by　my

bed。

Everything　looked　exactly　the　same　as　I'd　left　it。　I　pressed　down　on　the　top

of　the　CD　player。　The　latch

unhooked；　and　the　lid　slowly　swung　open。

It　was　empty。

The　album　Renee　had　given　me　sat　on　the　floor　beside　the　bed；　just　where　I'd

put　it　last。　I　lifted　the　cover

with　a　shaking　hand。

I　didn't　have　to　flip　any　farther　than　the　first　page。　The　little　metal

corners　no　longer　held　a　picture　in

place。　The　page　was　blank　except　for　my　own　handwriting　scrawled　across　the

bottom：　Edward　Cullen；

Charlie's　kitchen；　Sept。　13th。

I　stopped　there。　I　was　sure　that　he　would　have　been　very　thorough。

It　will　be　as　if　I'd　never　existed；　he'd　promised　me。

I　felt　the　smooth　wooden　floor　beneath　my　knees；　and　then　the　palms　of　my

hands；　and　then　it　was

pressed　against　the　skin　of　my　cheek。　I　hoped　that　I　was　fainting；　but；　to　my

disappointment；　I　didn't　lose

consciousness。　The　waves　of　pain　that　had　only　lapped　at　me　before　now　reared

high　up　and　washed

over　my　head；　pulling　me　under。

I　did　not　resurface。

4。　WAKING　UP

TIME　PASSES。　EVEN　WHEN　IT　SEEMS　IMPOSSIBLE。　EVEN　when　each　tick　of　the　second

hand

aches　like　the　pulse　of　blood　behind　a　bruise。　It　passes　unevenly；　in　strange

lurches　and　dragging　lulls；　but

pass　it　does。　Even　for　me。

CHARLIE'S　FIST　CAME　DOWN　ON　THE　TABLE。　〃THAT'S　IT；　Bella！　I'm　sending　you

home。〃

I　looked　up　from　my　cereal；　which　I　was　pondering　rather　than　eating；　and

stared　at　Charlie　in　shock。　I

hadn't　been　following　the　conversation—actually；　I　hadn't　been　aware　that　we

were　having　a

conversation—and　I　wasn