I really like stories with the plot line: "Years after Edward left Bella…" And she's human and a lot ballsier, like LOST, Irritable Grizzly Adams, Seducing Ms. Swan and Fear and Loathing (which I really wish the author would update!). I'm trying for that.
Disclaimer- Stephanie Meyer owns Twilight. I do not.
CPOV
Mutual Trust Bank - one of my favorites. Their employees are always kind and very obliging. They generally have well stocked candy jars strategically placed beside the chained pens. Not that I would eat any of it but I enjoyed the colors and the theories they inspired. Perhaps a sugar high makes a person reckless with their finances? I've never been able to decide if the bank prefers slightly irresponsible clients or the anal retentive types who pay bills as soon as that little flag on their mailbox goes up. Interest or assured payment?
The heat outside is sweltering; despite being overcast today, as it must be for me to even be standing here, the humidity warms my skin and clings to my unruly black hair.
Walking through the double doors, I glance around and note that yes, this branch, like almost every other Mutual Trust Bank branch, has its colourful candies and, it would seem, a broken air conditioner. I sweep the room with another quick glance, looking for the perfect candidate to be my special helper. But my eyes, as perfect as they are, stagger over the sight of a stunning brunette. I'm quite certain I could have taken her all in with one quick look, but that seemed unceremonious.
I honestly did not know humans can look like this. I had, in the past, described humans as "mouth watering", but I meant it in the most literal of ways. Not this time. This time was lick-that-bead-of-sweat-rolling-down-between-her-breasts "delicious". Feeling confident I stride towards her, eyes locked.
Eyes locked?
Well, this is new. What a bizarre reaction – boredom, shock, resignation…a smirk? What a strange little human she is.
I veer away at the last moment to the clerk two desks down from hers, disconcerted and admittedly disoriented by her assessment. Shaking myself from thoughts of the brown eyed mortal Goddess, I focus on my new target. A middle aged woman whose hair is so utterly destroyed I can smell the peroxide. I struggle not to wrinkle my nose and instead grin charmingly at her. Cue the erratic heartbeat - Showtime.
"Hello dear, how may I help you?" This time I can't help but flinch, her tone is matronly but her body is throwing out signals like a lioness in heat.
I smile a little wider, showing off my pearly whites, and the winner of the Dolly Parton look-a-like contest reverts to the standards of what moral society considers 'personal space'.
"That's a very good question Dolly." Her too thin eyebrows quirk for a millisecond, otherwise uncaring of my impromptu nickname assignment, I drop my voice to whisper, "Listen closely, you are going to go get your manager and you are going to tell him whatever the magic words are to get me access to your safe. Understand?"
The glazed look never leaves her face as she nods and mechanically stalks off. That's it Dolly, be the ball, eye on the prize.
I let out a sigh, disappointed at how simple and mundane a task this has become. I miss the thrill of a true bank robbery.
I am pulled out of my reverie by the click clack of high heels. A pair of red fuck me pumps enter my peripheral vision, I follow the path up two long legs clad in a tight skirt, past a lightweight white blouse, locks of thick, dark chocolate silk escaped from her messy bun, slightly concealing pert breasts and gaze from her full lips to her doe-like bedroom eyes. Startled, I realize she is standing right in front of me. I breathe in and her scent is warm and inviting, but not overwhelming - like freesias.
Just as she opens her mouth to speak Dolly comes trotting back with the manager, a middle aged man, thin as a whip with sharp features, mousy brown hair and a pitiful looking mustache. He is frowning and right away I know Dolly has let me down. Dammit Dolly.
"I've alerted Mr. Harrison about your position with Banks security." Sighhhhh.
That'll do pig, that'll do.
I hear a snicker to my right and ignore it. Now is not the time. Hmm, how shall I go about isolating our dear Mr. Harrison…
"Dolly, sod off." She nods dumbly and wanders out the front doors. That worked well. Wonder when she'll snap out of it.
Manager Mouse-stache stares after her, bewildered. One down, one to go, I turn towards Ms. Sexy Smirk and am momentarily disarmed by the mirth I find in her expression. She is absolutely loving this. I wonder if she has access to the vaults. I notice her work station and decide she wouldn't have that level of authority around this dump, poor thing. Nonetheless, I think I'll keep her around. Nobody puts baby in a corner.
"Mr. Harrison, give me all the hundred dollar bills the bank has in its safes." His eyes become unfocused and he heads off to complete his task, "There's a good lad."
I turn my attention back to Sexy Smirks and once again she is not reacting the way I expect her to.
With Manager Mouse-stach busily gathering up my goods I am able to wholly focus on the enchanting creature with the expressive face. I expect her to be in shock, to sputter incoherently and stare at me with wide eyes as if she just walked in on me jerking it in a 7/11 public restroom. Instead she's smiling lazily, clearly amused. There's something behind her features though. A thoughtful look…what is she thinking about?
"Tell me what you're thinking." She flinches and then grins wider. She doesn't obey.
What. The. Fuck.
Well that has never happened before. I'm mid heist and I've got a rogue. Houston, we have a problem. I try again and this time she answers, but they're not the words I demanded from her.
"That's a neat little parlor trick."
Shit, shit, shit. Do I abort? Does it even count as a robbery if the manager just gives the money to me?
What is this woman?
"Thanks. It comes in handy. I think I'll head out now. You have a lovely day."
Coward!
"You can't go out there, the sun is out." I freeze in my tracks a few steps from the door. Jesus, she's right. I'll have to slip out the back door, I wonder if-
Hold the phone! How does she know I can't go out in sunlight?
"I'm sorry?" I turn back to see her laughing. This broad is nuts.
"It's so hot out, with the clouds parted, it'll only be hotter," she lets out a very un-lady like snort, "You'll get sunburnt!" For some reason this idea is hilarious to her and she is practically doubled over in laughter - I'm not sure which concerns me more, how relaxed she is around me or her awful taste in jokes.
I respond with a very clever "of course", but inside I'm wondering if humans are really so intensely concerned with such things. Her skin is almost as pale as mine so she would know how the sun wouldn't agree with it. Right?
"You're being quite rude you know, walking out on your own bank robbery." I'm taken aback by her blunt manner. She recognized what this was then? So it does count as larceny? Fascinating.
Why is she prolonging this moment? I feel like she knows something I don't and I resist the very human like urge to fidget or throw a man tantrum - a mantrum.
"It doesn't seem fair of you to take advantage of us lowly mortals with your special abilities." She says this all in a teasing manner but I'm feeling shaken.
Employing bravado to cover up my discomfort I answer with a simple, "All in a days work."
"Oh? And how do you occupy your nights?"
I venture to reply with "Sleeping?"
She's laughing again. I had no idea I was such a comedian.
"Really? What does your bed look like?"
What a peculiar question. Is she trying to flirt? If so, she's doing an atrocious job of it. Is this question not a bit personal? I haven't owned a bed in 14 years, not since the last time I had sex. This is fucking surreal. I quickly recall what my bed did look like.
"It's a king sized feather bed with a white duvet."
She nods as if this is what she was expecting.
"And what do you dream about?"
What do I dream about? What kind of -…Oh dear God.
"I haven't had sex in 14 years."
Shit, did I just blurt that out?
She doesn't miss a beat, "Sex dreams then? And that's okay; you'll look this good in 14 more years still. You have all the time in the world to have sex."
She thinks I look good does she? I don't look a day over my physical 26 years, so it wouldn't be a stretch for her to imagine that when I am 40 I might still look half decent. But does she really believe that the last time I had sex I was a pre teen? I'm horrified that she is not perturbed by the idea of it. Is that when she first had sex? My mind is traveling various paths and at the end of them all I find myself with an elaborate plan for the murder of whatever male laid a hand on such a young girl.
"Who do you have sex with?" She looks genuinely curious.
My mind sputters and dies then explodes back to life indignantly.
"Women."
"Women like you?"
This conversation is quickly joining the ranks of my top ten of most absurd conversations ever.
"You mean like transvestites?"
She stares blankly at me.
"You're a transvestite?"
Seriously, they let this woman work in a bank? No wonder everyone's finances are so messed up.
"What? No! Just…what do you mean women like me?!"
It takes her a moment to compose herself after a small outburst of giggles, "I meant criminals."
"You're only a criminal if you've been convicted."
Again she nods knowingly and I'm too interested to feel aggravated by her cryptic behavior.
"My father was a cop."
"Is this a citizen's arrest then?"
She throws back her head and laughs. A few more strands of hair escape and I'm transfixed by the long smooth column of her neck. Irrationally I notice there are no rings on her fingers and feel relieved. She might be a complete psychopath but she is the most charming psychopath I have ever had the pleasure to meet.
"I think," She says, "that it would take far more than that to stop you." She is smiling flirtatiously but there is a challenge in her voice.
"Oh, really? And how would you get me to be…submissive?" I'm being overly suggestive and I feel foolish but she appears to be pleased with my answer. I feel as though I am being led somewhere with these questions and if I didn't know any better I would say she knows what I am and she is fucking around with me. But A) there is no way in hell she knows what I am and B) if she did, she would not be fucking around with me.
"About 3 minutes ago I pressed the button for the silent alarm."
My grin drops from my face and I'm feeling almost panicky. How didn't I notice? This woman has seen everything and there is no way for me to command her to forget. Do I leave immediately after sabotaging the security system or do I take care of her, my first and only real witness? I really, really don't want to kill her. Really.
Daringly she steps away from her desk and walks towards me, something silver glints briefly near her sleeve.
"There are four cameras stationed around this room. Our security office is in the basement. Yes, you could get down there and grab the tapes and leave before I could even blink, but I could…distract you." I hesitate, wondering what she is offering. Briefly I think that if it is sexual in nature, I'll stick around. It would be worth it, she's gorgeous and it's been 14 bloody years. Fourteen years. Jesus.
She takes out a menacing looking letter opener and presses it against her throat. I sober from my thoughts quickly.
"The carotid artery is one of the largest in the human body. How long would it take you?"
I'm not sure of her exact meaning but the implicit message is loud and clear: this woman is dangerous.
"How long would what take me?" I'm terrified to hear her answer.
"How long would it take you to decide whether or not to leave me to die?"
Well that certainly didn't clear anything up.
"Your eyes tell me I could trust you to try to do the right thing."
My eyes are currently a light amber. I like humans. I'm alone but I try to find appropriate outlets in which to socialize. This conversation has me on edge and at the same time, I'm exhausted. This wasn't what I was expecting from my Monday afternoon.
I run my hands through my hair and a flicker of emotion passes across her face.
The manager walks towards us, a canvas bag laden with cash gripped in his left hand, which he is dragging lazily over the hard packed carpet. She takes the bag from him and moves the letter opener to the wrist of the hand holding the bag. Her gaze is intense.
"Take me with you."
Believe it or not, this isn't the first time a woman has made this request, however I had a hard time believing this particular woman was overcome with lustful fantasies of elopement due to my irresistible charm. My automatic response is to narrow my eyes at her and flash the old Draculian grin, minus the fangs. I know that right now I've never looked more like a predator. And she is…totally unfazed. How old is this woman? Her overall appearance is youthful but there is a wariness to her eyes that speaks of experience. If she is older than me, it's not by much. How the hell did this creature survive so long?!
What is more shocking than her words and her lack of self preservation is my reaction to her. I want to take her with me. Let's not get ahead of ourselves, this isn't love at first sight, there is no special connection, there is only sexual attraction and morbid fascination.
Alright, it's more than that. I'm lonely as hell.
"We have 30 seconds." I shoot her a questioning look but it is answered when I begin to hear sirens in the distance.
Tentatively, I extend my hand and introduce myself, "Calvin Warren, pleasure to meet you."
I'm feeling shy now with my hand suspended in the space between us.
She takes my icy cold hand in hers and doesn't so much as bat an eyelash.
"Isabella Swan, but you can call me Bella."
Read and Review! Also, feel free to suggest stories for me to read that have this kind of plotline, since, like I said, I love them!