of my father's sudden departure. I had to let it sink in fully. I was never going to heal otherwise.

I couldn't hear his soft footsteps, but I knew that Jacob was behind me and I silently thanked him for it. It was the knowledge that he was following me that helped me carry on the torturous tour of my father's house. And even though he'd never know it, I owed him so much for putting up with all of my drama.

Taking a deep breath, and then wincing at the feeling of bile rising up my oesophagus, I let my eyes take everything in, absorbing every detail of the house. From the way the couch was positioned, to the spider cracks on the walls, I tried as hard as I could to not let anything pass me by.

I knew there was no use in me trying to savor every insignificant fact about my father's house, nor was there any meaning. But it felt like it was the least I could do, after he had so selflessly given his life for me. And if I could do anything, I was going to do it.

As I slowly devoured the house with my eyes, I felt the pressure of pure fear build up inside of me, ready to burst forth like the button on Uncle Jack's shirts. I entered every room, scoured every wall, telling myself all the while that I could do it, that I was able to take the pain I knew I'd feel when I entered his bedroom.

The moment I had managed to convince myself that there were no more tears left for me to cry, and that I was genuinely ready to open that dreadful door, I stopped all my stalling and pushed away all hesitation. I determinedly strode towards the last and only room whose floor plan wasn't yet memorised. As forcefully as I could, I swung open the door and took a purposeful step into the room, inhaling the sweet air that soon begun to sting my air passage.

The once light air started to press down on my diaphragm, and I had to master up every ounce of my strength to suppress the bile forcing it's way up my throat.

As if looking around too fast would start off a reaction I didn't want, I steadily turned my head round, but stopped short when I saw a broken chair that lay pathetically on the ground. I frowned as I stepped over the mess. What on earth was a broken chair doing in my father's room?

Jacob, who seemed to think the same, muttered, "What the hell," bringing about some much needed noise to the awkwardness that now hung over me.

As I made my way further into the room, I noticed circular pieces of wood that used to be pencils lying uselessly on the floor, which further aroused my curiosity. What had my father been doing? Working out?

I walked over to my father's bed, and let my hand run over the unmade sheets as I walked towards the window that overlooked the woods. How could such beauty hold so much painful memories for me? Just looking at the tall trees clenched my heart and twisted it into shapes so unimaginable, the mere thought of it caused my brain to hurt.

I whipped my head around so that I wasn't facing the window anymore. I wouldn't be able to even look at the woods without feeling horri-

Shit. Fuck, no.

It was suddenly dawning on me why my father had managed to save me. The broken chair and pencils were beginning to make sense, and caring less about the floor plan, I rushed over to the small table that stood at the foot of the bed. Noticing a crumpled piece of paper in the bin next to the table's leg, I made to bend down to pick it up before getting distracted by the uncrushed paper that sat proudly on the table, held down by the one of the broken wood that probably came from the chair.

Grabbing the paper, it registered in my mind that it was a note as I shakily read through what was written on it.

No, this wasn't...

It couldn't honestly be.

But it was. The letter confirmed it. The letter confirmed my premature accusation. I didn't want to believe it, but there it was, in my father's writing, glaring right at me.

And even though I wasn't supposed to, even though I had unwillingly made a promise to my father, I stumbled back and crumpled into a heap on the floor, holding the note tight in my hand.

I didn't care for Jacob's worried cries or the bile I knew was on it's victorious way out. All I cared about was the note, and the truth it held.

All the lies I had brainwashed myself into believing about how I was able to face my father's room without breaking down proved to be a silly mistake because I was soon crying harder than I'd ever cried before.

It was all my fault, and no amount of regret was going to take anything back.

A feeble attempt at an apology escaped my lips, and was soon followed by a shaky grateful call.

"Thank you, dad."