I've had this idea for a while now. Fair warning, this story will be explicit in gore, language, sex, and torture. It's not for the faint of heart. It's inspired by Dexter slightly, so you will find similarities. Also I apologize for errors, this story does not have a beta yet.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
"There's just something about all that blood, I drown in it."
Tate Langdon- American Horror Story.
Red, slipping between my fingers, painted on the walls, some strange curiosity, a yearning of sorts of things I do not understand. Her mouth open, eyes glassy, and that beautiful red staining her perfect, pale skin.
That is the first memory I recall from my childhood, it started with red and I dare say it will end with red.
"You're hair has gotten longer since last I saw you," Charlie's voice interrupts my thoughts.
Funny though, it's actually shorter than the last time I visited him, though I can't blame the man for trying to make conversation of an incredibly awkward situation. We haven't spoken in nearly six years. It's not as if he's a bad parent, it's more of my complete lack of interest in keeping a relationship with the man.
He's my father, and I don't love him.
I don't love anyone. It seems I am incapable of that feeling.
This used to depress me, being emotional numb. Yet I found later on I was grateful for the fact, not being tied down by such trivial emotions that didn't do anyone any good. I was free from being caged by love, guilt, jealousy, and disappointment.
"Yes, I suppose it has." I reply quietly peering out my window.
"Welcome to Forks" the sign is beaten up and ratty. I nearly cringe, I hate being in Forks, living in Phoenix was exceptionally better.
"So Kiddo," he begins nervously and I see the signs of guilt etched on his face, familiar clenching of hands, and erratic breathing. "I got pulled into the station tonight, I'm really sorry."
Of course he is, but not because he couldn't get out of work- because he volunteered that shift to avoid this uncomfortable situation. He feels as if he's a bad parent, he feels like a failure, weak.
This could be fun.
"Oh," I say in sadness that I don't feel. "Me too, but I understand" I finish in a voice so small, in nearly breaks at the end.
From the corner of my eye, he bites his lip and this look of utter defeat runs rampant by his expression. I've succeeded in successfully making him feel like shit.
People, they make me sick by how predictable they are.
Why the fuck would I care if he wanted to work tonight? We haven't spoken in six years. I guess that's part of human emotion I will never understand, guilt, and thank god for it. A small smirk forms on my face as he clams up for the rest of the ride.
As we pull up to the familiar house, he fumbles with his seatbelt before scrambling out the car. Bags in hand, we walk into house. It's been cleaned, for me. The house itself is very cold, as if he hardly spends anytime here. I can imagine why, most people hate being alone. Solitude is something I prize, the only time I can stop pretending to be something I'm not.
My room is exactly the same way it was when I was 10. Purple is everywhere, a very girly atmosphere it nearly makes me vomit. This won't do.
Setting my bags on the bed, we both just stand here in silence. He nervously runs his hand through his hair.
"Well, I guess if you're ok I'll just go ahead and get back to work." He finally speaks.
"Ok," I say turning and beginning to unpack my bags.
He wants to hear some kind of affirmation to know I'm ok with him leaving. It's annoying.
"It's really ok Dad, I know your work is important. I'll be fine getting settled in" I say.
He breathes a sigh of relief and I reframe from rolling my eyes.
"Ok, you start school tomorrow and I won't be home till late so" he trails off.
"I'll make sure to get up on time," I finish for him.
He nods before ducking out. Walking towards the window I watch as he gets into his patrol car and pulls out. Finally.
Looking at my room, I decide what needs to go first. Pictures of friends I haven't seen in years litter the walls. Those are the first to go. Finally after about thirty minutes, the only purple in my room is the bedspread and pillows. The room is a comfortable off white, nothing personally. It's cold, unfeeling; just like me.
Pulling out my cigarettes, I quickly open my window and light up, inhaling, the familiar buzz washes over me, the bitter taste and I savor the experience. I tried weed once, it was amazing, but I don't like being out of control. Maintaining control is vital for me, when I lose control that's when bad things happen. Cigarettes are the closest thing to that feeling that I will tolerate.
After a few hours of reading, I make myself something to eat and when the clock reads 10:00 pm I head upstairs to get ready for bed. My routine is very strict, and I never falter from it. I do 3 reps of 15 sit-ups, wash my face, brush my teeth for exactly three minutes, run my hands through my dark brown hair, pull it up in a bun, and climb into bed.
As soon as my eyes close, I quickly see red. And what once was a source of fear, I take comfort in it and soon fall asleep.
The alarm blares in my ears. 6 a.m. and the suns begins to filter through my room. Turning the annoyance off, I exhale lightly before crawling out of bed. Shuffling downstairs to the kitchen, I quickly turn the coffee pot on. Grabbing a mug and filling it with an exact tablespoon of sugar and two tablespoons of half and half. I like things orderly, obsessively in fact. The warmth fills my mouth and slightly burns down the back of my throat.
After I finish, I rinse the cup in the sink and head back upstairs passing Charlie on the way.
"Morning," he mumbles out roughly.
Clearly not a morning person.
"There's coffee made," I say quickly to which he mumbles what I believe is a thank-you.
People say first impressions are important. Personally I don't care what people think. Jumping in the shower, I go to shave my legs and wash my hair. When finished I put on some concealer under my eyes and put some eyeliner on with mascara. My makeup routine is very minimal. I then proceed to blow dry my hair. My dark hair is left in waves down my back.
Getting dressed in some dark wash skinny jeans and a loose v-neck teal shirt, I check in the mirror once over before I head downstairs. It's 7:30 now, and school begins at 8:15.
Charlie is at the table drinking the last of the coffee and reading the paper. Typical.
"You ready Kiddo?" He asks while not looking up.
Christ, I hate that nickname.
"Yeah," I respond monotone.
The ride over to the school is quiet, and I'm happy for it.
"Do you want me to go in with you? You know, help you get situated" he asks.
No, I really don't.
"I'll be fine Dad, I promise. I'll see you tonight," I reply before getting out of the car.
The parking lot is filled with teenagers, talking, and laughing. They all turn to me somewhat and I easily see they are talking about me. The chief of police's daughter. Of course everyone knows about my arrival. Holding my head high I walk straight into the building, not acknowledging my peers.
After getting my schedule and start to make my way down the busy hallway looking for my first class.
"Hey," a guy with dark hair steps in front of me rather aggressively, his eyes alit with excitement. His hair is perfectly coifed, his blazer unbuttoned, his dark wash jeans, torn in all the right places. Clearly he's gay, even if he doesn't know it yet. "The names Eric, I am the person of all persons to know. Want the daily gossip scoop? Want cheat sheets, the shortest routes between buildings? Who's single and who's not? I'm your guy." He gushes out with enthusiasm.
I just stare at him with a quirked eyebrow.
"Ah, the suffer in silence type," he says with a smile before throwing an arm around me. I suppress a shutter of disgust.
I hate it when people touch me.
"So I'll help you find your first class," he continues while plucking the paper out of my hand. "Advanced Algebra, wow overachiever much eh?" he says with a chuckle to which I just stay silent. This doesn't deter him at all.
"That class isn't that far from here," thank god. His incessant chatter is grating on my nerves. "Seems you have Mr. McDougal, and let me tell you, he's an absolute bastard. Everyone hates him, but he's got a pervy soft spot for pretty girls, so you should be fine," he rambles on. A pedophile for a teacher? This could be interesting. "Well let me tell you, Ms. Isabella Swan, you are all the rage right now, most popular girl at school, and if you want to keep that status I know just the people you need to hangout with to make it happen." He says as we arrive at the door, finally. "Anyways, we have the same lunch, I'll meet you outside the doors to show you to the table, the lunch table that will change your life." He finishes with a wink.
I just smirk and walk inside the room. People like him make we want to vomit, no respect for personal space. I have zero interest in high school, it's a complete and total waste of my time including the vapid, ignorant people gracing the walls.
As class wanes on rather boringly, I realize that Eric is right about one thing- Douglas McDougal is a pedophile. His eyes rake up and down my body appreciatively, and I smirk in return, while I subtly suck on my pen to which doesn't go unnoticed to him. Although he has expressed interest in me, the girl he seems to obsess over the most is Jessica Stanley. She's your typical high school queen, blonde, tan, curvy and bubbly. She seems to soak in the attention from him, but she's obviously not doing anything with him. She's playing with fire. Men like him take what they want when they are denied for too long.
I begin planning. Douglas McDougal is a disease that needs to be snuffed out. I have every intention of getting him fired, and judging by the way he continues to eye fuck me, it shouldn't be too difficult.
The day drones on rather uneventfully, and I barely pay attention in my classes, after all, I already know the material. Knowledge is power.
Finally the lunch bell rings and I head towards the lunch room, and of course, Eric is waiting for me just like he said he would.
"Hey mute girl, how was your first day so far," I just ignore to which he throws his arm over me, again. "Eh, its ok, sooner or later I'll get you talking" he states as we go through the line. He continues to babble on and on about utter bullshit I could care less about. I follow him to 'the' table and see Jessica Stanley there, along with another blonde girl, a blonde headed guy and a strawberry blonde.
"Everyone, this Isabella Swan," Eric states, "This is Jessica, Lauren, Mike and Tanya" he finishes up as we sit down.
"Isabella is in my Advanced Algebra," Jessica pipes in. "So how are liking Forks?" she asks.
I just pick at my food.
"Is she deaf or something," Lauren asks in a nasally tone.
"Nah, she's just the suffer in silence type" Eric quips.
"Whatever, that weird, don't you talk like ever?" Jessica asks.
"Maybe you should learn more from her, maybe I'd fuck you more often if you were actually using that mouth for good use instead of babbling on during sex." Mike states.
"Ass," she replies.
Soon they continue talking about things of no consequence. This is why I can't stand being around people and all their petty drama. Poking lazy at my food, finally I can't stand their chatter anymore. Quickly I stand up taking my tray of food, ignoring their protesting, and throw it away before walking out the door. I need a cigarette. Walking outside towards the bleachers, I notice a bunch of stoners. Seems safe to light up here.
Enjoying my nicotine break for the next ten minutes I head to A.P. Biology.
"Isabella Swan, you can take a seat over there. Everyone else already has their lab partners," the teacher speaks while pointing to an empty table.
I make my way over there and set my stuff down. Christ, could this day be any slower.
Suddenly the girls break out into ridiculous giggles and I look up to see what warrants such stupid behavior. And the answer begins walking towards me in the form of a tall, athletic, lithe and attractive male. Forks High School king I presume judging by the way the girls look at him dreamy-eyed and the boys jealous. His copper hair is the perfect balance of sex hair and the smirk adorning his face showing just how much he knows of his godlike status here.
"Isabella Swan," he breathes out in a seductive tone. "It's a pleasure to meet you," he continues. His smile is warm and inviting but it doesn't reach his eyes. In actuality his eyes reveal nothing. Something shifts inside of me.
"Wow, I guess I should honored by acquaintance," I say sweetly though the underlying sneer is evident and he doesn't miss it. Instead of anger he seems intrigued.
"I dare say it is, I'm Edward Cullen," he says putting out his hand.
"And I'm not interested," I deadpan before turning back towards the front.
The class goes quiet; apparently Cullen has never been openly refused before. But I have no interest in playing the dating game. It's always the same, bullshit conversation, bullshit charm, sex that never fulfills, and just waiting till one cheats on the other person, and the drama ensuing afterwards.
Soon the chair shifts besides me, it seems we are stuck as lab partners I nearly chuckle aloud.
From the corner of my eye I notice his eyes are angry, not the normal kind of angry and I begin to see the cracks in his façade.
"One way or another Isabella Swan, you'll change your mind" he says under his breath with such intensity, a challenge.
It seems Edward Cullen isn't all who he pretends to be. Others would be too stupid to see it, too caught up in his charm and appeal to notice something dark lurking in the shadows.
I couldn't be only one who was…different.
"And one way or another Edward Cullen that I have absolutely no interested in getting to know you," I quip back.
He leans right into me, his green eyes now dark, his demeanor shifting slightly to more predatory.
"Let me make this very clear to you Isabella, I always get what I want," he breathes into my ear.
Something dark, something unknown begins to claw up to the surface, a churning in the pit of my stomach, and I feel something I haven't felt since I was thirteen, suddenly all I see is red, and the bloodied dog in my hand and my breathing becomes labored. The tick is back, the need and absolute want to feel what I felt all those years ago crouching on the side of the road.
The need to kill.
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