A/N: Hey there, thanks for taking an interest in my new story. I will try to update this one as frequently as I can. In order to better understand the flow of the story, here's some quick background information: It has been fifteen years since Breaking Dawn and the Cullens have moved away, so there's no need for the pack in La Push to phase and protect the reservation. Most of them have moved on with their lives, leaving Paul to be the only one without an imprint as Rachel does not exist in this universe. The chapter titles are taken from songs that I feel match the tone/mood of the chapter. Kind of like a story playlist. Enjoy!

"Elastic Heart" – Sia

"I've got thick skin and an elastic heart / But your blade it might be too sharp / I'm like a rubber band until you pull too hard / Then I might snap and I move fast / You won't see me fall apart / 'Cause I've got an elastic heart"

Wow…just wow. I fought to keep my mouth shut as I glanced out the car window at our new home. The area, known as La Push, seemed to be a biophile's paradise as evergreen trees dominated the area, almost no infrastructure or buildings around. The ones that were around were small and kind of run-down, not at all like the tall proud skyscrapers of downtown San Antonio, Texas where we relocated here from. Which brought me to another difference that made me scowl: It's too cold here! I shivered in the backseat, too proud to admit that I should have heeded my new stepdad, Jonathan's, advice that I should have worn pants instead of my khaki cargo shorts.

I grimaced at the driver's seat where Jonathan sat, one hand on the steering wheel, the other holding my mom's. It was his fault why I had to leave my glamorous life in Texas for the cabin feverish La Push. My phone buzzed in my pocket…for probably the fifth time in the last couple of minutes.

"You sure are popular, Darren," my mom mused, not taking her eyes off the scenery that she had previously declared as beautiful.

"Mm-hm," I grunted, annoyed at her for some odd reason that I couldn't quite pinpoint. When I woke up this morning, as soon as she greeted me, I could feel my eyes roll. I'll just chalk it up to my seventeen-year-old hormones.

My phone vibrated again.

At least there's one good reason to move away from San Antonio, but did it have to be here? Why couldn't we have gone to San Francisco or New York? Or even back to Germany? Before my dad died last year in Afghanistan, he, my mom, my brother Andrew, and I would travel the world due to the Army moving us every couple of years. We'd lived in Chicago, Germany, Hawaii, South Korea, and then San Antonio; the latter being my favorite. Then we got the call that Dad gotten hurt in a roadside blast. After a week of worrying and waiting, we received the news that he had succumbed to his injuries. My mom wasn't too devastated; everybody knew she'd met Jonathan four days after Dad deployed. Andrew enlisted in the Army as soon as he graduated high school last year, leaving me alone with Mom and Jonathan. They got married last month, and Jonathan decided it'd be a great idea to pack us up and ship us over to his hometown in the middle of my junior year. Apparently, his dad was going to meet us there and we were going to help take care of him.

"…and we'd all go cliff-diving and then hang out at the local diner. It's not that bad of a town, you guys will love it," Jonathan went on, trying to get us to warm up to the idea of living here. My mom was already sold, but I was having a hard time buying it.

"Darren, maybe you'll meet a nice girl here," my mom said. "You've always been a little shy, I'm hoping you'll break out of your shell."

"Sure," I mumbled. Yes, I'll admit, I'm kind of shy and tend to keep to myself. But that's not why I haven't hooked up with a girl yet.

The car jerked to an abrupt stop. I was flung forward, but stopped by the seatbelt which dug into my shoulder. The tires gave a little screech, and Jonathan slammed his fist down onto the horn. The horn's blare was muffled out by the engine rumblings of the motorcycle that had cut us off, the driver wearing a black leather jacket that accentuated his bulk, his back looking broad and muscular as he flipped us the bird. He didn't wear a helmet, the wind blowing his short black hair up into tiny spikes.

"What a jackass," Jonathan spat, "looks like that Lahote kid's still amounting to shit."

The motorcyclist eventually disappeared down the road, the rumbling of his bike gone along with him. My eyes stayed trained on his alleged location, eager to see his return for some odd reason. An escape? Maybe that's what he represents to my subconscious since he's so different than me. I'm Darren Bentley: seventeen-year-old, straight A student who aspires to become an English teacher. I've never done anything that could be classified as "Badass" in my life: a total square. My self-control stemmed from being born to two fourteen-year-olds. I love my mom and dad, but I want to make sure that I focus on my studies so as not to become like them. I don't like to use profanity, I say "please" and "thank you", and I read the Terms and Conditions pages on Apps. The most rebel thing I've ever done was download a song online, which gave my laptop a virus so I never did it again. Then there was the motorcyclist. He didn't play by anyone else's rules but his own. He didn't wear a helmet; he gave Jonathan, a known authoritarian, the finger; and even cut off a minivan. Plus, a little more obvious: he rode a motorcycle which automatically boosted his points. I'm too embarrassed to admit that the notion of riding a motorcycle terrifies me, so I'll most likely never experience that action.

My mom rested her hand on Jonsthan's arm, "Calm down," she whispered. "Everyone's fine."

The car lurched forward again, and within a couple more minutes, we drove up to a gated community. It was one of those fancy looking neighborhoods surrounded by a gray stone wall, with black iron gates keeping out non-residents. Apparently, this community was finished just two months ago, and we managed to snag a nice two-story near the back of the community which contained twenty-five identical two-story houses, each with a two car garage and a hot tub on the wooden deck in the backyard. Each house had its own Wi-Fi built in and a state-of-the-art security system designed by German engineers. I found it ironic that there would be such a nice community in the middle of a bumpkin town. Jonathan pulled up and punched the code into the keypad, 94928. The black iron gate that had Mountain Shadows in cursive metal creaked open, allowing us access to our new neighborhood. As soon as we drove in, the gates slammed shut behind us, making me feel like my life was now sealed here in La Push.

We parked near the edge of the community, up to a light blue two-story, with a red brick chimney poking out of the left side. "Welcome home, guys," Jonathan smiled. He pulled up into the driveway, turning off the van.

Thank God, I can finally get out of that minivan and stretch my legs. Eagerly, I hoped out, immediately being assaulted with the bone-chilling air. Even though it was nearing Spring, the major temperature difference made me want to put several layers of clothes on and bundle up.

"Darren, start carrying the suitcases inside, 'kay?" Jonathan said, going to my mom's side to help her out.

"Yeah," I said, heading over to the truck.

"You mean 'Yes, Sir'," Jonathan corrected.

"Yes, Sir." I popped open the trunk and began to drag our suitcases inside the house, "accidentally" letting Jonathan's fall on the pavement from the van. I followed behind the newlyweds into our new house, greeted with the scent of lemon polish and apple candles. The inside was pretty nice, even I must admit. The mahogany hardwood floors were so polished that they reflected my surprised face back up at me. The walls were bleach white without a single blemish. Near the front door was a silver panel embedded into the wall. On it were bright blue buttons which helped me to deduce that it was the alarm code for the house.

"Well, what do you guys think?" Jonathan asked. He owned his own online business as a financial advisor to some big businesses, so it didn't surprise me that he was able to afford a house this grand. What shocked me was that there was this nice of a house, or community, in seen-it nowhere. The moving van had dropped off our belongings yesterday, as there were cardboard boxes aligning the halls and stacked in the rooms.

"What's the code for the alarm?" I asked, not wanting to be trapped outside in the wilderness.

"Let's just say your curfew is 11:00, 'kay?" Jonathan said, taking my mom's hand. "How about we get a pizza for dinner?"

"I think I saw a Little Caesar's back a couple miles," my mom said. "I'll be right back, you boys start unpacking the kitchen." She hurried out, leaving me to think that she only wanted to leave so fast so that we'd do most of the unpacking. Clever girl.

For about a half hour, Jonathan and I spent the time unpacking boxes in silence. Once one was empty, we'd break it down and lay it on the flattened pile. I was down three, he had five under his belt. Whatever, it wasn't like it was contest. Soon though, thoughts of the motorcyclist popped back into my head. He just seemed to ooze masculinity, being the epitome of what a tough guy is. God only knows why I seemed to be so fascinated with him.

"So…," I mumbled, shuffling my way through a box that had a bunch of utensils thrown on the top, "what's the deal with that Lahote kid you almost crashed into? Don't like him much?"

Jonathan grimaced. "He was a member of some weird gang back in high school, called themselves the protectors of La Push – frickin' weirdos. Anyways, he was an asshole back then, and he's an asshole now."

"Did he bully you?" I asked, although I felt I'd already received that answer from the malice marinating his words. Perhaps Jonathan was the butt of some hurtful pranks at Lahote's hands.

"Not just me, but everybody," Jonathan frowned. He finished with the box he had been going through, tossing the empty cardboard over to our pile. "Paul, that's his name, was a nobody then, and he's a nobody now. After graduation, he got a part-time job at some shop and never went far. Seriously, the guy's thirty-four, never had a real job, never left La Push, and never had a family."

I didn't have the heart to call out Jonathan on the fact that, although he did leave La Push initially, he came back. "Well," I said, unwrapping a ceramic coffee mug with a polar bear on it, "maybe he considers his gang his family."

"Cult's more like it."

Oh. I could feel the allure of the motorcyclist slipping away from me. Sure he had seemed cool beforehand, yet now he sounds like a, for a lack of a kinder word, loser.

"Just stay away from that guy, and don't join his cult if he asks."

Like I'd join a cult. I rolled my eyes and sighed. Wanting to talk about something else, I asked, "Anyone else you know who lives in town?"

Jonathan chuckled. "We're not in San Antonio anymore. I know everybody in town and vice versa."

"Oh," I mumbled. I've never lived in a small town before, so the thought of everyone knowing my life made me oddly anxious. "Anyone else I should avoid?" I'd meant that as half-joke, half-serious inquiry. I wanted to make my living arrangements as comfortable as possible.

Jonathan laughed to himself, not thinking that I was being a smart mouth. "No, it's pretty safe here. Eh, I do know that a Martha Griswold sells meth, and a Marcus Channing is a fruit."

"A fruit?" I asked, placing the last of the mugs in a nearby cabinet. I was a little confused by his choice of words.

"A faggot," Jonathan clarified. "Stay away from it. He's going to burn and we don't want him to take you down with him."

"Burn?"

"In Hell."

I never picked Jonathan out for being closed-minded. "I'm fairly sure that God loves all His children, no matter what," I said.

"Look, just stay away from that freak," Jonathan spat. "I don't want faggots in this house."

My heart sped up and my palms began to get clammy. I took a pause from unpacking dishes so as not to accidentally drop one. "You won't have to worry about that," I said.

"Good."

Jonathan and I unpacked boxes in awkward silence for a while, me too afraid to look at him lest he see my anxiety. Eventually, my mom came back with the pizza, setting it on the cold stovetop.

"Just use paper towels, I don't feel like doing dishes," she said, taking her hair out of its bun with a relaxed sigh. She then perked up, "Oh, Sweetie, a Sam Uley wanted me to say, 'Welcome back.' He seemed pretty nice."

Jonathan groaned. "Freak acts like he owns the damn town." He turned to me, "Stay away from him too, he's the leader of the La Push Cult."

"Cult?" my mom asked, pulling a slice out of the box to hand to Jonathan. "Like with Kool-Aide?"

"More like muscles and tattoos," he answered. "It's just a little gang of guys who all look alike, and expects the town to answer to them and live by their rules. Whatever, though, as long as you stay away from them, you'll all be safe."

After stomaching a slice or two of the grease-soaked bread some referred to as pizza, I trudged up the stairs to my new room. It was the last door on the left at the end of the dark, upstairs hallway. The room shared the same dark mahogany floors with the rest of the home – I'll have to put a nice floor rug down (maybe dark purple). On the popcorn ceiling was a solo fluorescent bulb, no fan or fancy covering. The movers had already moved my desk, mattress, and other belongings (still in boxes) into the small room. All the clutter made it feel stuffy, so I walked over to the window to open it a crack for some fresh air. The window of my bedroom overlooked the edge of the gated community. The wall was in sight, about five feet from the house, and beyond that was the dense coniferous forest that swallowed the whole town.

My phone buzzed again.

Great, I thought, this is the last thing I need. Finally caving in, I looked at the phone screen, beginning to read all missed fourteen tests from Vincent, my ex-boyfriend.

Hey

There was no way I'd answer. We were no longer an item, and I felt that responding to his texts would just give him a false hope, despite me living halfway across the country.

Answer!

We had met in Spanish class. I was having trouble memorizing the preterit form of ser, and Vincent came over to my desk to help me out. The next day he surprised me with flash cards he had made containing all seventy verbs that we were supposed to have memorized for the following week's exam. To a nerd like me, it was a very thoughtful and charming gift.

I kno u moved but we can make this work

The following week, he had asked me out to a movie, to which I'd said yes. It was so much fun! We went to a Korean restaurant and then saw the new cheesy giant monster, Godzilla-ripoff. At the end of the night, when I began to say "Goodnight", Vincent pulled me into his arms and smacked his lips to mine.

Hello?!

I accepted his proposal to be boyfriends that very night. Inside, I was jumping with excitement at finally having a boyfriend.

Baby please talk 2 me

Things went great, we went out on dates, hung out at his house after school, and spent all of our free time together. I was having the time of my life.

Darren, I swear 2 God if u dont anser

Then things spiraled downward, really fast. He grew possessive, not letting me out of his sight and trying to fight off my friends. He tried hiding my phone so that he'd be the only one I could talk to.

Fuckin bitch! Anser me!

Then he hit me one day. I'd tried to convince him to allow me to attend the journalism club's Christmas party where we would be looking back on the year's articles and reminisce. Nerdy, innocent stuff. However, Vincent had it in his head that I had only wanted to go because I supposedly liked the Chief Editor, who was a girl. I'd told him he was crazy, and in a flash, he socked me right in the jaw. Now it clicks whenever I chew food.

Fuckin anser me!

Perhaps the worst part was that I had to keep it all a secret. I'm not out of the closet, nor do I have any plans to be in the near future. I see the way gays are bullied to the point of suicide in high school; that won't happen to me. Vincent had understood and agreed to keep our relationship under the radar in school, much to my shock.

Ull regret this

And there was no way I'd ever tell my parents. My stepdad Jonathan was the figure head of the anti-homosexuality movement. He hated gays and everyone who identified with them. My mom's his puppet and would not hesitate to kick me out of the house if he asked her to if he found out.

Ur stil mine, u kno that

Therefore, the day that I found out we were moving, I broke up with Vincent via text message. I know it's the cowardly way out, but it was the only way that I could do it without having my safety and well-being compromised.

I stil love u

After that, he began to text and call me nonstop. He followed me around school and even around the city. One night, I had even seen his car parked outside my house. I didn't know what to do. I felt so helpless. I wanted, no, needed help, yet I didn't want people to know my deepest, darkest secret: that I'm gay.

Im stil going 2 hav u

When we left San Antonio, I made a promise to myself, a promise that would ensure that I'd never have to go through what Vincent had put me through again.

Anser Baby, please

I'm not going to come out nor am I going to date anyone in La Push.

Period.

Ok, ur sleeping. Ill c u soon xoxo