Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight, or anything to do with it, however the OC's are all my own. The concept of Jasper being the 'God of War' is something that I've read in a few fics, but I don't know where it originates, so I'm sorry for not giving credit where credit's due! Plus, I have no idea what Louisiana, or Wisconsin are like - I'm from England, so please, forgive any mistakes. Have a great day, and I love you guys!
Camilla POV
June, 2020
Baron Rouge, Louisianna
"So.. Pops, why exactly are we out here tonight?," I asked, an eyebrow curving slightly, placing my elbows on the clean cherry wood table then I interlocked my fingers, and rested my chin atop them. We - well, my father, my brother and I - were dining in the best bistro in town, Lacour's Grill, seated under the cover of the dull, amber lights, flooding the ceiling and blanketing the room with a warm undertone; the humidity that swirled in the air, leaking from the visible, blisteringly hot kitchen caused my white shirt to stick to my back slightly, and I revelled in the familiar, spicy scent of the typical Cajun cuisine served in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, that danced in the air, its aroma coating us, and drawing us in, causing my stomach to growl loudly.
My twin brother, Clyde, simply turned to me, as if he heard my stomach's embarrassing wail of hunger, and grinned, cheekily, his white teeth practically glowing in the dark room, and I nudged his shoulder with my own, lightly, as he mocked with his hazel green eyes, shining with mirth and amusement. His nose twitched while he smiled, as it always did, much like my own; the only thing, besides our dark brown, curly hair that we shared. Our dad, Joseph Noel, was seated in the seat opposite me, his dark skin complimenting his gleaming white teeth perfectly, and his equally playful, if not somewhat nervous hazel-green eyes shining behind his nimbly framed glasses. He clenched his hands together, and glanced around the rustic-styled restaurant, anxiously, before looking back at my expectant expression. He licked his lips once, before answering, his thick Southern accent colouring his words, "I-Well, I just wan'.. Well, damn, Imma just come out with it.. I got a promotion at work."
My eyes widened, and I grinned, widely, as did Clyde, who reached over the table, and clapped my dad on the back, and I stood, sweeping over to him, my white t-shirt flowing in the wind, and hugging him to me, tightly. I said, into his ear, quiet enough as to not cause a scene with the other patrons around us, "Congrats, dad! That's great news! Why'd you take so long to tell us?," I asked, sitting back in the wooden chair, and crossed my bare ankles, patiently yet intrigued as to what his answer could possibly have been.
"Well.. It's jus' that the job.. It ain't here," he said, while rubbing the back of his neck, apprehensively. I felt myself stiffen at those words, and my eyes narrowed, to some extent, and I gritted my teeth together, and Clyde asked, before I could get a word in, "What'cha mean, pops?," and his eyes glinted, as he spotted his meal approaching on the arm of a fairly pretty young waitress, who was too busy staring at my brother's chest to notice the other two customers at the table, AKA my dad and I.
Fuckin' jack hole.
My dad answered, "I jus' mean that it's not in Baton Rouge.. It's in Wisconsin," and at that, my blood froze briefly, and congealed in my veins. My brows creased, and I could tell that my dad didn't want to look in my molten silver eyes.
I would.. Have to move?
My expression faded into something that I could only describe as entirely vacant, and I felt the sounds surrounding me bleed out into the background, until everything sounded like muffled white noise. I saw mouths moving and I knew there should be sounds around me, but I couldn't hear anything, and I was more than startled when a plate, full to bursting with lobster, prawns, crawfish and other kinds of shellfish, was thrust beneath my nose, causing my mouth to, immediately, salivate, and my stomach growl again, louder this time.
"You hungry, cher?," Clyde asked, his plate already half-empty, and a fork full of some kind of chunky red meat and vegetables, smothered with sauce. I nodded, and grasped my metal utensils, before muttering a quiet prayer under my breath, and dug into my food; my dad's confession being pushed to the back of my mind. Until I finished, of course, because then this shit would be addressed, because there was no way, and I mean no way, that I was moving to Wisconsin, without a good goddamn reason.
After twenty minutes of completely awkward and particularly tense silence, I reclined back in my seat, and wrapped my arms around my somewhat bloated stomach, and I stared at my father, my gaze hard and fairly steely, considering how much I did, in fact, love my dad, I just wasn't at all impressed with what he was doing. I glared, ferociously at him, at he winced, not necessarily because he was scared of me, but because I was his baby girl, and he didn't like when I was upset. If that made me sound spoilt, then let it be so, because I was everything but that. I paved my own way through life; I paid for the tax on my motorcycle, I paid a small amount of rent towards the house every month, and I had my own weekend and late night job working at a diner as a waitress, along with attending high school fulltime. Nobody in their right mind could call me a spoilt brat, because I wasn't - I was the polar opposite of that.
"Baby girl, don't pout, you'll get frown lines, sugar," he whined, and I rolled my eyes in response. "Don't.. I'm not takin' the job, for sure, I mean, I gotta ask you guys for your opinion, because it is your life, too, you know," he scratched at his palm, uncertainly, and continued on, purposefully, "The job.. It comes with better pay, healthcare.. I mean, damn, I'm gonna be an 'executive administrator' of a whole division, you know," and I felt a sliver of guilt permeate my insides, tainting everything it touched, and he finished, tiredly, "I jus' don't wanna do somethin' you wont be happy wit' you know."
Anxiously, I pulled my overtly, uncontrollably curly dark hair over my right shoulder, and played with the ends, which brushed against my lowest rib, and I bit my bottom lip, tasting the spicy sauce from my earlier meal, and glanced at the floor, suddenly uncomfortable. He reached over the table, and rubbed my wrist with his own, before clipping my chin with his index finger, and I glanced up, where I saw he was looking at me, his eyes light and pleading with me to understand his situation. It wasn't that I didn't - I just didn't want to leave my hometown.
It's sentimental, I know, but I just cant help it. I grew up here, I've lived here all my life; damn it, I was born here, I chipped my first tooth here, I went to high school here, my parents met each other here, and they were married in this wonderful city. Granted, they divorced from one another almost 18 months ago, but still, I didn't want to leave. I started, "I don't wanna make you feel bad, dad, but I jus' don't wanna go, you know what I mean?," and I looked over at Clyde, who was staring at me, with a contemplative gleam in his eye. He added, "Pops, its gonna be hard for us to adjust to what you jus' asked us, you know, so.. Can we have a couple days to decide?" He nodded, vehemently, and assured, "Sure, you can have as much time as you want. I don't gotta give them my answer till the end of the month."
We all nodded, and then, honestly, we all brushed it away from out minds, and went about ordering desert - all that talk of moving got a girl hungry again, and, unanimously, we decided on three generous slices of chocolate cake, smothered in nothing but nutty chocolate sauce and icing. Talk about a fucking chocolate overload. Either way,it was delicious, and worth every carb that dredged it way into my body. The first taste of the chocolate against my tongue was practically like the ambrosia I assumed the Gods partook in consuming, because, damn, it was delicious. My dad stood then, after placing a swift 50 bucks in the small black tray that our waitress had brought over, along with her not-so-inconspicuously placed number, on the back of the receipt, apparently there for my twin brother, who paid it, literally, no mind.
After stepping outside of the restaurant, I was swept with a sudden, intense blast of cold air, that was quite uncommon here, especially considering it was mid-June, and during the day, it felt like we were prancing around in the centre of Mount Vesuvius. I felt Clyde drape his large leather jacket over my shoulders, and as I wormed my arms into the sleeves, which spilled completely over my fingers, to the point where I had to roll it up a few times, so I could at least cuff them at my wrists, and it fell past my knees. Thankfully, however, I grinned up at him - up because he was a clean 6'4" where as I was barely scraping a 5'4" and I found that an achievement - my bright grey eyes glittering at him in the darkness. Sighing, I stated, "Thanks, bro," and I hugged, him. This sentiment wasn't just a thanks for the clothing, but it was for everything - I know he would have done anything for our dad, and would easily drop everything here for him to better his career, however I wasn't quite as flippant with my life.
I wasn't exactly the most popular of the bunch, but the friends that I did have, I cherished wholeheartedly, and it would break me to have to leave them behind, but essentially, that's what I was doing.. Moving on, and leaving the people I loved behind me. Just like what my momma did to us almost a year and a half ago. It used to hurt a lot more than it did now to think about her, but I got through it, with the help of my twin, who, without, I wouldn't have made it through at all. Our mother, Agnes Maslin, a beautiful woman, born in Wyoming, to two French natives, who emigrated to America in the 1940s, left us, because she 'couldn't be in the relationship anymore', and remarried almost 9 months ago, to a man called Nicholas Christian, and lived in a high scale apartment in New York City. We didn't really talk as often as we probably should, and it made me sad, sometimes.
My brother was the most important person to me - besides my father of course.
He kept me safe, and protected me when I couldn't do shit, and I did the same for him. We may not be the most cohesive of families, but if there's one thing I can guarantee, its that we love each other more than life itself, and I believe that's more important that anything. He kissed the crown of my head, lovingly, and whispered into my somewhat frizzy hair, "You do what you need to do, Cammy, then we'll decide where to go from there. You know I love pops, but still, it's our lives, and he cant stop us from living it - I jus' hope we can come to a decision," and stepped away from me, his tight grey tee taut against his panelled abdomen and pectorals, which were practically fit to burst, due to years of soccer, football, swimming and the cycling he did every morning before school, sometimes before I had even woken up.
He was a dedicated sportsmen, and he always tried to get me in on his sporting craziness - going so far as to sometimes tug me onto his shoulders, and run the length of the nearest park, with me weighing down on him. Even though I wasn't heavy, per se, barely weighing 113 pounds, but I wasn't stick thin, either, I still felt a little self-conscious about my weight, as did most girls that I knew, even though he rubbished my claims every single time. He threw his arm over my shoulders, and grinned, wolfishly, down at me, and said, flippantly, "Come on, mon cher, time to go home," and tugged me towards our dad's obsidian coloured Jeep, stalled quietly in the parking lot.
-0-
Arriving home later that night, I felt all of my energy completely dissipate during the ride in the car, and without even realising it, I had fallen asleep in the vehicle, and Clyde was forced to pull me out, and cradle me into the house, my face tucked into his broad shoulders, and a small smile on my face. I wasn't entirely conscious, although I hadn't blacked out, completely, so I felt him kiss my forehead, like he always did, and tuck me into bed, my black leggings and plain white tee stuck to my body, and getting caught up in my lavender, crisp sheets. As quietly as he could, he pulled the door closed behind him, and switched off my bedroom light, before whispering, "Goodnight, mon cher."
Grumbling, incoherently, "N'night, Clyde.." to which he chuckled at, and my eyes fluttered closed without my permission, and my breathing eventually levelled out.
000
made some mistakes this chapter
thank you to thewolfbitch for pointing them out!