Consider this a disclaimer.
I got this idea pretty much out of no where, and wanted to try it out.
This first chapter is just a prologue of sorts to let you get a feel for Bella's character.
Enjoy.
x
"Do you feel it yet?"
I sit back and let my head ease and fall, and when it hits the bed, colors shoot in front of my eyes, blues and yellows and emeralds, violet, fuschia, a million colors, a million little leaves falling from silver trees with dangling crystal half-bloomed bulbs.
I am so high right now.
As I watch, the trees fade into the background and a face bursts into my vision, lined technicolor, neon lights, pale even in imagery with a strong jaw and neon yellow hair. I shake my head to clear my eyes and the vision dissipates.
"Do you feel it?"
I open my eyes to a world gloomy and grey, austere compared to the life inside my eyelids. The first thing I saw was Mike's face, hovering over mine, eyes glazed and sparkling and catching the dim light from the candles he'd lit before we started. I think of the candles now, small little tea lights bought exclusively for the purpose of times like this; Mike was infamous for luring girls into his room with the promise of an escape, a prescribed forgetting, and then attacking while they were weak. Or maybe attacking wasn't the right word. He'd never force a girl if she said no, but that was the point; none of them ever did. None of them ever felt the need to deny.
And after feeling first-hand the effects, I can safely shuffle myself also into that category.
I close my eyes again, and I feel him shift over me, lift me and I'm limp, drop me onto his bed as gently as he can manage. I open my eyes from the jolt and as he climbs the bed, pressing me into it, shifting with his weight, my head lolls to the side and the slight gloss in my eyes fractures the light of the candles into a million slanted rainbows over his blue walls. I feel his lips on my neck, cold and gentle, and for a moment I feel nothing. It feels like he's kissing me through water; I feel numbed. But after a second, he clamps down with his teeth, and my blood comes rushing back to my skin. I hear myself moan, and I can't stop it, don't want to, and soon he's imposing himself between my legs, pressing into my center, and when I hear the creak of the bed springs and the slide of his zipper, I don't make any move to stop him.
This is what I've come to.
This is what my life has become.
I can feel the slide of denim as he pulls off my jeans, and only a dim pressure as he pushes in; when he starts to move, I try not to think of blonde hair and grey eyes and the smell of cinnamon on my skin. I try to focus, try not to, try anything to get myself out of my own head, but all I can think of is the slide and pull of other times this has happened with someone more appropriate.
My head falls back to the side and this time the light is broken and blurred into color by flowing tears.