Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight.
--
These curses lurking in our heads but we don't want to find it
We need to come back down and face what we've become
Its haunting me
I'm so alone
I just wanted to find my way back home
I'm so alone
Alone
-Bullet for My Valentine
--
Courts of Chaos:
Lunch, the time for odd mating rituals, shows of dominance and the occasional band geek to get lost, quivering in fear of never finding his way back to his talentless buddies and being forever trapped in a sea of testosterone, sex, and the stench of last week's tuna melt. Lunch is a chaotic time, a time I choose to spend alone to watch the show safely from the sidelines.
My tray of Thursday's Taco Surprise sits untouched on a table covered in STDs and gum. I sit in a highly uncomfortable navy colored chair, the kind that no one likes, and watch the bouts of anger, lust, and humor as they rise from the depths of the teenage mongrels. It is all very predictable, but nonetheless entertaining.
Lions roar, monkeys snort with laughter, and snakes suffocate unsuspecting freshmen while the King of the Jungle looks on at his chaotic mess of circus animals in amusement. The King sits on his mighty throne, challenging all who dare get in his way. The King is surrounded by his queen and the Court. They are untouchable in this house of horrors, surrounded by an invisible force field that shocks anyone who gets too close. They think they're special, and maybe they are, but all I know is: The King always gets what he wants.
Life in such a tiny town leads to gossip galore when anything, and I mean anything, happens in the town. Bouncing off the cafeteria walls and echoing all around me is news about the two amazing new kids that are going to be joining us here at Forks High School. Oh, joy, two new Spartans to add to my list of mongrels.
Other than the news spreading like wildfire in the cafeteria, it's the same as always. It's the way it's been since freshman year two years ago and it will always be the same until I graduate. Luckily, the King and his Court will be graduating this year and the crown will be passed down to the next in line. The cycle will continue without end until the Earth is nothing but a big ball of dust and there is no hint of remaining human life. It's the way the jungle works and it's the way we live, without it's uniform chaos we would cease to function as a society full of what's hot, what's not, and who's the It person.
It's rough, it's life and there is nothing we can do to change it. The triangle rules our way of life without remorse.
The top is the King and his Court. They rule everyone and they are ruthless to their prisoners. The King is the school's star quarterback, and his queen is the head cheerleader. His Court of men is made up of his closest friends on the football team. Under the Court are the Lords and Ladies, by which I mean the cheerleaders, athletes, and Fashion Forwards. They are the ones who implement the laws and kill any hope anyone has of becoming one of them. Next, are the Peasants. These are the artists, math wizards, and all other groups. They obey the law religiously and flock the Court, hoping to be appointed. And then there's me. The Outcast. I am in a category all my own. I am exempt from the circle of life. I am no one.
I don't mind being an outcast. It suits me. I don't belong with the Fashion Forwards; I could never be able to remember all the different colors for each season. I don't belong with the athletes, with my horrible hand-eye coordination and faulty legs that can't get me over a flat surface without finding something to trip over. And I don't belong with the math wizards, with my hatred for math running deep in my veins. I belong nowhere and I belong somewhere. I belong on the sidelines waiting for someone to come up to bat to challenge the Jungle's pitcher, the ruler on the field, and watch him strikeout with two fastballs and a slider.
Lunch ends and the jungle jumps collectively, throwing out trash and beating each other to the doors to get to their next classes. The others who have stolen away time under the bleachers in the gym will gather shirts, pants, underwear, and collect themselves before leaving unnoticed. Everyday is the same, nothing ever changes.
I walk into Biology after lunch and sit at my desk all alone. Every person in the room has a partner but me and everyone would like to keep it that way, including me. I slump in my chair, waiting for the dreaded bell to ring to signal the time for sleep. My hair is draped over my shoulders to keep my face hidden away from the ugly stares of my classmates. I can feel their stares as they burn into my clothes, threatening to singe my skin.
I sigh, it never changes. Day after day, I am hated by all and for what? Nothing they know of. They are only told lies from the King who wishes to keep me hidden in a small cell and only he knows where the key lies. The evil King deceives everyone and only I know the real him.
I try to shrug away their glances, but it is of no use. I can't shake them from their gaze. There is nothing I can do to deter them from looking at my stringy, oily hair that hangs in my face, my colorless clothes that cover as much of my body as they can, and my sallow skin that's thinner than paper.
The bell shrieks just as the teacher, Mr. Banner, walks in with papers flying around him and his glasses slowly slipping down his weathered face. He slams his briefcase onto his desk and it reverberates around the quiet classroom loudly. He rakes his hands over his face and over the short stubble of hair that covers the top of his head and over the bald spot he cannot hide.
"Sorry class," He says tiredly. He will not offer further explanation for he is a teacher and therefore not held to the same standards. He is above the law and the Court. He is part of the one thing that the Court fears; he is part of the Staff. The evil Staff that's full of teachers that sleep through class, grade papers based on completion instead of accuracy, and the true reason why testing scores are at an all-time low.
The Staff is free from the inevitable laws that catch us at every turn and squeeze us so tightly we all fall down.
They watch over the jungle like humans, watching all the animals. They are too afraid to get close, but strong and smart enough to intervene when necessary.
We pretend to listen while he drones on about the wonders of Gregor Mendel and how he changed the history of science. No one is really listening, but we sit and nod as if we are. He never stops long enough to notice if we are listening and he is constantly turned towards the blackboard with a slender piece of chalk in hand, though it never once touches the board during his monologue.
I am the only one taking notes, as per usual. My hand never stops, writing down everything he says. It's futile, I never study and I always remember everything he says, but it gives my hands and mind something to do. It doesn't let me dwell on the things plaguing my thoughts. I welcome any chance at pushing those thoughts to the back of my mind.
The bell rings. Class is over. The students jump out of their seats and rush to get to freedom. I sit back and take my time. I am in no rush to get to my next class. I stroll across campus to the gym, books in hand. I walk to the locker room to change in the standard uniforms that everyone has to wear. I change in the first stall on the left everyday. It's the only stall I ever change in. Voices bounce back and forth between the walls. I can pick out who's taking whom to the prom and more about the new Spartans joining us next week.
Everyone is talking, except me. I lock my books and school clothes into my gym locker when I'm finished changing and next to me is the Queen. Her name is Rosalie Hale. She is the head cheerleader and the school's favorite person. She's beautiful with her long, velvet golden hair and blue eyes that sparkle like the sea on a sunny day. Her body is long and lean; she looks like she belongs on the cover of a Sports Illustrated magazine. She has this smile that makes you think she is sweet sugar and everyone loves her.
She looks at me and tries to hide the disgust I see in her eyes. She tries, but the attempt is futile. I can see it as it sears into my body. She turns away, her elegantly curled hair whipping behind her as she glides to the doors of the gym. I follow lamely behind her. I'm left in her wake and so no one notices as I trail behind. They are too taken by the perfect Rosalie.
Gym passes with little consequence. I am on my way to my rusty red truck so I can drive home with nothing but my thoughts as they rampage my brain. I get in and start up the vehicle. It's loud and booming, but everyone is used to it. I feel the engine as it rumbles through my chest, trying to overtake me. Rain pelts the windshield and the wipers wipe the drops away so I can see. It is a cycle that repeats itself over and over and over again. Raindrops slam against the glass, it collects and mars my view of the outside world, and then they are gone by one swipe. It's like they were never really there, they were just a figment of my imagination. Unlike him. He is always there, always there.
-:-
The house is quiet. Charlie, my father, is at work as the local Chief of Police at Forks Police Department. I do my homework. It's never much; I'm always done in an hour. The work is never hard enough, the work is never time consuming. It's five p.m. I have eight hours. That's not enough time, and yet, it's too much.
I sit and stare blankly at the television set. I see the motions on the screen, but am unable to comprehend them. I don't want to be alone with my thoughts. The silence frightens me and lets the thoughts take over. I won't let them. Not today. I can't. It's going to happen. I don't want to think about it before it does.
At six thirty, I start to make dinner. It's simple. Steak and potatoes with green beans and iced tea. I can't think much about anything but tonight, so I stick with something safe to cook. I take my time mashing the potatoes, trying to get lost in the rhythmic movements. I watch as the clumpy potatoes slowly mesh together with milk and butter. How could three different substances blend to make something so wonderful? It seems impossible. I decide to kick it up a notch and add some minced garlic to the blend of potatoes.
Dinner is ready and the table is set just as Charlie walks through the doorway to the kitchen.
"Smells good, sweetheart." He says as he kisses me lightly on the forehead. I've trained myself not to jump at his invasive movements. He's my father and I love him. He would never do anything to hurt me. Not like he would.
I sit down in my chair. Waiting for Charlie to wash up and join me. My fingers drum impatiently on the hard, brown wood. I try to focus on the repetitive thuds. Thump, thump, thump, thump. Thump, thump, thump, thump. It only dissuades my thoughts for a moment before I am thinking profusely about tonight again.
Charlie joins me. He scoops some of the garlic potatoes onto his plate and spears an especially large cut of steak and plops it on the ceramic. He is careful to grab only a forkful of green beans. He tries to be a good role model and eat all his vegetables, but I know that he hates them as much as a ten year old boy. He pours his glass of sweetened iced tea. The ice clanks in his glass as the brownish liquid transfers to it. Sweat beads up on the sides of the glass, slowly melting into the table.
"So how was school?" He asks conversationally. He lifts his fork to his mouth and shoves a piece of juicy steak inside.
I shrug. There's not much to tell. I went to class, I listened to the teacher, and I did all my work. What more is there to tell?
"Any friends you've been hanging out with?" I hope we don't have this conversation today.
I shake my head slowly. My eyes are trained to look past him so it looks to him like I'm looking at him, but really I'm looking at the wall behind him.
"Bella, you're going off to college in two years and you've lived here all your life. Why don't you have any friends? Don't you want any? Aren't you lonely?" He shakes his head sadly.
I shrug again. I don't want any of those people as friends. They don't want me as a friend either. The lies have kept them away. I've kept them away. I like being by myself. I just hate the silence that comes with it. Anything can happen in the silence.
"Well, Bella, Jacob and Billy are going to come over tomorrow. I know you don't like company, but it's been a while since we've seen them. I think you should be nice and try to make friends with Jacob. When you were little you used to hang out together all the time."
I nod my head like a good little girl and take a small bite of green beans. I chew slowly. It makes it easier when I have food in my mouth. That way, Charlie can't expect me to answer with words.
Billy Black is Charlie's best friend. They were friends before I was born and they are still friends today. Billy's wife died a few years ago, so we haven't seen much of him, and then he was in an accident that left him in a wheelchair for the rest of his life. That means that he is unable to drive a car at all. Jacob Black is his son. When we were little and his twin sisters, Rachel and Rebecca, weren't around, I would hang out with him. I remember us when we made mud pies and when he'd eat dirt. Jacob was always a bit of a gross kid, but he had a good heart. He was also two years younger than me, so that probably made him seem immature in my eyes.
Billy and Jacob live on the Indian Reservation in La Push. It's not that far away, it's about fifteen to twenty minutes away from Forks, but it's far enough away that it keeps us from seeing the Blacks often.
We finish dinner in relative silence. None of us are really talkative, preferring to sit in comfortable silence, but Charlie comments on things that happened at work today. Nothing major, just catching some kids skipping. There's never much crime in the small town, just pranks, kids skipping school, or the occasional traffic ticket.
Charlie excuses himself to go watch television after dinner and grabs a beer from the refrigerator before heading to the living room. I stay behind in the kitchen to clear the table and wash the dishes. I wash the dishes separately and slowly, trying to waste as much time as I can. I wash each dish until every spot is gone. I dry each dish, wiping away all the droplets of water on the ceramic plates and glass cups. I put them away one by one, making sure they are all perfect in their cabinets.
My eyes drift to the clock on the microwave. It reads nine twenty-eight p.m. in neon red block lettering. I have three hours and thirty-two minutes left. My heart starts to speed up and my breathing catches in my throat. I feel locked away in my quiet room. I feel trapped and unable to get free. Why am I like this every time? I should be used to it. It shouldn't bother me anymore, but it does. Every time, I just can't gain control.
I trudge up the stairs into my room to sit on my bed and wait, wait for tonight.
-:-
A/N: Hey ya'll. This is my new story Night Rendezvous. So far I'm really proud of it and I hope you leave a review telling me what you think about it. The story is going to be interesting, at least I think so, and I really hope you favorite and alert it. I promise that I will complete this story from beginning to end and I will update every/every other week. It depends on what's going on during the week. So anyways, please review and tell me what you think. Also if you see any mistakes just PM or review telling me where so I can fix it. :)
Ciao, Jenn
