Disclaimer- Twilight belongs to the awesome Ms. Meyer. No copyright infringement is intended. This story/plot/own characters and any other thing you find screwed up here belongs to me. Sorry for messing with your characters, I'm a monster, hate me kindly.
_=Chapter 1=_
=The Trip=
I remember writing in my diary when I was thirteen that my life's a series of moments where I'm made to play the princess in a lonely fairytale; the unwilling princess. I also remember that night being starless and dark like the emptiness inside me personified.
Tonight, all these years later, I've reprised my social elite role; back to being nothing but the name.
Hours have come down on us like a military form of torture, each one is more painfully tedious than the last, but I remain at the party because it would be both rude and ironic of me to leave my own bon voyage.
I did not want to spend the few hours management allowed the crew to be free for, here with a bunch of people I've spent my life trying to avoid… but he'd left me with little choice. So here I stand for almost three hours; people walking up to me in a seemingly endless flood. Women dressed in rich silks and men in debonair chalk-striped suits, with leather shoes that shine like mirrors on their feet. Their very presence reeks of money and they smile dazzling smiles, each extending to me their excitement over my "trip".
Fuck me.
It takes strength to stop myself from laughing every time I hear that word. What a quaint and dainty way to put it people. Fits perfectly with them.
"Have you met Isabella…?"
I hear for what feels like the millionth time tonight. Jenna Stanley's pristine voice is positively gushing every time she introduces me to someone. This particular one is a business associate of her husband's so I'm not even introduced as her daughter's friend, no, for a moment as significant as this one; I'm introduced as a, "close, close, family friend". The deal is further sweetened when I hear her say for the third time tonight, "I was there when she was born; practically delivered her myself."
Which is completely untrue but I smile and extend my hand to the man whose name I did not catch anyway.
"You must be very excited," Mr. Armani suit says, releasing my hand after a firm shake.
Fuck no. "Ecstatic." I return his megawatt, dazzling smile.
He's sold, nodding at us, keeping his presence powerful, prideful and dignified, the ultimate show of a true businessman.
"Oh," he says glancing at his Rolex, I know who he's really hoping for a formal introduction to, and that person is not here as yet despite being the — supposed— host. "I can imagine."
Oh, no, you really can't my man. I think but continue to smile at him, opting to say nothing. It's all the same because Mrs. Stanley rises to the challenge once again.
She's a soldier, boys.
She goes on and on, regaling this nice, tall, shiny bald headed man on the many days we've known each other, and I spend the duration of it eyeing Jessica's drink with insurmountable desire and love. I haven't had a drink in the longest time. The mere thought of alcohol while I was training was enough to turn my stomach, but in today's atmosphere of strong wealth and pretenses I'm tempted to take the edge off. Being sick however…? Still too appalling a prospect after the countless weeks I spent throwing up thanks to the Weightless Wonder also known as the Vomit Comet.
Whoever thought zero gravity was fun, clearly never spent those beautifully inglorious 20 minutes a day in the torture device. Scientists have a cold and wicked sense of humor, because no saint invented that contraption.
I glance at my watch again. 8:35pm. He's late, as usual.
"We're all so excited for her trip." Mrs. Stanley says, and there's that fucking word again.
My trip…? I'm going to fucking space people.
"She's practically glowing with all that excitement and adrenaline. Our Isabella is all ready to turn heads. She's always been a little star herself."
Gag me. Jesus, it feels like I'm in space already. I smile at her. Jessica meets my eyes and camouflages her laugh from her mother by taking a big sip of her champagne.
"He'll be here." Jess whispers when I glance at my watch again.
"Of course he will." I don't believe that for a second and neither does she.
Reaching over, she gives my hand a quick squeeze before her mother gives us a pointed look that says whispers are the height of impoliteness.
We trudge through idle chitchat for what feels like another lifetime before the man and Mrs. Stanley excuse themselves to speak with her husband.
I stare at the ticking second hand as it sweeps over the face of my watch again; it's exactly 9pm.
"He's probably stuck in a meeting or traffic. You know how the roads get when there's an accident. He'll be here." Jess follows me out the crowded ballroom of the hotel to the balcony.
I navigate my way to the far end so I'm hidden in the darkness from all those prying eyes.
Seating my tired-ass on a lounger, I slip off my stilettos and rub the sore soles of my feet. Jessica sits beside me and removes hers too; these things are more work than they're worth.
"Sure…" I lean back and relax while I can, because from experience I know these stolen moments of peace at an event only lasts so long. "Multi-billionaires can never have too much money."
She sighs at the heavy cynicism but feels the same so she says nothing. Leaning her head back, she follows my gaze to the stars and we sit and just stare up into oblivion until she says, "I still can't believe you're going to be up there next week."
"Me neither." I admit, looking intently out into the twinkling infinity. It really does go on forever.
It's so vast and surreal.
Completely, overwhelmingly, mind-fuckingly, vastly surreal.
Unfortunately the surrealism of it all is mixed with a fuckton of horror. Horror that I have to hide, because having been bred Isabella Marie Renee Swan, I've been taught from a young age that that name means something, so appearances are everything.
"Is the training really as bad as it sounded?"
From her green-faced cringe I can surmise which phone call she's looking back on. It's when she rang me up at the beginning of training to find out how things were going. She took a wild guess when I ended the call by eloquently throwing up between "Jessi" and "ca".
We laugh, long, hard and carefree, both snorting by the end; stuck in the disgusting reminisce.
I look back up, captivated by the clearness above. "Not by a long shot."
Every single day was torture but thank heaven for my crew. They attempted to make it better.
It's not that I'm ungrateful or not excited. Far from it. I realize how amazing this opportunity is, but the fear is only natural.
I've been overwhelmed by nightmares of the shuttle exploding on the launch, or catching fire upon its return, even of us running out of air while we're up there; I'm one dream short of being abducted by aliens.
There are simply so many things that could go wrong. I could die on this marvelous adventure, and it scares me shitless; so to swing Armstrong's words, this is one huge step for Bella. And the small friendship I've developed with the crew is my only solace in this nightmarish voyage.
The crew comprises of five people; the commander, pilot and three mission specialists, one of whom I will be serving as. The commander is Aro Dante D'Arco. The first time I heard that I almost pissed myself. Someone who abbreviates to "A.D.D", that's definitely who I want to lead me into space… Ironically enough, my introduction to him had been the turning point for my nervousness.
Dark haired and fairly handsome Italian man of forty-six, Aro graduated at the United States Military Academy in New York, studied microbiology in his spare time, and is also a qualified astronaut. It was this clear experience, coupled with his calm and commanding presence that stilled the nervousness I'd had since hearing about this ludicrously extravagant gift.
I imagine the other astronauts and I were on the same page when it came to the extravagance of this present.
They are serious professionals with jobs they've had to work their asses off for because they wanted to make a difference and live out their spectacular dreams. Then they encounter me and all they've got at face value is a spoilt rich kid who stomps her foot and daddy forks out ten mill' so their team can quietly humor his brat, because their management needs that kind of funding to run this place.
How can I blame them for that stereotypical assumption though? Whose father sends them on a trip to space for their twenty-sixth fucking birthday?
The other three crew members didn't complain to my face about it though. Even if they'd wanted to, their superiors wouldn't have allowed it. The Cosmic Tourism and Research Program is a relatively new branch, and it runs entirely off of private investors. They need the money and we're here to provide it. Babysitting the largest funder's daughter on a whim birthday gift is something they're willing to do if that's what gets them up there for shit they really need to accomplish.
In the eyes of their management I am, in this moment, their goose with the golden fucking eggs.
Now, had I been a real brat, I would have told them I'm insulted by that insinuation… I'm a fucking swan; then I would've waited to watch them squirm.
But I'm not, so I did everything that was required of me quietly and slowly during the painstaking training sessions, the rest of the crew and I had developed a civil working understanding.
The pilot Marcus Volturi was the first to come around, and, as time passed, the two other mission specialists began to slowly change their opinions of me. Good thing too because, Jasper Whitlock, is a thirty-one year old with a masters degree in computer engineering, whose hobby is deep-sea diving, and the other specialist is a graduate of the United States Military Academy like Aro, thirty- four year old, Emmett McCarthy.
All top achievers who went to great lengths to be here, and how do I get this wonderfully, work-free ride; a fabulously rich father.
It was two weeks into training with Emmett and Jasper that they began giving me advice, telling me not to lose confidence when something was difficult or not working because they'd been there too, and generally just trying to help out when they saw me struggle. There was a lot of struggle too because the training is really hard work.
"I threw up, and contemplated saying, 'fuck it', literally, through every session."
Jessica laughs but listens, while tentatively checking over her shoulder through the glass doors to make sure we're not being sought out as yet.
"It's like super crazy shit, Jess. Super crazy. No lie. I couldn't take it. Every day I had to push myself to get back in there." I shudder, thinking of my first experiences with the Vomit Comet. "Eventually it became routine."
She turns my way, tossing her blondish-brown locks over her shoulder so it doesn't fall into her eyes. "You stopped blowing chunks?"
Shaking my head in the negative, I face her with a grin. "No dude. It just became routine."
"Fuck, eww. That's disgusting, Swan." She doubles over, flipping me the bird and shoving my shoulder. "It's so fucking crazy. Babe, you're going to space!"
"Don't remind me."
With Jess it's easy to say that. She gets it. Why I'm going through with this even though it's the furthest thing from what I want.
"Charlie would have understood if you said no."
I raise a brow at her; even she knows that's utter bullshit. If I backed out Charlie would have morphed into a hurricane-shit-storm-Swanizzla.
"Like he understood that presenting his daughter with an Interorbital trip to test out a new shuttle wasn't exactly the most sane thing one's father could do? Please Jess; Charlie doesn't even know I'm scared of heights."
Jess knows the situation too well. She shrugs silently; it's comforting in its own way because that's how most things work with us; in its' own way.
"How did that fly past the E.T. minions?"
I shake my head at her. "They're scientists, you rogue bitch."
"Whatever." She rolls her eyes. "How did the scientists 'okay' this, knowing that you're afraid of heights?" She scowls and glares at the sky. "So fucking typical. All they want is the money."
I shake my head and check the time on my phone. 9:18pm. "I didn't tell them."
Jess gasps. "Bella! What the fuck!"
"After enough time passed, I overcame it." I look back up. "I'm over it now."
She relaxes back again and we both stare up at the scattered stars. It's a cloudless night and it looks so beautiful… like heaven, and next week I'm going to be up there.
Not heaven. The sky! Please Lord, don't send me to heaven. I didn't mean it like that. Are you getting all this?
If God's listening I bet he's having the time of his life at my expense right now.
Jess breaks my holy musings by eyeing me skeptically when she sees me pouting at the sky.
"Do you think the shuttle will look like a star up there?" She asks quietly, looking up again.
I shake my head in response, she sees it through the corner of her eye.
"Don't elope with any aliens." She whips out her pinky finger for me to take.
I can't bring myself to laugh because this is as close the two of us will get to: "Good luck, please come back in one piece and swear on great Odin and Thor that you won't die, bitch."
So instead, I quietly take her pinky in mine and make my promise…
Tugging our hands back, we continue star gazing in silence. We're going to see each other tomorrow again but with the launch date getting closer I'm trying to cram in as much as I can with my loved ones and it's becoming more and more emotional by the day.
I hear her try to suppress a sniffle and know this is my cue. It's all getting too far on the raw side than I can handle it being. I'd felt like a ball of nerves prior to this, now all I want to do is curl up against my friend's shoulder and cry.
Charlie is probably never going to show up or he'll be here at the very end to make his presence felt before he has to disappear again.
I think this is an okay way to end of my 'big night'. One authentic moment with my best friend forever and always. The one person who I know for sure will miss me when I'm off this planet. When I wake up she knows I'm not heading back in so she wraps her arms tight around me as if I'm leaving for space that very second.
"I'm sorry he didn't come, babe." She says, reclaiming her empty champagne flute.
"I'm not, Jess." I step back and strike a Superman pose with a big-ass impish grin. "Your girl's headed off too space!"
She squeals, grabbing my shoulders and jumping up and down with me.
"That's totally a record for how far our parents are willing to send us from them." She fans her face wildly, looking around at our imagery audience. "Isabella Marie Renee Swan! Ladies and gentlemen, we are not worthy!"
Laughing, I take my dramatic bow, thanking them profusely, before I make my grand exit; sneaking back into the hall with Jess and disappearing behind the high curtains, 'til I'm close enough to get in the kitchen undetected.
The chef standing over the grill forgets about his sizzling diced onions and gapes at me as I scurry passed him. I send him a pleading look and signal him with a finger to my lip to be quiet. He's still dumbfounded anyway, so I take my chance, and continue to the staff exit, with my shoes in my hand.
-=CosmiC=-
Sleep is an unsung fucking hero.
I wake up in the complete opposite direction that I fell asleep in.
The comforter is tangled around my feet in a mess and the sun is pouring into my room like it's nobody's business. Mrs. Cope must have opened the windows for me this morning because they were closed when I got in last night. How I miss the music the ancient alarm radio that I can't seem to part with is filling my room with is worrying.
Man, I slept like the dead.
Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I kick my legs free and get into the bathroom. Shaking my ass to Imagine Dragons, Radioactive, at top volume as I scrub down. I have to be at a meeting in about an hour.
Dressed in a plain black summer dress and ballet flats, I enter the kitchen to find that breakfast is laid out on the island but Mrs. Cope is nowhere in sight.
The strong grey-haired woman works like clockwork; I honestly don't know what I'd do without her. She's efficient and warm, one of the reasons she was kept as the housekeeper when I no longer required a nanny. She's been with us for 26 years now and she handles the house with skill only she possesses. In most ways she still handles me too; telling me my schedule, waking me up if I'm running late, or have a dentist appointment; anything that must be done Mrs. Cope is on.
I shovel the scrambled eggs into my mouth like there's a gun to my head and quickly wash it down with the steaming cup of black coffee, not caring that it blisters my tongue.
The only time Mrs. Cope and I don't have a small conversation over breakfast is when Charlie is home and she has to scurry along to perform her duties meticulously because the boss' eyes are everywhere.
I don't want to run into him today so I sprint back upstairs and grab my sketches off the table, then sneak out the back way to the garage and drive off in my Beamer that he hates.
-=CosmiC=-
"How much did I miss?" I'm out of breath by the time I run out the elevator and crash into Jess outside her office.
"It hasn't even started as yet," she bleats, grabbing my sketches for the new line and trying to sneak a peek. "Christ, Bella don't you ever check your schedule?"
I shake my head.
"I like the blue one," she says scrutinizing the design of the sparkly, deep sapphire, cocktail dress with the floral lace overlay that's meant to be the showstopper if we can swing it. "You should wear it—," she trails off, realizing I won't be here for the next meeting and smacks her palm to her forehead. "Sorry, I spaced," she sniggers, "see what I did there? Spaced."
"You're a riot, Jess." I throw her the rest of the sketches so she can thumb through them while I raid her office of its candy stash. For as long as Jess has been here she's had a jar of something sweet on her table, and today it's Skittles. My stomach smiles as if it's its own person.
She sits on the green suede sofa and crosses her legs. Cocking her know it all bitch-brow, she looks up from the designs she's spread out on her coffee-table. "So, Swan-song, what had you running in here like a bat out of hell?"
I shrug, swallowing my mouthful of chewy, colored candy. "Nada. I thought I was late."
Jessica guffaws, "You're never concerned about being late. You work best under any type of fucking pressure."
"Charlie's home."
She winces, finishing that one in her head.
"These are great, Bella." Jess smoothly transitions our conversation back to the designs. She sits, quietly studying the first few denim skirts and snug, brightly colored tops for a while then sighs heavily. "Please, just let me launch the line under your name, Bell."
She's not happy with my negative head shake that implies an extreme level of: Fuck no.
She slams her hand down then waves it across the table. "You worked your ass off on these pieces and they're fucking beautiful." She whistles, pulling up another sketch of a sleeveless black and red, rough looking dress with a white cross running across the length. "These are perfect. So was the last work you did for, Pluie D'automne. This is a full line, Bella; it should be launched under your name. I'll handle things with Jenna."
"Fuck no, Jess. If it does well, I don't want him to think he had anything to do with it. This is mine. I'm not going to use his name for it."
Jess looks at me then, after what feels like a lifetime, she finally nods and like that it's set in stone. Our secret.
-=CosmiC=-
Straight after her meeting, Jess jets off with me to the fabric store across town to approve the stuff I booked for order for the line. It's a small back end stop which results in unique designs for a better price than the high end ones are willing to give them to us for. We're in and out quickly.
"Fuck me sideways!" Jess yells out of the blue as we drive away.
She scares me half to death, almost making me lose grip on the fucking wheel.
"The fuck woman!" I shoot her daggers. "Driving here!"
"I didn't bring the dress!" She undoes her seatbelt and leans between the two front seats to throw shit out the way in the back one.
"How could you forget the dress?" I'm going to punch her. Pluie D'automne is 15 miles in the other direction. She just put an extra 30 miles on what's already a 50-minute drive.
"Bleh! Wait! I found it!" She screams a hallelujah and heaves the gift box out of its fabric-grave to the front with us. "Ahaa motherfucker!"
"You're a screwy bitch."
"As are you my babe but we are of the stylish variety." She looks down at our dresses matched with the black muddy sneakers we changed into the second her meeting was over.
Stylish, my ass.
We're secretly ass-backward rejects of the social elite. Fakers, pretenders, we're nothing but the output of what we've been bred to be. The miscreants; a disgrace among those who bleed gold.
Yeah, we're fucking divas.
She rolls down her window and puffs at her cigarette like a dragon. "Will E.T even be there?"
"They're scientists, you whore."
She smirks and doesn't take it back, anything to get my goat but I want my goat back so I don't answer the question.
I'm going to be up in space with these people for almost a week, they are going to be the guys keeping us alive. I've seen them do what they do, and did only a part of what it took to get them there myself; its dog-hard work. I have paramount respect for my team.
She laughs to herself and hits my arm hard, telling me to get that stick out my ass. Four months ago it would have hurt like a bitch, now it feels like a mild sting.
"Christ Bella, I'm kidding."
I blow out an irritated breath and bite down on my lip, chewing it insistently, as the nerves start eating away at me.
"I know. I know. I'm just really, really tense with this launch being so fucking close y'know?"
She knows. "Will Mr. D'Arco be there?"
"Yes, he will, Jess." She rolls her eyes when I smirk at her retraction. "Irina said he'd be there working on some stuff before we have to launch, so we should catch him."
"They don't know we're coming?" She explodes. Then I know her mind hits the gutters because she starts snorting out her nose at her choice of words.
"One day you, my friend, are going to grow up."
She giggles and rolls her eyes, "That's gonna be a fucking sad day for you, Bell, you're worse than I am."
I have to laugh at this because it's true; I'm the screw up.
"Aro knows I'll be in but not the rest of them. I don't want to get roped into staying. I've got today free and I want to use it."
She nods, gravely. "When in earth, do as earthlings do. Eat, fuck, sleep."
"Oh God, why did I bring her?" I ask the big man upstairs.
"You're hanging out with those people too much Isabella. You're always conversing with the sky nowadays."
"I was talking to Jesus not the sky, Jess and the book is called Eat, Pray, fucking Love."
"It's called Eat, Pray, Love. No fucking." She waves out her hand. "You see, you also can't keep your mind off fucking. You my friend need to get laid; blow a man before you blow the planet."
We pull into the visitor's parking lot and I flash the security my pass so we can get in.
This is a quick stop because Aro will go home today and I want to give him a dress from the last line for his wife, Heidi. It's a dark red satin that will look great on the sweet blonde bombshell our beloved scientist landed. She's been so fucking nice to me in the brief months I've known her, she even invited me to dinner for their son Alec's birthday so I feel guilty as fuck that I'm taking her husband away for her forty-second birthday, leaving her to celebrate it without him.
"Woah, it looks like they could blow up the world from here." Jess gasps in awe looking at the machines, gadgets and beams in the room we walk into.
"Hello, Bella." Aro, smiles looking up from his microscope, he takes off his gloves and washes his hands, drying them before coming over to us.
"She thinks you're planning world domination." I jab my head toward Jess and Aro laughs when she eyes him as if to say she doesn't mind any kind of domination from him. Shaking my head in amusement I throw her a look telling her quit it. I can't stay here long or I'll never leave. "I brought this for Heidi, please tell her I said happy birthday."
He laughs, shaking his head. "I keep telling you Bella, this isn't the first time I've had to miss her birthday for a mission. It's just how the job is. There's no need for guilt." He turns to extend his hi's to Jess. "Hello, Jessica."
She hands him the box, looking at him with exaggeratedly greedy eyes and some drool. "Sup' Aro, if things don't work out in that marriage…" she jokes.
Aro's so used to her by now that he winks in response and says, "I'll look you up."
She clutches her heart. "Bless him."
She's such a goof. Pissing myself laughing, I grab her hand and start to head out before I see anyone from management. "Let me get her out of here before we have to call security."
Aro chuckles deeply, waving us off as we sprint down the way we came. We reach the bottom before I see Irina waving wildly.
Busted. Crap. Double fuck-it crap. We were so close.
"Isabella!" She exclaims, out of breath like she's been running to catch up. She has her planner in her hand and despite her impromptu workout she's every bit the professional. "I'm so glad I caught you."
I'm not.
"You left the party early last night and we didn't have a chance to introduce you to the new pilot." She prattles on and on not realizing she's lost me. "We've been trying for weeks but it wasn't possible with him being off base, then his extra training and it's always just been something since then."
My jaw may have dropped momentarily. "What new pilot?"
"The one standing in for Marcus, of course." Irina answers me as if it were the simplest thing in the world. How can this strike her as something simple?
My voice turns more piercing than I intend it to be with the onslaught of panic I'm suddenly struck with. "You changed the crew?!"
Holy fucking shit. They changed the pilot.
"Miss Swan." Truly alarmed, Irina reverts back to my formal title, eyeing me curiously. "You look like you're having a heart attack."
That's odd, it feels like a seizure. I'm pretty sure I look like the astronauts I've seen on the launch videos. All looking like they're experiencing a major stroke while they're violently propelled off the planet at speeds God did not intend for us to experience.
I laugh nervously, trying to compose myself. Get your shit together, Bella. The woman is expecting a conversation in English with a functioning human being, not Chico the fucking lab monkey.
"When— err." Fuck. I keep rubbing my hand across my forehead, over and over again, letting out a giant breath in an attempt to calm down but nothing is working. "When did they do this?"
Jessica can see the deep etched panic on my face and she is beginning to panic too.
"How can they just change the pilot!?" she explodes.
Irina is taken aback by the outburst. "I'm sorry… We called Mr. Swan sometime back informing him of the change— we emailed him the stand-in's credentials as well." Irina looks at me in confusion. It dawns on her slowly, belatedly and with dread that I had no idea of this little change in plans. Her mouth takes on an 'oh' formation but she doesn't voice her shock, instead quickly composing her features, she does her job to the best of her ability. "It's really no problem at all, Miss. Swan."
No problem? How, pray tell, is this no problem? I only found out today that one of the team members I've been training with is not going on the mission with us. I'm going to be piloted into space — fucking space — by a complete stranger.
"The stand-in pilot is one of our best." She assures me with the utmost seriousness on her face, you can see the concentration on her face as she starts racking her brain for more information. "He has been on two important missions for us since his arrival, having worked very closely with D'Arco on both, he also served as his understudy on several other investigations and experiments here. Honestly, he's practically a natural bird he's from a family of pilots and learnt how to fly very early on. His credentials and experience are commendable and quite vast for someone of his age."
Holy shit, someone of his age? So he's young too. Great. Oh my, God. They want to send me to space in the care of this newborn.
I feel a panic attack coming on stronger than ever and have to stomp on it mentally to keep it at bay and maintain my composure.
I'm about to be launched into space, for God's sake, I will not submit to a panic attack. I've been through months of torturous training and have managed to avoid throwing up like a pregnant teenager for the last 46 grueling days of it. I can do this.
So they've changed the pilot? So I've only heard about it now? But he comes highly recommended. He has a lot of experience, and honestly, the company cannot afford to blow this — my stomach lurches at the choice of words — the company cannot afford for this to go wrong. They will definitely leave me in capable hands. They can't afford to lose dad's funding, nor can they handle the backlash of a failed mission. Most importantly though the rest of the crew will still be there to make sure things go right. Everything is going to be okay.
Irina picks up on my hesitation to say anything and begins to panic herself, assuming I'm about to back out and screw this for them.
"I assure you this is child's-play for him, he is more than adequate for the job; he's gifted at this. Wait," she looks over my shoulder, waving hysterically at someone, "here he comes now."
I follow her eyes … I've endured 30 days of rigorous training, far more training prior to it, this has to be the hardest gift ever worked for. Only to find out at the last minute that they've changed the pilot, and I'm not panicking. I'm going to space, I can't panic. Just remain calm, Bella, I coach myself. Then they introduce the replacement … and Panic, we have liftoff …
"Miss Swan, this is E Cullen."
The saliva from my mouth disappears from shock and another part of my anatomy fires to life, getting sublimely wet and paying special attention to that which it is presented with. Here before me is a stunningly tall fucker who, given what he's wearing, should not be classed as fuck hot, no one should be able to make those blue space suits look this good, but even with the hideousness of it covering his body, this man's strikingly good looking face is orgasmic. Magnificently orgasmic; with a perfect jaw line, burning green eyes, lips to die for and a coppery-bronze mop of sex hair that you can fist perfectly tight as it disappears between your thighs to tongue-probe your pussy into fucking oblivion. But holy fucking shit if I don't know this guy.
Irina grabs his hand and pulls him to the side like she does with me when she needs to give me a quick briefing before a conference.
"Holy fucking shit," I gasp.
Jessica is as amazed as I am, "Holy fuck me. Shit!" She corrects me.
I know immediately by that, that she doesn't recognize him. "Jess, that's Edward Cullen."
She cocks a brow. "How do you know the 'E' is for Edward?"
"Jess." I grab her arm so we're facing each other and lower my voice as far as it will go. "Edward Cullen. Forks High."
It clearly rings no bells with her but she's trying to recall if she's seen him. She doesn't.
"Bella, if that man was within a hundred mile radius of me in high school I would have fucked his brains out repeatedly on the hallway floor, witnesses be fucking damned, I would expel myself for that man's meat. He was not in Forks High."
Oh Lord. "He was in gym and math with us," I hiss hoping she'll catch up, "and I had him in biology."
Jess stops breathing. We've hit home. "Holy fuck," she exclaims in a hoarse whisper matching mine. "Nose always buried in a book, shaggy ginger haired, geek, freak Cullen?"
I groan, I hated that name then and I hate it now. "Don't call him that."
She cringes too. "I never called him that. I'm just trying to figure out if it's the same one. I barely even knew he existed." Then she stops and eyes me suspiciously. "How do you even know he existed?"
"We went to the same school," I glower at her and deadpan, then look at him from the corner of my eye.
It's clear Edward recognizes me too because his face is impassive as he watches me from where Irina is trying to speak to him. From her movements and panicked desperation on her face I'm going to assumes she's telling him that I had no idea about the switch and he shouldn't spook me in case I decide to call it quits and fuck this for them. Great. I groan internally.
Jess steals back my attention by staring at his space suit and unintentionally speaking a little too loudly.
"Holy shit. Are you allowed to fuck in space?" She asks in awe, then turns to grab my hand in hers, holding it in frantic desperation. "Say yes, Bella, I don't mind being the godmother to a transformer!"
I think his lip twitches. Kill me now.
Jess must have seen it too because she shuts the fuck up finally.
Irina is done with her speech and they begin to walk toward us. She stops to retrieve a slip of paper that's fallen from her planner and Edward reaches us first.
My heart thuds wildly in my chest. Then he leans closer and my breath catches, overwhelmed by his proximity to me. I'm surprised by how civil he looks given the circumstances, then he opens his mouth and my heart plummets.
"I'm going to do you a favor, Swan. I'm going to pretend this is the first time I'm meeting you." He whispers. Then he smiles as if this is nothing, as if I'm nothing, and backs away like we're perfect strangers. "Welcome aboard Miss Swan, I'll be your pilot."
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=CosmiC=
= CosmiC =
A/N- Random fcukery, I know, out of my safe zone with Cosmic (clearly) bbs. I don't know if it's something that you guys would want to follow, so hit me up if you'd like more and I'll get right on it, if you prefer it turning to a one shot that's cool too, swing it either way for real bbs I'll work with either one.
What you want to know; NC/17, there will be cursing, lemons, angst, assholes possessive sides etc.
What you need to know; I have small specific knowledge on space so I'll be invoking a literary license for whatever I can't find on google;P This is an ExB story, but you bbs know I'm an angst b*tch so if you join me on this we're going to go through some plot to get there.
Readers and lurkers, I fcuking love you, thanks for your read, and my cosmic sisters, Dee (SapphireEyed-ValkyriePixie), Lexi (KittyTylz), Mat, I couldn't do this without you girls, love you sfm.
Flirting With Death will update soon. You can tweet me atPunkPrincessPix.
This chaps playlist: Imagine Dragons - Radioactive.
Catch ya later bbs.
Effy