It started out as fun and games. That's how everything starts out, really. Just a happy-go-lucky life, going round every turn without a care in the world. Moving to Los Angeles, that was on a dare. I know, right? A dare. Ridiculous, when I think back on it. Ridiculous because I know now exactly how that tiny little dare would end up changing my life forever.
*
I didn't dislike small-town life. I lived in Forks for ages, it seemed. My mother left when I was really little. Too little for me to remember, for me to care. Besides, I loved my father, Charlie. He was always there for me; perhaps even in times I didn't want or need him to be. I guess that was just the protective side that entailed having your father be the police chief. He always knew the backgrounds on whoever I was dating, and he could constantly pull me out of class just to "check up on me". Plus, I never actually had to pay a speeding ticket in my life. Well, I never really received a speeding ticket, but I guess it was all about the principle.
Charlie was an older man. When he married my mother he had at least ten years on her. Just because he was older didn't mean he was tired, though. I remembered when he taught me how to read, ride a bike, and even drive a car. He always knew everyone in the town, too. It wasn't like Forks was a big town (it was actually really, really small), but it was still funny to see my dad saying 'hi' to everyone, everywhere. He was almost like a priest, in that sense. He visited the houses of the sick and the weary, and he always spent time taking care of others before himself.
He even taught me how to cook, and, just to spare him of some duty, I ended up cooking for him. It was really just a way to repay my father, once I was old enough to realize how much he truly did for me. I even suffered through various football games on TV for him.
"Did you see that pass, Bella?" he would ask me, "that was a killer pass, don't you think?"
And then I would nod and smile, placing his beer underneath a coaster on the table. He grumbled in appreciation at whatever the hell was going on, and then took a long drag of the drink. That was how our nights usually went. In front of the television with a big batch of spaghetti or fried fish. It almost sounded like some sort of dysfunctional family sitcom, where the single father struggles to raise his only teenage daughter. Truthfully, it really was.
Though Charlie fit his part, I really didn't. I wasn't always running off with boys, coming home after curfew, pretending to get married. I spent most of my time studying for no other reason than for something to do, and I spent the rest of it either taking care of Charlie or walking through the woods that ran through our backyard. I never had true ambitions. Well, I knew I wanted to leave at some point. Go find my own way in the world, or other things that society pretty much forced someone my age to do. But at that point I was content enough to run my fingers along the bark of the trees, or lose myself in a Jane Austen.
My best friend, Angela, was pretty much exactly my opposite. Because of that, we balanced each other in every way. While she fit the stereotypical teenage roll much more than I, she was also surprisingly down to earth. Of course, there were the days that she showed up at my back door at three in the morning wearing her pants backward. I would bring her in and set her up with some make-up and a hair brush, and then send her out before Charlie awoke in the morning. She thought I looked down on her, though it was really quite the opposite. I envied her ability to do everything without any inhibition. To me, that was really, truly, experiencing life. And I wanted that, but I was too much of a coward to reach out and grab it.
On the night of our graduation, after the chorus of cheers and tears, Angela and I spent the night partying. Okay, that was a lie. Angela spent the night partying. I spent the night hovering near the punch-bowl with a very warm beer in my hand, pressing my tongue to the roof of my mouth whenever I pretended to take a sip. I hated the taste of beer. Bitter and vile, I often gagged while trying to swallow the contents of the bottle.
Mike Newton, a nice boy with a cowlick, approached me while I watched Angela pretend to hump a wall.
"Happy that we've graduated, Bella?" he asked me, his brow furrowed in a way that was supposed to convince me that he was truly interested in what I had to say.
"Sure, I mean, I'm glad that I don't have to go to that damn school anymore," I joked. It sounded false and forced because it was false and forced. Mike didn't notice. Instead, he tipped his head back and swallowed some of his own beer, resting his forearm on the wall beside my head. At this point in most memoirs, Mike probably would have come on to me with some lame sort of remark regarding my boobs or my lips. This didn't happen, and I wasn't expecting it to. For God's sake, I had known the boy since I was, what, six? That isn't exactly a turn-on, especially since he'd seen me through all of the awkward stages of my growth.
So instead, he stretched, arms reaching over his head. Then he stood next to me, back against the wall, mimicking my position. He tapped his tongue against his teeth and watched the party just as I was.
"It looks way more primal this way," he said randomly. I looked at him, raising an eyebrow.
"Um, what?" I chuckled, pretending to take another sip of my drink. The liquid sloshed around in the bottle.
"You know, everyone courting like they are. See Angela? She's practically humping that wall."
I looked to where he was pointing, watching my best friend drag her body up and down, up and down. She had at least five guys drooling, watching like she was a porn star, sitting on a couch and slurping their beer.
"She is humping the wall," I clarified, amused but also a bit embarrassed for her. Of course, it was futile for me to be embarrassed for Angela. She literally had no shame. While most people would be embarrassed by the rumors that were created by their drunken stupor, she took it all in stride. Didn't let anything faze her. Did I mention I was seriously jealous of Angela?
"So why are you here?" he asked, and then backtracked, "I didn't mean it like that. What I meant was I don't usually see you at parties. Any reason?"
"Oh, well, last party of my high school career," I sighed, fingering the rim of the bottle. "Plus, I'm pretty sure Angela threatened to cut me in my sleep, like, six times if I didn't show."
"Normally I would laugh at that, but it sort of seems like she actually would."
"She definitely would," I replied, laughing lightly.
"Well, it was good talking to you, Bella," he paused, "why do I feel like this is a final goodbye?"
"I guess it sort of is," I shrugged.
And then I awkwardly one-arm hugged, for the last time, someone I had known for my entire childhood.
That summer was filled with all sorts of goodbyes, though most people were simply attending the community college in Port Angeles. A few of my friends -acquaintances, really - were attending the University of Washington, or other various schools in the Pacific Northwest. Against my father's wishes, I never actually applied to any schools. I wasn't sure why, but I was almost completely positive that school wouldn't be good for me. It was one of the few times in my life that I actually followed my gut.
Angela was actually going to school, too. UCLA. Go figure, right? The thing about Angela was that she was seriously brilliant. She didn't even try, either. Valedictorian of our class, captain of the soccer team, member of speech and debate, partier extraordinaire. Of course, Angela had no common sense. And LA was perfect for people who were brilliant, who liked to party, and who had little common sense.
"I'm so happy for you," I told her as we sat cross-legged on my twin-size bed. It was her last night in Forks. Her flight took off from Seattle later the next day, though with the drive she had to leave very early. This would be our goodbye.
"Bullshit," she countered as she always did; rolling her eyes and pulling at the nose ring she pierced herself.
"What do you mean 'bullshit'? It's true. I really am happy for you, Angela."
"No you're not. You're so jealous. I can see it in your eyes, seriously. You don't want to be stuck in Forks just the same way any other teenager does not want to be stuck in Forks." She began to chip away at the nail polish on her fingernails, getting scattered bits of nail polish turd all over my bed. Little black chips strewn across my sky blue comforter like small, ugly stars.
"I don't mind Forks, really."
Angela sighed and rolled her eyes at my answer, obviously annoyed by something I was doing. Honestly, that happened often. She called me out on stuff I didn't even realize I was doing half the time. I hated her for it. I loved her for it.
"Would you stop lying for, like, three seconds?"
"Jeez," I smirked, trying to the divert the attention away, "tell me how you really feel!"
"How about you tell me how you really feel. Seriously, Bella. I'm going to leave for good and then there's going to be no one to tell you to be yourself." She continued picking away at her fingernails, every piece chipped off unearthing the pink nail beneath it.
"No one has to tell me to be myself," I contradicted, growing defensive at her sudden attack.
"Who do you want to be, Bella?" she asked, finally catching my eye after her nail picking convulsion.
"I don't know," I answered reluctantly, my eyes unwilling to meet hers.
"That's what I thought."
We were silent for a few minutes, each of us contemplating the other. I watched her lay down on my bed, her back on top of all the remnants of her nail polish, her eyes staring at my ceiling. When we were younger, we used to have sleepovers. One of our main activities was finding objects in the stucco ceiling just as most people found shapes and pictures in the clouds. At one point, there was an ongoing story about them.
"I have an idea."
Oh no, I thought, I know that voice.
"Oh no," I mimicked my thoughts, "what on earth is your idea?"
"Okay, just hear me out," she began, sitting up and facing me once more. There was no way that this idea could possibly be good. She never asked me to "hear anything out." It was always, "do this now, okay?" The fact that she was even allowing me to ponder this meant it was something huge. I waited with bated breath, my mouth set in what probably looked like a permanent scowl.
"How about," she paused, "you come to Los Angeles with me?"
And then I laughed.
"Are you crazy?" I giggled, "I've lived in Forks my whole entire life. I'm sure as hell not going to Los-freaking-Angeles! Funny joke, Ang. Really, quite funny." I actually had to stifle my laughter with my palm. Her glare was so intense that I thought her eyes would burn me right up. "Oh, calm down. You weren't actually serious, were you?"
"Why don't you just think about it for maybe two seconds before you shoot it down, huh?" She actually started to tear up. Oh, but she wasn't sad. She was angry.
"Ang, don't be mad. I'm just not the Los Angeles type of person, is all. There's no way I would fit in there. I mean, seriously," I sighed, rubbing my temples with my pointer fingers. I could hear Charlie enter from downstairs, his feet thudding heavily against the tiles in the kitchen. Angela noticed as well, and we both waited for the resounding clash of his keys hitting the counter. Once it passed, and the television was flicked on to ESPN, Angela returned her intense gaze to me.
"Well that's a horrible excuse. No one fits in there unless they're crazy, anyway," she scoffed.
"So you'll fit in perfectly, then?" I smiled, nudging her shoulder with my own.
"Oh you shut up," she laughed. We were silent for a few more moments. "I meant what I said, though. I really think you should come with me to Los Angeles. I don't have housing on campus, anyway. You can stay in my apartment and everything."
"And what the hell am I supposed to do down there, anyway? Fry in the sun? Have you met me? I burn, peel, and repeat."
"I have met you. We can just get you, like, SPF 1000 or something," she conceded, picking at her fingernails once again.
"Oh, thanks," I said sarcastically, rolling my eyes before closing them. Suddenly, I was incredibly tired. Tired of Forks, tired of being left behind, tired of my life. Angela noticed, as she almost always did when I fell into a funk, and she rubbed my shoulder sweetly.
"I'm gonna miss you, B. That's for sure. You would probably be the only reason I would ever return to the small logging town of Forks, Washington. Just because, you know, I'm not a logger and all."
"That was… sort of sweet, but not really," I laughed, unexpected tears leaking from the corners of my eyes. I was seriously going to miss her. She was my comrade in arms, my other half, the ying to my yang. I would be losing my best friend. We hugged tightly, something we rarely did. We were both rather bad at showing emotions to each other. For me, it was because of some stupid psychological problem that probably had to do with my mother being gone. For her, it was just because she was a freak. Plus, she was very friendly when drunk out of her mind.
"I have a funny feeling I'll see you soon," she said once we pulled apart, a small smile on her lips. I rolled my eyes once again. She had a funny way of always being right, too.
"I think you're going to be wrong about this one."
"Yeah, well, you know me. I'm always wrong."
That was the problem. She was never wrong. It fucking sucked.
"I'll miss you, Ang," I admitted. It suddenly became a serious conversation yet again.
"Come to Los Angeles with me. It'll be so fantastic. We will run that town, I know it," she exclaimed while standing. We walked to the front door of my house, Charlie giving us both a nod when we passed the entryway to the living room.
"I'm not going to go to Los Angeles."
She turned away from me, walking down the steps to her father's car. Just as she was about to enter it, she turned around to where I stood waiting for her to leave on the porch.
"Come on, Bella! I dare you!"
Damn her.
And then she drove off, the tires of her car squealing beneath her. She was a crazy driver, like everything else she did. I stood on the porch for awhile, watching a light pattering of rain fall down in front of me. There would be no rain in Los Angeles, that was for sure. There would just be sun. Lots and lots and lots of sun. I looked behind me, noting Charlie's position on the couch, in front of the TV. If I left, would he be sad? Most likely. Would he miss me? Most likely. Would he hate me? No. Charlie could never hate me in the same way that I could never hate Charlie. We were family. We took care of each other, and that was that.
Walking back inside, I took a seat next to Charlie. Neither of us showed much affection, probably the same amount of affection I gave someone like Angela. He looked over when I entered the room, and then lowered the volume just in case I wanted to talk about something. I smiled, which meant that he was allowed to turn up the volume on the television once more. It was beautiful, our silent conversations. Charlie was the man in my life, my only man, my dad.
Eventually, he fell asleep. His snores started rumbling. Rumbling like a chainsaw, angry and loud. I turned off the television and stared at his face. He was much older in person than he was in my head, which was strange considering I saw him most every day. In person, his face was lined and wrinkled, his hair graying and balding. In my head, he was still the youthful man from my childhood. He still had a full set of hair and a full smile, and everything about him portrayed energy. I could see now that he was much older, much more tired. I felt a pang in my chest that screamed to take care of him, but it was counteracted by another screaming voice in my head that told me to live my own life.
I sighed, pulling the blanket up to Charlie's chin and turning off the light. I headed up to the bedroom which reminded me so strongly of my childhood. It seemed like Angela's words were echoing in my head. Maybe I did need a fresh start. Maybe I did need to find myself in a place other than my childhood home. Maybe I had to get away to find myself. Maybe I should try, for God's sake.
I fell asleep to the sound of crickets and rain.
Angela called me in the afternoon the following day to inform me that she landed safely in LA. I grinned, but once again found myself jealous. She was in a brand new place. I could be in a brand new place. But first, I had to stop whining and make a decision. I decided to propose the situation to Charlie at dinner, just to see what he thought.
"Dad? Can I ask you something?" I questioned after the lasagna was done. Purposefully, I made Charlie's favorite.
"Sure, Bella. What's up?" he asked in response, spearing a large piece of noodle.
"What would you think if, uh, I moved out for a little while?" I asked cautiously, stuffing my face afterward in an attempt to cleanse the awkwardness.
"Oh, do you want your own apartment in Port Angeles?"
I gulped down the lasagna. It burned my throat.
"I was thinking maybe… a different Angeles?"
He met my eye. I pushed the food around on my plate, the fork creating a grating, high-pitched noise. He put his own fork down in response. Finally, I sucked in a deep breath and admitted what I had been trying to admit the entire time.
"I was thinking about moving to Los Angeles. Maybe staying with Ang? She's getting an apartment."
He looked to the side. I wondered what he was thinking. Would he say yes? I immediately felt guilty. How could I be ditching my one and only father? We only had each other. He was the man in my life. He was it.
"I think that would be a good idea, Bella," he spoke softly.
"I—what?" I gaped. Surely, I hadn't heard him correctly. He wouldn't allow me to jet off like that. It didn't make sense!
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah, Bella. I was hoping you would do something like this. Don't want to be stuck in Forks all your life with a guy like me," he winked, though his expression was sad. He took another bite of lasagna, chewing and swallowing languidly. "This is really good, Bella. I will miss your food."
"I—uh…" I was completely at a loss for words. I honestly didn't think he would allow me to leave.
"It will be good for you," Charlie reiterated. "But I'll miss you, Bella. Make sure you call your old man every now and then, will ya?"
"Of course, Daddy," I answered, using the name I hadn't used in at least ten years. He smiled at the use of it. We ate the rest of our dinner in silence. I realized I suddenly found myself in a huge hole. Subconsciously, I had been counting on Charlie's disapproval. I actually thought that he would say no, which would give me an excuse to tell Angela when she would inevitably ask why I hadn't come to Los Angeles. Now that Charlie said yes, I basically had to go. I gulped, reveling in my misfortune as I cleaned up the dishes and took a long shower.
Apparently, I was really fucking tense.
I searched flights on my laptop, absolutely shocked at how much it cost to fly. I had never even flown on a plane before. I didn't know what it was like. Hell, I didn't even know what an airport looked like. That was how sheltered I was. What was I doing? Throwing myself into a huge city like Los Angeles. It was absolutely nuts. I wasn't Angela, I couldn't handle it. I gulped in oxygen as I sat at my desk, working hard to gain control of my rampant nerves. Before I could back out, I purchased a ticket on my one and only credit card, finally seeing its first major use. The confirmed purchase window on my screen almost made me vomit, seriously.
I couldn't sleep for ages. Questions flew through my head at what seemed like the speed of light. I didn't know where I was going to work, what I was going to do, who I was going to be. The only thing I knew was that-thankfully-I had a place to live. And that was all Angela's doing, too. I finally slept for around two hours. It was restless and fitful, and I woke up the next morning with my brown eyes ringed with dark, ugly circles.
I called Angela first thing in the morning. After all, I was flying to LA the very next day. Holy shit.
"Hello?" she answered, sounding distracted and stressed. Not a good sign. Wonderful.
"Ang?" I said tentatively. There was a pause.
"I knew I bought that extra bed for a reason. When are you coming?" she shrieked into the phone. Never before had I heard her sound so utterly girly.
"I hate you for predicting everyone's lives."
"I love you too, Bella. Now seriously, when are you going to get here?"
"Tomorrow," I admitted in a rush.
"No shit? I thought you were going to say in, like, two months," she said, sounding bewildered. Finally, I surprised the girl.
"Yeah, uh, is that okay?" I stammered, suddenly backtracking and regretting my impulsive buy. Buyer's remorse, anyone?
"Of course, Bella!" She was shrieking again. "I can't tell you how happy I am that you're going to be in LA with me. I'll pick you up at the airport, just give me the deets."
I gave her all of my information, sitting at the kitchen table with my identification and flight confirmation in hand. It was trembling. Charlie stumbled down the stairs just as I was ending my conversation with Angela. He threw me a half-hearted smile before searching through the refrigerator. Finally, he pulled out some cereal and milk, sitting across from me with a dejected scowl. He tried to hide it.
"I don't know what I'm going to do now that I've gotten used to you cooking for me," he admitted, stirring his cereal around.
"You'll manage. You're the one who taught me to cook, remember?" I smiled, trying to stay on the bright side of things.
"I remember," he grinned, his mind now on an earlier era. I watched him reminisce as I gathered the last of the papers I needed for my flight. He came back to reality as I left to go grab my stuff. "Want me to help you pack?" he asked.
"I can manage. Thanks, though."
He nodded, turning back to his cereal.
I wasn't really sure what to pack, given that I didn't know what was already present in Angela's apartment, so I simply began gathering all of the clothes that I owned. It actually wasn't that much, really. I didn't buy new clothes all that often. Plus, the clothing stores in Port Angeles and Forks weren't exactly fashion-forward. Most of my stuff was Angela's leftovers.
Unable to sleep again that night, I found myself pulling an unused notebook from my shelves. Opening it to a fresh, clean page, I sighed. I loved the smell of new paper, new notebooks. Something earthy, yet industrial at the same time. And begging to be written on. In school, I always loved to write. It wasn't something I actually considered doing, especially since most of the journalism careers were going down the toilet due to technology, but I still liked to do it in my free time. As I stared at the blank page, I decided to keep a log of my travels.
Travels being from Forks to LA.
Whatever. It made me feel worldly, okay?
I scratched down a few notes about how nervous I was, which actually ended up lulling me into a deep sleep. I awoke to the sound of my blaring alarm, yelling at me at three o'clock in the morning. Ouch. The drive to the nearest air port was a good length, so I brewed some coffee once I dragged my stuff down the stairs. To my surprise, I found Charlie waiting for me in the kitchen.
"I'm going to drive you to the airport," he said suddenly, removing me from my last remnants of foggy sleep.
"Oh, Dad, you don't have to do that," I yawned, drinking a large gulp of coffee. I felt it all the way down to my bones.
"I'm not going to see my baby girl for awhile. I'm certainly driving her to the airport." He spoke gruffly. His eyes were averted.
"Thank, Dad. I appreciate it."
I saw the faintest coloring of his cheeks, indicating a blush. Something I inherited, but was only seen on very rare occasions.
We drove to the airport in complete silence, both lost in our thoughts as we tended to do. Like father like daughter, I guess. I was completely awestruck at the sheer size of the airport, immediately overwhelmed. But Charlie helped me through, getting me all the way to security before he said goodbye.
"I'm going to miss you, Bella. Make sure you call, okay?"
"I'll call, I promise."
And then I shared the second-longest hug with my father that I could remember. I turned back just as I was about to head through security. He was still watching. To anyone else, his face would have looked passive and empty. To me, it was filled with an incredible depth of emotion. So deep that I could hardly contain my response, and had to turn away with only a slight wave before I broke down in the airport.
Somehow, I managed to get to my gate and onto the plane without thinking about anything. I pushed all of my emotions to the back of my head, to the back of my heart, as we flew across Washington State, Oregon, and Northern California. When we finally arrived and everyone started standing, I felt as if I had whiplash. It was like the flight completely disappeared from my memory. They jostled around me as I gathered my stuff as quickly as possible, and then I was moved with the people like a constantly flowing river. I had no idea what was going on, and tried not to hyperventilate as I searched for the nearest "baggage" sign. I ended up following someone on my flight for hints, and I creepily trailed him to the right place. I opened my phone and turned it on, hastily calling Angela.
"Are you here?" she screamed into my ear. I pulled it away.
"Ouch, Ang. Yeah, I'm at baggage claim. Where are you?"
"I'm right outside, just go out the double doors on the right and you should see me. I'm standing outside of a cab, screaming like a madwoman."
"I can tell," I laughed, scanning the revolving platform for my luggage. "I'll see you in a sec, okay?"
"Yep, see you!"
I put my phone back in my pocket, hovering near the back as the luggage filed through. Finally, I saw my own dumped onto the baggage carousel. I moved forward to retrieve it, but was immediately knocked back by a mass of people. And then the mass started screaming.
"Edward Cullen! Edward Cullen! Oh my God, it's Edward Cullen!"
"Look over here, Edward! Edward! Smile for the camera! Look over here!"
"Edward, can you sign my paper?"
"Edward, can you sign my shirt?"
"Edward, can you sign my baby?"
"Edward! How is your love life? Still dating Tanya Sanders? Is that it?"
"Edward, look over here!"
Through the mass I could barely make out a slouching man, hiding his face from the incessant flashes. He was pale, though I couldn't see his face, and his head was covered by a thick black beanie. Large, burly looking men surrounded him, though they couldn't do anything with all of the people with the cameras, all of the screaming women. Just for a moment, his head flashed to the side and I saw his eyes. They were a piercing, astonishing green.
And then he bolted out of there.
That was the first time I saw Edward Cullen.