Thank you to hopefulhappenings09 for giving me this.
Please excuse my British spelling (if you are American), the use of 'u' and 's' instead of just 'o' and 'z' are all due to my English-ness. I hope it doesn't ruin the flow of the story, until I have the pleasure of gaining an American Beta-reader it will be something you'll have to put up with. All other mistakes, grammar etc. are all due to my own incompetence… once again, I apologize.
I own nothing, except my imagination.
Preface
Isabella Swan sat motionless on the porch steps of her new home, the wind chafed her face, as cold puffs of air bit into her cheeks. Clouds gathered in the hoary evening sky threatening to burst and cause a heavy downpour. The next door neighbour's wind chimes clanged and clamoured haphazardly, warning her to rise and venture back into the comfort of her abode. She pulled at the strings of her harshly starched new hooded top, causing it to draw itself around the frizzed waves of her limp brown hair. It did no great feat in warming her skin; a blush adorned her cheeks in a bid to heat up the iciness of her face, it burned into her bitterly…and still, Isabella refused to move.
Her gaze fixed on the opposite house ahead, the second window of the two story house, where the curtain parted slightly to reveal the impassive face of a boy no older than she was. Their eyes locked together, never leaving or retiring. His squared jaw clenched forcing his mouth into a hard, pressed line. The harshness of his face seemed to be showing a certain amount of distaste… but Isabella knew better, the boy was just curious.
They did this almost every evening, usually they would wait until the sun was about to set, causing a rivet of indigo and scarlet to adorn the usually murky grey skies of the diminutive, little town she now called home. The evening always held a sense of nostalgia for Bella, she missed Phoenix, she missed her mother, but looking up to see his face had given her premise to temporarily forget it all. He had her transfixed.
She had been a resident of Forks for almost three weeks, the first week spent was stressful and everybody had greeted her as she was some sort of new commodity, bestowed genially upon the community. The students at Forks High had grabbed and pulled at her relentlessly assuring her that they were worthy of her company, filling her in on the latest and greatest concerning small town say so.
A week into her arrival and all the fuss and commotion had died down; she was now just a regular resident, no excitement was festooned upon her any longer. She kept all but one friend, the blond Rosalie Hale; a pretty girl with perfectly aesthetical features, they shared a table during English. Rosalie had arrived to class late, clutching her books in front of her, covering her stomach; upon removing them she slowly revealed an ever swelling bump, she was three months pregnant.
Rosalie and Isabella's friendship was unlikely but affable ground was found when Isabella asked her if she had named the baby yet. Rosalie peered at her through her long, mascara laden lashes and told her "Otis", a name she randomly chosen after riding a lift in the Forks local hospital. Otis was name of the lift manufacturer. Rosalie thought it was suitable enough; no one else around her was prompt to offer any other suggestions. "But what if it's a girl?" Bella chimed; Rosalie shrugged and went back to fiddling with the hem of her too short of a shirt. She was hoping for a boy…..
Isabella watched as the strange boy at the window jerked back and away from the curtain causing it fall back into place and so that he could hide once more. Her shoulders slumped as she let out a sigh, dragging her feet she went back inside and sat on her living room couch, it was too cold to stay outside and read like she usually did. She thought about him and wondered why he'd yet to come out into the daylight to say hello.
Gossip had told her that he was abandoned by his family and left to live in the ready bought, rickety house his grandparents had left behind. Kids at Forks High said that he was a weirdo, a psychopath… "He runs out in the middle of the road during thunderstorms and tries to catch the lightening." Mike Newton said. She frowned and shook her head, disbelieving such ridiculous fables. The boy was too beautiful to be that broken. "He killed his parents." Mike went on to say, but if so why was he not in jail? Mike shrugged his shoulders and spat another spit ball into the back Jessica Stanley's head.
He was seventeen years old and alone in that two story house. His weekly shopping was delivered to him by a local social worker by the name of Esme Cullen; she would stop by every Saturday afternoon along with the help of her daughter Alice. They would spend a matter of an hour with him indoors. Isabella watched all of this through the netted curtain of her bedroom window, curious and slightly green-eyed as to why he had been so courteous to only them and no one else. If she was to bring him food, some sort a baked good perhaps, would he welcome her with open arms too?
The day she arrived she had noticed him staring at her and her father as they removed boxes from the rented removal van. Isabella had dropped the load she had been carrying, momentarily dazed by the hauntingly strange and frowning boy at the window. That evening she sat on the steps of her porch and looked up, he was staring again, she stared back and for all but three weeks that was the only form of communication she had with the boy at the window otherwise known as Edward Mason.