Masquerade

by clockkeeper13

She moved in an attempt to escape. But what happens when that's all he wants to? Can they save each other before it's too late, before their secrets kill them? Or will they both their lives cease to exist, drowning in their own sorrow? AH, AU

Masquerade

Drowning

The water gurgled through the old pipes before splashing out of the faucet and into the sink as I wet my toothbrush. I grabbed the tube of toothpaste off the counter next to me, squirted a blob onto it, and recapped it. I then proceeded to one handedly attempt to grab my hairbrush out of my toiletries bag. Not the smartest idea. I guess I should have learned by now, I can't multitask. It takes all of my ability just to stay safe whilst doing one thing, let alone two or more. Which meant that my attempting to get my hairbrush whilst still brushing my teeth resulted in me dropping the whole bag on my foot, and then it falling to the side and everything spilling out. Including the wretched hairbrush, which made a clang as the back of it hit the tile floor of the bathroom. I sighed, spit out my toothpaste, wiped my mouth off, and bent down to collect everything. There wasn't much, just a few hair ties, a headband, and a couple clips. Once everything was gathered back up, and picked up the hairbrush and stood.

I studied the white porcelain of the sink as I brushed my hair; meticulously memorizing every chip and stain. There was an ovalish chip to the right of the front middle, a crack running from the faucet to about three inches above the bottom of the sink. There was a tiny black dot over on the left hand side. And one on the back right rim. Oh look, this one looks a bit orangeish! I finished with my hair, hoping it looked as presentable as it ever would. I stuck my hairbrush back in its bag and then picked it up, done getting ready for the morning.

And that was when I made the mistake of looking in the mirror. Any normal person would have seen a plain girl, brown hair (which was surprisingly nicely straight today), dull brown eyes, pale skin, and what was hopefully a removed expression. But not I. No, I saw the slightly curly black hair, tanned skin, muscular build, and height much taller than me. And eyes. I saw the eyes that pierced through me, sending chills down my entire frame. A feeling of dread worked its way to every inch of my body. And then I screamed. I flung the bag backwards, hoping to hit him as a wrenched open the door and threw myself out of it and down the stairs, only stumbling once.

Well, until I ran into Charlie. "Bella, what's wrong!?" he grabbed my arms to steady my before looking me over carefully, searching for some indication as to why I had screamed. I quickly backed up out of his grasp, even though I knew what was going through my mind was extremely irrational.

As my heart rate slowed and my breathing steadied, I realized I couldn't tell him the truth. That I was seeing him—because now that I could think calmly, I knew I was just seeing things again—for then there was no telling what Charlie might make me do. Quite possibly see a psychiatrist. I shuddered at the thought. And then proceeded to make up a lie, regardless of the fact that I couldn't lie to save my life, "No, I'm fine I just . . . saw a . . . spider!" I glanced at his face nervously and then back down at the floor, praying silently that he would believe what I had said.

He seemed ready to believe anything I said, "Alright then . . ." An uncomfortable silence settled over us. It was thick and heavy, making me a bit hot. I squirmed, "Do you know of anyone looking to hire?" I blurted out in an attempt to lighten the mood a bit. I hadn't actually been planning on looking for a job yet. I wanted to get settled into school here first, but alas, it didn't work out that way.

"Yeah, Newton's is hiring." Charlie then proceeded to give me directions to the shop. I thanked him and then scurried out the door before there was time for either one of us to say anything else. There was a light mist outside, coming down from the sky above. I turned my face upwards and saw that the sky was just as cloudy as it had been yesterday. I sighed and got into the truck Charlie had gotten me as a surprise present yesterday.

Yesterday. I had gotten on a plane in Arizona and then proceeded to fly to Port Angles, where Charlie had picked me up and taken me to his small home in Forks, Washington. The ride had been a very long, very uncomfortable affair for the both of us. Filled with an uncomfortable silence that started after the 'hello's and pleasantries and been exchanged and lasted until we had pulled up to the house. The house was small, two bedrooms, one bathroom, tiny kitchen and living room, and not much else. Everything was the same as it had been since the last time I had seen it six years ago, and all the times before that; except, of course, for the beastly, yet oddly charming, very old red truck that sat in the empty spot in the driveway.

Yet knowing that I was being well taken care of here, that someone cared about my well being, couldn't take it away. Couldn't take away the fact that I was running away from what was back home. Trying to solve my problems by escaping to a place where no one but my father and I knew. But it was impossible to escape. It was now a part of me forever, no matter how much I wished it to be not. And knowing this was what kept my bad day form getting any better.

OoOoOoOoOoO

I parked my car in one of the parking spaces closest to the door, for there appeared to be no customers at the shop, and got out. I locked the car, walked up to the door, noting that fat drops of water were now falling down on me at an unamusingly fast pace—at least I had thought to bring my raincoat—before grabbing the door handle and stopping. I could see two boys my age inside, one with spiky blonde hair and another with messy bronze hair, the latter taller than the first. Deep breaths, Bella. Just go and ask if they are hiring. Nothing to it. I drew in a ragged breath before noting that I had been lying to myself. Regardless, I pushed open the door. I walked up to the spiky haired one, the less intimidating of the two, for the other one looked a football player type, and stopped. Neither of them had noticed me. The door didn't ring to announce my entrance, and I had gotten good at walking quietly, so as no one would hear my feet on the floor. I had lost my courage. I couldn't very well just go and tap them on the shoulder and ask if they were hiring. I groaned internally. Just talk, Bella. Nothing to it. Just words. You've done it before. Why, just this morning!

But, before I had a chance to actually speak, the spiky blond in front of me began to turn around. He was only about two feet in front of me; which meant that I saw exactly why he fell. His feet squeaked on the dirty white tile floors, not turning around fully before he tried to take step, tripping himself. It also meant that he fell directly on top of me. I felt his body push down on me, my knees buckled from the weight; my back hit the floor painfully, my spine whacking, all of the air in my lungs whooshing out before my head crashed down. The pain spread out from the center of the back of my head, until I was nearly blinded with it. The pin-pricks-yet-hammer pain in my head thump thumped with the beating of my heart that was now racing. The boy's hands, which he had threw out in front of himself in an attempt to break his fall, were now splayed on either side of me, his fingertips grazing the side of me; I tried to squeeze myself inwards in an attempt to get away from him. It was such a lousy, feebly, worthless attempt. How could you possibly get away from someone who was strewn on top of you, pushing you against the cold, hard tile floor, engulfing you in an uncomfortable warmth, squeezing your every breath from your lungs until your chest heaved with the effort of drawing in breath whilst their weight refused to bestow you any slack? You couldn't, and I was well aware of this fact. I closed my eyes and willed myself with all I was worth to get through this without freaking out anymore than I was. He didn't mean to. He has no intentions. Breathe. I mentally coached myself through it, but at the mention of breathing all the progress—if you could call it progress—went to waste, for I was panicking all over again.

I drew in a shaky, shallow breath, abandoning all hope, when I felt the body on top of me shift, pulling upwards and to the side as he maneuvered off of me, allowing air to pass freely through my lungs now. I shook, drawing in an unsteady breath. I vaguely saw a hand enter my line of vision, but my thoughts were too jumbled with fright and a heavy blanket of fog to process what it meant. I shivered again, not entirely sure whether from coldness or fright, and willed the fog to dissipate out of my brain. I was most certainly going to be needing my wits about me. As the haze dispelled—failing to take the panic with it—my vision cleared a great deal more, so as now it encompassed the arm and body of the owner of the hopefully helpful hand.

Take the hand, I instructed myself. What's the worst he can do? Instantly, my mind shied away from the question, but it was too late. I had already thought it, and without actually acknowledging the answer, it was there in my mind anyway. After a minute—in which a frown had appeared on helping-hand-owner's face, most likely from my lack of moving to take his hand—I worked up the courage to take his hand. My own hand rose unsteadily from the floor, shaking visibly. When our fingers touched, a shock jumped through our hands; as his hand engulfed mine the shock made its may through the rest of my body, spreading a warmth that evaporated the coldness. After I was returned safely to my feet helping-hand-owner spoke.

"Are you OK? Took quite a nasty fall there." His voice was so smooth I could almost feel it running over my ears; a low, silky-velvet sound. I nodded my head in response, unable to choke out a reply. He stared, unbelieving for a moment, "You sure?"

I swallowed painfully, willing words to come out of my mouth. Just a few, Bella. You don't need to speak a novel. You can do it. "I-I'm used to it." My voice was so quiet I was afraid he hadn't heard, afraid I would have to repeat myself.

"Used to boys falling on top of you?" he questioned incredulously, one eyebrow rising.

I forced the words out of my mouth, "I fall a lot." My voice cracked on the last word, but I willed myself not to cry. It didn't matter how badly my head hurt, or how unfamiliar this person was. Nothing mattered anymore. But Isabella Swan did not cry.

OoOoOoOoOoO

After the fiasco that was my entrance, Mrs. Newton rushed out to assist, and immediately hired me—I assumed to compensate for the mistake of Mike, the boy who had fallen on me, who also happened to be her son—even though my interview with her was only about five minutes long. I was currently sitting behind one of the two cash registers, trying to entertain myself but failing miserably. To my left was helping-hand-owner, who I learned was named Edward; I was also attempting to keep what peace of mind I had left by trying to forget he was there. It wasn't working much. Thankfully, I only had twenty more minute left before I got to go home.

I had already counted ceiling tiles, floor tiles, memorized the exact placement of each button on the cash register, and counted inventory on the wall opposite me. I took to staring out the window to my right. The glass looked a bit neglected, dust piled in the corners, and a bit filmy here and there, but I could easily see out of it. I blue, nondescript car passed by the window sending a spray of water droplets up into the air from the puddles that convened together on the road from the earlier rain. The drops flew through the air, moving fast, but in a gentle arc, catching in the unexpected sunlight and sending dancing colors across the road. I immersed myself completely in such trivial, beautiful things, and found relief in the fact that I could forget my coworkers completely.

That was of course, until I felt an itch at the back of my neck. Slowly, sluggishly, the feeling grew to intense alertness; I was quite certain that someone was watching me. I could feel their eyes, not menacingly, upon me. It was disconcerting and I turned slowly, quite frightened—irrationally—of who I might find returning my gaze.

OoOoOoOoOoO

EPOV

The sunlight that was so very rare here shone down from the grubby window at a downward angle; her beautiful locks shone, illuminating the faint red the mingled with the rich, lighter-than-chocolate-but-darker-than-cherry colour that just couldn't be named, not entirely different from mahogany. I couldn't help but stare—even though I was well aware of the fact that this was quite rude—when the face of an angel was right before my very eyes. Her skin was naturally, not sickly, pale, creamy and flawless. Her features delicate and perfect: cute, small, straight nose; long, lush eyelashes; wonderfully full, red lips. Yet, there was an aura of deep sadness and something else. I tried to place it, yet couldn't. The more I struggled, the more frustrated I got. For some reason I had to figure out what that other something was.

I was quite taken by surprise when the angel's head swiveled slowly until her eyes locked on mine. And in that second, I saw what that other something that haunted her was. Her stunning, chocolate eyes were filled with an incomprehensible mount of fear. Every minute detail became apparent in my mind; the shaking of her hands, the way she sunk inward, trying to disappear, the way she flinched backwards when I moved even an infinitesimal distance towards her. Before I had time to speak she blushed and turned away, her hair rippling like water to form a wall between us. I stared, dazed, at her for a moment, hypnotized by the glow coming off her that almost seemed to pulse with her fear, but quickly shook myself out of the stupor.

What was she so afraid of? And if she was so afraid, why did she blush? Did I do something? Or say something? I had barely uttered a word to her this morning. Nothing that could cause that type of fear, anyway. My thoughts swirled around me for the remaining fifteen minutes until it was time to close down shop. At that point, I had given up hope on ever finding out what was troubling this girl; she clearly wasn't going to say anything.

Mrs. Newton came out and told us we were free to go, she would close up. I punched out before grabbing my coat and walking out to my car. I was about to pull out my keys, hand already halfway to my pocket, when I noticed something disquieting; Bella, girl from the store, was sitting in her truck, head in hands. I immediately thought she was crying; as I looked on longer, though, she lifter her head and as she jabbed at something on her console, I clearly saw not a trace of tears present. Again, I felt and urgent need to find out why she was so upset; but this wasn't the only thing I felt—no, I cared why she was upset. This unsettled me; why would I care why some person I didn't even knew in the slightest was upset? At one time, I would have been disgusted with this thought, but not anymore; that time was long gone, as likely to be visited again as I was likely to marry. Right, I thought, snorting mentally at the anomaly

I drew my eyes away and slid into my car, speeding out of the parking lot before I could convince myself that it was mean to ignore someone when they were hurting. My head was spinning, tumbling in circles, racing so fast I couldn't think straight. Not that I really wanted to think. I turned on the stereo and skip to CD two, always handy for times like these. Underoath spewed forth out of the speakers, and I turned up the volume until I couldn't focus on anything other than the oh-so-familiar road twisting and curving in front of me that I really didn't even need to concentrate on; I had lived here all of my life, and knew every road front and back. And that was the problem.

By now I was rounding the curve in the the driveway, parking the car in the makeshift garage, looking sadly at the stereo before turning it off. Upon entrance to the house I was greeted with the usual sound of video games from the front room; Jasper and Emmett were busy hacking each other up whilst Rosalie sat on Emmett's lap, not even pretending to be interested as she read some fashion magazine. It would have been a normal scene, except Alice was missing. I disregarded it, though, figuring she was out in the kitchen.

Without looking up, Jasper spoke, "Hey Edward."

"Hey . . ." I trailed off, already heading for the stairs; I was by now halfway up when Alice appeared at the top, a frown gracing her face. I was well aware of what she wanted but that didn't change a thing. And she knew that even though I knew it didn't change a thing; thus, her frown turned into a glare as she stomped past me, the air blowing gently in her wake, the only thing left for me to know that she had been standing right in front of me, now gone.

I walked down the hall, doors passing me on both sides, all closed, seemingly much taller than they were, towering overhead. I reached the last door on the right, tall and imposing; grasping the large, antique handle in my hand, feeling the cold, impossibly cold, metal, the curving surface smooth and just inviting me to turn it.

I held my breath as the knob turned under my hand, irrationally frightened of what could await me on the other side. As the door swung open freely on it's oiled hinges I breathed a sigh of relief; it was all the same. I walked into my room—my safe haven—and dropped my bag at the foot of my desk before grabbing the remote off the top and flopping onto my couch. The black leather sagged slightly under me, making a soft swooshing as my jeans rubbed against it. Without looking I clicked it on, flipping through the few CDs that were in the player before coming to a stop on the one I wanted.

The soft tones began to play and I hit the volume button until the music was all I heard; not the artificial sounds of video games, or the clanking of pots and pans, or the shuffling of papers, the flipping of pages, or the clacking of shoes, or the drumming of fingernails. Nothing. The music was all I heard; I was drowning in it. And it was drowning me. Swallowing me whole, sinking deep down into the holes—not filling though, nothing could do that—and coating them in a soft layer, holding in the raw entrails and falsely comforting as much as it ever could until it slowly lulled me into a sleep like state.

OoOoOoOoOoO

I was brought back to awareness by a quick procession of knocks on my closed door before it burst open, tiny Alice spewing forth into my room. Her mouth was already open, the first of words already forming before she saw me. A look of disdain crossed her face when she saw my current position. "Dinners ready," she spat. "Not that you would know or anything, since all you do is sit in your room all day. God, Edward, Jazz and Emmett are over and you're sitting up here all by yourself! They're your best friends! Or at least they used to be!"

"They're my friends," I mumbled, too bewildered from her sudden exclamations that took over the once quiet feeling of the room.

"Then get your act together and do something with them! Quit moping. Mom and Dad may feel sorry for you, but get over it. It's pathetic. You don't even live anymore." I had nothing to say to this, as I did any time she accused me of such. She realized quickly that this time was going to be no different from the other times and left, her spiteful look her only parting words. I sat for a moment, my mind reeling, but blank all the same before I sighed. Pushing my hands down on either side of me I felt the couch sink further, the slick fabric rubbing against my palms, cold from lack of blood circulating from staying still so long. My feet moved sluggishly as I half encouraged them, not truly caring, down the stairs and into the dining room.

The thick curtains, pale yellow with a lighter lining covered in barely-there embossed patter of swirls and abstract flower stem-like designs and hanging perfectly over the wide windows that gleamed dully in their utter cleanliness; the warmly inviting beech flooring, strangely tepid under my feet where the sun reached through the windows and heated it, thrown into a kaleidoscope of shapes as the light danced across the huge gilded mirror hanging above the orate Brazilian cherry hutch. Large bouquets of muted coloured flowers, their petals smooth and all rounded edges, stems gently curving in, resting in scrupulously cleaned crystal vases shining almost but not quite too brightly, complimented the smiling faces of everyone sitting around the large oval table that easily sat eight, twelve if leaves were added; the warm, inviting cream-but-slightly-more-yellow walls, seemed to reach out in an attempt to warm the cheeks of everyone present, encompassing them and the soft billowing contours of the rococo-like shape molding. I saw non of these, really. They were only there as a backdrop, somewhere for my physical body to be. My mind didn't have to be here. Esme came sweeping out of the adjoining kitchen now, though, setting the last of the softly steaming dishes that were cooked to perfection, piled just so on the plates so they rested casually yet were a masterpiece, hours spent lovingly preparing them, meant to be eaten by loved ones, on the table, smiling just as warmly as this room was at me. And I willed my sluggish brain to move my muscles upward into a smile, but it wasn't easy. People smiled because they were happy; no one smiled when they were this; I'm sure that she notice my less than heartfelt expression, but her smile did not waver, she did not call attention to it.

I stepped forward, out of the doorway, and over to one of the three empty chairs. Carlisle sat at the head, Alice on his left and Emmett on his right; Rose was to Emmett's right, and I sat next to her, as far away from Alice and her confrontational ways as possible. At this thought I stole a glance in her direction, thankful when she wasn't looking at me—until I saw her subtly scoot her chair closer to Jasper's, who was on her other side, at which point I quickly turned the other direction. Esme entered my line of vision, taking the seat to my right, across from Carlisle. There was a moment's pause and then, as if on hidden cue, dinner commenced; the table erupted into a sudden flurry, everyone finding something interesting about their day to share with the others, bowls and serving platters passed from hand to hand, plates filling quickly. They all made their way down the line to me, where I only took a small spoonful of each—I wasn't hungry, and hadn't been for some time—before passing them on to Esme.

The volume dropped, but only minimally; they fell into a natural rhythm, asking one another a question—or answering one—and then eating as they listened. I myself was not included in this pattern. As my eyes focused on the warm food adorning my plate, I couldn't help but notice the flowing conversation around me; it was palpable. The swift, warm current gliding from one person to another, deftly weaving around the obstacles resting on the table—and around me. I could easily note where each gentle breath flew by; so close I could taste its sugary sweet residue in the air, smell its saccharine smell. Yet it was utterly un-graspable, unattainable, impossible.

OoOoOoOoOoO

Taptaptaptaptap. The soft, slightly worn down, pink eraser on my pencil tapped rapidly against the too-smooth surface of the desk. The noise sounded hollow and false against the sleek surface. I had been studying for quite some time now—and for a test that wasn't until the Friday of next week; it was was Sunday. The index card in my hand wobbled slightly as I inhaled deeply, my eyes slipping closed as I exhaled; I could smell the sharp, biting scent of lead adorning the card, taste the potent fragrance of a newly opened package of pencils. I knew I wouldn't be able to concentrate any longer on studying tonight; even before the last of the sentence was fully formed in my mind, it was scrambling for purchase, desperately trying to find something to occupy it. I stole a glance at the clock, sighing when I read one oh three. It had not been until four that I had been able to fall asleep the previous night, and I suspected that it would be much the same this night. Begrudgingly, I rose, grabbing my PJ pants and changing before climbing into bed, iPod in hand. I flipped through my playlists until I got to Soft. The music played calmly through the ear buds, and I turned the volume up until it was nearly deafening, overwhelming. I laid on my side, a clear view out the back wall. With the lights out, I could easily see the tall oaks, their enormous branches spreading easily over the entire yard; and farther out, the glassy black top of the river shone brightly in the dark, easily spotted from the dim grass, until it snaked out of sight, twisting backwards into the forest.

My gaze drifter upwards, landing on the bright cream of the moon. I let my vision blur; the image distorted, splitting into two bright white spots. They so closely resembled . . . I had to quickly look away, turning onto my other side before my thought could fully finish. But it was there; I didn't need to think it, it would always be there, waiting in the wings, waiting for any little thing to send it lurching onto center stage.

OoOoOoOoOoO

BPOV

I walked out to the car as fast as I dared on my feet, praying I wouldn't fall. I still felt as though eyes were examining me; picking out every one of my flaws and pointing it out silently to every single person still here. Laughing at my patheticness. I reached my truck, the old, red door squeaking horridly and so loudly that I ducked quickly inside, afraid that people had heard. My eyes slipped closed as my head fell into my hands, and I tried to calm the horrid panic, the swelling terror that washed over me, consumed me whole; my chest was constricting, squeezing the last of my breathe. It reminded me so much of earlier, when I . . . I couldn't even fully form the thought in my mind without my head spinning from lack of oxygen and my eyes beginning to prick.

The pricking in my eyes grounded me for a second, just long enough for me to lunge at the play button on the stereo. The familiar sound of the mix I had burned not two days ago washed over me, banishing the feeling of almost-tears. The music overwhelmed me, drowned me in it; yet, it was slightly different from the feeling before. The sadness was still there—i didn't think it would ever go away—but the rhythmic beatings of the music moved something else inside of me. It was almost pulsating, moving me forward when nothing else was. And in that way, I was able to get home.

Home. I shook my head, realizing my mistake. The little house in forks where I stayed wasn't my home. It was Charlie's, and I wasn't sure it would every truly be mine. I used to have a home in Phoenix, but not anymore; I longed for the comfort of the heated air, Renee's light laughter, the soothing music, and everything else that accompanied the house in Phoenix. But that could never be again as far as I was concerned. I feared I would never have a home except the one in my mind, and that was far to scary a home to wander around in. Oh no, I tried to keep to the farthest corner possible at all times. Only there could I feel okay—as long as I didn't let my thoughts drift, I was alright.

I brought my full attention back to the road in front of me; I had been able to find Newton's fairly easily this morning, but now that darkness was falling Charlie's house was a bit harder to find. Glad to have an escape from terrorizing thoughts, I focused my full attention on the matter at hand, trying to recall the precise turns I had made this morning.

All too soon for my liking I had made it. I noticed that Charlie's cruiser wasn't in the driveway—he must still be at the police station. I pulled my truck into the spot closer to the door and hopped out, slamming the door behind me; it made a squeak and then a metallic thud that resounded in the air around me. It was a low, bass noise, echoing in my ears even after that actual sound had floated away into the darkened forest. I hurried inside, unsettled by the thudding in my ears.

After hanging up my coat in the hall closet and tucking my keys into my jeans pocket—I would bring them upstairs later—I proceeded into the kitchen.

There was a note on the kitchen table from Charlie.

Bella,

Be back around 7, left overs in the fridge.

Charlie

I was well aware or Charlie's lack of cooking skills, so as I opened the fridge and saw the plastic container holding the food, I peered in with caution. It was lazagna, I could tell that much, the the noodles looked as though they would never separate from each other, and the sauce looked a but overly chunky. I decided it would be best to toss it and just start from scratch. I had learned to cook fairly well living with my mom—if possible, she was a worse cook than Charlie.

I went to the cabinets in search of something I could use. I was filled with acute horror upon seeing nothing but cereal, crackers, and some taco shells. I took the taco shells out, and turned to the fridge, hoping it would have the essentials for tacos. Thank goodness it did. With everything out, I set to work.

OoOoOoOoOoO

The sheets were cold against my bare skin and I waited impatiently for my heat to warm them. I shifted around, uncomfortable, before admitting defeat and rising. The cold wood floor assaulted my feet as I debated what to do. I let my eyes wander across the room, only taking in things here and there; the moon and all it's pale glory, the old wood rocker in the corner, the dull metal doorknob. They finally came to rest on the computer; it was an old, decrepit computer, seemingly sagging before me. But it was a computer nonetheless.

I took the two steps over to it, hit the power button and went to turn on the lights—but not before glaring at the loud, chugging, whirling sound emanating from the computer. The monitor glowed brightly, blinding me momentarily before my eyes adjusted to the sudden onslaught created between that and me flicking the light switch.

After waiting the eternity for it to boot up, I logged on and sighed, knowing that what was coming would take even longer. I logged onto the internet—thank heavens Charlie had already set it up for me before I got here, or it would have taken me the rest of the night to figure out how—and began the process of downloading iTunes. The very slow, very loud process. I stood from the chair, walked the few steps to the closet—and further more the suitcase that sat in front of it—and began to dig around, looking for my flashdrive. I wasn't really that much into technology, but I had made sure I knew how to work one of these before I left. I couldn't go without my music. After ages of sitting idling, playing with the small piece of metal and rubber in my hands, the download was finally complete. I completed the installation and, after some hunting, plugged the flashdrive into the USB port. Opening the music folder, began the long procedure of putting them all into iTunes. After that was finally, finally, complete, I popped in one of my blank CDs and began to make one of many more to come CDs.

The bar wasn't moving across the downloading menu, and I was getting frustrated. How long does it take to write songs to a CD!? I rested my head in the palm of my left hand, staring warily at the screen as I counted the seconds it took for the bar to move up one; I hoped I wouldn't get to 1000, but I knew better than to bet on it. By the time I reached 453 I was thoroughly annoyed and finally tired. But as I glanced around the room, my gaze skipping from the clock reading 2:41 to the bed, covers kicked down haphazardly, and back to the computer screen, I knew it didn't work that way. As soon as I got back into bed and I closed my eyes fatigue would once again evade me, slipping slowly from the corners of my eyes until the were no longer heavy. With a sigh I folded my arms on the desktop and rested my head there, blinking warily up at the unmoving monitor.

Would this ever end?

OoOoOoOoOoO

I was roused from my oh-so-wonderful night of sleep by the loud and quite annoying beeping emanating from the tiny clock residing on the bedside table. I picked my head up and blink owlishly for a moment, trying to will my sluggish brain to provide me with the reason why I was here. My head turned and I saw the black screen of the computer directly in front of me, the power button blinking methodically, stating that it was sleeping. It took me a second to remember why I even had the computer on, let alone why I had fallen asleep in front of it, but when I did, I groaned, well aware of the fact that as soon as I moved I would be quite sore. I mechanically rose, shutting of the alarm that had continued to bleat at me throughout my waking up before moving back over to the computer and jerking the mouse back and forth, impatiently waiting for the screen to reload. I ignored the sharp jabs in my shoulders and neck as I moved, convinced if I didn't acknowledge them then they would go away. The box on the screen stated that I needed to put in another CD, I had ran out of room on the old one. I sighed, exasperated by the long process, before putting the new one in, the old one placed haphazardly on the desk. Confirming that I wanted to continue to burn the songs, I turned around and faced my open closet, my eyes quickly running down the white that was no longer as crisp as it had been when it was first painted down to the thin wooden boards, mostly obscured by the two faded and well worn generic black suitcases, sagging as though they couldn't possibly hold anything for one more minute. I flipped open the top of the first, slightly smaller one, and pulled out the top pair of jeans, a simple green scoop neck shirt, and a gray cami.

After taking a quick shower and dressing, I went back to my room. I stole a glance out the window looking down at the driveway—asserting that Charlie and his cruiser weren't present. Turning back around, I lifted out the shirts and jeans—careful not to unfold them—and grabbed a pair of black flats that Renee had insisted on buying for me. After grabbing the burned CDs, taking the stairs one at a time, making sure to keep a tight hold on the railing—there wouldn't be any emergency room visits this morning—I made it into the kitchen. Stumped, I stood there, not really thinking, undecided as to what to do. I wasn't really hungry, but I knew I needed to eat something. Sighing, I grabbed a granola bar from the pantry and headed out, jacket in hand.

The air was biting, cold and windy, slapping me in the face and drying out my eyes. I shivered, but was grateful nonetheless for the frigid temperature awakening me slightly from my haze. I had to yank hard on the handle for the door to open, but once it did I gladly hopped in, relishing the protection from the wind. Turing on the engine, I rummaged around in my messenger bag before producing the CDs that had somehow sunk to the bottom. All three of them were blank, unlabeled; I picked up the top one, not knowing what was on it, and placed it in the player. The methodical piano notes rung out, fogged and muddled through my brain. With a start, I realized I had been staring, listening to the calm tones emanating from the speakers around me. I shook my head at myself, wondering idly why I couldn't just concentrate! Snapping my seatbelt in place I drew my attention back to where I needed to be—school. And if I didn't get going, I wouldn't have sufficient time to get my schedule from the office and find my class.

As I drove, the wind whipped harder at the edges of my truck, blowing noisily, chilling; I turned up the volume on the stereo in attempts to combat it. The words floated across the interior, seeping into my pores and wrapping their thin tendrils of melody and verse around my innards. Even when I made it there, following the steady stream of cars into the back parking lot and shutting off the engine, I could hear the words continue to play, echoing over each other until every song was emanating around my head, a cacophony of sounds ringing in my ears that drowned out all noise, pushed all thought out of my head. As I stepped out, the ground crunching beneath my feet, I looked down, relieved that I could hear that small sound over the dissonance. But as I glanced up, taking in the hoards of people littering the lot, I could hear nothing, their moving lips just a whisper.

A chill racked through my arms, locking them up momentarily; I fought, grabbing my bag from the open door and walking around to the front of the school to the small building housing what I hoped was the office. An older women sat at the desk in front of the door, typing noiselessly. Eyes sweeping across the small enclosure, my feet hesitantly moved forward, fighting against a pull that whispered for me to go back; run, run as fast as you can back to where you're safe. But where was that?

The lady looked up, her questioning eyes quickly changed to ones of understanding. She smiled, her lips moving, but I heard nothing. I willed my ears to open, to hear, tried to make my body move forward to hear her better, but it wouldn't move. Then, across the thickened air came the words, lethargic and drawn out. I had to repeat them in my head twice before I understood: You must be Isabella Swan. We heard you were coming today. From who? Who had they heard from? And who had heard? The answer came sluggishly to my brain then—Charlie. Of course he would have been talking about it; his daughter that he hadn't seen for years, that hadn't visited in over seven, was finally coming here, to Forks.

After realizing this, my brain cleared just the slightest bit; the little bit of space left free from the music not muddled in confusion. It permitted me to speak, my speech soft and a beat too late. "Yes."

"I presume you're hear for your schedule?" Without waiting for an answer, she continued. "It's right here somewhere . . ." she began to rummage around her desk, flipping through the few papers lying there. "Ah, here it is. And a map, though it shouldn't be too hard to find your way about, there aren't many classrooms. Please get this," she handed me yet another paper, "signed by each of your teachers." She also handed me one of those assignment pads that they make you carry everywhere before I nodded my head in thanks and hurried out. I glanced down at my schedule. Math. Oh, what a wonderful way to start the day. I looked up at the buildings around me; they each stood statuesque, calm and cool, separated from each other but a whole. I imagined their frigid, damp brick faces up against my overheated skin; hiding in their depths, away from the crowds the pushed in on me, threatening to collapse me inside them. I fantasized that it would be silent there, the deafening music of sorts no longer in my head, pulling me down, drowning out my every thought, my every breath.

I pulled in an unsteady breathe, stumbling forward on shaken legs. Staring down intently at the schedule, my eyes followed first period's line across to the room number, 23. I breathed in through my nose, the heady smell of wet filling up my air passages; the aging, cold smell of wet brick, crumbing at the edges; the burning smell of wet asphalt; the thick smell of wet dirt, soggy beneath feet; the wet scent of every plant around, the trees, the grass, the shrubs; the smell of the birds, hiding in their nests, desperately fighting to keep their plumage dry. And yet, how funny, it wasn't raining. It was just bitter cold, a damp. Here, in Forks, it never dried out.

The aroma was so heavy that is was a struggle to exhale—it was stuck in there, haunting—to get all of the offending air out of my lungs. Only to have to breathe it back in again. I let my eyes glance upward ever so slightly, looking for the correct building without looking. But I still saw. I blindly walked to the closest building, hoping that it's number wouldn't be far off from that which I needed. I could feel the masses around me, their bodies swirling in unpredictable patterns; their heat overwhelming, their sound unbearable. I stumbled my way through the crowds, I made it to the closest building; it towered overhead, blocking out what little light there was, throwing me into the dark. The copper number above the door hung straight, dulled with age. It read fourteen. I was nine away, but in what direction? I figured my best bet was to the right, and as I moved on, I saw that my assumption was correct. I was nearing my classroom door, thank heavens.

As I staggered my way on, the bedlam in my head grew, drowning out the patter of footfalls, covering up the whistling of the wind through the trees, the soft song of the birds. But it couldn't mask the chatter of people; no, that was still there. As the noise grew, the air swelled in thickness, too. Each breath was harder to draw in than the last. By the time I reached the right door I was lightheaded and it was doing nothing to calm me down enough to drag in a proper breath. I heard the muffled footsteps of someone approaching, felt their presence behind me. Before I had a chance to find out who it was, or whether or not they were heading to this class, I threw open the door. A burst of air pushed its way into my face, making the tendrils of my hair flutter. The classroom was already almost completely full, only a few open seats here and there. I choked, the air stuck in my lungs.

It was then that the teacher—a small, white haired old man with wire rimmed glasses—saw my arrival. He peered curiously over the top of his glasses, looking at me without saying anything, waiting patiently for me to announce myself. I willed myself up to the front of the room, acutely aware of every person that I was turning my back towards. I could hear each level that the volume in the classroom dropped as more and more people quieted to watch my walk. No, go back to your conversations. Nothing to see here. Nothing at all. Ifumbled aroundwith mypapers, knowing each and every pair of eyes that was on me. I finally produced the slip that the secretary had handed me, turning it over to the mumbled something unintelligible as he squinted down at the paper, signing quickly before having read it all. "Well, go take a seat!" he waved his hand at the desks in front of him, and as I attempted to not turn my back on him as I looked around for a seat—at which I failed to do—I thanked the lord that he didn't make me introduce myself. My eyes quickly landed upon a free desk towards that back of the row directly to the right of the row in the middle and I scurried towards it, wishing to no longer be the subject of all the attention in the room—though I knew that I probably still would be, it would just be harder for everyone to stare at me from my seat.

I tried desperately to concentrate, the numbers spinning in unsolvable patterns around my head, taunting me with their simpleness, but the more I tried, the less it all made sense. By then end of the period I had only successfully managed to give myself a migraine. I quickly scrawled the assignment for tonight in my planner before making my way to my next classroom. The beginning of my day passed in much the same manner, punctuated only by the wretchedness of those teachers (of who I was sure I wasn't going to like) that made me introduce myself—at which I stuttered out an embarrassing account of myself: I was from Arizona and moved out here to be with my father, Charlie—before taking my seat and the few students who had the braveness to come up to me—three to be precise. Two boys, one of which was the one that had fallen on me the day before—I shuddered again at the though—and the other I girl who seemed a bit too happy to be true and much too fake. The girl invited me to sit with her and her friends at lunch, but I declined. As soon as I had though, the annoying little voice in my head pointed out that I was going to have to sit somewhere, and now I was probably going to make a fool of myself looking for a seat when I had had a perfectly good invitation that I had turned down. During sixth period English, though—my last class before lunch—the girl sitting next to me, Alice, if I recalled her name correctly, offered me to sit with her at lunch. After a long internal debate—at which she probably thought I wasn't going to answer—I determined I had no other choice, unless to go sit in my truck, which I wasn't eve sure we were allowed to do. Plus, I though, she didn't look nearly as menacing as the other girl had, at least six inches smaller than me—which was a hard thing to do—and was always smiling. I nodded my head in agreement and she squealed in delight.

After English was over, we grabbed our things after going to our lockers and proceeded to the cafeteria. As we drew closer, the bashing noise in my head grew dimmer, only to be replaced by the incessant noises of all the people in lunch, shouting across the room and talking all too loudly. I paused outside the doors as Alice proceeded in, drawing in shallow breaths that did nothing to slow the hammering of my heart. I forced myself to continue, though, when Alice noticed I was no longer with her and turned around, cocking her head slightly at my with a question in her eyes. She said nothing luckily, as I followed her in, the doors swinging shut with a silent bang that sealed me in.

The room wasn't all that different from the cafeteria back in Phoenix, thought I suspected that most cafeterias were alike. There was the cold tile flooring in an ugly off white, speckled with brown and grey flecks in an attempt to cover up the numerous spills and such. The boring cement walls, covered on one side in a large mural of the school's mascot. The circular tables covering the floor, filled with student sitting in hard, slightly uncomfortable, blue plastic chairs. But I also had a feeling that most cafeterias did not instill a sense of intense dread and hopelessness into students—although I was once again, fairly sure I was the only student feeling such in the room. Whose continuous chatter vibrated an entire being with a feeling of indescribable fear.

I was drawn from my musings of the room by Alice as she danced her way over to the lunch line, grabbing a tray for each of us from the cart and handing me one. I did my best to smile my thanks at her. Going down the lunch line, I saw nothing appetizing—or more accurately, I saw nothing that looked as though I could manage to eat it; Alice on the other hand, had piled her tray with food: a turkey sandwich, a salad, both and apple and an orange, and an ice tea. I knew I couldn't come to the cash register with an empty tray, so I grabbed an apple and water before paying and following Alice.

I guess I had started to move in the wrong direction, for Alice lightly grabbed my arm and pulled slightly in the direction she was headed. I tried to suppress my squeak, but she may have heard since she immediately dropped my arm, though she didn't comment. "We're over here." She nodded with her head to the back of the room. I nodded at her and followed, though I slowed when I saw the table she was headed towards. Around the circular table there was gathered four people, three boys and one girl. I recognized one as the guy that had offered me his hand the day before at work. The other three were wholly unfamiliar; one was a tall blonde, who's gentle blue eye did nothing to distract me from the muscles that could clearly be seen on his arms. Another, who looked to be related to the blonde, being blonde herself with the same angular face, had ice blue eyes that glared menacingly at me, but did nothing to distract me from her utmost beauty that seemed to mock me. My attention was drawn to the last boy as I saw a movement out of the corner of my eye. As I turned my focus to him, I saw him getting up and heading for us. I shrunk backwards as much as possible; he had muscles that looked fit for a professional wrestler, not a high schooler, and appeared as though he could break me in half without even trying. He came up to us and ruffled Alice's hair, at which she glared at him before he smiled, dimples appearing in his face, and turned to me. I took a stumbling half step backwards, but my failed attempt to escape didn't seem to be noticed. His smile grew wider and he moved in with his arms outstretched. My breath caught in my throat and I could feel a pricking in my eyes. What was he doing!? And where was Alice!?

He must have noticed something was wrong, for he stopped and dropped his arms. "Hey, you OK?" His voice rumbled in his chest, and I shuddered. It sounded like a voice I knew all too well. I nodded my head minuscule before hurrying past him to take the only remaining seat next to Alice—who was smiling at the blonde boy seated to her left. After I drew in a shaky breath, allowing oxygen back into my brain, I realized that the muscular boy—well, he wasn't really a boy—probably was only going to hug me. Why he was going to hug me, I had no idea, but I did know that I had overreacted. Alice gave the boy she was sitting next to a peck on the cheek before turning to me.

"Bella, this," she gestured to the blonde haired boy, "is my boyfriend Jasper; that's his sister Rosalie," she pointed towards the painfully beautiful blonde that was still glaring at me that sat across from Jasper. She gestured next towards the boy from work, "this is Edward, my brother and that," she pointed to the muscular boy that was sitting down next to me. I drew in a shaky breath and willed myself to sit still, "is Emmett, Rosalie's boyfriend." He smiled at me and it was all I could do not to run. "Everyone, this is Bella."

For a moment there was silence, before Jasper spoke up, "So, Bella, why did you move out here in the middle of the school year?"

"To spend time with Charlie," I lied. He didn't comment on the peculiarity of that, why I would move somewhere in the middle of the year just to see my father. After a few more seemingly appropriate yet unanswerable questions, everyone turned their attention back towards each other and their lunches. I tried to inconspicuously scoot my chair closer to Alice without anyone noticing. I took a few bites out of my apple but it was all I could do not the gag; the few pieces stuck in my throat and tasted more like sandpaper than food. I set it back down on the tray and took to spinning my water bottle cap around, trying desperately not to notice all of the people around me.

That was a difficult task, though, being as I was sitting with five of them, their happy chatter wafting over at me, laughing in my face at how easy it was for them. Once or twice I eve looked, up, almost as if to make a comment on something they were saying, but then I saw someone glance over at me, their eyes questioning, and I chickened out.

At last, the period was over and, after a quick goodbye to Alice, I rushed out of the room as fast as I could whilst still avoiding the masses of people streaming out through the only door in and out of the room. I looked down at my schedule at noted that I had biology next in room 16. Before I had a chance to look back up, I tripped over my own two feet, stumbling forward and greeting the floor with my hands, soon followed by my face. I groaned and rolled over, staring up at the ceiling in the near deserted hallway. Just as I was about to get up. Edward walked by, stopping for a moment to look down at me—well, more like glare at me. I shrunk back from his gaze, willing him to move on. And he did.

After recovering and removing my self from the floor, I strode as fast as I dared to biology—I had managed to become late—without putting myself at risk for another trip to the floor. As I walked, I thought. What had I ever done to him!? Nothing, that's what. Nothing to deserve his glares. Arrogant jerk. I made it to the door to the biology room and forced myself in before the bell rang. The teacher look up at me expectantly. Walking up to the front—I was getting a bit better at it after six periods of the same thing—I handed him my slip which he signed and pointed to the only open seat in the room. Right next to Edward. Who happened to still be glaring at me. I stood, stuck in my position in the front of the classroom. The teacher, Mr. Banner, coughed. I shook, willing my feet forward. All of my anger towards Edward was gone, replaced by fear. And now I had to go sit next to him. Great.

I began my walk of death down the aisle, everyone turning to stare at me as they had been doing all day. But, for once, I was not concentrated on them, but that of which awaited me at then end. A glaring, very angry looking Edward. Someone I knew nothing of other than he was related to Alice. Someone who I could not assure myself would do nothing. Someone who was entirely unfamiliar. With shaking breathes and wobbling legs I at last reached my seat; pulling out the stool and bringing it to the farthest edge of the table we shared, I sat.

Throughout the whole period, I sat stock still in my seat, willing the painful glare that I could feel intensely boring into my side to go away; wishing to become nonexistent. It never let up though; if anything, it became more intensified as the seconds on the clock slowly turned into minutes. At last, the bell rang and Edward rushed out of the classroom fast than I did. I made haste in getting to my locker and depositing the books I didn't need tonight before making my way out to the parking lot and driving home. During the drive, I made a mental list of things I needed to get at the grocery store—I wasn't going to deal with Charlie's less than adequately stocked cabinets—before preparing myself for the same monotonously sleepless night that was sure to come, as it always did.

So. There you have it. Chapter one up. And after nearly six months, might I add (yes, you read that right. SIX MONTHS!) I apologize for the choppy ending, I don't feel I did it justice. But, I can't seem to get it right no matter what, so I figured it was best to just post than sit around for another two months trying to get it right. I do ask of you to review, constructive criticism is always wanted. (Though I wouldn't suggest requesting I update, for as much as I really want to, I can seem to speed up my writing process. It takes a very long, very painful time) So tell me what you think. And whatever is up with Edward and Bella!? Sorry to say, you're not going to find out for a good deal of chapters. Thought you're always welcome to guess. But I don't think any of you are going to come up with the right answers . . .