A/N: Hello! I've finally plucked up the courage to put this new fic on fanfiction.
A couple of things:
1)This fic will be mainly told from BPOV. Although, I may try and fit some EPOV chapters in, if the story goes to plan.
2)The story will be told in the time-frame that this chapter is in. The prologue is set in modern-day.
3)I'm so excited about this, so please enjoy, and tell me what you think!
What happens when your reason for existing, your light in the darkness, doesn't want you anymore?
Nothing. That's what happens. Since he left, my life has been hollow. Empty. Nothing.
I figured after six years that the pain would dissipate; that I would be able to feel again. No such luck. There's a bitter side of my brain that expected this. 'Too good for you' she sneers, and now, I'm starting to believe it. Edward Anthony Cullen. My best friend, my soul mate... I could go on. After six years everyone expects me to get over him. But no one truly understands. Ignorant fuckers.
Charlie, my futile and unexpressive father, believes I should have started living my life by now...
"You're 23! For God's sake, Isabella, pull yourself together. Why waste your life because he left?"
I can almost hear his constant remarks now, here in the isolated back garden of the Cullen home. Home? A home is something you belong to. And Edward obviously doesn't feel like he belongs back here.
I come here about three times a week. Sad, really. Yeah. I don't give a fuck. Let me fuck my own life up if I want to.
I still live at home with Charlie, paying rent to him through feeding his fucking stomach. Living at home, at the age of 22... All of my 'friends' now have life partners, or children in their bellies. They have stable, secure jobs, and a home of their own. The only thing that I truly own is myself. My mind. And the closest thing to a job that I have is the small income that I receive writing poetry for the Seattle Times newspaper. I write pointless, depressive, waste-of-time, verses. They get me nowhere, but I earn money for my feelings, so why the fuck not.
I pick myself up off the damp, green grass, looking up at the huge, white house and admiring it's splendour. The Cullens still technically own it, so it has been sitting unoccupied for six years. Of course, the Cullens can afford owning such a large house. Carlisle, Edward's strict, Republican father, works in politics, doing God-knows-what. Some boring job that nobody cares less about. He was the reason Edward 'had to' move, and I guess the reason why he never got in contact, and forgot it all. I guess I could blame it all on him. Look what you've done to me. But having someone to blame does not take away the problems.
I need to stop coming here. I tell myself, as I take myself back to my decaying, orange, battle hero of a truck – the one thing that has actually remained intact these past six years. I jump in, turning up the air conditioning on full, and welcoming the artificial breeze. It's September, why isn't it fucking raining already? I vehemently murmur inside my head.
Forks in Washington, is virtually a rain cloud. No matter what month, you can bet your ass that you're going to get pissed on by rain. The heat today was unwelcomed; I wanted the weather to reflect how I was feeling, rather than pose as a cruel mockery.
I checked my watch – 6:30pm. I was early, but what would it matter. I wrenched the truck into gear, and drove until I entered the small Quileute reservation that I had become so accustomed to. The place was steeped in history; the Quileutes were a tribe that were sort of stuck in the past, but I respected them for it. Anyway, the closest thing I could call a friend, a companion, a buddy, whatever - was part of the Quileute tribe.
"Oh, who am I kidding..." I spoke out loud.
Jacob Black. He wasn't my friend, he was a booty call. I've known him all my life, but any chance of friendship dissipated when I chose to become a recluse. Now, he was probably the only person crazy enough to scratch my itch. He was sporty, fun, often spontaneous. A perfect boyfriend, but not for me.
As I pulled up to his small, red house, I noticed something. It chilled me to the bone, and I could feel the tears slipping down my cheek. Today was September 13th 2008. My birthday. I had grown a year older without realising it. Suddenly 23 years seemed a shocking amount.
I wrenched the rusty door open, sending flecks of faded orange paint flying. Keep calm. Keep calm. I can do this. I tell myself this every single time I appear at Jake's door. Somehow it feels like I am selling my soul, wasting my life, ruining my chances. Yet I knew happiness wasn't on the agenda for me. Not anymore.
Jacob opened the door before I had the chance to knock. "Hey beautiful." His deep voice was soothing... attractive. He tugged on my hand, leading me inside.
The sitting room was small; the flat screen TV took up one whole side of the room, and there was only enough room left to fit a couch and a coffee table in. Two glasses of wine had been poured, and I took a glass. I raised the dark liquid to my lips, relishing in its sweet yet bitter taste. I downed the glass in one mouthful.
Jacob's handsome face looked amused. I guess he was sort of handsome. He had cropped jet black hair, warm brown eyes, a ridiculously muscular body, and russet coloured skin...Which left me to ask myself why he was single. Who cares...She was winning again. The bitter side of my brain.
"Eager, are we?" Jacob asked with a chuckle, and a suggestive grin.
"I guess. It's been a hard day." It had. But for different reasons...
"This is for you." Jacob spoke alluringly, holding a small wrapped box out to me. He winked.
A gift... Not even Charlie, my own father, had bought me a gift today. He respected my wishes not to acknowledge this day.
"Jacob, what is this?" I asked bluntly, crossing my arms over my chest. I told him one year ago, when we first slept together... "I want no strings attached, no bullshit, and no romance." This is exactly what I would call bullshitty-romance-gift giving.
He sighed, his face becoming irritated, as he dropped the gift onto the couch, and took his glass of wine. He was over a year younger than me, 21, yet he was mature beyond his years. His eyes were full of wisdom, I guess.
"Okay." He finished his glass of wine, taking my glass from my hand, and then retreated to the kitchen. "But one day you'll stop shutting me out, Swan, I just know it." I laughed bitterly, louder than intended, which caused him to re-enter the room.
He came to stand an inch in front of me. I could feel his warm breath on mine, causing my skin to tingle. "Just sex?" He whispered to me.
"Uh huh..." I sighed, licking my lips.
Jacob leant in, his lips coming dangerously close to mine. "Happy Birthday, Isabella." His lips came crashing down to mine, and his tongue attacked mine with haste. Several things happened at once.
Mentally, I was awakening. Memories came flooding back – soft lips, slightly cold, bronze hair, pallid skin, tender kisses, soft caresses, ghostly laughter, a mouth-watering scent, jade green eyes, piercing my soul...Edward...
"NO!" I screamed, physically pushing him back. "What the FUCK, Jacob? I told you. Never kiss me. Do you realise what you've just done?" I kept pounding his firm chest with my fist. "You've ruined it! Jesus...! I fucking thought you understood! You know what? We're done here." Tears were threatening to spill down my face. I ran to the door, wrenching it open, and ran down to my truck. He's ruined it...He's ruined it...
I was still in a state of panic. Panic, and disgust. Disgust and pain. I drove and drove until I felt completely helpless. Finally, I came to a deserted road, and pulled up to the side, gasping for breath.
I was breaking down. And he was everywhere. I could remember the decibels of his voice, his smell, his taste... Tears were relentlessly cascading down my red cheeks now, and hysterical sobs were erupting from my chest. 'Happy fucking Birthday' the bitter bitch sneered.
I was 23. I was probably half schizophrenic by now, and I was selling my soul on a day to day basis as I lived a life of nothingness. I'm a fucking joke. I bet people would pay to see me fuck up my life, it's that fucking hilarious.
From nowhere, a line from one of my poems arose out of my inner turmoil. It was the first poem I wrote after Edward left. I heard him, soft and delicate, Edward's voice quoting it...
"Defenceless, broken, yet ignorance is bliss,
I would kill for a chance of not knowing what I miss."
Blackness overtook me, and I was drowning in self-sorrow.
So, what did you all think?
Remember to REVIEW. Tell me your thoughts.
-Luce xo