Title: Bella Nova
Author: Olivia
Rating: Hard R
Genre: Horror
Characters: Vampire!Bella
Short summary: Breaking Dawn AU. Bella didn't quite turn out the way she was supposed to.
Warnings: Pretty disturbing. Violence, blood, brief mentions of sex. Not for the kiddies.
Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight or any of the characters.
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how i would love to gnaw
gnaw on your bones so white
and watch while the freight trains paw
paw at the wild, wild night
all these ghost towns, wreathed in old loam
assateague knee-deep in seafoam
ho swansea! buttonwillow!
lagunitas! ho calico!
-swansea, joanna newsom
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Bella can see everything through these new eyes of hers, miniscule things she'd never even considered. She can see the multitude of colors in the water, a neverending rainbow of azure and cobalt, lime and turquoise. She can see spattering of freckles across her own face and the thickness of the veins on the underside of her tongue.
Bella often sees the violently red color of blood across the grass right after she's spilled it and how it fades to a crusty brown after a half an hour. She can see the different textures of an animal's insides as they spill out of the rips in their flesh she's made with her hands and her mouth and the way they always die with that crease by their eyes that she has come to realize means they died in a haze of terror, the image of the lanky devil-eyed predator she sees in the mirror burned into their retinas.
Bella can see the way Edward acts around her now, differently than he used to, his face a carefully composed mask but his nose slightly wrinkled, nostrils flared; his nails digging into his palms and his body always close to her in case he has to lurch towards her to stop her from doing something he says she'll regret. She can see how he's always so close to her, hovering, with his hand dangling inches from hers to give the illusion of intimacy but his body and his heart angled away from her, always away, facing the sun.
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Bella thinks of herself before the change like she was bundled up in of those light blue eggs nestled inside of a bird's nest, knowing nothing of the sickening color and sharpness of the world and the delicious heat of blood as it warmed her like alcohol.
Bella thinks, sometimes, of happy endings. She thinks of the princesses from the Disney movies she used to watch as a child during the burning summers of Phoenix, dancing around in her underwear and fluffy socks with her imaginary prince. She thinks of the books she used to read so often; Emily Bronte and Jane Austen and their tall, handsome men who would give anything for the women they loved.
Bella doesn't think of Edward, how they never sleep together and when they do he refuses to fuck her on the bed, instead driving her into the floor like an animal, keeping his hands and eyes off of her and pulling out of her right after he comes, his ejaculate sliding out of her and pooling on the floor. She doesn't think of how he stares at her when she comes home covered in blood from a hunt, stares at her like the blood is his own, like she's killed him. Bella doesn't tell him that she likes seeing herself covered in blood and smelling like death, that it makes her feel strong, powerful, feel like a real vampire, a real Cullen, a real predator.
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Bella dreams of human flesh under her tongue, of ripping and tearing and maiming with her teeth until the faceless person under her is a bloody canvas of death and fear. She dreams of gouging their eyes out and drinking the blood from their eye sockets. She wonders if it will taste any differently than the blood from their neck.
Bella often dreams of beautiful women, earrings dangling like chandeliers in a palace from their ears, nails perfectly manicured. She dreams of seducing them, rubbing them through their jeans and feeling the pulse on their necks with her tongue. She dreams of lying them down on Edward's bed and fucking them with her fingers and then ripping their earrings from their ears and peeling their nails off of their fingers. She thinks of how beautiful they would be, lying there on her husband's bed, blood pooling, chests heaving and then becoming as still as Bella's own heart.
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The man is young, in his mid-twenties at the most. He's attractive enough, and a real catch if you consider that Bella found him sitting on the last stool of the sketchiest bar in town chain-smoking Marlboros at thee A.M. He's drunk enough to not know what he's doing, drunk enough to fumble his fingers along her zipper until he accidentally cuts them, drunk (or uncaring) enough to not notice Edward's wedding band on her ring finger.
He is not, however, too drunk to yelp when she bites into his neck, a fact for which she is grateful. She wants this to be loud and messy, wants the blood to smear her pale skin and dry on her yellow summer dress and mottle her hair. She wants to go home and look Edward in the eye, see the realization of what she's done color his face; see the terror in his eyes, feel the power coursing through her veins. She wants to know that if he could cry then tears would be making light tracks down his face and dribbling off his chin. She wants him to think, This is not my Bella.
She wants him to know that she never was.
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Story (c) bandwitch (Olivia), 2009
Twilight franchise (c) Stephenie Meyer