So this is the start of what I hope to be my first full length story. I've had this for ages and I've only just realised that I should probably do something with it. I'd really love it if I could get some feedback from you guys, even just to let me know whether you think it's worth continuing with. Thank you!
Devine-Wonderland
When something becomes contraband or explicit or illegal, the appeal of it multiplies, making it something that is just all that more appetising. It's like when you're young, and you are going high on the swings and you are thinking 'yeah, this is pretty cool' but the slide is calling you and then your mum comes and tells you that going to high is not allowed and you must stop swinging at once and all of a sudden all you want to do is swing as high as possibly can. Only, as a child I never once had the urge to be defiant, conformity and obedience were what I thrived upon, if I was told not to do something then the appeal of it was instantly diminished under the knowledge that it was not the most sensible, reliable, right thing to be doing. It was something that my parents – as can be imagined – cherished greatly, their perfect daughter that never did anything wrong.
As Jessica Stanley was grounded for coming home with a love bite on her right boob and Mike Newton was suspended for smoking pot under the bleachers, I was achieving the perfect grades my mother had dreamed of and staying out of the high school society that my father hated so.
Perhaps my time spent as a perfectly obedient minor left me with a thirst for rebellion in my late teen years or maybe my sense if adventure and risk was just late in developing - years of conformity having left me begging for some sort of release from the purgatory I had created for myself through my years of shunning the risky or wrong aspects of existence.
Either way, I know that my insolence arrived with Edward Cullen and his motorcycle.
He was the epitome of the type of man that my mother had spent hours warning me against and was the type of 'scum' that my father spent his days as chief of police getting off the streets and into custody cells. Whispers of Edward Cullen reached the school long before he did; he had previously been a student of the high school in the neighbouring town but a list of misbehaviours as long as my list of academic achievements resulted in his expulsion. Tales of him growing marijuana in his poor mother's greenhouse were spread around Forks' halls as well of accounts of his infamous house parties where he apparently got so drunk that when the police arrived he was not able to so much as tell them his name. Just the thought of having to share the campus with such an invalid made me shudder and wish – along with my parents – that our family had the funds to afford me entry into the more exclusive schools in the state.
The day he arrived the excitement radiating off the vast majority of the female populace made me stomach churn. Talk of what I assumed to be vermin under my own beliefs in social standards had somehow – for the rest of the females – morphed into an irresistible bad boy who they were just begging to invite to break their hearts and use their bodies. I had never saw the appeal in the rebel type – where the attraction lay in one who took pleasure in pointless rule breaking and 'sticking it to the man' I would never grasp.
While the rest of the school waited with baited breath for Edward Cullen to arrive I made my way to my first class, hoping against hope that my timetable would not coincide with our newest pupil's in the slightest bit - knowing that someone like him would only ever act as a liability to my education.
By lunch time on the day of Edward Cullen's arrival stories of his rugged good looks and red motorcycle were being strewn across the cafeteria as if he were some celebrity. I rolled my eyes at the absurdity of it all – what shape must our society be in if a disrespectful, fallacious, 'rebel' was elevated to the status of God?
Lustful hormones filled the small dining hall making me feel claustrophobic and in desperate need of someone that was sound of mind. I made my way to my refuge; a lone tree surrounded my browning grass set 100 yards north of the school. It seemed to be the only place in the campus where peace could be afforded as the library had long since been taken over by students struggling to finish homework due next period or revising for tests that they had forgot about until the last minute.
From a distance, I could see a figure occupying the exact spot that my body usually filled; I could feel my feet speeding up underneath me, furious that someone had the audacity to steal my haven. Drawing closer, the realisation of who the figure was hit me. The fact that they were not recognisable instantly leads to one conclusion, seeing as the population of the school was small enough to allow knowledge of every student under a first name basis, a student that I did not know could only be a new student and the only new student was Edward Cullen. My anger swelled, not only had my spot been stolen, but it had been stolen by an invalid.
"You can't sit here" I all but spat as the distance between us was such that would allow him to hear me. He didn't move, not so much as blink to acknowledge my statement. Edward Cullen continued to puff a dubious looking white roll which, from my limited knowledge of illegal substances, appeared to look very much like a joint of marijuana. My face contorted in disgust as I took in the boy in front of me. He stood, slumped against the tree, joint in one hand and lighter in the other as his eyelids fluttered languishingly with every puff of the drug. He wore ripped jeans that clung to his legs tucked into his bulky black boots. Much like every 'rebellious' character in every film made, he wore a baggy band t-shirt and a worn leather jacket. It was a struggle not to laugh at the living, breathing stereotype. His only distinctly original feature was the penny coloured hair flopping over his eyes and down his neck; a mess of cow-licks and tangles.
"Hello! Excuse me! You have to move... now." I continued almost shouting in my rage. I hated being ignored more than anything; it was one of my flaws. Nothing got my rage going more than someone not acknowledging me; it was such a blatant display of bad manners. Again, Edward Cullen didn't bat an eyelid at my proclamation, choosing instead to continue to suck on the joint.
"MOVE!" I screamed, finally – and for the first time in my life – properly letting my emotion take hold of me. This time he looked up, looked me directly in the eye as if challenging me to go on, daring me to make him move. In my anger I almost didn't noticed the moss-green colour of his eyes or the fact that they were framed by long, dark lashes, almost.
Edward Cullen smirked before throwing his joint on the ground and grinding it into the soil with his heavy boot. A silence surrounded us as I let my breathing slow and regained control of my emotions. I didn't know quite what to say, with anyone else I would have apologised for my rudeness and rushed away, embarrassed for stepping so out of line. However, something within me refused to let my mouth form an apology.
An immeasurable amount to time passed before he said anything and when he did I wished that the silence would return with all of my self.
"Fuck off" Edward Cullen said with such strength and feeling that I was almost knocked back. I was left staring at the space he had occupied long after he had swaggered down the hill leading back to the school.
I didn't have another encounter with Edward Cullen for a long while although not one day passed where I did not castrate our exchange, picking apart every detail of it and investigating it with such thoroughness that I began having dreams about him. Never once had someone got under my skin so much and my dislike for him was only multiplied as consequence. Meanwhile, Cullen hysteria was still rife although, much to the disappointment of all, he had not done anything particularly outrageous at our own school yet. Truth be told, I was hoping for something that would discredit all the bad that had been said about him as my mind battled against my artificial dislike for him and my yearning to know him, to be able to get under his skin as much as he had mine. If it were to emerge that Edward Cullen was not the rebel without a cause he was known to be then I would be able to rationalise my craving for him and perhaps get to know him although my previous – and only – encounter with him may have been an indication that Edward Cullen was not at all interested in getting to know me.
While it was easier to act as though he was nothing but a source of great annoyance to me, when I lay in bed at night it was impossible to deny the pull I felt towards him. While I was still aware that he stood for everything I was meant to be against, I didn't want to let go of the hope that there was something more to him.
It wasn't until a week before the summer break that I got to speak to him again. While the whole school was buzzing in anticipation of a long summer spent relaxing on La Push beach, I was gearing up for 3 months spent in preparation for senior year, making sure I was equipped with all the necessary tools to get me into college, and hopefully a scholarship too. It was in the face of a summer of practical isolation that I did find myself yearning for friends of some sorts, although at one point I did have a bounty of peers that I would have considered myself friendly with, the were lost as their sense of adventure flourished and what little I had seemed to wither only to be replaced my an anal personality that I seemed to have adopted from my mother which acted as a repellent to anyone that was in search of fun. It is only on reflection that I realise how badly I needed to be rescued, not once in my days before Edward did I ever consider that it was me that was wrong, not the rest of society. For so long I assumed that I was simply advanced and that one day everyone else would catch up with me. All along it was me that had to catch up with them and escape from the protective wing of my mother and father.
A rare day of Fork's sunshine led me to my spot under the tree, with my headphones tight in my ears and my head tilted upwards to the heat, I allowed myself enjoyment in the best way I knew how; escapism.
The lyrics of my favourite band wrapped around me, as they always did, leaving me with a feeling of completeness unparalleled by any other;
"Out of all the flaws I've stumbled on, it's the hardest one to focus on."
The music moved slowly, allowing me to absorb the meaning behind every words and every chord – I was so caught up in the lead singer's rough tone that I didn't notice his presence until he snatched a bud out of my ear and placed it in his own. I turned to him, trying to mask my shock with outrage but failing miserably as soon as I realised that he was moving his lips subtly in correlation with the lyrics.
"You like them?" I said in a thinly veiled tone of awe, Bombay Bicycle Club were the last band I would expect Edward Cullen to like. He should listen to loud banging music with a 'singer' that screamed out barely distinguishable lyrics about death and human sacrifice and sex.
He offered no other response other than a slight nod of the head and a drawn out 'mhm'. I could barely contain the sense of joy forming in my stomach, the reason for which a mystery to me. Even the fact that Edward Cullen had sat beside me and taken my headphone was a source of bewilderment, the last time we had spoken he did not qualm about leaving me in no doubt of his dislike for me and now... this, I couldn't keep my questions in my head and out of my mouth.
"Why are you doing this?" I asked, fearful of his response in case it was simply an immature dare or bet although as far as I could see, he was as much of a loner as I was, leaving him with nobody to even dare him to start with. He didn't answer until the song was over,
"I was curious" he stated simply as he grabbed my iPod from the ground and began scrolling through the song selection
"But you hate me." was my tactile and witty response, leaving me cringing and praying me for the ground to swallow me up. If this is what having a crush on someone feels like, I was glad I hadn't joined the game as early as everyone else. Edward didn't look up from the screen of the device as he offered his response
"Yeah, I mean you were an arrogant fucking cow that other time but you can't be that bad if no one in there likes you" he stated, gesturing towards the school with a nod of this head "and shit, they all really fucking hate you." he finished with a laugh.
I wasn't sure whether to be flattered or offended, of course I was aware that I was not the most popular student at school, I had never had any reason to believe that anybody hated me and I could hardly blame him for drawing that impression of me, I had been ever so slightly rash.
"Huh..." I replied, having given up having an intelligent conversation with someone who apparently rendered me stupid.
We sat in a semi-awkward silence for the next 10 minutes; semi because I had never felt so uncomfortable in my life and Edward looked perfectly content with his face buried in my music collection. After he was apparently satisfied, he got up and left with his only acknowledgement being a slight tip of the head before he drew a cigarette from behind his ear and proceeded to light it. I was lost.
What I had once saw as the finer aspects of my personality, I now saw as my biggest flaws. Edward Cullen would never like someone who was organised and judgemental and cautious. He would want a girl that lived for the moment and was ready to try anything. I stared in my reflection on the first night of summer and while the rest of the soon-to-be-senior class partied, I noticed how conservative my haircut was. Straight brown hair just past my elbows, pulled back by a plain black headband – never coloured, never styled. I noticed how instead of pictures of friends on my walls, I had study plans and revision notes. In my wardrobe, rows of knee length skirts and perfectly ironed shirts hung - looking more like a pastors wife's wardrobe that that of a seventeen year old. I noticed how my desk was neat to a fault, college prospectuses piled precisely and anally, just like the rest of my possessions, the rest of my life. No mess, no fuss, just right.
I tried to think of a time before Edward Cullen where I stepped out of line, when I did something that was unexpected. I drew nothing.
I wished there was a way I could contact him, in a moment of bravery I craved to tell him all that he had subconsciously done for me. Through two interactions he had managed to undo a lifetime of discipline and conformity.
I instead channelled my bravery into giving myself a haircut. I chopped off chunks of hair in such vigour that I was surprised I had any left by the end. The result, however, was satisfying. The years of allowing my mother to dress me and do as she wish to my hair were done as I was left with a shoulder length bob, messy with layers and a heavy fringe. For the first time, the thought of getting in trouble pleased me, I couldn't wait to hear what my mother had to say or the look on my father's face when he saw me. My parent's control of me was no more and no matter how much I loved them, I could no longer allow them to mould me into who they wanted me to be.
"Isabella, what happened? Who did that to you?" cried my mother as I stepped into the living room fighting the laughter bubbling in my throat. This was me acting out, this was me being me. An argument ensued and both my parents drew the conclusion that I was 'feeling poorly' and that it was the influence of 'that darn school'. By the second week I had a new wardrobe, complete with skinny jeans and a leather jacket. No matter how stereotypical, I could not deny the allure of the leather jacket. All thought of Edward Cullen had been put to the back of my mind in the rush of my transformation, my only goal being that I became 'Bella Swan' and strayed away from my previous title of 'Charlie and Renee's daughter'. Energy was not expelled on Edward Cullen until a chance meeting on the 4th week of summer.
The main street of Forks was always deserted on the hottest days; nothing in town was geared up for hot weather so the residents ditched Forks in favour of La Push. Although also lacking in hot weather supplies, it offered a beach which was too much for the sun-stroked residents to refuse. I enjoyed these days, Forks was much more appealing when it wasn't filled with people that cluttered the pavements. I had ditched my stuffy bedroom in favour of the summer breeze offered by the outdoors and aimless meandering had led me to the only supermarket in town. My throat, parched by the heat, was begging for some liquid but in my haste to get away from my house – and my parents – I had forgotten to bring any funds. I began to turn, dejectedly, in the direction of home, dreading the 4 mile walk in the sweltering heat when I heard the roar of a motorcycle. I spun round on instinct and felt an instant feeling of happiness tinged with fear as penny coloured hair fell out of a black helmet. I immediately checked my outfit and fluffed my hair just waiting for the moment Edward would turn and see me and be so shocked by the change that he whisked me off on his bike to some secluded part of the forest where he would make sweet, sweet love to me... or, you know, just say hi.
My hopes, however, were dashed when instead of turning around, Edward headed straight for the store. I panicked, not knowing what course of action to take: Should I leave? Should I go and talk to him? Should I wait by his bike? I stood for at least 5 minutes while I made up by mind, deciding that I wasn't quite ready to face my catalyst just yet and that it would probably be best if I just left. I turned to leave, annoyance at my lack of confidence undoing the work I had put in to bettering myself over the past weeks.
"Hey, do I know you?" called the voice that was all too familiar. I turned slowly, contorting my face from one of upset to one of casual surprise.
"Oh, hey! Yeah, I'm the arrogant fucking cow" I said as confidently as I could, trying to bring humour into the fact that he once did – and maybe still does – hate me. A flash of recognition crossed his face before he smirked slightly and barked out a laugh.
"Right, the chick with the great music taste" he said with a nod "wow, um, you've changed. Right?" I supposed that I should feel grateful that he remembered me for something other than my arrogance and resemblance to a farm yard animal but I was stuck on the fact that he had noticed the change.
"Umm, yeah. Kind of went through a phase of self-discovery." I said with an awkward laugh, withholding desperately the information that he had been the catalyst and that without him I would have continued on my path of isolation.
Edward nodded as though he knew exactly what I was talking about and opened his mouth as though to speak when the sky opened up and rain began to pelt down. The suddenness of the change left me standing soaking wet and shorts and a white vest top and few feet from Edward, all too aware of the fact that my black bra was now very visible. Edward seemed to notice that as well, something I wasn't quite sure whether to be happy or disgruntled about.
"Do you have a car with you?" he asked, leaving my heart thumping
"I actually walked, which was probably stupid because my house is out of town and..." Edward cut of my answer mid-way with a question that left my heart in my throat and the rest of me on cloud nine
"Do you want a lift?"
Please, please, please let me know what you think!