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twispitefic2011-02-12 03:05 pm
gehayi.livejournal.com) wrote in twispitefic2011-02-12 03:05 pm
Spitefic: Tough Love
Title: Tough Love
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
gehayi
Fandom(s): New Moon
Rating:PG-13
Word Count: 3,564
Inspiration:Chapter 24 – Vote.
Warnings: Swearing. A lot of swearing. Also, a couple of people think that Charlie is much too harsh with Bella and find this triggering. Your mileage may vary with this.
Summary: When Bella tells Charlie that she'll move out if he tries to punish her for running away, Charlie calls her bluff.
Author's Notes: The Italicized sentences at the beginning are by Meyer, and are from the chapter indicated.
Also, while I wouldn't recommend this behavior to most parents, and would sympathize with the kid in most cases...this is Bella Swan, folks. Charlie has been pushed beyond human limits for two books.
***
"I thought you were going to be difficult."
"I am." Bella stared straight into his eyes. "I meant, 'Fine, I'll move out.'"
Charlie gazed at her for a moment, then nodded. "I was hoping that you'd see it differently...but since you're sure, I think this might be for the best." His voice hardened. "Pack your things, Bella."
Bella blinked. "I'll pack in the morning."
"No. You'll pack now. You've declared yourself to be an adult. You don't want to live under my roof and by my rules. And you sure as hell don't respect me as a parent. Since you have no interest understanding that I worry about you or in giving me half the respect that you give to that abusive fucktard who dumped you back in September--"
"Dad! You can't talk about Edward that way!"
"As a matter of fact, I can," Charlie said in a steelly voice that Bella had never heard before. "Do you know why? Because this is my house. You do not pay rent. You do not contribute to the upkeep. Now, if you were my kid emotionally as well as biologically, I wouldn't mind supporting you even when you were at college, but hell, you've already disowned me as family, running away from home when I was at the funeral of one of my best friends. That was a shitty thing to do. A daughter who loved her father wouldn't act that way. And this is the second time you've run away, Bella. Honest to God, you treat me like I'm the desk clerk in a cockroach-ridden motel you're deigning to stay at because you don't have a better option.
"Well, you may not have a better option. But I do. You have spent your last night in this house. You are leaving tonight. Within the hour, if possible. And if you don't pack within that time, you're leaving with only the clothes on your back."
"You—you can't do that!"
"I can, actually. I'm just giving you a deadline. I'm not preventing you from gathering your clothes—except for the cheap junk Alice Cullen bought at Streetwalkers R Us that fell apart in the wash and disintegrated at the dry cleaners." He met Bella' appalled expression with a calm one. "I'll show you the rags if you don't believe me. But I was expecting you to pull shit like this, you see, so I made sure that all the clothes that other people paid for were ready for packing."
Bella stared at Charlie in disbelief. She'd expected an explosion of rage. This controlled fury unnerved her.
"Now, about your truck," Charlie continued. "Billy, Jacob and I found out that you haven't been taking care of the old girl. You don't have enough antifreeze, the battery's dead, your tire pressure is too low, and you need an oil change. Also, your four-wheel drive is a wreck—I'd say that you've been driving through the forest. So your shocks need replacing. Plus wear and tear on the brakes; everything is shot...the calipers, the drum, the rotors, the pad. You've got a lot of repairs to pay for before your truck is street-legal again. And that doesn't even raise the issue of monthly insurance payments. Which is not going to pay any of the close to $4,300 you're going to need for repairs, because this is just normal maintenance. And your insurance is going to go up, by the way, since I'm not going to be paying it any longer and you're a teenaged driver."
"Dad," Bella began uneasily.
"Of course, that's not going to leave you much money for an apartment," Charlie went on. "It's not like you have any friends you can crash with. Maybe you can find a room at the YWCA for a while, or can share rooms with a stranger. I know you're not going to stay anywhere you have to pay for very long, because you've been blowing off your job at the sports shop for months; in fact, Mrs. Newton called while you were off gallivanting around Italy with your drama queen ex and told me that she was letting you go because, despite repeated warnings, you weren't doing the work. In fact, she said you were inflating your hours, being rude to the customers and stealing from the storeroom." His face turned brick-red as he said this.
Bella looked no more comfortable than Charlie. "Dad, I can explain..."
"Mrs. Newton explained pretty well, I thought. Said that she'd kept you on as a favor to me, but that she just couldn't keep paying a useless employee in today's economy. She said she was sorry, and that she hoped I'd understand. Unfortunately, I did."
He sighed. "And right after that, I heard from the high school. Seems you haven't been doing your work there either, Bella. You definitely aren't graduating—not with a grade point average of 1.3. You don't participate in class, and you don't do your homework. The school offered you tutorials and gave you extensions—not to mention counseling sessions to help you deal with your suicidal depression, but...you just ignored it all. You haven't cracked open a book in six months, and I include textbooks. You turned in one calculus test that was completely covered with the words 'WHY, EDWARD, WHY?' You haven't done a lick of work on your senior project for English—which is required for graduation here in Washington. And it was due last semester.
"So I don't know what kind of work you're going to get. Nothing that requires a high school diploma, that's for damned sure. And no college worth its salt would admit you. Not now, not ever."
"But I'm smart!" Bella wailed. "This can't be happening!"
Charlie shrugged. "You've lived here for a couple of years. Frankly, I don't think you're college material. Problem is, you're not really very good at anything except complaining and crying. Maybe you could become a professional movie reviewer. They seem to do both a lot."
The venomous expression on Bella's face said that she didn't find that funny.
"By the way, Billy told me about Jacob and the motorcycles." His eyes said that if he'd known about them, Bella wouldn't have been allowed anywhere near Jacob. "I suppose you've been thinking you'll use yours when your truck is in the shop. Thing is, you can't. You need a special license to operate a motorcycle, and you don't have one. You could get an instruction permit from the DMV if you wanted to take a motorcycle knowledge test—but I don't think you know the seat from the handlebars. And I'm sure that you couldn't pass an on-the-road riding test. Jacob, under some pressure, admitted that you'd crashed your motorcycle into a tree once or twice."
Bella cringed. "I didn't mean to."
"Of course not. People drive head-on at top speed into trees all the time." Charlie regarded his daughter with chill disfavor. "Did you know that it's illegal to ride a motorcycle without a license or permit, Isabella Marie? Did you know that such operation means that the police must impound the vehicle and charge the driver? Do you know what I do for a living?"
"You're not really going to charge me!"
"Yes, I am. Oh, you won't go to jail. You'll likely just get a substantial fine, plus have to pay the impound fee. But it's one more bill for you—and one more that I won't be paying."
"Well...well, fine!" Bella shouted, tossing her hair. "I'll just go to the Cullens! They'll help me, they're my real family--"
Charlie spoke quietly. "The Cullens are living beyond their means and are damned near broke."
Bella's mouth fell open. "That...that isn't possible!"
"Afraid so." Charlie didn't sound afraid at all. He sounded revoltingly cheerful. "I can prove it, too."
Bella glared up at the ceiling, plainly refusing to ask how he could prove it. After a moment, Charlie continued.
"You know what the average internist in Washington makes? I looked it up. $191,580 a year. That's a lot. Most folks could live off that pretty nicely. But the Cullens aren't most folks. They've got some mighty expensive hobbies--like car collecting. Remember that car that Edward drove you to the prom in? The Aston Martin? That car cost $35,000 more than Carlisle's annual salary. The Lamborghini? That cost almost $100,000 more. And someone has a Porsche, and Alice and Rosalie buy designer gowns for a junior prom..." He grimaced. "Get real, Bella. No one has that much money to burn. And it's not as if anyone else in the house works. Esme stays home and makes things pretty for Carlisle and the kids, and the kids go to high school, drive around and shop.
"Assuming that you move in with the Cullens...what is your contribution going to be? Aside from becoming Wardo's fucktoy and punching bag 24/7."
"That's disgusting!"
"I call 'em as I see 'em," Charlie said, not reacting at all Bella's look of exaggerated horror. "That's all I can think of that you've got and Wardo wants. I've got independent confirmation that you're a lazy employee and an indifferent student. I know for a fact you can't cook to save your life--"
"You always ate everything I put in front of you," Bella said, starting to sob.
Charlie, noting that her cheeks were quite dry, rolled his eyes. "Bella, I learned how to cook after your mother and I divorced. Took courses in cooking at Port Angeles and everything. And I'm really not that crazy about spaghetti. I mean, I like pasta in some things—seafood fettucini alfredo and tomato-basil pasta salad—but if I want it, I can cook it and the sauce myself. It's not that hard. I know you try...but trust me. The Cullens won't want you for your cooking.
"And you act like a martyr if I ask you to wash clothes or empty the wastebaskets. And I don't remember you ever doing yardwork.
"So what are you going to contribute, Bella? Because I don't think that just sitting in the Cullens' living room and staring at Edward as adoringly as a cocker spaniel will inspire Carlisle to adopt another useless teenager into his 'family' and cause his eventual bankruptcy to happen a few years sooner."
Bella said nothing. She seemed to have been shocked into silence. When at last she spoke, her voice was trembling. "I was wrong, Dad. I really don't want to move out."
Charlie sighed. "That's a problem, then. Because you're no longer welcome to live here."
"What?!" The acid in her voice could have burned through iron.
"You heard me. You're eighteen years old. You've declared yourself to be an adult. Fine. Go out and be an adult. Go to the bank. Clean all your things. Pay your own bills and your own taxes, buy and cook your own food, get yourself to and from school, be responsible for earning your own money. That's what being an adult means. It's not fun—here or in Jacksonville."
He glanced at her. "And by the way, your mother and I talked about this while you were running around Tuscany. She says that she doesn't want you moving back with her, either. She likes doing things for herself—which you don't let her do. And she knows the difference between a casual 'Gee, wouldn't a honeymoon in Mexico be romantic?' that she'll forget in an hour and an 'I want to marry Phil in Boston after the third game of the World Series.' You just want to plan everything for her. You're like Alice that way. That's not a compliment."
"I didn't know you hated me so much," Bella whispered in what Charlie thought was an overly melodramatic tone.
"I don't hate you," he said patiently. "You're my daughter, and I love you. But—I will admit that right now I don't like you very much. And I'm tired of watching you tear yourself apart for a pretentious little bully who's so mentally unstable that he's ready to commit suicide on hearing a rumor of your death. I'm tired of watching you throw away your friends, your brain, your future and yourself. I'm tired of realizing that your idea of a perfect life is giving up on everything and everyone except a physically and emotionally abusive turd. I don't want to hear any more fucking lies about how you fell down the stairs or banged into a wall.
"And I'm sick over how many friends of mine, as a favor to me, have covered up the crimes that you and the Cullens have committed. That protection ends tonight, by the way. God knows I don't want to visit you in jail—but I will not ask my friends to continue to-to dishonor themselves for you."
"I don't understand," Bella wailed.
"It's very simple. You're not getting your way. Your way means that you get to dictate terms and treat me and your mother like doormats. Your way means that you get to dash off to Italy instead of sending the idiot boyfriend a text message or an e-mail that says, 'Hey, asshole, I'm ALIVE.' Your way means that it's fine if you treat me like a thing and not a person. Well, it's not fine, Bells. It's never been fine, and it never will be."
He took a deep breath. "Two more things. Then I'm done talking. You have fifteen minutes to pack and leave the house after that."
Bella's forehead creased slightly, as if she was mildly worried. Charlie didn't think that she was quite frightened yet; she had little experience with him being truly angry. He wondered briefly how she would react when she figured out that he did mean it. Then he mentally shrugged. She wasn't going to learn unless she fell on her face a few times, that was clear. And while he would do a lot for his daughter, he couldn't fix her life for her.
"First—this isn't temporary. You don't get to leave and then come back in three days wailing about how miserable you are and how sorry you feel and please-Dad-I'll-do-anything. You succeed or fail on your own. Second, you running to the Cullens means you're not on your own. You can run to 'em if you want to—and you probably will, they seem to be your default setting these days—but just know that if you do, I'll take that as an admission that you aren't an adult and that you're not ready to be treated as one...not by anybody."
As Bella glared at him—yeah, because how dare he notice that Co-Dependent Daughter was co-dependent!--Charlie eyed the closet. Apparently he was supposed to think that heavy footsteps pacing upstairs or running across Bella's bedroom and then going suspiciously silent were just the house settling. Did Edward think he'd invented sneaking around? Jeez.
In any case, he had something for Edward to chew on.
"I gotta wonder why you're so eager to go to the Cullens," he said softly. "You say you hate it when they buy you things, when they take you places, when they make you food, even when they throw you parties. And it sure isn't Edward. You two barely speak. I bet you couldn't even tell me his favorite color." He shook his head. "I wish I knew what they have that you want so damned much."
He stood up and walked out the bedroom door. "Fifteen minutes, Bella. After that, packed or not, you're gone."
He was barely halfway down the stairs before he heard the closet door open. And by the time he reached the landing, he could hear a few shouted phrases as well.
"...father's got a point..."
"...if I never give you..."
"...you know what I believe!"
Three minutes later, the window in Bella's bedroom squeaked open and then slammed down. Apparently things were not all so happy in the realm of Forks' self-proclaimed Romeo and Juliet.
Ten minutes after that, Charlie went back upstairs. "Two minutes to go. Hope your packing is almost done."
His daughter was sprawled on her bed, her face blotchy and red. It always was after she got into what Renee called "one of Bella's states." Her eyes were closed, and she didn't bother to open them when Charlie walked in. "I'm not going," she said in a feeble voice. "Edward is furious at me now. I hope you're happy. I have to stay here so that he'll know where I am when he realizes that I really do love him."
"In other words," Charlie snapped, "'second verse, same as the first'?"
"I don't--"
Charlie rubbed his temples. Of course Bella wasn't bright at the best of times, but being thwarted seemed to worsen the condition. "I mean that you're planning on pulling the same shit that you pulled from September to March, right? Sitting and staring, wailing, not talking to anyone, trying to find ways of almost killing youself?"
"I was depressed!"
"Yes, you were." A pause. "But you're not now. You're just angry that you didn't get something you wanted. And you think that Edward will feel guiltier about making you unhappy than he will about not giving you something that you won't talk to me about and that he doesn't like." He shook his head. "Do what you want in your own place, Bella. But not here. I'm not prepared to live through the emotional Siege of Leningrad a second time."
So saying, he grabbed her by the wrists, pulled her into a sitting position, shoved his arms beneath her armpits and yanked her to her feet. "Come on. Time to go."
Snatching up a duffel bag, he tossed in a few pieces of underwear, two blouses, a skirt, a pair of jeans, a sweater, a jacket, a blanket, an afghan and a toothbrush. If she wanted more...well, she should have done her own packing.
Then, after deftly removing one item from her purse, he motioned to her. "Come on. Time to go." And, duffel bag and handbag in one hand, he took her by the wrist with the other and led her downstairs.
Not until they were standing at the front door and Charlie handed Bella her purse and duffel bag did Bella realize that yes, Charlie really meant it. She really was going to have to leave.
Unsurprisingly, she started screaming. "No! You can't be serious! You can't be throwing me out in the middle of the night! It's April! It's cold!"
"Put on your winter coat before you leave. Sleep in your truck with the doors locked," Charlie said. "And wrap yourself up in your blanket and afghan. You won't be comfortable, but you won't freeze. Call me when you find a place to live; I'll put the rest of your stuff outside and you come by and pick it up. Oh, and if Edward breaks into the house one more time and touches one thing that belongs to me—like, say, the bed in the bedroom that used to be yours—I'm arresting him and charging him with attempted burglary. And if he takes one thing out of the house, it's going to be burglary."
Bella blanched at this. Apparently it had never occurred to her that he'd known Edward was climbing in through her window. God, the arguments he'd had about that with Carlisle and Esme. They flat-out refused to discipline the brat. He'd even considered taking them to court over the matter—which was why he knew something of their finances. Wouldn't make sense to sue people who could hire every single Supreme Court Justice as an attorney. It had been a real pleasure to trip over investigations by the Securities and Exchange Commission and the state attorney general's office. Between insider trading and possible involvement in the drug trade...well, the Cullens' lives would come crashing down around their ears in about six months to a year, even if they didn't go bankrupt during that time.
And Charlie couldn't wait to see it. He was sick of the Cullens, their mind games, and the way they acted as if money was a get-out-of-everything-free card.
Most of all, he was sick of watching them indulge his spoiled, entitled daughter, transforming her into a monster. A monster that was draining him dry.
Maybe this would be the wake-up call Bella so desperately needed. He hoped so, anyway.
Bella, meanwhile, was still standing sobbing at the door, clutching her purse and her duffel bag as if either could get her out of this mess. Charlie opened the door and motioned her outside. She obeyed automatically, realizing only a split second too late that obeying hadn't been a good idea.
"Wait! I don't have my keys!"
"Of course you don't, Bella," Charlie said patiently. "I took them out of your purse when I was packing. You won't need them. You don't live here anymore."
She adopted a look that she clearly thought would make him sympathetic—sad, soulful eyes turned toward Heaven and a tragic expression that said he was making her life impossibly hard, but that she forgave him anyway. She reminded Charlie of a beagle he'd owned once.
"Dad," she said mournfully, "where am I supposed to go in the middle of the night? What am I supposed to do?"
Charlie smiled as if he hadn't a care in the world and lied through his teeth. "Frankly, Bella...I don't give a damn."
Before she could say anything else, he shut and locked the door.
***
END NOTES:
An average internist's salary in 2009 is listed here. I couldn't find out what it would be for 2006.
I found the cost of repairs for a 1990 Ford Ranger pickup truck (the oldest year available) at http://repairpal.com/. I chose the most expensive estimate in each case. The roster of charges was as follows:
187.00 – front end shocks
166.00 – back end shocks
59.00 – oil change
564.00 – 90,000 mile service
500.00 – new tires
146.00 – windshield washer pump replacement
228.00 – wiper motor replacement
111.00 – wheel alignment
148.00 – brake fluid replacement
151.00-- new battery
361.00 – brake calipers, front (both)
350.00 – brake calipers, rear (both)
316.00 – brake master cylinder (both)
378.00 –brake pad replacement, resurface rotors
564.00—brake shoe and drum replacement
________________________
TOTAL: 4,229.00
The base price for a 2006 Lamborghini Murcielago was $279,000.
Author:
gehayiFandom(s): New Moon
Rating:PG-13
Word Count: 3,564
Inspiration:Chapter 24 – Vote.
Warnings: Swearing. A lot of swearing. Also, a couple of people think that Charlie is much too harsh with Bella and find this triggering. Your mileage may vary with this.
Summary: When Bella tells Charlie that she'll move out if he tries to punish her for running away, Charlie calls her bluff.
Author's Notes: The Italicized sentences at the beginning are by Meyer, and are from the chapter indicated.
Also, while I wouldn't recommend this behavior to most parents, and would sympathize with the kid in most cases...this is Bella Swan, folks. Charlie has been pushed beyond human limits for two books.
***
"I thought you were going to be difficult."
"I am." Bella stared straight into his eyes. "I meant, 'Fine, I'll move out.'"
Charlie gazed at her for a moment, then nodded. "I was hoping that you'd see it differently...but since you're sure, I think this might be for the best." His voice hardened. "Pack your things, Bella."
Bella blinked. "I'll pack in the morning."
"No. You'll pack now. You've declared yourself to be an adult. You don't want to live under my roof and by my rules. And you sure as hell don't respect me as a parent. Since you have no interest understanding that I worry about you or in giving me half the respect that you give to that abusive fucktard who dumped you back in September--"
"Dad! You can't talk about Edward that way!"
"As a matter of fact, I can," Charlie said in a steelly voice that Bella had never heard before. "Do you know why? Because this is my house. You do not pay rent. You do not contribute to the upkeep. Now, if you were my kid emotionally as well as biologically, I wouldn't mind supporting you even when you were at college, but hell, you've already disowned me as family, running away from home when I was at the funeral of one of my best friends. That was a shitty thing to do. A daughter who loved her father wouldn't act that way. And this is the second time you've run away, Bella. Honest to God, you treat me like I'm the desk clerk in a cockroach-ridden motel you're deigning to stay at because you don't have a better option.
"Well, you may not have a better option. But I do. You have spent your last night in this house. You are leaving tonight. Within the hour, if possible. And if you don't pack within that time, you're leaving with only the clothes on your back."
"You—you can't do that!"
"I can, actually. I'm just giving you a deadline. I'm not preventing you from gathering your clothes—except for the cheap junk Alice Cullen bought at Streetwalkers R Us that fell apart in the wash and disintegrated at the dry cleaners." He met Bella' appalled expression with a calm one. "I'll show you the rags if you don't believe me. But I was expecting you to pull shit like this, you see, so I made sure that all the clothes that other people paid for were ready for packing."
Bella stared at Charlie in disbelief. She'd expected an explosion of rage. This controlled fury unnerved her.
"Now, about your truck," Charlie continued. "Billy, Jacob and I found out that you haven't been taking care of the old girl. You don't have enough antifreeze, the battery's dead, your tire pressure is too low, and you need an oil change. Also, your four-wheel drive is a wreck—I'd say that you've been driving through the forest. So your shocks need replacing. Plus wear and tear on the brakes; everything is shot...the calipers, the drum, the rotors, the pad. You've got a lot of repairs to pay for before your truck is street-legal again. And that doesn't even raise the issue of monthly insurance payments. Which is not going to pay any of the close to $4,300 you're going to need for repairs, because this is just normal maintenance. And your insurance is going to go up, by the way, since I'm not going to be paying it any longer and you're a teenaged driver."
"Dad," Bella began uneasily.
"Of course, that's not going to leave you much money for an apartment," Charlie went on. "It's not like you have any friends you can crash with. Maybe you can find a room at the YWCA for a while, or can share rooms with a stranger. I know you're not going to stay anywhere you have to pay for very long, because you've been blowing off your job at the sports shop for months; in fact, Mrs. Newton called while you were off gallivanting around Italy with your drama queen ex and told me that she was letting you go because, despite repeated warnings, you weren't doing the work. In fact, she said you were inflating your hours, being rude to the customers and stealing from the storeroom." His face turned brick-red as he said this.
Bella looked no more comfortable than Charlie. "Dad, I can explain..."
"Mrs. Newton explained pretty well, I thought. Said that she'd kept you on as a favor to me, but that she just couldn't keep paying a useless employee in today's economy. She said she was sorry, and that she hoped I'd understand. Unfortunately, I did."
He sighed. "And right after that, I heard from the high school. Seems you haven't been doing your work there either, Bella. You definitely aren't graduating—not with a grade point average of 1.3. You don't participate in class, and you don't do your homework. The school offered you tutorials and gave you extensions—not to mention counseling sessions to help you deal with your suicidal depression, but...you just ignored it all. You haven't cracked open a book in six months, and I include textbooks. You turned in one calculus test that was completely covered with the words 'WHY, EDWARD, WHY?' You haven't done a lick of work on your senior project for English—which is required for graduation here in Washington. And it was due last semester.
"So I don't know what kind of work you're going to get. Nothing that requires a high school diploma, that's for damned sure. And no college worth its salt would admit you. Not now, not ever."
"But I'm smart!" Bella wailed. "This can't be happening!"
Charlie shrugged. "You've lived here for a couple of years. Frankly, I don't think you're college material. Problem is, you're not really very good at anything except complaining and crying. Maybe you could become a professional movie reviewer. They seem to do both a lot."
The venomous expression on Bella's face said that she didn't find that funny.
"By the way, Billy told me about Jacob and the motorcycles." His eyes said that if he'd known about them, Bella wouldn't have been allowed anywhere near Jacob. "I suppose you've been thinking you'll use yours when your truck is in the shop. Thing is, you can't. You need a special license to operate a motorcycle, and you don't have one. You could get an instruction permit from the DMV if you wanted to take a motorcycle knowledge test—but I don't think you know the seat from the handlebars. And I'm sure that you couldn't pass an on-the-road riding test. Jacob, under some pressure, admitted that you'd crashed your motorcycle into a tree once or twice."
Bella cringed. "I didn't mean to."
"Of course not. People drive head-on at top speed into trees all the time." Charlie regarded his daughter with chill disfavor. "Did you know that it's illegal to ride a motorcycle without a license or permit, Isabella Marie? Did you know that such operation means that the police must impound the vehicle and charge the driver? Do you know what I do for a living?"
"You're not really going to charge me!"
"Yes, I am. Oh, you won't go to jail. You'll likely just get a substantial fine, plus have to pay the impound fee. But it's one more bill for you—and one more that I won't be paying."
"Well...well, fine!" Bella shouted, tossing her hair. "I'll just go to the Cullens! They'll help me, they're my real family--"
Charlie spoke quietly. "The Cullens are living beyond their means and are damned near broke."
Bella's mouth fell open. "That...that isn't possible!"
"Afraid so." Charlie didn't sound afraid at all. He sounded revoltingly cheerful. "I can prove it, too."
Bella glared up at the ceiling, plainly refusing to ask how he could prove it. After a moment, Charlie continued.
"You know what the average internist in Washington makes? I looked it up. $191,580 a year. That's a lot. Most folks could live off that pretty nicely. But the Cullens aren't most folks. They've got some mighty expensive hobbies--like car collecting. Remember that car that Edward drove you to the prom in? The Aston Martin? That car cost $35,000 more than Carlisle's annual salary. The Lamborghini? That cost almost $100,000 more. And someone has a Porsche, and Alice and Rosalie buy designer gowns for a junior prom..." He grimaced. "Get real, Bella. No one has that much money to burn. And it's not as if anyone else in the house works. Esme stays home and makes things pretty for Carlisle and the kids, and the kids go to high school, drive around and shop.
"Assuming that you move in with the Cullens...what is your contribution going to be? Aside from becoming Wardo's fucktoy and punching bag 24/7."
"That's disgusting!"
"I call 'em as I see 'em," Charlie said, not reacting at all Bella's look of exaggerated horror. "That's all I can think of that you've got and Wardo wants. I've got independent confirmation that you're a lazy employee and an indifferent student. I know for a fact you can't cook to save your life--"
"You always ate everything I put in front of you," Bella said, starting to sob.
Charlie, noting that her cheeks were quite dry, rolled his eyes. "Bella, I learned how to cook after your mother and I divorced. Took courses in cooking at Port Angeles and everything. And I'm really not that crazy about spaghetti. I mean, I like pasta in some things—seafood fettucini alfredo and tomato-basil pasta salad—but if I want it, I can cook it and the sauce myself. It's not that hard. I know you try...but trust me. The Cullens won't want you for your cooking.
"And you act like a martyr if I ask you to wash clothes or empty the wastebaskets. And I don't remember you ever doing yardwork.
"So what are you going to contribute, Bella? Because I don't think that just sitting in the Cullens' living room and staring at Edward as adoringly as a cocker spaniel will inspire Carlisle to adopt another useless teenager into his 'family' and cause his eventual bankruptcy to happen a few years sooner."
Bella said nothing. She seemed to have been shocked into silence. When at last she spoke, her voice was trembling. "I was wrong, Dad. I really don't want to move out."
Charlie sighed. "That's a problem, then. Because you're no longer welcome to live here."
"What?!" The acid in her voice could have burned through iron.
"You heard me. You're eighteen years old. You've declared yourself to be an adult. Fine. Go out and be an adult. Go to the bank. Clean all your things. Pay your own bills and your own taxes, buy and cook your own food, get yourself to and from school, be responsible for earning your own money. That's what being an adult means. It's not fun—here or in Jacksonville."
He glanced at her. "And by the way, your mother and I talked about this while you were running around Tuscany. She says that she doesn't want you moving back with her, either. She likes doing things for herself—which you don't let her do. And she knows the difference between a casual 'Gee, wouldn't a honeymoon in Mexico be romantic?' that she'll forget in an hour and an 'I want to marry Phil in Boston after the third game of the World Series.' You just want to plan everything for her. You're like Alice that way. That's not a compliment."
"I didn't know you hated me so much," Bella whispered in what Charlie thought was an overly melodramatic tone.
"I don't hate you," he said patiently. "You're my daughter, and I love you. But—I will admit that right now I don't like you very much. And I'm tired of watching you tear yourself apart for a pretentious little bully who's so mentally unstable that he's ready to commit suicide on hearing a rumor of your death. I'm tired of watching you throw away your friends, your brain, your future and yourself. I'm tired of realizing that your idea of a perfect life is giving up on everything and everyone except a physically and emotionally abusive turd. I don't want to hear any more fucking lies about how you fell down the stairs or banged into a wall.
"And I'm sick over how many friends of mine, as a favor to me, have covered up the crimes that you and the Cullens have committed. That protection ends tonight, by the way. God knows I don't want to visit you in jail—but I will not ask my friends to continue to-to dishonor themselves for you."
"I don't understand," Bella wailed.
"It's very simple. You're not getting your way. Your way means that you get to dictate terms and treat me and your mother like doormats. Your way means that you get to dash off to Italy instead of sending the idiot boyfriend a text message or an e-mail that says, 'Hey, asshole, I'm ALIVE.' Your way means that it's fine if you treat me like a thing and not a person. Well, it's not fine, Bells. It's never been fine, and it never will be."
He took a deep breath. "Two more things. Then I'm done talking. You have fifteen minutes to pack and leave the house after that."
Bella's forehead creased slightly, as if she was mildly worried. Charlie didn't think that she was quite frightened yet; she had little experience with him being truly angry. He wondered briefly how she would react when she figured out that he did mean it. Then he mentally shrugged. She wasn't going to learn unless she fell on her face a few times, that was clear. And while he would do a lot for his daughter, he couldn't fix her life for her.
"First—this isn't temporary. You don't get to leave and then come back in three days wailing about how miserable you are and how sorry you feel and please-Dad-I'll-do-anything. You succeed or fail on your own. Second, you running to the Cullens means you're not on your own. You can run to 'em if you want to—and you probably will, they seem to be your default setting these days—but just know that if you do, I'll take that as an admission that you aren't an adult and that you're not ready to be treated as one...not by anybody."
As Bella glared at him—yeah, because how dare he notice that Co-Dependent Daughter was co-dependent!--Charlie eyed the closet. Apparently he was supposed to think that heavy footsteps pacing upstairs or running across Bella's bedroom and then going suspiciously silent were just the house settling. Did Edward think he'd invented sneaking around? Jeez.
In any case, he had something for Edward to chew on.
"I gotta wonder why you're so eager to go to the Cullens," he said softly. "You say you hate it when they buy you things, when they take you places, when they make you food, even when they throw you parties. And it sure isn't Edward. You two barely speak. I bet you couldn't even tell me his favorite color." He shook his head. "I wish I knew what they have that you want so damned much."
He stood up and walked out the bedroom door. "Fifteen minutes, Bella. After that, packed or not, you're gone."
He was barely halfway down the stairs before he heard the closet door open. And by the time he reached the landing, he could hear a few shouted phrases as well.
"...father's got a point..."
"...if I never give you..."
"...you know what I believe!"
Three minutes later, the window in Bella's bedroom squeaked open and then slammed down. Apparently things were not all so happy in the realm of Forks' self-proclaimed Romeo and Juliet.
Ten minutes after that, Charlie went back upstairs. "Two minutes to go. Hope your packing is almost done."
His daughter was sprawled on her bed, her face blotchy and red. It always was after she got into what Renee called "one of Bella's states." Her eyes were closed, and she didn't bother to open them when Charlie walked in. "I'm not going," she said in a feeble voice. "Edward is furious at me now. I hope you're happy. I have to stay here so that he'll know where I am when he realizes that I really do love him."
"In other words," Charlie snapped, "'second verse, same as the first'?"
"I don't--"
Charlie rubbed his temples. Of course Bella wasn't bright at the best of times, but being thwarted seemed to worsen the condition. "I mean that you're planning on pulling the same shit that you pulled from September to March, right? Sitting and staring, wailing, not talking to anyone, trying to find ways of almost killing youself?"
"I was depressed!"
"Yes, you were." A pause. "But you're not now. You're just angry that you didn't get something you wanted. And you think that Edward will feel guiltier about making you unhappy than he will about not giving you something that you won't talk to me about and that he doesn't like." He shook his head. "Do what you want in your own place, Bella. But not here. I'm not prepared to live through the emotional Siege of Leningrad a second time."
So saying, he grabbed her by the wrists, pulled her into a sitting position, shoved his arms beneath her armpits and yanked her to her feet. "Come on. Time to go."
Snatching up a duffel bag, he tossed in a few pieces of underwear, two blouses, a skirt, a pair of jeans, a sweater, a jacket, a blanket, an afghan and a toothbrush. If she wanted more...well, she should have done her own packing.
Then, after deftly removing one item from her purse, he motioned to her. "Come on. Time to go." And, duffel bag and handbag in one hand, he took her by the wrist with the other and led her downstairs.
Not until they were standing at the front door and Charlie handed Bella her purse and duffel bag did Bella realize that yes, Charlie really meant it. She really was going to have to leave.
Unsurprisingly, she started screaming. "No! You can't be serious! You can't be throwing me out in the middle of the night! It's April! It's cold!"
"Put on your winter coat before you leave. Sleep in your truck with the doors locked," Charlie said. "And wrap yourself up in your blanket and afghan. You won't be comfortable, but you won't freeze. Call me when you find a place to live; I'll put the rest of your stuff outside and you come by and pick it up. Oh, and if Edward breaks into the house one more time and touches one thing that belongs to me—like, say, the bed in the bedroom that used to be yours—I'm arresting him and charging him with attempted burglary. And if he takes one thing out of the house, it's going to be burglary."
Bella blanched at this. Apparently it had never occurred to her that he'd known Edward was climbing in through her window. God, the arguments he'd had about that with Carlisle and Esme. They flat-out refused to discipline the brat. He'd even considered taking them to court over the matter—which was why he knew something of their finances. Wouldn't make sense to sue people who could hire every single Supreme Court Justice as an attorney. It had been a real pleasure to trip over investigations by the Securities and Exchange Commission and the state attorney general's office. Between insider trading and possible involvement in the drug trade...well, the Cullens' lives would come crashing down around their ears in about six months to a year, even if they didn't go bankrupt during that time.
And Charlie couldn't wait to see it. He was sick of the Cullens, their mind games, and the way they acted as if money was a get-out-of-everything-free card.
Most of all, he was sick of watching them indulge his spoiled, entitled daughter, transforming her into a monster. A monster that was draining him dry.
Maybe this would be the wake-up call Bella so desperately needed. He hoped so, anyway.
Bella, meanwhile, was still standing sobbing at the door, clutching her purse and her duffel bag as if either could get her out of this mess. Charlie opened the door and motioned her outside. She obeyed automatically, realizing only a split second too late that obeying hadn't been a good idea.
"Wait! I don't have my keys!"
"Of course you don't, Bella," Charlie said patiently. "I took them out of your purse when I was packing. You won't need them. You don't live here anymore."
She adopted a look that she clearly thought would make him sympathetic—sad, soulful eyes turned toward Heaven and a tragic expression that said he was making her life impossibly hard, but that she forgave him anyway. She reminded Charlie of a beagle he'd owned once.
"Dad," she said mournfully, "where am I supposed to go in the middle of the night? What am I supposed to do?"
Charlie smiled as if he hadn't a care in the world and lied through his teeth. "Frankly, Bella...I don't give a damn."
Before she could say anything else, he shut and locked the door.
***
END NOTES:
An average internist's salary in 2009 is listed here. I couldn't find out what it would be for 2006.
I found the cost of repairs for a 1990 Ford Ranger pickup truck (the oldest year available) at http://repairpal.com/. I chose the most expensive estimate in each case. The roster of charges was as follows:
187.00 – front end shocks
166.00 – back end shocks
59.00 – oil change
564.00 – 90,000 mile service
500.00 – new tires
146.00 – windshield washer pump replacement
228.00 – wiper motor replacement
111.00 – wheel alignment
148.00 – brake fluid replacement
151.00-- new battery
361.00 – brake calipers, front (both)
350.00 – brake calipers, rear (both)
316.00 – brake master cylinder (both)
378.00 –brake pad replacement, resurface rotors
564.00—brake shoe and drum replacement
________________________
TOTAL: 4,229.00
The base price for a 2006 Lamborghini Murcielago was $279,000.