Let us start with a short story about Bella. It's kind of dark and all sorts of twisted, but hey, they don't call me Psycho because I like to take Hershey's syrup into the shower with me and pretend I'm in a Hitchcock.
I've made some changes to this since originally publishing it back in June, so even if you've read it before it might not hurt to read it again. I think it flows a bit nicer now :)
And, like always, the characters are SMeyer's, I just like to fuck with their heads… and their lives :3
Bella groaned, blinking rapidly to restore moisture to her large brown eyes. She had zoned out again, staring blankly at some infomercial about some product that claimed it would change the way she felt about cleaning—a highly unlikely event considering the fact that when she was in the mood, her cleaning tendencies borderlined OCD-like. There was no such thing as "too clean" to Bella when the clean switch in her mind was flipped on. Fortunately for the sponges and the mop, tonight the clean switch was securely flipped down to the off position.
Reaching out across the threadbare carpet from where she lay draped across a hand-me-down sofa, Bella finger-walked her hand up the edge of the remote until she could get a decent grasp on it and muted the TV. The unusually extreme summer heat was making it impossible to sleep, but without cable there was nothing on air at one o'clock in the morning on a Thursday to grab her attention and hold it for any amount of time. If Rose were there entertainment wouldn't be a problem; there had always been something amazing and fun going on when Rose was around. The woman oozed adventure and excitement wherever she went, that's why Bella loved living with her so much. But the halls and rooms of Casa de Hale-Swan had been quiet and empty for a week now; no more laughter, no more squeals of devilish delight, no more banter, no more clinking of bottles and glasses, no more delicate tinkling of razor on glass. Bella couldn't even bring herself to turn on the stereo; every song she owned reminded her of Rose.
Squirming into a slightly different position more out of boredom than lack of comfort, Bella unhooked her right calf from the back of the sofa and reached out with her toes to adjust the small vent on the front of her equally small air conditioning unit that was wedged into the front window so that the cool air blew down between her thighs and across her bare stomach. With her head hanging upside-down off the front of the couch, her thick, chocolate hair cascading down to the floor in sweaty puddles, she tracked a fly as it meandered across the ceiling; the last remaining soldier from when she had the windows wide open the previous weekend, enjoying the more bearable summer days and cool, breezy nights. Tonight was nowhere near as pleasant, the air hot, greasy and stale like an old slice of cheese left out and forgotten in hell.
Thinking of cheese, she savored a few more seconds of the cool, dry, air-conditioned air blowing over her lower body before kicking her legs out over her head and tumbling ungracefully to the floor; her knee landing on the remote, simultaneously unmuting it and changing it to the 24-hour public service channel. She sauntered around the couch into the closet of a kitchen, her thin cotton camisole and matching panties stuck to her breasts and butt with sweat; ignoring the fact that the cheery elevator orchestra music coming from the TV clashed with the bright red letters that spelled out the word DANGEROUS above a shoddy police sketch of some guy while words scrolled out his crimes underneath it. Humming randomly along with the music, something on the breakfast counter caught her eye as she walked past it and she scooped it up with her finger, then popping her finger into her mouth and rubbing it on her gums she yanked open the freezer. Cheese was a dairy, and so was ice cream, and even though she didn't actually have any ice cream in her freezer, it was still gloriously cold inside of it.
Moaning in earnest, Bella leaned into the freezer until she was practically lying in it and using a six month-old Lean Cuisine as a pillow. The layer of sweat coating her skin cooled rapidly, sending a pleasant chill up her spine and causing her nipples to harden instantly around their piercings and shoot off a faint twinge down to her gut. Her hips twitched as she surveyed the freezer. Aside from the frost-coated microwave dinner and the near-empty ice tray, the only other occupant was a half-empty fifth of cheap Russian vodka—a parting gift she smuggled from Monday's one night stand in hopes that she could drink away the horrible night of sex that she had drunkenly talked herself into.
It never would have happened if Rose was still around, she thought bitterly. Stupid, selfish bitch… you had everything, but it still wasn't enough, was it? Had to go and snort it all away then leave the rest of us behind to clean up your mess empty handed. Bella laughed a single, sharp laugh as she stood up and draped an arm over the freezer door. Not like I would have listened to you, anyway, it was Martini Monday and you and I both know that what Martini Bella wants, Martini Bella gets...
"Ah, hell… here's to you, cunt," Bella mumbled, unscrewing the cap off the vodka and taking a large swig. God damn it, but cocaine was a hell of a drug. Bella sighed and stared unseeing into the back of the freezer for a few moments before taking another long pull and putting the vodka back.
"Oh, Jesus that's crap." Coughing through the wicked aftershock of vapors, the clock on the stove caught her eye and a smirk played at her lips.
Though she was only ten minutes stumbling time from a ritzy little downtown area—quaintly dubbed 'The Village'—where anyone who was anyone went to drink and party away the night, you wouldn't know it by the looks of her street. Where predictably adorable picket fences and perfectly trimmed hedges lined the newly sprouted modern-contemporary townhouses that immediately surrounded the little downtown area, in Bella's neck of the woods there were only cyclone fences and clumps of overgrown crab grasses separating the yards of the worn-out, run down baby-boomer-era houses-turned-drug-labs. Instead of decorative shutters it was plywood and police tape, instead of brick alleys and cobblestone crosswalks her street was an asphalt patchwork quilt of shoddy street repairs and sidewalks with slabs of cement so busted up they made Homeless Hank's six remaining teeth look Hollywood perfect. The most perfectly typical part of it all, however, was that the only thing separating the Hip and the Now from the Old and Pathetic were two sets of abandoned railroad tracks.
Two and a half blocks down the Little Street That Couldn't was Garden Grove; a grouping of small duplexes that had been renovated into apartments. Sparkling like a cubic zirconia in a pile of shattered beer bottles and just as cheap, they were the cause for many a Saturday night drunken rendition of 'One of These Things is not Like the Other' between Bella and Rose as they swerved their way home from the bars and clubs. Carlisle and Esme Cullen, owners of Garden Grove, swore with all their might that the surrounding neighborhood used to be beautiful and prosperous just like The Village; everyone knew everyone else, every weekend there was an impromptu neighborhood party and there was never any reason to lock your doors at night or fear walking down the street by yourself at any time of the day. It once was a regular real-life Norman Rockwell painting, and because of what it used to be, every day without fail you could find Esme puttering around in her perfectly planned gardens and Carlisle repairing or repainting or trimming something. In all truth it was nice to know that her landlords cared so much and took such pride in their property, unlike anyone else that owned property on Hawthorne Boulevard, it was just frustratingly sad to see them living in such blissful ignorance.
Oblivious to the real world or not, Carlisle's lawn care savvy was what made it possible for Bella to partake in her favorite late-night summer activity without fear of getting muddy or stepping on a broken bottle or used hypodermic needle. Like a combination of waking up too early as a kid on Christmas morning to see what Santa left and hearing the faint yet tell-tale chimes of the ice cream man three blocks away on a mid-summer evening, sprinkler jumping in the middle of a scorching night always managed to help Bella forget her woes—for at least the ten minutes a night they were on.
It was a much more fun activity with Rose, but Bella couldn't deny how good the sprinklers felt once the sun-heated ground water pushed through the pipes allowing the much colder city water to rain down around her. Her head swirling from her countertop find and large swallows of vodka, she dropped the bottle and a fresh pack of cloves in the grass and gave the merry-go-round a hearty spin before jumping on, squealing as her hands slipped and the momentum threatened to throw her from the toy before she was finally able to brace herself with her thighs and throw her hands in the air and toss her head back as she spun through the jets of water crisscrossing the yard.
The world twisted around her in a smear of lights and sounds. Harsh lights were blurred into smooth rings of yellow, white, and pink. The noises of the world; squealing tires, horns, loud car stereos blasting rap music, fighting cats, barking dogs, neighbors screaming at each other; were all drown out by the wind blowing past her ears and the sound of her own child-like laughter.
For three whole minutes Bella was free and at peace.
As the merry-go-round slowed and finally came to a stop so did her high. They were always so short-lived anymore, She missed the good old' days when time felt like it was slowing to barely a crawl and the highs lasted forever. She was invincible then; she could do anything, or get anyone to do it for her, and everything she knew she learned from Rose. Before Rose, Bella was just a sad, shy, frumpy girl, but Rose saw potential in her: all it took was a little cocaine to cut her appetite and drop some weight, a new hairstyle, a bit of makeup, a sexy new wardrobe and some crash-courses in dealing with men and Rose had turned her into the confident, fierce vixen she was now. Rose never steered her wrong and always had her back. The two of them were a force to be reckoned with, the kind of duo that everyone wanted to be and to be with. She owed her all to Rose.
Putting a foot over the edge she scooted the merry-go-round around half a circuit to get back to her things. Attempting to focus on the ground made it apparent that the vodka, while cheap, was definitely strong and a steady buzz was eagerly filling the void left behind by the loss of her high. The kid in her was making itself evident as well and though she intended on jumping off and dropping into a sitting position on the edge of the old aluminum carousel, the vodka buzz and wet grass had a different idea as her feet slipped out from under her and her ass slapped loudly against the drenched metal. Numb, the only thing she could do was to laugh and take the bottle being handed to her.
Halfway through her second chug she paused, realizing what was wrong with the situation. She slowly lowered the bottle to eye the face and body attached to the hand that had passed her the bottle of cheap Russian vodka she had brought from her freezer.
Water rained down around them glittering silver, gold and bronze in the ambient light of the moon and nearby streetlamps and flood lights as she stared at the unfamiliar but not at all unattractive face. Thick, coarse, pale blonde hair hung damply around a weather worn face and rested on the broad, glistening shoulders that held it. Sun-bleached sideburns trailed down into three day-old scruff and dispersed across a hard, square jaw. Equally sun-bleached eyebrows shaded already dark, sunken, steel-grey eyes—sharp eyes, intense eyes, with a glint that made you flinch and look again, unsure if what you saw was your own eyes playing tricks or if there really was something dark and sinister hidden behind the childishly friendly crinkles that hugged the outer corners. A thinly braided leather thong circled a long, lean neck and held in place a small metal box-shaped locket while a white wife beater clung, nearly transparent from the water, to a defined chest and abdomen and long black board shorts hid most everything else in deep shadows. He wasn't her type at all but there was no denying the high quality of the specimen squatting in the wet grass in front of her. She swallowed the remaining mouthful of vodka and the alcohol burned away the nagging feeling of recognition that was trying to take hold in her brain.
"Who the fuck'er you?" Bella asked accusingly.
"James," he replied simply, a grin lifting the corner of his mouth and crinkling his eyes as though they were sharing some inside joke. "Who the fuck are you?"
He held her eyes firmly in his instead of letting them roam across her soaking wet body like she expected him to. Her thin cotton camisole and panties, now thoroughly drenched, left absolutely nothing to the imagination but she felt no embarrassment or shame from her appearance and made no attempt to cover herself. Her hips twitched again.
"Bella," she replied just as simply, gesturing toward him with the bottle in offering.
"I'm good," James said waving slightly.
"More for me." Shrugging Bella took another swig, unable to avoid making a sour face as she accidentally inhaled the after-vapors instead of exhaling them.
"You should take it easy with that," James cautioned reaching for the bottle with the cap.
"Fuck off. Yer not my fuckin' father," Bella spat but took the lid from him and closed the bottle anyway. "You just move in or something? I haven't seen you around here before."
"Just passing through really, couldn't help notice you sprinkler jumping by yourself and thought you might want some company." He smiled again, a shy, disarming smile that Bella couldn't help but return.
"Usually Rose is out here with me… my roommate. She OD'd last week," she added in answer to his questioning look.
"I'm so sorry to hear."
"Eh…" Bella shrugged again, "shit happens," she stated matter-of-factly and as if on cue to emphasize her statement the sprinklers cut off. "Case in point."
Picking the fresh pack of cloves up, James shook the water droplets from the cellophane wrapping before peeling it off then pulled out and lit two of the cigarettes and handed one to Bella.
"Mm, grassy-ass."
"Speaking of… mind if I join you there?" Bella raised her eyebrows at James and nodded at the space next to her in invitation.
"I haven't had a Djarum in forever, I didn't know anyone still smoked these," James said as he sat on the merry-go-round and turned to face her.
"Just old men and classy bitches," Bella flopped back to lay down and ended up smacking her head on the center pole. "Mother fucker!" she hissed as she readjusted and tried again.
James burst out laughing. "Classy."
Recovering quickly she took a drag of her clove and blew out a perfectly formed smoke ring. "Absolutely, you're looking at the classiest bitch alive, damnit."
James moved to lean back on his elbow next to Bella's side, "Impressive tongue work."
Ducking under the crossbar to lean over her, James looked down on Bella with heavy eyes as he reached over and brushed a tendril of damp hair off her forehead, careful not to burn her with the lit end of his clove. Bella lay limply under his gaze, her body heavy and distant feeling. Even though the sprinklers had stopped and she no longer had to constantly blink water out of her eyes everything still retained a hazy, ethereal glow. James' hair tumbled forward from its tucked position behind his ears and the nearly full moon backlit it, lending it a halo effect. She smiled drunkenly as she let her hand drop above her head, her clove sizzling in a puddle of water on the warped slab of aluminum. James leaned in even closer and Bella felt her chin reflexively tilting up toward his. Squinting slightly, he studied her face intently before pinning the end of his clove between his lips and ever so gently picked something off of her cheekbone.
"Eyelash," he mumbled around the spiced filter of the Djarum as he looked closely at his fingertips, "better make a wish." Then with expert precision he blindly flipped open his locket box and deposited the small hair into it.
Bella tried to feel disturbed by the latter part of the gesture but realized she couldn't feel much of anything at all, emotionally or physically. It was almost like an out of body experience; she was aware of what was going on but had no control of herself or anything that was happening around her. It was also a feeling she was accustomed to and like all the other times she got rag-doll drunk she simply relaxed into it—freaking out wouldn't do her any good and only land her with a panic attack and the need to vomit uncontrollably. She didn't usually get rag-doll drunk so quickly, but she hadn't eaten at all that day and was probably even somewhat dehydrated so it really wasn't inconceivable.
Taking the clove from his mouth James returned his attention to Bella, eyeing her closely, finally letting his eyes feast on her nearly naked body. He noted the glazed, slightly out of focus look in her eyes, how her thin, bony body laid on the merry-go-round like a wet towel, the way she seemed aware of her inebriated, revealing, and vulnerable condition yet wasn't the least distressed about it. He found the last part intriguing and a smile returned to his lips, but it was much darker and more calculating this time, the opposite of his last. Leaning in close once again, he brushed her cheek with his nose and then used the tip of his tongue to catch a bead of sweat forming at her temple before moving his mouth down to her ear.
"Bella, Bella, Bella…" he breathed, delight and amusement apparent in his tone as his lips and breath tickled her earlobe. "Mmm, I think we had better get you inside."
Again the night whirled about her and ribbons of light danced past her eyes as James gently scooped her into his arms and walked back to her apartment. Inside, cheery elevator orchestra music filled her ears and head, replacing the barking dogs and bass-heavy rap music blasting from a nearby car.
"Heyyy… S'my song…" she slurred rolling her face back and away from his shoulder to catch a glimpse of the television, still on the public service station. Bold red letters above a shoddy police sketch flashed onto the screen once more; a man with shoulder-length hair, a slight beard, a unique black necklace and piercingly intense eyes. As the TV screen disappeared behind the hallway wall a small alarm went off in a distant corner of Bella's mind. She giggled at it and her hips twitched against his abdomen.
Struggling to focus on James' face as he gently laid her on her bed she licked her lips with a thick, dry tongue and let her knees fall open, fully exposing herself.
"You're bad," the words came out as a harsh croak as she struggled to make her mouth cooperate with her mind.
"Oh? Says who?" James's amused voice whispered from the doorway.
A noise like half a giggle gurgled out of Bella's throat as blackness crept into her vision and her head swam. She tried moving but her arms and legs felt heavy, too heavy, like she was buried in the sand. Right before the blackness completely claimed her vision, her eyes focused once again on James as he stood at the foot of her bed; a triumphant smile on his face and the large blade from Rose's knife block in his hand. Confused and uncomprehending, she squeaked pathetically and he closed his eyes, savoring the sound.
"Bella, Bella, Bella…" James' voice danced lightly to her ears as she slipped into unconsciousness.
Bella came-to slowly, grunting as high-pitched laughter pierced her eardrums. She shifted slightly and felt resistance, as if she were tied down. Through a foggy haze James' face—his steel eyes and his flirty, dangerous smile—flashed in her mind and she smiled lazily, her hips twitching. Her final vision of him standing at the foot of her bed holding the large carving knife from the kitchen flickered through a train of naughty thoughts and she bolted upright into a sitting position, her breath hitched in her throat and her eyes wide open and staring into the chaos of her closet as if he were hiding inside. Disentangling herself from her sheets she quickly felt the entirety of her body and though she found no injuries, from head to foot she was covered in something slick and wet. Inspecting her hands closely by the faint kitchen light coming down the hall into her room she expected to see them covered in blood, but they were clean. Confused and disoriented, she twisted around in her bed, flipping to her knees to inspect her sheets and found that they, too, were blood-free. The dampness she felt everywhere was simply gross amounts of sweat.
The peal of laughter came again and Bella's head snapped around to her bedroom door.
"Rose…" she said as the realization that it had all just been an extremely vivid dream settled around her, "Rose! Rose!"
Leaping from her bed out her bedroom door she lost her footing and crashed against the wall on the other side of the hallway. "Rose!" she laughed righting herself, pushing sweaty clumps of hair back out of her face, and bounded down the hallway into the living room not caring that she was only wearing a bra and panties.
"Oh my fucking God, what, woman? What, what, what?" Rose screeched and laughed from her spot on the far end of the couch, her golden-wheat colored hair piled sloppily on top of her head leaving her long neck bare for the small air conditioner to blow cool air across it, her dainty, perfectly pedicured feet resting in the lap of her current boy-toy as he rubbed them. He looked like an all-American football player that still slept with his favorite teddy bear at night.
"You're alright!"
"Oh I'm better than fucking 'alright'… What the hell's your damage, girl?"
"I… I had a dream…"
"A dream…" Picking up a small glass pipe from the floor next to her, Rose arched one of her expertly sculpted eyebrows at Bella.
"Yeah, a dream, a really fucking insane, really fucking vivid one: You were dead and I was bummed out so I went sprinkler jumping with a bottle of vodka I had stolen from some douche I slept with earlier in the week and when the merry-go-round got done spinning there was a guy—"
"Was he hot?" Rose asked holding a large breath of smoke in her lungs then holding the pipe out for Bella.
"The douche or the guy?" Bella walked over to take the pipe.
Leaning forward Rose exhaled the smoke into her boy-toy's mouth then snorted. "The guy of course, douches are never hot."
"California surfer gorgeous—so not my type, but hot's hot, right? And fuck was I lonely. But he spiked my vodka and took one of my eyelashes and then killed me, Rose. James fucking raped me with the butcher's knife and fucking killed me!" Stirring the bud to find a green spot to light, Bella took a long hit.
"Who the fuck is James?"
"Gorgeous California Surfer Guy," Bella said as she exhaled.
"Mother fucking typical… if they're gorgeous but not gay, they're psychopathic… You watched him rape you with a big fucking knife in your dream? Jesus Christ, you are damaged in the head."
"What? No, no… fuck no. At least, I don't think so. I think I woke up before it got to that part, but when I woke up I just knew that that's what happened… I just knew in my gut that's what he did to me…."
There was a lull in the conversation as their thoughts drifted randomly and Rose adjusted her position so that her boy-toy could reach her calves better.
"So… I was dead?" Rose asked with a curious but slightly hurt tone to her voice.
"Yeah… fucking cocaine overdose," Bella answered in anticipation of Rose's next question. "It really wasn't very pretty."
"Bummer… Oh hey though, while you're just fucking standing there, make yourself useful and grab Her off the counter, will ya?"
"Absolutely," Bella said, picking the glass serving tray up from the breakfast counter and carefully carrying it into the living room where she settled cross-legged on the floor in front of the sofa. Rose moved from her spot to join Bella on the floor and began cutting and doling out lines for the three of them with a swift, expert hand.
From the couch, Rose's boy-toy opened and closed his mouth a few times like a fish out of water, his brow furrowed in heavy thought. Finally he turned a pair of sad, blue, puppy-dog eyes towards Rose.
"I'm not gay or a psychopath, you know…"
"Shut the fuck up and get down here, Emmett, if you want either of these," Rose said, gesturing between herself and the tray. "Classy bitches first!" she exclaimed setting down the razor and bending forward.
After the three of them finished Emmett leaned back against the couch and stared up at the ceiling, a sloppy grin on his face, while Bella and Rose collapsed onto the floor in a giggling tangle of scantily clad limbs.
"I still can't believe that fucking dream you had… you and your crazy-ass, over-active imagination… typical!" Rose cried then burst out laughing again.
"I know, right?" Bella laughed, sighed then laughed again. "Do me a favor, would you, Rose?"
"Anything for you, bitch."
"Don't you ever fucking OD on me like that again, capisce?"
Rose made crisscrossing motions over her chest. "Cross my heart."
Bella turned her head to the side to look at her best friend. "Love you, bitch."
Turning her head as well, Rose looked at Bella, "Aw, I love you, too, cunt. But if you don't stop stealing my favorite bra, I'm gonna have to go all Gorgeous California Surf—ugh, what was his name again?"
"James," Bella answered grinning.
"I'm gonna have to go all James on your ass if you don't stop stealing my favorite bra!"
Quick as a snake, Rose grabbed the front of the bra Bella was wearing, pulled it out and let it snap back against her cleavage. Bella squealed in response as she rolled over and began wrestling with Rose. Emmett lifted his head from the couch to see what all the commotion was about and grinned largely at the sight in front of him.
"Nice."
Amidst their wrestling, Bella and Rose rolled across the remote, turning the TV on. In the background, drowned out by shouts and squeals of laughter, cheery elevator orchestra music played as bold, bright red letters spelled out the word DANGEROUS above a shoddy police sketch of a man with shoulder-length hair, a slight beard, a unique black necklace and piercingly intense eyes while a list of his crimes scrolled across the screen underneath it.