The Special Two

"You know I don't have to leave," I said as I slid the last cardboard box into place. "It was your decision."

My mother's features hardened from anger, though a trail of tears slid down her cheeks. "You're going."

"Then don't cry," I spoke harshly, and gave her a hard sideways glance. "You have no reason to. It was your choice and it still is." I moved to the front of the car and leaned against the cool metal exterior despite the sun’s rays.

"Just because I chose this doesn't mean its easy Clara!" She shouted in my face, the bulbous vein in her neck making itself known. I stayed in my place on the concrete, despite the jumbled nerves inside me.

"Yeah right! I haven't been to La Push in nine years Mother. You're the one that took me away from in the first place! I would have been fine staying there, hell I would have been fine staying here! Moving me back after I’ve forgotten everything and everyone isn’t fair." I spoke louder.

"Don't raise your voice!"

I felt myself shake slightly and I took a few breaths to calm down. I looked back at her with all emotions locked away underneath the surface, "Goodbye Sandra, I hope you have a lovely life."

I drove away and not once did I look back. If she didn't want me there I wasn’t going to cry about it. Even if it did feel like a dagger to my heart when I realized she didn't follow. Damn emotions.

My name is Clara Robins, daughter of Sandra and Joshua Robins. My dad was the man that died nine years ago in the La Push accident. Nine years ago, I was ripped away from my home on the La Push rez, and forced to live in the too uptight state of Florida. Tampa to be more specific. Exactly nine years to this day was the last time my mom told me she loved me or showed any affection of that sort. It used to bother me back then, but not now. I don't want it. I don't need it. I don't need her.

You see, the method behind such madness that society would shame my mother on was simple. I reminded her of Dad.

My father was Native American with warm chocolate eyes that squinted into a crinkled mess when he smiled. He had black hair that was in cascading curls when he let it grow out, which he rarely had up until the accident. It was always cropped short then. Dad was a strong and sturdy type of person and had the warmest skin you've ever felt in your life. Joshua could discipline you without making you feel bad; he could tell you the truth without saying anything. Dad could make you feel loved with one grin.

He was my best friend, and he left me alone.

I had obtained several of my Dad's genes.

My dark colored hair that had found its way to my waist over the summer had been chopped off just below my chin, leaving the waves to fall wherever else they pleased. I was tall for a girl, but not tall enough to get myself into a circus. Five eight is my current height and it was easily matched with my naturally toned body. I was thin and muscular, with tan angular features and my mother’s silvery eyes. Brown freckles placed themselves over my cheeks and nose. I was the spitting image of my father for the most part, enough to make any widow go mad.

I had looks that could get me places, and I knew that. But I wasn't going to use it. Sandra tried too hard to get me into modeling during freshman year. How pathetic would that be? I never understood modeling, being paid for sitting there. But I'm getting severely off track.

I could tell something was wrong a few months ago when Sandra kept bringing up people back home. My temper had been flaring a lot back then and I couldn't control it as well as I did now. It started out with the "did you remember”‘s and ended with me moving back here. I'd be lying if I said I didn't want to go. Am I nervous? You bet. It's like a high school reunion, you feel like you haven't done anything in the years since you've seen each other and you feel like you need to plan what you have to say. I don't want to face them. Maybe they have forgotten about me so when I come they'll just cast me off as another teenager on the reservation.

I hooked a right on my old street and drove until I found the house. My heart sunk to the bottom of my stomach and my face felt flustered. My breath was caught in my throat while my brain tried to process what was going on. There in front of my house sat the Uley's, Black's, Charley with whom I can only assume would be his daughter and a pale family I've never seen before. They were standing around several primary colored balloons. Everyone had a smile plastered on their face. Some were fake, others were genuine. I drew a shaky breath as took the keys out of my car and stepped into moist environment.

"Hey,"

Welcome to my life, you'll hate every minute of it.