AN: Hello! This is my first fanfic :) Hope you enjoy. All characters belong to SM.
Intro: Fatal Optimism
Bella POV
Sometimes I feel as though I am fatally optimistic. I know it's a strange phrase, but hear me out. It's where you are so sure of something working out, so positively positive, that you don't even bother to question or reflect upon the results or outcome. This, I am sure, is my tragic flaw. Okay, tragic flaw may be a bit overdramatic. I'm not a hero like Odysseus or Achilles whose downfall is due to misplaced pride, but rather just a normal girl with a plethora of mishaps due to my "fatal optimism".
When I was five I lost a kite in the trees above my house. Its long blue streamers waved at me in the wind, teasing me from far above, lost in branches and bright green summer leaves. I was determined to get it back, and I knew I could. So, with my large, mustached dad watching me from below, I climbed up the tree higher and higher until I looked up and saw a branch, which might have been just a little too far. I actively ignored my dad's calls to come down and felt the magical fatal optimism kicking in. I decided I could jump to the next branch. And that's what I did. However, my fatal optimism ignored my natural clumsiness and I tumbled down and hit the ground hard. That was my first bone break; I broke my arm and was covered in scratches from head to toe.
When I was eight, my parents got a divorce. I stayed with my dad in our rainy town of Forks, Washington watching the window and waiting for mom to come home. I was so sure that one day I would come home to see my mom and dad waiting for me when I got home from school like they usually did, sitting on the dreamy old porch swing covered in moss, his mustache tickling her ear with whispered promises. I would jump into his lap and we'd sit together, stronger as a family for this small bump in the road. But everyday I'd come home to a lonely porch swing looking more shabby and rickety than dreamy and mythical. And one day I biked home from school feeling an eight-year-old's intuition (now recognized as fatal optimism) that today was the day mom was coming home. But what I saw broke my heart.
Dad, who was waiting outside with purple half-moons under his eyes and more pronounced wrinkles on his face, was pointing at the porch swing, which had been removed from the porch and was being taken to an old pickup truck, never to return again. Tears welled up in my big brown eyes and made their way slowly down my face, dripping onto the long green grass in our lawn. I ran into dad's arms and he explained that the swing was too unstable and unsafe for anyone to sit on. What he didn't realize that he also told me was that mom was never coming back. I waved goodbye to the porch swing realizing I was also waving a final goodbye to frantic window watching and the endless waiting for my missing mom.
When I was twelve, I made a new friend. He had shoulder length black hair and a sparkly, mischievous smile. His name was Jake, short for Jacob. He called me Bell, short for Bella, short for Isabella. We played together after school while our dads, friends from college, watched sports and talked. Jake lived on a reservation so we didn't go to school together, but we did everything else together. Jake loved tinkering with any type of machine so we would hang out while he took apart and put together my radio and later when we were sixteen, fixed my beat up pickup truck. With Jake I felt happy. His personality was like sunshine, and the rays warmed my life. It seemed like we were always laughing and he knew absolutely everything about me.
When I was seventeen, Jake and I decided to date. I knew Jake felt something more, but I still felt the sunshine and happiness of friendship. I used my fatal optimism to convince myself that eventually I would fall for him, that's what made sense and that's what would happen. However, I was wrong and after prom Jake kissed me. And he knew from the kiss that it was passion for him, but still just sunshine for me. Jake said he had to take a break, take some time; he was fighting tears and ran to his car and sped off without another word. A whispered word remained on my lips as I stood in my driveway, sparkly blue dress and gorgeous corsage forgotten, as I also battled a flood of tears. The word was a questioning friends, and that, I quickly realized, we were not.
I spent senior year lonely and sad, haunted by the loss of my best friend. Dad noticed my downward spiral and kept me going. I had a small friend group in school, but no one was as close as Jake and I. One day Angela from school gave me a ride home and on the driveway I saw a short head of black hair peaking out from under my truck, changing the flat tire that happened two days earlier. A body followed the head out from under the car and I recognized a very different looking Jake, one with cropped hair and muscles. But it was what remained that made me smile. It was déjà vu as I saw the sparkling, mischievous smile and felt the warmth of sunshine in the middle of winter. I ran into Jake's strong arms and felt his warmth envelop me as he murmured variations of "I'm so sorry, Bell" over and over. But what he didn't know was that I had already more than forgiven him. I was just glad that this time, someone actually came back.
When I was twenty-one, I was in the University of Washington. I was dating a guy named Mike, who Jake and his long time girlfriend, (and one of my best friends) Leah, had already deemed an asshole. I thought he was nice though, and my fatal optimism gave me magical glasses to see through which blurred Mike's arrogance and irritating behavior and focused on his rare moments of sentimentality and kindness. However, even with my magic glasses on I was able to see Mike making out with my roommate, and quickly got rid of both Mike and the roommate. I majored in English, and moved back home to spend time with my dad.
Just yesterday, I turned twenty-three. Today I was driving to work at the library and was surprised to see the parking lot so full. I decided to take the spot between a sleek black Volvo and a beat up family minivan. I maneuvered my newly painted truck (Jake's birthday present) into the parking spot and felt the fatal optimism kicking in. I could just squeeze by without reversing, I knew I could. It was a rude shock when I heard the crunch and felt a scrape as my truck tapped the rear bumper of the Volvo. Chastising myself already, I went to look at the damage. A couple of paint scratches and a small dent tainted the otherwise perfect Volvo. Sighing at the larger dent on my car which ruined Jake's paint job, I got a pad of sticky notes out of my purse and began to write a note.
I'm so sorry. I hit your car on the rear bumper.
Please call 360-876-0834.
Thanks.
I stuck the note on the front of their windshield, never imagining what this bout of fatal optimism would lead to.
Please let me know what you thought, I'd love to know! Updates will be weekly and EPOV next week :) Thanks for reading.