AN: Thank you to my beta *wave*. You are a genius. It's amazing how you understand what I'm 'trying' to say in all my blanks. TY. TY. TY.

Thank you to A_H for following me over to the Dark Side from the HP fandom. You're my muse and without you my creative juices would run dry.

Review? Please?

I own no part of the Twilight franchise. Most unfortunate, really.

LIPSTICK, LIES & LOYALTIES

There was something exquisite and magical about a sunny day in Forks. Perhaps it was their rare occurrence, their elusive nature, or their subtle ability to brighten the otherwise drab, green foliage that plagued every inch of the perpetually damp town. Whatever the reason was, it changed things noticeably. The difference was palpable in every facet of the small community - children whizzed down the gravel roads on shiny silver mountain bikes; old salt-and-pepper bearded men strolled down to the river, tackle box in hand; and even the small cluster of family-owned shops in the middle of town were bustling with window shoppers and street vendors. It was as though every single member of the three-thousand person Pacific Northwestern town had come outdoors, subconsciously leaning toward the sun like a flower in a patch of shade.

However, on the day of my arrival, while everyone else in Forks basked in the sunshine, soaking it in greedily before it disappeared again for an unpredictable length of time, I found myself growing more and more sour by the minute. In Phoenix, rain was the exception. In Phoenix, you could go to the mall or the movies or sleep in on a day like today without feeling guilty for not appreciating such fine weather. Not that Forks even had a mall or movie theater or any real comparable place of indoor entertainment. I sighed. Forks didn't have much of anything, really. Except now it had me, a concept I forced myself to bitterly swallow for the umpteenth time since I had landed in Port Angeles earlier that afternoon.

Phoenix seemed like a distant memory, even though it was only six hours, two bags of airline peanuts and a connecting flight away. Watching the greenery pass by outside my car window I wondered how this improbably arrangement could have ever become my reality. The answer was painful so I changed my line of thought and instead pondered what kind of life awaited me here in Washington. We passed a small diner, where most of the patrons sat with their sandwiches on the outside benches, chatting and laughing. I tried to picture myself sitting among them, nibbling Turkey on rye bread and listening idly to the buzz of conversation. It wasn't a horrible scenario and I felt the anxiety pressing against my chest lessen slightly in response. Maybe I could fit in here more easily than I had originally thought.

I had stood out on the curb surrounded by my luggage, desperately searching the street for a recognizable face. For a moment, I'd felt panic creep into my throat as I realized I probably wouldn't even know Charlie's face if he stood right in front of me. Our last face-to-face meeting had been when I was six. Besides the obvious fact that my memory had to struggle to reach back so far, I was sure his appearance had changed since then. I knew mine certainly did. Still, I'd scanned hopefully looking for someone who might possibly possess noticeably similar physical features to me. After all, I was his daughter.

I didn't have to look long before my eyes came to rest on the person who I'd realized had come to pick me up. Even though I had never seen her before in my life, the recognition was immediate. Charlie had mentioned the possibility of being tied up when my plane landed.

Seeing Rosalie for the first time had reminded me of a trip I'd taken to Niagara Falls with my mother when I was twelve. I had been disappointed by our vacation destination, voicing my preference for a theme park or tropical beach location instead, but my mother had been steadfast in her resolve. Beaches and theme parks were a 'dime a dozen' she'd say. We're going to see something one-of-a-kind. I had laughed, because truthfully, my mother was one-of-a-kind too and the whole trip suddenly had more meaning. Still, I had sulked throughout the entire flight and subsequent car ride, fantasizing about pink sand and nausea-inducing rollercoasters.

When we finally arrived, I vividly remember walking up to the edge of the cliffs overlooking the Falls and immediately feeling foolish that I had desired a more generic vacation spot. There was something breathtakingly magnificent about the violently dangerous rushing water. I was rendered speechless against my will by its sheer beauty. It was absolutely awe-inspiring how something so astounding could manifest itself in nature.

Rosalie was Niagara Falls in the flesh. She was jaw-droppingly beautiful; almost regal in presence and she commanded the attention of everyone around her. My intuition told me she was dangerous. If you got too close, she would pull you under without a second thought. I knew all of this as certainly as I'd known she was Charlie's step-daughter, even though I'd never seen so much as a picture of her. We'd spoken twice for all of eight seconds when I had called to speak to Charlie about the arrangements and our conversation was barely more than a few syllables. She had answered the phone and I had asked politely to speak to Charlie. Neither time had she asked who I was or what I wanted and neither time had her part in the exchange gone past, "Hello?" Still, I was able to make the connection instantly. The voice on the other line had a distinctive wind-chime quality that matched the glowing picture of perfection exiting the Jeep across the street. That and the universe hated me, so of course Charlie's preferred brand of daughter would be the embodiment of physical flawlessness. My plain ordinary looks couldn't compete even if I wanted to.

I had collected my bags quickly and rushed across the street, nearly being struck by a taxi in the process. My face had flamed as the driver leaned unnecessarily on his horn and threw his hands up in exasperation. Mouthing a desperate 'sorry,' I'd flicked my eyes forward just in time to catch the end of Rosalie's snicker.

When I'd reached the silver Jeep unscathed, I had sighed and let my luggage slide unceremoniously off my arms. She'd eyed the bags around my feet with blatant contempt and I was suddenly embarrassed of the juvenile purple polka-dotted canvas pattern I had insisted upon when I was thirteen. Still pink from the near-taxi accident, my face grew impossibly warmer.

Tearing her eyes from my luggage with a sigh, Rosalie had popped the trunk open then climbed into the driver's side seat, making no move to assist me with my things. Flustered by the cool reception I had tossed my bags haphazardly into the vehicle's back compartment and scurried around to the passenger side door, pulling it open and jumping inside. She'd turned almost fully in her seat and gazed at me in appraisal. After an uncomfortably long minute of inspection she'd scoffed with a slight shake of her head and straightened back around in her seat. I had chewed my bottom lip and busied myself with inspecting the seam of my jeans until I'd heard the engine roar to life and felt us pull away from the curb. I knew I was no budding beauty, but the ethereal creature to my left had actually scoffed at my appearance. It had made me wish I'd climbed into the trunk with my luggage rather than the front seat beside Aphrodite herself.

Now, here I was, sitting stone still, forcing my attention out the passenger side window and pondering the universe's plan for me now that I'd been self-exiled to Forks. Here I was, picturing myself engaging in mundane activities and unintentionally allowing Phoenix to fade impossibly farther into the distance. A stunning sound interrupted my thoughts.

"You'll be sleeping in the living room."

My head snapped up, mostly in surprise that Rosalie was speaking directly to me, but also in a slight bit of panic at the meaning behind those words as I began to comprehend. Charlie had assured me that there was a spare room available and I had been immensely relieved that I wouldn't have to encroach on Rosalie's space and share with her. Now that I had actually met her, I was pretty sure I'd be sleeping on the porch before Rosalie shared anything with me. I was working up the courage to ask her about the supposed extra bedroom without sounding ungrateful, but before I could get my mouth to work properly Rosalie's fingers were on the radio dial. She quickly selected a screechy rock song and turned the volume up, almost certainly as high as it could possibly go. It was a pretty clear indicator that our conversation was over, if you could even call our one-sided exchange a conversation.

I turned my attention out the passenger side window again, idly naming the things we passed in my head. Tree. Tree. Tree. Mile marker. Tree. Inwardly, I sighed. Drives in Phoenix weren't much more exciting, especially once you reached the more rural areas. It was a little more - Desert. Desert. Cactus. Cactus - but it was repetitive scenery all the same.

I knew I was rationalizing. I knew I was grasping and trying to connect Phoenix and Forks in any way possible but, Phoenix was gone. Phoenix was my past. Phoenix was becoming more and more distant by the second. And I had decided on the plane that all my pain would stay back there. I was living the dream. How many people got to start over the way I could in Forks? Sure, the circumstances of the move were extremely unpleasant, but I was a professional when it came to denial and Charlie hadn't ever asked for any details. Maybe Phoenix, I decided, never really existed. All it had ever been was a figment of my imagination - my childhood, my friends, my school, my room, my mother.

I swallowed hard and attempted to refocus my attention on the passing scenery visible through my window, only now the trees were stationary. I was confused for the slightest of moments before I realized that we were no longer moving. We had pulled into the driveway of our destination. Home I thought bitterly.

Rosalie turned off the Jeep's engine with a quick flick of the keys and hopped out. She didn't grant me even a fleeting glance over her shoulder as she made her way up the front steps and disappeared into the white-sided house. I wondered if she was this cold to everyone or if I had done something specifically to offender her, besides existing. Maybe if I explained the situation and reassured her that I wouldn't be here if I had any other possible place to go, she would feel some compassion. Or, if possible, she could hate me more. I sat there for a moment letting everything sink in, picking at my fingernails and peaking up at the unassuming house in front of me.

Truthfully, if I let my mind go there, I wasn't sure how I had even arrived here. Not here as in Forks, Washington because that was quite simple, but here as in this exact moment in time. I had always believed that we spent our lives traveling down a path that we created for ourselves through a systematic process of choices and decisions all with self-preservation as the intended goal. Apparently, I had done a pretty poor job considering I was basically throwing myself straight into the lion's den, opening myself for the possibility of being swallowed whole by rejection and loneliness. I knew what kind of feelings manifested in a place like Forks because my mother vividly described them to me every time I brought up my father. Regret was always the most prominent and potent she would offer, letting her eyes cloud over with palpable pain in the process of begging me to never make the same mistakes she had.

I snorted and leaned over the Jeep's center console to press the trunk release button. I heard the 'pop' of the latch giving and sighed in preparation of the task ahead. Besides the physically exhausting chore of dragging all my bags up the porch steps and into the house, I was expecting the rest of the afternoon to be emotionally draining as well. My nerves were already frayed in anticipation of what waited for me beyond the screen door on the porch. Still, I couldn't sit out in the driveway forever. Or could I?

Shaking my head in defeat, I accepted the fact that any attempt to prolong the inevitable would be just that. It was time to put the big girl pants on and face the path my seemingly poor decision making had placed me on. I gripped the passenger side door handle and pushed, opening the door wide and sliding out. It seemed I was going to be single-handedly carrying my bags again, so I stretched my arms out over my head in preparation for the task.

After I had strategically hung my luggage from every available limb, and staggered across the front lawn, and stumbled up the porch steps ungracefully, and fought the screen door open with my foot, I froze. Feeling all kinds of uncomfortable and intrusive, I lingered in the doorway for a moment. I was an outsider come to up heave the lives of a perfectly content family. With a sigh, I reluctantly crossed the threshold, moving into the foyer and fighting to pull all my luggage in behind me as surreptitiously as possible. Despite my failed attempts to be quiet, it didn't appear that there was anyone around to notice. I inspected the room to my left, which happened to be the living room, and warily eyed the teetering stack of pillows and blankets set carefully on the arm of the dark brown couch. As I continued to stand there, uncomfortably shifting the weight of my bags, I felt my cheeks go pink at the visual confirmation of my sleeping arrangements and further proof of the burden I had become. Unfortunately, I only had a few moments to revel in my self-pity before my thoughts were interrupted by a set of heavy footsteps moving slowly down the stairs.

When Charlie hit the landing and we stood face to face for the first time in over 10 years, I must say I was mildly disappointed with his reaction. I had prepared myself for the possibility that he would be angry or perhaps even disgusted by my presence. His absence in my life was a clear indicator of the type of relationship he was comfortable with us having. I knew forcing myself into the pretty picture of perfection he had built here in Forks might illicit some level of resentment. Rosalie had already confirmed the fact. Alternatively, I had also allowed myself the smallest consideration that he might be downright pleased to have me. Of course by small I mean I had constructed elaborate fantasies in which he would hug me awkwardly at the airport and apologize profusely for ever listening to my mother's desperate warnings to stay away. I imagined him pulling out a large stack of envelopes held together with a worn rubber band from inside his coat pocket, grinning. He would proceed to tell me he really had sent birthday and Christmas cards to me all these years, but my mother had sent them back without me ever knowing in an attempt to poison my impression of my nonexistent father. Either way, I had anticipated a monumental moment where a line would be drawn and I would finally discover if I had been accepted or rejected. Not that such labels really mattered anyway, because I was here now with no other options.

His reaction to my presence in the foyer, still clutching my luggage around me like a shield, was unexpected and a tad bit unnerving. The only word to describe it was indifference. And then, as he met my eyes, pain registered across his features for the briefest of moments before his face resumed its disinterested slack. I worried my bottom lip between my teeth, suddenly aware of how painfully the straps of my heavier bags had begun digging into the soft flesh of my shoulder and fingers. He cleared his throat and my eyebrows rose slightly, waiting expectantly for him to break the suffocating silence that permeated between us.

"Sorry about the temporary sleeping situation," he mumbled, looking appropriately apologetic and nodding towards the living room. "Your room should be ready in about a week. It used to be my office, but there was a lot more work to be done than I expected."

Part of me wanted to desperately reassure him that it wasn't necessary. I didn't want to take away his office anymore than I wanted to be thrust into the middle of his seemingly Hallmark-quality life. However, I was also pretty opposed to making the living room my permanent sleeping quarters so I nodded dumbly letting the silence stretch out between us again. I tried to shift ever so slightly to change the angle at which my luggage straps were digging painfully into my skin, but the motion must have been noticeable because I saw Charlie mentally slap his forehead as he rushed forward to take my bags.

"How was the flight?" he asked, carrying my purple polka-dotted luggage into the living room and placing it down near the couch.

"Fine," I answered with a noncommittal shrug, dragging my feet as I followed him. I loathed awkward forced conversation and in my many years of uncomfortable situations, this was taking the top spot.

"And Rosalie had no problems finding you? I'm sorry I didn't come myself, but I've really been using every spare moment to get your room in order. I should have started the renovations sooner."

I cringed at his word choice. 'Renovations' sounded like a lot of work, time and effort. I was being far more intrusive than I liked.

"Don't go crazy," I pleaded. "I don't want to be a bother. I could probably finish it up myself actually. I'm pretty handy with a drill."

I paused; waiting for the familiar response I earned whenever I claimed to be good at something as reliant on hand eye coordination as using power tools. Instead Charlie simply shook his head with a small smile.

"Don't be ridiculous. I only need to put another day or two of work in. I rather enjoy the physical labor. It makes me feel young again."

That's when it hit me. He didn't laugh and dismiss me because he didn't know me. Charlie had no idea that I could probably injure myself fluffing pillows. My attempt at lightening the mood had fallen completely flat because my biological father was entirely unaware of even my biggest and most obvious flaw. He didn't know that I was clumsy or that I was an accident magnet. He didn't know that I was terrible at math or that I fainted at the sight of blood. He didn't know my favorite color - blue - or my favorite flavor of ice cream - Rocky Road - or my favorite author - Jane Austen. He didn't know that I sang 'Somewhere Over the Rainbow' at my Kindergarten graduation or that I broke my ankle three times in seventh grade. He had never been around to learn any of these things. I knew my mom had spoken to him occasionally on the phone over the years; certainly there were some things she must have mentioned about me that he could remember.

"I'm sorry for the circumstance, but I'm really glad you're here Isabella." Charlie's quiet voice broke through my thoughts.

"It's just Bella," I corrected with a heavy sigh. No, he knew nothing about me at all.

"Well, Bella, are you hungry?"

"No, I'm fine. I ate on the plane," I answered quickly. My stomach groaned in protest of my half-truth. Salted airline peanuts barely constituted actual food, but I couldn't bring myself to be any more of a nuisance. Once Charlie was out of sight and occupied I figured I could poke around in the kitchen for something.

"Alright." Charlie slid his thumbs through his belt loops and rocked back on his heels. A deep crease indented his forehead and his eyes shifted towards the staircase. I could tell he was anxious to get back to what he had been doing and I was more than ready to end our awkward exchange. My mind worked to find the words that would give him a way out.

"It's been a long morning. I'm just going to," I motioned towards my pile of luggage. Unpack? "relax," I finished lamely. Seeing as my personal space was presently non-existent, there wasn't much unpacking to be done. The currently indeterminate amount of time I'd be living out of my suitcases only further fueled my desire to have Charlie return to his office to bedroom construction. I forced a yawn for credibility and Charlie nodded, relief smoothing the crease in his forehead.

"You just make yourself at home then. Kate should be home soon. Her shift ends at six. She can not wait to meet you." Charlie's words were filled with sincerity, but I doubted his wife was nearly as enthusiastic about my arrival as he made her out to be. Of course, stranger things had happened. My presence in Charlie's Swan's living room, surrounded by my material things was a testament to the fact. Still, I mustered an enthusiastic smile, because I owed him at least that much. He returned it with his own, which was marginally less forced than mine, and turned to leave the room.

I waited until he ascended the stairs and exited my line of sight before I allowed myself to sink down onto the brown couch with a sigh. I leaned my head back against the cushion and closed my eyes, inhaling calculated breaths through my noise, counting to ten and then exhaling them slowly out of my mouth. Being calm didn't quell the conflicting emotions swirling inside my skull the way I'd hoped.

Awkward and out of place wasn't a foreign feeling for me. Anything involving any real physical ability elicited the same sensation I felt now, sitting in Charlie's home in Forks, Washington. The familiarity of these feelings was almost comforting, if not for the fact that other alien feelings accompanied the recognizable ones. There was now a dull fear that coming here was a mistake. There was a rattling nervousness that I would prove to be an absolute thorn in the Swan family's side and they'd ask me to leave. There was a surprising ache of desire to be accepted, even though I had repeated a countless number of times to myself that I didn't care. There was obvious embarrassment and pathetic self-pity. And then there was unnerving sadness tinged with guilt over what had driven me here in the first place seeking the undeserved charity of a place to live. Fortunately, that last emotion was subdued with ease and then ignored. Self-preservation could be immensely strong, and I knew my entire existence was balanced on my ability to disregard what had occurred to make the current situation plausible, let alone possible. If I slipped up and dwelled on the past for too long, I would unravel. And I liked being in one piece, thank you very much. Feeling normal was almost as good as being normal.

When I opened my eyes I sighed again and I was more than a little surprised to hear my breath hitch. Reflexively, balled fists went to my eyes in an attempt to contain what I knew was to follow - tears. I immediately felt wetness against my knuckles followed by a swell of anger. My little mental pep talk had backfired horribly and now my body was completely betraying me. I didn't want to be crying. I shouldn't be crying. Aw, hell, I'm really crying.

I rose from the couch and moved quickly towards the front door, catching my foot in a luggage strap in the process. I managed to avoid a face plant, but my anger bubbled irrationally and the tears came harder. Desperate for the fresh air and solitude I found my footing and continued to the front door. I could just imagine if Charlie, or God forbid Rosalie, came downstairs and saw me sniveling in the living room like a baby. I jerked the screen door open and flung my body out into the cool air with a sob. I don't know if it was that my mind was so preoccupied with the need to get out or that my vision was so badly blurred by my tears, but whatever the reason I was completely unaware that anyone was in my path of escape. The fact was only made apparent when I slammed into someone, hard, out on the porch with such force that we were both propelled backwards.