Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters

Chapter One: Number 44

BPOV

There's something about elevator music that just annoys the crap out of me. Whether you're in a great mood where you can't wait for the doors to open or a terrible mood dreading the moment when you have to step out, there's just something about those monotonous tunes that makes you want to hunt down that criminal who composed such a frustrating little ditty and lock them in a lift until they can't stand the sound of their monstrous creation any more.

Vindictive, maybe. But after an 8am lecture on European Literature followed by a grueling five hour shift trying to avoid your creepy coworker, I am really not in the mood for annoying elevator music. I just want to get to my couch.

And yet sometimes I find myself drawing rather embarrassing and depressing links between this annoying little song and my life. Yes, it is official. Bella Swan's life is elevator music. The same day in, day out. Endlessly frustrating and monotonous. Such a positive outlook. I mean, things didn't used to be this… boring. A couple of years back I was all excited about finally getting out of my hometown of Forks and finally escaping what I thought was the most boring place on earth, and starting my own life. Little did I know that boredom seems to follow me wherever I go.

I sighed in relief as that infuriating music stopped and the doors opened and, slinging my bag over my shoulder, I made my way across the floor to my door. Apartment Number 44. Home sweet home.

Music met me as I unlocked the door and closed it behind me. It was a weird track, a kind of mix of oriental chanting and meditation music. I couldn't help but smirk and shake my head as I looked across the room. Alice.

Sitting cross legged on the floor in front of our coffee table was one of my room mates, the effervescent and quixotic Alice Brandon. She was sitting in a typical meditation pose, her eyes closed as she breathed in an out to the music, sketched papers strewn across the table in front of her.

'Hey Bells' she said without turning around as I chucked my bag on the kitchen bench.

'Meditating again Alice?' I asked with a laugh as I checked any messages on the notepad next to the phone.

'Yep. Trying to incite some creative juices.'

I laughed. Alice really was one of a kind.

We'd met on the first day of College, both having moved from other states to the good city of New York. Me from Forks, her from Alaska.

I'd had my nose in a map, trying to navigate my way to my dorm while struggling under the weight of my bags. I'd made it to my room, opened the door, and found this little pixie bouncing on a bed, a huge grin on her face as I staggered into her room.

After grabbing some of my bags and ushering me into what she'd decided was my room, she proceeded to hang everything up in my cupboard for me, scrutinizing my severe lack of style all the way.

That was one of the first things that I learnt about Alice. She was a fashion major, now a quickly growing designer, and saw most of what I deemed 'comfy and affordable' as 'a slap in the face to the fashion profession'. So now my entire wardrobe was full of memories of our frequent battles. She'd try to give me 'style', whilst I held onto my comfy sweater for dear life.

It was a regular routine.

And so it wasn't an unusual thing for me to walk into our apartment and find my best friend meditating on the floor as she sketched.

She liked to try weird things like that.

I grimaced as I looked at the phone messages written down for me.

Bells, she'd written, Mike called again. Wants to know about dinner this Friday. Ugh.

Mike. My coworker from the coffee shop who had a seriously issue with understanding the word 'No'. He'd been subtly or not so subtly asking me out on a daily basis ever since I'd started working at the Coffee House a month ago. Apparently he couldn't take a hint.

I scrunched the paper up, not bothering to call back. Goodness knows I've tried enough times.

'Rose home?' I asked Alice as I made my way to my room, changing into an oversized jumper.

'In the bathroom Bells' another voice answered for me, and I smiled as my other roommate Rose appeared.

Rosalie Hale, a woman who never ceases to amaze you. Tall, blonde and breathtakingly beautiful, Rose worked as a part time model when she wasn't working at the garage. Yeah, Rose the beauty is a mechanic. Strange, I know.

I'd been completely terrified and intimidated by Rosalie when she'd first walked into that dorm, carrying her designer bags.

She'd raised an eyebrow, I'd swallowed heavily, and we'd stared at each other awkwardly for a minute before she grinned.

'Rosalie Hale.' She'd said, sticking out her hand, 'Mechanical Engineering.'

Like I said, always takes you by surprise.

I'd smiled in return, shaking her hand.

'Bella Swan, European literature.'

She smiled at me as she put her bag down

'So Bella, do we have this dorm to ourselves or is there some crazy roommate that I need to worry about?'

I'd paused.

'Well, actually…'

A squeal resonated through the room, interrupting me as the pixie bounded back into the room.

Rose looked at me, and we both burst out laughing.

'I'm guessing this is the crazy roommate.'

I laughed as Alice nodded, grabbing Rose's bags and leading her to her room.

'Alice Brandon, fashion and design.'

And that was how it all began. We'd gone through college together, almost inseparable, until a few months ago both Rose and Alice graduated (a year before my degree finished). So rather than spending my last year there alone we'd decided to get an apartment together in the city, which was how we ended up at good old number 44. We'd only moved in a few weeks ago, and the redecoration process was still well underway. Of course the apartment didn't actually need redecorating, but living with Alice meant that it was simply assumed that nothing would stay the same.

It was these girls who brought my boring life out of the elevator music. We'd laughed and cried together, had broken hearts and spent countless nights sitting in front of the tv eating take away. They were my sisters and my best friends, despite our differences. Sure, they were both amazingly beautiful and talented whilst I dulled in comparison. They both had direction and knew what they wanted to do when I had this faint dream of becoming a writer. They both had their quirky traits like Alice's short lived phases of obsession (the most recent seemed to be oriental music) and Rose's phobia of the colour pink (ironic considering her name) while I was just plain. But we fitted together, and this little Apartment Number 44 had a good year ahead of it.

I just wish that they'd change that damn music.