Tragedy Cullen

The phone rang. Once. Twice. Three times. I reluctantly opened my eyes and squinted into the darkness, watching as the shadows in my room crept along the walls, sulking away as if they had been caught in the act of murder. The phone rang again. I sighed and sat up, fully knowing my father would not wake up to answer it.
I swung my legs over the edge of my bed and stood up. My little tabby kitten mewed and bounded after me as I stumbled across my room to the hallway. I smiled a little as her tiny legs gave out and she tumbled to the floor, rolling onto her back and squeaking in surprise.
Giving a little snicker, I continued into the kitchen where the phone was ringing persistently. "Isabella," I cooed, scooping her up and nuzzling her gently. She purred, surprising herself at how loud the sound was. Smiling, I lifted the phone off the receiver and answered.
"Hello?" I croaked, my voice still thick with sleep. I cleared my throat a few times until I was sure my voice was back to normal.
"Hello, I’m terribly sorry for calling so early in the morning, but this really is an urgent matter…" I didn’t recognize the voice, but she sounded polite enough so I thought ‘Hey, why not?’
"Continue," I said, leaning against the doorframe, a purring Isabella still cuddled against my chest.
"I’m calling because Isabella Cullen’s account here at Forks Credit Union has been unusually dormant for the past six months, and I was just wondering—"
With a wounded sound, I hung up the phone. My eyes widened to the size of dinner plates, and I suddenly felt dizzy and unbalanced. Didn’t they know? You think the town would have realized something had happened once they stopped seeing her, but continued to see me and my father. But obviously, that concept escaped the minds of many here in Forks.
My throat tightened and I tried to suck in an icy, shuddering breath, but I couldn’t get it past the lump in my throat. To this day, it still hurt upon hearing her name.
Suddenly I felt extremely stupid and foolish for naming my kitten after her. I thought it would have helped, would have made me heal a little bit faster. Now that I think about it, it did nothing but torment me and make things that much worse.
Before I could blink, I had hit the floor. Hard. My body crashed into the kitchen table, making it screech on the tile. I landed on my hip and shoulder, pushing Isabella away so I didn’t crush her. She yowled indignantly and scooted away before prancing back up to me and smelling my face, her whiskers tickling my cheek.
"Oh, Tragedy," I heard my mother say in my head. Her voice was still so clear, so unforgettable. It burned in my mind night and day, and I wondered if it was supposed to keep that hole in my chest closed. "Tragedy…Get up, Tragedy, baby…Come on…Off the floor…"
I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Trying, no…struggling…to obey my mother’s requests, I used my shaky arms to try to heave myself off the floor. But the hurt was too great. Tears spilled from my eyes and I whimpered, pulling my kitten to my chest and burying my face in her shimmering gray coat. In a way, I guess I had figured I had disappointed my mother, because I heard that sigh she used to utter when she couldn’t do something… Like when she dropped a dish, and it would shatter on the floor. She would let this sigh whisper through her lips, but then she would smile and say, ‘Oh well. Next time, Tragedy. Next time I won’t drop one.’
Only there hadn’t been a next time. In a sick way, I almost missed the tinkling sound of glass hitting the floor that alerted me to another broken dish. But nonetheless, I heard her sigh in my head, and the voice retreated.
"Tragedy?" I didn’t want to look. I kept my face in Isabella’s fur, trying feverishly to wipe my tears. I heard the sound of footsteps across the tile, coming towards me, and then felt a hand on my shoulder. Reluctantly, I pulled my face away from my kitten and looked up into the darkness, my streaming eyes landing on my father.
His face was drawn and tired. I could see that even in the darkness. The expression on his face made it all too clear that he was trying to get past the barriers in my mind but I, like my mother, remained unphased by his talent. "Do you want me to call Hunter?" he asked, his voice shaking.
I made a noise of contempt and rolled onto my back. "No," I snapped harshly. "If I need him, I can send him a witch message." Like most in my immortal family, I had a talent. On the day I was a full vampire, I discovered I had all the powers of a Wiccan bloodwitch. Unfortunately, so did Hunter.
Hunter was older than me by three years, which made him nineteen. You do the math to find out my age. He had met my father on the day… Well… The day our lives took a turn. Ever since then, Hunter and I have just always seemed to rub each other the wrong way. I didn’t trust him, and he didn’t trust me. We weren’t enemies, but we weren’t friends. We would have these moments when we would get along fine. Those were the moments we were searching. When we weren’t searching, we were getting on each other’s nerves.
Though, I must say, he is attractive. He has brown hair, messy…unkempt. Spiked, I guess you could say? Shaggy, though, too. But not overly, ridiculously so. He had hard, chiseled features, but I guess that’s what drew me to him. And his accent. Goddess, his accent sent me reeling each time I heard it. It was this crisp, clear, British tone, and it made me weak at the knees.
I loathed him, though. And there was no doubt about it. He loathed me.
I shuddered as he entered my mind, and I almost flew into another fit of hysteria again. But this time, my father was there. Edward Cullen. The only man I needed right now. But in a way, I guess I needed Hunter.
Needed him like a freaking sharp stick in the eye.
"Are you sure?" Edward asked me. I’ll call him Edward, just for your benefit. He won’t read this anyway.
I nodded angrily, wiping my tears away impatiently. "I don’t need him. He’s just some arrogant British jerk who thinks he knows everything."
Edward sighed. He thought Hunter was good to have around. Fabulous. I was never going to get rid of him now.
"Will you at least tell me what happened?" he prodded, pulling me up onto his lap as he sat at the table. Isabella was still curled on my chest, and I leaned against Edward’s arm, closing my eyes.
"The phone was ringing and I got up to answer it. I wasn’t expecting it to be about Mom’s Credit Union account." My voice cracked, causing me to look away in shame. Edward stroked my hair a few times, his face hard.
"Tragedy…" he breathed, shaking his head. "I don’t know how we’re going to get through this…" I was shocked then. I had never heard my father admit defeat.
"Me neither," I admitted softly. "But we can’t give up. We have Raina to look after." Raina was my adopted sister. She was an elf. Literally.
"I’m calling Hunter," he decided then. I let out an angry groan and stopped my father from getting up.
"I’ll do it," I muttered. Feeling around, down the streets, throwing my senses out through the entire city, I found Hunter. ‘Get down here,’ I thought furiously. ‘Dad wants you.’
‘On my way,’ was his instant reply. His voice was cold and malevolent. Not the British accent I loved.
Goddess, I hated him.