Hi friends. Back again with my nonsense.

Not to worry though! TCS will be updated this week, and January will get an update in the next couple weeks, so look out for that for all those who follow those two fics.

WARNINGS: This fic follows a whole lot of cliché teen movie tropes, and is loosely based off of the drama Cruel Intentions and Marina and the Diamond's song How to be a Heart Breaker. If any of those three things put you off, well. Also, the fic is pretty dark; depression, contemplations of suicide and harmful coping mechanisms abound. Lastly, topics of societal issues such as racism, homophobia, sexism and Western Imperialism are in it. Any bigoted readers are suggested to turn away now.

Thanks so much for reading, and hope you guys enjoy this first chapter. Sadly, things only really start to get fun in the next one. I'll try for an update every weekend, but you guys know that I have hella commitment issue sjdskdks

Cruel Intentions is a giftfic to one of my favorite people in the world, thank you so much for being my friend, ily so much 333

Review?

:)

Full Summary:

When Maude is sentenced to spend her last year of highschool with her uncle and cousin, she goes without too much of a fight. Hiding behind carefully built walls of nihilism, bravado and film references, to her its just another way to escape the tedium of her usual life. When she hears of "perfect but unattainable" Edward Cullen, her interest is peaked, and a fun new bet is made. Can she grab his attention by the end of the school year? If it means shutting up the local mean girls and earning some cash along they way, of course! Hopefully she can do it without her sanctimonious cousin getting in the way. But little does she know, Edward is much more than he seems.

"What do you think? I know it's not what you're used to, what with your mother's tastes but..." Uncle Charlie trailed off with a shrug. He stood fidgeting in front of the police cruiser, an awkward yet hopeful look on his face as he watched me for my reaction.

Huddled in a blanket in an attempt to shield myself from the cold weather, I didn't particularly care much about anything other than finding an immediate heating source to form an opinion on it. And yet, faced with his big brown eyes, I made myself muster up a smile and trail appreciative eyes over the two story house we stood in front of. Typical home in white suburbia, I thought, wrinkling my nose. With a wide porch and the American flag outside, I had no doubt that our neighbors were all very 'respectable people'. The forest behind (next to, all around) it was thick and oppressive, a gloom that seemed to stare back at me the longer I tried to peer in. I could already tell that nighttime lounging on the porch was a no go for me, not with a view like that. The heavy clouds in the town blocked out the sunshine and cast everything grey, and though it was scarcely even six pm, the house was already lit up from the inside.

It was all very dreary, I thought, the smile becoming strained on my face. I could understand perfectly why my mother had skipped town the moment she'd been old enough to get away with it, and hadn't returned since.

Uncle Charlie was right. It wasn't something I was used to. Hailing from Portland, I was used to more upscale surroundings, with houses of artfully faded stone and wide glass that was more wall than window. The forests there were lighter somehow, more like an ethereal fairytale land than these woods straight out of a horror movie, and after casting a glance at the rest of the street, the houses weren't so far apart either.

I couldn't imagine having to spend a whole year in this place. The most exciting thing I'd seen since entering the town limits were the posters advertising the annual local fishing contest, promising to be "A Big Splash!", and even then they looked like they'd been made with Office 2005, with a few clip art fish slapped on before the maker decided to call it a day.

'GAPhIc DeSiGn is My pAsSIon'. I wanted to scoff out loud.

Still, faced with the expectant silence of my mother's brother, I had no choice but to feign excitement.

"It's great!" I exclaimed. "I really love the peace and quiet," I said for added credibility, though this was, of course, a lie. I hated the quiet, I wanted noise; I loved the cacophony of the city, the buzz of voices, the music trickling out of jazz clubs everywhere you passed, street performers loudly proclaiming their art, cars honking at skateboarding kids recklessly throwing themselves in the roads and laughing at exasperated drivers –it was all proof of life. And God knew that's what I needed right now.

My uncle seemed much relieved at my answer, his moustache twitching with his small smile, and I couldn't bring myself to regret the lie. "That's, uh. I'm happy," he declared, before hefting up my duffle bag sitting on his shoulder and turning to walk up towards the house, my bright pink suitcase rolling along beside him. I cast one more glance around, trying to ignore the creepy feeling of it all and the stares of nosey neighbors, and hurried along after him, my camera bag bouncing with each step.

The house inside was much more cheerful than I expected. The walls were painted a dusty blue, with tastefully colored curtains that made the whole place feel much more vibrant than at first glance. The furniture was a mix and match of old school woodland and modernity–worn out couch with navy cushions, brown leather arm chairs, an animal pelt thrown over the arm of the leftmost one, mahogany coffee table with a clear glass topping- it seemed like two different people had fought over which stayed and which went, and yet the effect of it all was oddly pleasing, homey even.

The kitchen was divided by an alcove a little ways away, the cupboards painted a bright sunshine yellow with fluttering white shades on the windows, though the four man dinner table was old and haggard, the chairs not sitting quite up right. The dishes were washed to sparkling, lined on the dish rack by the sink, all different colors and none matching the other, and there was a jar stuffed with coins and bills on top of the old fridge labeled 'Grocery Money'. It was all very organized, and didn't strike me as my uncle's doing.

Photos lined the walls, as well as what I suspected to be a real stuffed sword fish hung and numerous framed awards for various fishing contests from different years, and even what seemed to be a golden fishing pole. Uncle Charlie, it seemed, was a veteran when it came to such things.

I was more interested in the occupant of most of the picture frames, a pretty, soft looking white girl with dark brown hair and shy chocolate eyes that, despite her (vague) efforts to smile, revealed how uncomfortable she was. The viewer grows up with her due to the different stages of youth we see through the images; a six year old looking mousy but happy in a pink tutu, a nine year old with scraped knees in shorts and a bucket hat awkwardly holding a tuna fish while her father beams brightly in a crouch next to her, a thirteen year old in a blue dress with scuffed sneakers holding a certificate, other children in the background, all stuffed into formal wear by their parents, smiling with their own certificates. And yet, no matter what age, the girl stays the same, still slightly hunched into herself, still looking just a little bit lost.

I knew the girl of course, though we hadn't seen in each other in some years. Bella wasn't much different in real life. Actually she was worse. Never fully enunciating her words, speaking in more of a timid mumble than anything, always looking towards the floor and hiding behind whichever adult figure just happened to be present to avoid playing with the other children –though in that I couldn't blame her. She couldn't even manage ten steps with swaying dangerously on her feet or tripping over some unseen obstacle. Games like tag or Girls vs Boys were life-threatening to her. My brother and I had even taken to making a game of seeing how many times she could fall by herself unprompted in a day –or for however long we were seeing each other for.

We didn't tend to see each other often, considering we'd lived on completely opposite sides of the country. It was only when she'd come to visit her father in Forks for the summer, that she and Uncle Charlie would take the drive up to Portland for a visit. It was also her father's yearly attempt at maintaining a connection with his sister. My mother hadn't voluntarily stepped foot in it since my Grandfather had died sometime after I was born.

Tensions had been rife even before that, what with their parents disapproving of my mother's choice of disappearing off to Mali for two years and coming back with a husband and a darkskin son with kinky hair. Her job in the Peace Corps before that had already been met with skepticism on their part; they were 'hard traditionalists', and believed the most adventurous job a woman should have is working in a corporation. She not marrying a suitable white banker/lawyer/insert 'respectable position' here, and instead marrying an African was the height of shame. Which it was in their circles. Forks is a small town, an old town. Staunchly Christian and Republican, majority white. The Swans had been living here for generations –for my mother to do that was enough to cause scandal for years.

If Charlie didn't make the effort to go see her, then it was likely their relationship would be relegated to phone calls only.

So they made the trip up to visit us, and he'd stay for a couple of hours afterwards so that he and my parents could catch-up (which was code for "awkwardly sit around the living room and ask the same round of questions every fifteen minutes while going though copious amounts of coffee and biscuits to keep their mouths busy"), before leaving his daughter with us for a week to spend time with Forrest and I. It was, I suspected, an attempt to create the bond between us children he'd never shared with his sister, but with Bella being so shy, and us seeing each other only once a year, it never really worked out. She'd stopped visiting sometime after my fourteenth birthday, and we hadn't seen her since.

"Bells! Come on down and say hi to your cousin!" My uncle called from the base of the stairs.

When she descended the stairs, clutching the hand railing as if her life depended on it, I couldn't help but roll my eyes. She hadn't changed a bit. Literally. She was still the exact same height she was at fourteen, petite five foot four, and still wearing a worn t-shirt I vaguely recognized as her go-to home wear.

"Hi Maude," she said, and she even gave me a smile. Uncle Charlie was looking between the two of us with a hopeful expression, and so I stepped forward with a grin and gave her a hug.

"Bella! It's been so long! It's so good to see you again!" I exclaimed with false cheer. Honestly, the two of us had never really gotten on. Our interests never aligned, and I found her almost painfully boring. There was nothing she seemed to enjoy -with her it was always "I don't like this" or "I don't like that", no matter what was put before her. I remember one time my father had taken us all to the water park for the weekend, and while Forrest and I ran around like possessed children, she'd sat with my mother under the shade every time we ventured outside, rejecting participation in all activities no matter how much we tried to cajole her. What child doesn't like the water park?

Timidly she patted my back in return, though it was a challenge with my camera bag slung over my shoulder. When she stepped away, I grabbed hold of her hand instead. "You've gotten prettier! And your skin is amazing, ah, I'm so jealous!" I gushed.

"Thanks," she said, though her expression was strained. Compliments and girl talk? Those didn't even register in Bella's dictionary. "And same to you," she answered. I had to commend her for making the effort at least. Her father couldn't look happier- though the only way to see it was by taking note of the twitch in his bushy moustache. Bella hadn't gotten her characteristic awkwardness from Aunt Renée that was for certain. With just the two of them in this house, it was a wonder they could get anything done.

"Why don't you two girls, uh, catch up, and I'll just take Maude's things upstairs," said Uncle Charlie. He didn't waste time, hauling my suitcase and duffle up the stairs, looking eager to be away from this 'heartfelt girl's reunion'.

Bella and I watched him until he disappeared into the hallway, and as soon as he was out of sight, I let go of his daughter's hand, my smile slipping away. Bella avoided my gaze, wringing her fingers together. The silence stretched on.

Finally, she gestured lamely to the kitchen. "I normally take care of dinner around here, since Charlie's…well." She left it at that, but I understood. She looked at my bag dubiously. "That seems a bit heavy, so you can go on up and relax a little? I'll let you know when it's ready."

It seemed she still called her father by her first name. The first time Forrest and I had heard her use it when referring to him, we'd been scandalized. To us, our father had firmly been nothing but "Pére" or "Papa".

But that was just yet another thing which made Bella a weirdo, I supposed.

"I'd like that, thanks," I replied.

"Um, your side is on the left side of the room. I already set everything up over the weekend, so you can just settle in."

Right. We'd been sharing a room. I'd almost forgotten. I wished I'd forgotten.

The bedroom itself wasn't all that bad when I got up to it. It was a little cramped, but workable. There were two single beds on opposite sides, a white dresser between the two of them, with two lamps on each end. A neat work desk with a prehistoric computer sat next to the wooden wardrobe, and there were cute fairylights draped around the perimeter. The curtains were a deep purple, complimenting the lavender of the walls and the bedcovers which were mauve on both beds.

My bed sat right underneath the window, boasting a front row seat to the creepy ass tree right outside, with spindly limbs that reached right to the windowsill, and the looming woods beyond.

Right then.

Just one year of this, I thought, setting my bag down and flopping onto the bed. After that I was free.

That is, if I didn't kill myself first.

Dinner was bland and unseasoned, just like its maker.

It was roast chicken and potatoes, though even to my vegetarian eyes, I'd never seen a sadder looking chicken in my life. Uncle Charlie was living though, digging in with a quiet relish that let show how much he enjoyed it. Bella picked and prodded at her food, nibbling every once in a while. She'd never been a big eater.

I contented myself with the potatoes, all the while trying to reassure Bella and Uncle Charlie that no, it was perfectly alright, they didn't know, it was a relatively recent development (actually I'd been veg since fourteen, but that was when Bella stopped coming over so…) and they really shouldn't apologize. Still, the potatoes only had salt and black pepper to their name, and that was just sad.

I decided that I'd be taking care of my own cooking from then on.

The silence at the table was oppressive, but I was used to it and managed to eat my food with little issue. Even back home, dinners for the last year had been somber affairs. Forrest and I always seemed to lose our words when it came to speaking with our mother.

Soon enough the food was put away, and after helping Bella with the dishes and figuring out a new way to divvie up the housework –because if I was going to be living with them for a year it was the polite thing to do-, the both of us headed upstairs at the completely unsubtle urging over her father.

The silence between the two of us in the bedroom wasn't any better, really. My brother always gets on my case for "taking a sick pleasure in making people feel uncomfortable", but this time I couldn't even deny it. Watching Bella positively writhe in the awkward tension of our room was beyond entertaining. She fiddled with the school books on her table for a while, before picking up a textbook and making a sorry attempt at studying, and then gave up entirely and then proceeding to pick up a dry Classic and staring at the same page for over five minutes, knee bouncing and glancing at me from the corner of her eyes every few seconds.

Knowing her, she probably felt guilty about not being more open and conversing with me like a good roommate, but her naturally quiet demeanor conflicted enough with her intentions that she didn't know how to go about it naturally. I could tell because she'd displayed similar enough behavior in the past; Even though she'd always declined to participate in the more athletic games my brother and I often played with the other neighborhood kids (for good reason too) she'd still feel guilty about it, and would try make up for her aloofness by acting as a sort of on hand nurse –handing out juice boxes or administering band-aids if one of us fell, unable to sit completely still.

I rolled my eyes and decided to take pity on her after the fifteen minute mark passed and she still hadn't turned the page.

Putting down my phone, I sat up and turned to face her.

"Tell me," I started slowly, not even bothering to hide my amusement when she virtually jumped up at my words. "What's Forks High like? School is starting on Monday right? I'd like to know what I'm getting into." I said.

There it was –the look of sympathy in those big brown eyes as she stared at me. Bella was always trying to take care of people. "It's very cliquey, with the Jocks, the Cheerleaders and so on. It's like a stereotypical teen movie come to life. I guess because it's a small town everyone's trying to seem more important than they actually are?" She wrinkled her nose at this. Simple, Humble Bella. Always above such things. "Don't worry though, I'll be there with you every step of the way, and you can hang out with my friends."

She probably meant it to be comforting, but I could already tell Bella wasn't what one would call 'popular'. Her friends were probably the quiet book nerds of the school whose idea of fun was getting together for weekly study groups and flash card quizzes.

I doubted the school was as extreme as it sounded, what with less than five hundred students, but if it was, I'd fit right in.

My old highschool boasted over one thousand students, a posh private school filled with kids all looking to murder each other to climb the social ladder. Getting punch drunk on the weekends at someone's sprawling beach house while somehow maintaining a 4.0 GPA throughout the school year (whether you did it through studying or fucking whichever professor mattered most didn't matter -either option was highly regarded and if you could manage both at the same time, well, you were golden.) was expected of you. There, things like that mattered, because ten years down the line, you might find out the company you're looking to work for is actually headed by an old classmate, and good luck to you if you were the sad acne ridden kid everyone used to make fun of.

While I didn't much care for the fakeness of it all, it had its own kind of charm. A distraction to the everyday miseries of life. Indeed, half of us were depressed and the other half high on medication to stave off that very same depression. Spoiled rich kids or not, we all had issues.

I'd been one of the "It Kids", just as Forrest had been before he'd gone off to college; perfect grades, perfect attendance to all the best social events. Just because we no longer attend didn't mean people weren't paying attention to us. Social Media existed, and everyone knew everyone.

While having a familiar face around would certainly be nice, Bella was not It. It was my last year of highschool, my last year of hell before I was either free or death claimed me first. I was planning on making the most of it.

"Bless," I said, pasting on a smile. She smiled back; looking satisfied that she'd done her duty to make me feel reassured, before going back to her book and actually paying attention this time.

Bella was innocent and kind and lovely, always ready to put herself before others. I almost felt bad for her really.

Chances were she'd come to hate me before the end of the semester.