Disclaimer- I am not nor will I ever be SM- I do not own Twilight or the characters. I just like to dream.
Looking for a beta- this is my first fan fic.
Chapter 1
"There," she sighed as she straightened the yellow gingham curtains over the kitchen sink. She had already painted the cabinet doors a sunny yellow to add some light to the outdated kitchen of the old rental home that she had just moved into the week before. God knows that there wasn't much sunshine, period, in Washington much less in her life.
Grabbing her coffee mug and topping of her cup of Folgers, she shook her head as she started to reflect on how she had come all the way from Phoenix to "there ain't no sunshine in my life" -literally- Forks, Washington.
It still is hard for her to believe her story, had she not lived it, it could have been the beginning of a bad fiction novel on the markdown rack.
A day of reminiscence was supposed to be good therapy- right? A reward for unpacking and some Goodwill decorating.
Walking over to the small window set, curling her legs up. Grabbing the throw that was laying there, the rain was pounding against the window that faced the forest. Her hair pulled up in a ratty bun, sweats and a grey Army tee shirt, she sat.
As she sat the rain made patterns on the glass. Patterns of water- patterns of her life.
She married young at twenty. Straight out of college, an associate degree college program, she had always planned on advancing her education in nursing, but time was not on her side. She had a life to live. Right here, right now.The proverbial brown eyed - girl next door fell head over heels for her own personal GI Joe.
James, had been everything that a small town girl had ever dreamed of. Charismatic- to the point that if you didn't know better you would think that he was destined to be a used car salesman. He was a smooth talker. He could have sold ice to a Eskimo. It seemed only fit that he was employed by our nation's finest, the Army, in negotiations for prisoners of war.
Handsome, dirty blonde hair, ice blue eyes with lashes so long they would make a drag queen jealous. His body was hard. Hard in all the right places, abs that were made for running your tongue over. Oh God, could he make her toes curl in bed. A smile crept up, she walked to the large mirror positioned over the mantle. Standing before the mirror looking in, photos reflective of five years of her life chronicles. Lined up in sterling sliver wedding present frames, were James and her life; college, graduation, wedding, honeymoon in Italy, deployment. The End.
College was a fun and carefree time. She worked hard to maintain her GPA while he went to boot camp.
Graduation marked by her cap and gown, pinning ceremony, Strong muscular arms wrapped around her. God he was so proud. Kegs of beer and a
bonfire with lots of our friends. Making love in the tent all night long. Dreams of a long life.
The wedding... How she hated that- of course now that seems so menial. He wanted to see her in a white dress. God - how she argued that they could just elope. Go to Vegas and have Elvis do the deed.
"White washed me out." her weak ass argument.
"Too bad." was the growled response.
Ahh, the honeymoon. They should have just went to the local Motel 6. For all the sights of Italy were lost upon us. Days and nights of love making and promises in the dark. Tantalizing moments of the chase. Teasing touches, followed by sighs of contentment.
He made her feel as though she was the only woman on the Earth. A blind date that ended up in endless pursuit on his part. True Love, young love, a love that was cut short by a deployment to Iraq. Her beautiful virile husband - cannon fodder.She thought bitterly. There wasn't many times that she thought like this. She had packaged away the hurt and put it in a drawer in her mind that she seldom visited. He was so proud of himself. Fighting the war on terror, always the hero in everyone eyes but his own. Selfless in all actions.
A fatal character flaw.
The day of his deployment, forever remembered by a candid black and white that was commemorated by the fucking newspaper. The reporter was infatuated with my beautiful husband in his uniform. A red head named Victoria, I could tell she wanted him. His quote to her for her story was about how he couldn't wait to come home to me. How he would track me to where ever. At least she had kept her promise to him to send me the original.
Damn bloodhound. Or was it sex hound? The night before he left she had teased him.
At the Air base the next morning children were running around, they couldn't grasp the reality of what faced their parents. At least we didn't have that to deal with.
"I'll Do whatever it takes." he had said to her.
"Don't make promises you can't keep." She had shouted over the low roar of families telling their loved ones good bye.
"Love you, more." he had said.
"Love me enough to come home." again with the sarcasm. She donned her full body armor.
"I will, Bella." He stared her straight in the eyes.
With a final kiss he turned and walked away, dragging his duffel. Holding on to her hand as long as his fingers would let him. She held back almost all the tears. Being brave for his sake.
Promises.
He kept his.
He came home.
She remembers flashes of the memorial service. Cut flowers placed around a large photograph set up on a easel. Roses as red as blood. A flag folded and presented to her. Gun shots, loud, making her knees give out. Dog tags. No strong arms to hold her up.
Emptiness.
Blackness.
Blackness in the desert. How ironic is that? Blackness that had her losing her job in the trauma unit at Phoenix General. The endless supply of questions from her so called friends.
"Are you OK?" Was the constant dribble that those around her would ask. It was more for their benefit then hers.
Just. Fucking. Peachy. Thanks for asking.
Sarcasm had always been her armor. A bullet proof vest.
It had helped her get through high school after her parents died in a fiery motorcycle crash. No big life insurance plans to bail her out, she ended up living with different friends through out her senior year. Working after school with under privileged kids from the local reservations, she had saved every dime she could, she would spend countless hours in the local library, relentlessly driven to at least get a degree from the local community college. Nursing was a safe choice.
He was her cheerleader. Her soldier. In the fight that she wasn't fool enough to win. He was the only one who could read her bullshit meter. And call her bluff.
"Job security," her parents had preached to her before entering her senior year. By shear determination, she got over her loathing of blood, able to work in trauma, she found her calling.
Until she lost James that is. She was haunted by nightmares after his death. Him smiling at her, reaching for her hand. Looking up at her while he got his tags tatted on his side. Blasted to bits by a road side bomb.
PTSD is a bitch- it would sneak up in the most inconvenient places. Working a code on a car accident victim, her last day, she was a dissociative mess but didn't see it coming - couldn't see it. Remember she is so very good at packaging things up and putting them away. Too bad you can only do that so many times before you have a sort of brain vomit.
Working on a blonde male that was around 25, what she was told that happened was that she started screaming - of course all she can remember is that wasn't her patient laying there that was her husband. Thank God for her co -worker Angela. The only one who seemed sincere in asking about her well being. To bad she was such a mess that she couldn't have been more receptive to her out reaching, maybe they could have been great friends.
She was her avenging angel of Ativan that day.
Spending a few days on the psych unit wasn't a option. After a heart to heart with her charge nurse and empty promises to take some time off to ' work through her grief', she packed up their meager belongings and googled.
Like most sanely insane heart -broken woman do.
That my friends is how she came to the opposite of sunny dry Phoenix.
Forks.