Hi everyone! This is not going to be a normal Twi-fic. Seriously AU, and not to be taken completely seriously, I basically thought: "What if Bella hadn't been attracted to Edward?" And then the thought took root in my subconscious. Like an evil alien parasite, it grew inside me until it exploded out of my chest and then there was no turning back!
Grisly, but metaphorically true.
Disclaimers: I do not own any recognisable characters or scenarios associated with the Twilight Series.
Warnings: This Bella has a strong personality and knows who she is – so this may start the way the book does, but it will take a different direction.
Despite the majority of the narrative being Bella's POV, there *will* be alternative voices in 3rd person. I have tried to make this as non-confusing as possible.
I was asleep when the plane landed, and the jolt of touchdown woke me a little too abruptly. The old woman next to me looked like she might burst into applause – one of those wearisome people who are a little too forceful when sharing their feelings. I hoped that this wouldn't set the tone for my years at Forks; I might mail myself back to Arizona.
As the plane taxied, I thought about what I'd left in Phoenix: Mum and Phil… both were good people. I knew Phil would keep an eye on Mum, because that woman had the vacuous mind of a teenager. I was only seventeen, and had already spent far too much time holding my mother's hand as she bemoaned yet another failed enterprise. Worse still, she called me her 'middle-aged daughter' – which sadly showed just what sort of dynamic the household had. It also probably explained why I don't have a lot of time for people my own age.
Phil and I had sent my things to Forks the previous week, so I only had one suitcase with me as I shuffled with the rest of the herd towards the exit.
When I caught sight of my dad in Arrivals, I was really grateful that he wasn't holding a sign. He looked nervous, but nevertheless I was pulled into one of his awesome hugs – they were his speciality, and I always felt safe in his arms.
"Hey Bells," he said, holding me at arm's length so he could get a good look at my face. "Can't tell you live in Arizona or the Arctic," he joked. I shrugged his hands off and shook my head ruefully.
"I've long since given up on a tan. You know I'm not one of those Southern Belles."
"Yeah, you're more like Hell's Bells."
I groaned at the awful pun, but Dad was far too pleased with himself to notice and mouthed the words again. Clearly he liked the idea so much that this nickname was going to stay.
"You're not going to call me that in front of other people are you?" I asked warily. The answering smile promised nothing but mischief, and I felt my stomach clench.
The drive back to Forks was quiet and uneventful, so I took the opportunity to look at the landscape outside. Comparatively, Phoenix was arid and hot. But it was also full of chaotic people (my mother being a prime example of this demographic), noise and movement… it was my urban paradise. Full of colourful characters – some of whom were friends I would always miss.
By the time we arrived in Forks, I was weirdly relieved to finally be there – the anticipation had been worse than the actual event. Like most things. Dad showed me to my room, and then left. Clearly the man felt awkward and I couldn't blame him: he would be responsible for his teenage daughter for the foreseeable future – and I think part of him was almost afraid of me.
But I really did want to be there – it was a change of scenery. Because no matter how exciting and vibrant Phoenix was, there was something impersonal about it. Part of me wanted to see what it was like to live in a community where everyone knew each other's names and lives. Where the weather could choose to be anything it wanted. This was a fresh start – a chance to reinvent myself.
CHARLIE:
Charlie didn't know what to make of his daughter. One moment she had been a laughing little girl, full of smiles and ebullient in her affection for everything.
And yet only a few short years later, the slim, smirking teenager with the cool, watchful eyes of an adult who was almost a stranger. This wasn't his joyful child, but an independent young adult who was perfectly capable of looking after herself. Did she really need him at all? What could he offer her that she couldn't get for herself?
Only love and his protection.
As I was unpacking, I heard a truck pull up outside the house and went to the window to have a look: two men – no, a boy and a man in a wheelchair – were climbing out of a battered red pick-up truck. Dad went out to meet them, his voice raised in greeting. Time to meet the locals. I squinted down at the two… oh. So they were very local. Quileute tribesmen.
I managed to not kill myself in the journey from my room to the front door and skidded to a halt in front of them, smiling curiously.
"Bella, you remember Billy and Jacob Black?" Dad said, by way of introduction. I grinned and shook hands with them.
"Of course! It's been way too long. Didn't we make mud pies together?" I said, turning to Jacob, who ducked his head with a smile.
Billy grinned up at me, but I could tell he was trying to read me. But with nothing to hide, I just smiled blandly back.
"You know Charlie's been talking everyone's ears off for weeks about your arrival," Billy said with a sly look at Dad who turned away in embarrassment. Billy and I shared a rather evil look. Hey, I may love my dad, but there's no harm in a little ribbing.
"Keep talking and I'll roll you into the mud," Charlie said.
"Not if I ram you in the ankles!" Billy said gleefully, and started to chase my Dad along the road. For a guy propelled by just his arms on a slope, he really had my dad dodging and dancing along the tarmac.
As Dad and Billy started to joke with each other, Jacob turned to me with that same slightly shy smile.
"Mud pies?" He said. I shrugged and stuck my hands in my pockets. Then the 'grown-ups' joined us again.
"Having fun?" I said, it was good to see my dad grin – he didn't look like he did smile very much.
Billy grinned up at me – he seemed like a big-hearted man. "So, now you're hooked up with your own wheels, we'll be able to see more of you," he said and patted the side of the truck. I looked at the truck, then at Dad, who answered with a grin.
"No way," I breathed, turning to the truck again – looking at it in a whole new light. My very own car! "No way!" I said, a little louder. The joy that filled my chest was indescribable – for months I'd been begging my mother to let me have my own car, I'd got my license after all, but that was one of the few times she'd stuck to her guns. Probably had something to do with the fact many people in Phoenix drove like they were on LSD.
"Yeah, Charlie bought it off me because he knew he wouldn't be able to drive you around… what with all the bad guys to catch." Billy said. I wanted to hug Dad there and then, but he'd cleverly put Billy in front of him.
"I rebuilt the engine as well," Jacob piped up. I stared at him in wonderment: good with machinery too. I could barely work a toaster, so this was a point of envy and admiration for me. I grinned and hopped into the truck, Jacob following me. Billy and my dad went into the house, talking about some game, and leaving me with Jacob to talk cars.
"You'll have to pump the clutch twice when shifting, but it's a good truck." He said, a little awkwardly. I smiled at him as I ran my hands over the steering wheel – my own car… and a truck no less.
"I couldn't care less if she looks like she's been through a war – this is now my truck and I love her!" I exclaimed.
"Hey you two! Come on in, the game's about to start!" Dad stuck his head out the window to shout at us, and I waved at him through the slightly grimy windscreen.
"Sure thing!" I yelled back. Jacob passed me the keys and we climbed out. Then I conscientiously locked the truck's doors.
"What… what are you doing?" Jacob asked, an uncertain look on his face.
"Locking the doors – you never know…" I started to say.
"Bella, you're the police chief's daughter. Anyone who steals your car would have to be suicidal."
I smirked at the thought. While the idea of a reputation preceding me sounded darkly delicious, it also made me realise that this was part of Small-Town-Life. Everyone knew you, and there was no getting away from it, no way to be anonymous. The realisation shook me slightly, and I shakily pocketed the car keys and walked silently up to the house, Jacob trailing after me.
After the game, I was coerced into promising to visit the Blacks in La Push. I didn't mind, they were nice and friends with my dad. There was even a mention of fishing, which made me visualise a scenario where I was hunkered under a leaking canvas while my dad stood waist deep in a creek, having the time of his life and begging me to join him in the hypothermia-inducing conditions.
Sadly Jacob went to school in La Push, so I had to go into a school where I didn't know anyone. In the middle of the Spring Semester.
Then my dad took me to a café, where I was given what I was told had been my favourite meal as a kid. It was still good, although I don't remember quite so many people staring at me last time I visited. News travels fast here – privacy might be an issue. Not that I had anything terrible to hide, it was just that mistakes would be remembered… every detail examined by curtain-twitching neighbours.
The social claustrophobia set in and I began to feel anxious again. Dad noticed, and I had to lie, saying I was tired from the long flight and just wanted to chill. He was all too ready to bundle me back into his car and drive us back. He didn't hover unnecessarily, but that man had a Ph.D. in 'fuss'. So until he was sure I was comfortable in my room with some hot cocoa, he wouldn't leave me alone.
"I'll be at the station, but you have my number, so if you need anything just call." He said from the doorway. I nodded and smiled. My dad may have no clue about how to deal with teenage girls, but he was so sincere it was almost painful and I could forgive his parental concern.
I spent the rest of the day unpacking my stuff, cleaning my room, and bagging up all the things I didn't need or want anymore. By the time I was finished it looked rather Spartan. I didn't really care: extroverted self-expression was almost as bad as being one of the herd.
When Dad got back, I made spaghetti bolognaise and he told me everything he thought I should know about Forks. Top of the list of important places were the police station and the hospital.
"Honestly dad, do you really have so little faith in me?" I said, feeling annoyed. "I managed to survive Phoenix for the past ten years – surely Forks doesn't have half the awful characters Arizona managed to produce."
"I just want you to be safe, Bells. And if you know where to find help then it'll put my mind at ease." Dad said, and I felt guilty suddenly. I hadn't told him everything.
"Uh, dad… there's been something I've been meaning to tell you…" I started. To his credit, Dad didn't visibly freak out, although I did notice the way his hand suddenly tightened around the fork handle.
"What…?" he began, but I talked over him quickly – no point in scaring him further.
"A while ago I started taking self-defence classes in Phoenix. The school was really insistent about it after some gang rivalries spilled over into school. I can do a few things that'll buy me time to run away screaming at the top of my lungs." I said with a self-deprecating smile.
"Such as?" Dad insisted; he wanted to know just how good I was. Well crap… okay…
"Uh, well, I found I really enjoyed hitting things. So I asked my mum if I could give up ballet and take up jiu-jitsu instead." There was a weighty silence while I sipped at my glass of water. "Mind you, this was several years ago now. Anyway, she enrolled me the next day and I'm now a black belt."
"I see…" Clearly the poor man had no idea how to process the information, so I helped his train of thought along.
"I've been trained to fight off and disable people attacking me with weapons as well as just their fists. I think I'll be able to handle myself."
Dad was still quiet for a long time. Then, amazingly, he started to laugh.
"And here I was thinking about how the hell I was going to talk to you about boys…" he wiped at his eyes and took my hands in his. "Oh Bells, you sure know how to put your old man's blood pressure through the roof."
I laughed at that. "So I'll be spared the 'Boys Talk'?"
Dad shook his head and leaned back. "Not a chance kiddo – you may be able to break their arms, but they could still break your heart."
Things were quiet, and I thought I'd gotten away with anonymously arriving at school. But the moment I stepped out of the truck, I could feel many eyes upon me. Maybe it's because school is the natural hunting ground for all sorts of developing human predators, but I'm sensitive to people looking at me.
I silently noted all the gleaming cars decorated with gleaming students. My truck and I stuck out as shabby rejects. Like I care. I can be the bit of thuggish rough for them to jeer at. Then I'll knock out some teeth, bust some noses, and take names… all in a day's work.
"Nice ride," said a guy in a football jersey, sneering at me as I locked my truck's doors.
"Nice one," a bimbo to his right said, perhaps sucking up in the hopes of losing her virginity.
I glared at him: "Screw you," I snarled. I have no patience for such jerks. As I walked up to the school, I heard them muttering stuff about me. So much for turning over a new leaf and reinventing myself as a nice person…
But their bitching didn't bother me overly – they'd probably forget me within a couple of days at most. Right then, I was more concerned with finding my way to the school office and collecting my timetable.
But help was about to approach me. I know he'd spotted me from his vantage point at the top of the stairs, and as I paused, pretending to look at the crudely drawn map given to me by my dad, he made his move.
"Hey, you must be the new girl, Isabelle Swan," he circled me like a shark and grabbed my hand without me offering it. "I'm Eric, the eyes and ears of this place. Anything you need, uh, tour guide, lunch date, shoulder to cry on…" I couldn't take any more of this, especially from someone as oddly friendly as him. He couldn't be for real.
"Thanks, but I'm more the 'suffer in silence' type," I said sarcastically, trying to move ahead, but the annoying little brat kept pace.
"Ha ha…" Eric was sounding a little hesitant. "Good headline for the future. I'm also on the school newspaper, and you are big news – front page, baby." I didn't like the sound of that. Nor did I like being called 'baby'.
I turned to him and summoned my most evil aura to blacken the scowl I crafted on my face.
"O-okay. Chillax. No feature…?" Eric said, backing away, his hands raised. I nodded, eyes narrowed in a sincere promise of suffering. I hated that word: chillax. Where had real words crept off to in peoples' minds?
"I'm so glad we understand each other." I affirmed and walked on, leaving the prat in the shirt and tie to harass other people.
In gym class, I instinctively knocked away the volleyball that was zooming to my head. However, it smacked into a guy playing basketball. I dashed over to retrieve the ball.
"I'm so sorry, are you okay?" I asked, imagining how the infernally crafted Eric would get me on the front page after all – as the one who killed another pupil on her first day. Luckily he was already holding the ball out to me and grinning.
"I'm fine, really. You must be Isabella, right? I'm Mike, Mike Newton."
"Pleasure, and it's just Bella," I said with a tight smile, taking the ball from him.
"She's got a great spike huh?" Said an overly perky girl, who practically bounced to stand next to Mike. She looked at him, clearly seeking approval for her compliment. I noticed that Mike paid her very little attention and kept looking at me interestedly. Oh boy… this was exactly what I didn't want.
"I'm Jessica by the way," the girl said, smiling at me. I nodded, but Mike still hadn't even bothered to acknowledge her. "So you're from Arizona…" Jessica soldiered on; seemingly oblivious of the supreme awkwardness that was dominating the situation. "Aren't people from Arizona supposed to be really tanned?" Both looked at me expectantly.
Good grief, what was it with these people? I missed the cynicism and wry humour of the big city.
"Yeah," I said, my sarcasm demon not even trying to hide anymore. "I guess that's why they kicked me out." They both laughed like it was the most wonderful joke they had ever heard.
"You're good," Mike wagged a finger at me.
"Yeah, you're funny," Jessica concurred, chuckling and throwing looks at Mike.
Had these people never heard a joke before? I felt like I was like entertaining small children. I just walked away. It was too depressing. I had briefly considered if this was some sort of elaborate practical joke… but dismissed it. These people honestly seemed too densely earnest for such things.
To make matters worse, all these sycophants found me in the lunch hall. I had tried so hard to avoid them. But Eric had some sort of homing beacon on me and was sitting next to me before I could even sample the juice drink.
Then as they wittered on, and Mike tried desperately to flirt with me (to Jessica's poorly concealed outrage), I noticed a troupe of the most preened people I had ever clapped eyes on appear through the door.
Jessica noticed my staring and explained that they were all adopted children, called the Cullens. Apparently they had transferred to Forks two years previously from Alaska and engaged in relationships with each other. At least, four of them did. The fifth looked so sulky that I didn't even wonder why he was alone in the world.
But clearly Jessica thought the guy considered himself far too high-and-mighty for the likes of small town girls like Angela and herself. I covertly looked at them for a moment longer, processing all the details I could make out from this distance.
Except for the sullen loner in dark clothes, the two couples were very physically communicative with each other. The level of casual intimacy suggested long-term, established relationships. Oddly, they all wore light coloured clothes. That sort of co-ordination could only be deliberate. But what message were they trying to send? The cut of the clothes and quality of the fabrics suggested that they were all designer labels, and fitted like a glove. And the pale colour scheme was usually associated with either gangs, religious groups or a highly dysfunctional domestic situation. Very curious indeed.
But there were also the beautifully powdered white faces and hands that were elegantly manicured. Even the men's nails looked better than mine! I'm not normally so insecure, but staring at this lot for long enough made you feel like a half-squashed slug on someone's shoe.
I was going with freaky cult theory. Especially when they took a table near the window, barely talking to each other, let alone any of the 'normal' people around them. So I let the conversation of those around me suffuse my conscious, all the while sneaking further looks at the Cullens through my hair. One of many benefits of possessing a waterfall of long brown hair.
I suppose what I found weirdest was that although they were in the lunch hall with trays of food, they didn't touch their meals. The way that the other students stared at them covertly with various expressions of admiration, envy, lust and dislike. But there was no fear. Clearly the Cullens were not terrorising the students. It would have been much more obvious.
Honestly, there were just so many layers of conflicting messages that I was almost hyperventilating by the time I dashed to the girls' bathroom. Once in the bathroom, I slammed the lid of a toilet down and sat, head in hands, trying to remember how to breathe normally. Oh god, they were so strange. So wrong… I really hated the crazy ones. At least you could predict the normal thugs' behaviour. I'd take a broken nose over being knifed or kidnapped any day of the week. Past experience with school gangs – even some weird ones - informed me to find out as much as possible before making a move. But these Cullens were by far the most frightening and alien I'd ever encountered. None of their behaviour added up in town, but I wouldn't let these odd-jobs use the school and the students as their playthings.
I may be brand new, but I'd face up to them… if they caused trouble then I'd have to. There'd be no violence if I was there to stop it. Don't get me wrong, it's not like I cared about the students, per se – quite frankly they needed the life experience – but it was a matter of principal. I was a cop's daughter after all! I couldn't let the family name go down in flames just because I'd lied to myself about finding pacifism and reinventing myself as a normal teenage girl.
I made it to my biology class on time, and immediately noticed Mr Sullen Cullen sitting by the window.
Then I saw that all the other seats were taken.
Brilliant. Just brilliant. I got to sit next to a budding psychopath in a room filled with scalpels, glass beakers and dangerous chemicals. What could possibly go wrong?
Stay calm, I told myself, it's going to be fine. Just ignore him and do the work. Thank god that I was further ahead in the curriculum than the rest of them. I could plot my battle tactics in relative peace.
Cullen saw me eyeing the empty seat next to his, but then deliberately turned to stare out of the window. This was encouraging. I walked over and pulled the seat out far enough that I could easily slide off it and away from Cullen if I needed to. Then, as I flicked my hair over my shoulder, to see what I was looking for in my rucksack (pen and paper), Cullen slapped his hands over his nose and mouth, practically slamming himself into the wall to get away from me.
I was irritated, because I'd had a shower that morning and knew I didn't smell. But it did tick another box on the 'Religious Whackjobs' checklist I had in my head. Nevertheless, I did my best to ignore him and got on with the work. Apart from being darkly amused by Cullen trying not to inhale the same air as the unclean heretic (me), the lesson went smoothly, and as soon as the class was over, I practically ran from the room, not even bothering to pack my bag. I just wanted to get the hell out of there before that madman had a chance to attack.
So... feedback? Did I get it right? I hope you're enjoying violent Bella and her frankly hilarious assumptions about the Cullens.
There will be mince pies for reviewers.