ONE
The first of many disappointments
My parents had tried to have a son for years before they had me. They would've adopted but it was my mom's dream to have a baby of her own making. You can't say she wasn't persistent. For almost 9 years they tried and tried and tried, until one miraculous day her doctor informed them they were gonna be the proud parents of a (hopefully) healthy baby. To say my mom had been excited was an understatement, I was meant to be the joy of her life, her fucking savior, her one and only.
No pressure.
My dad, even though he'll never really verbally admit it, had dreams of me becoming a surgeon like him. The thing about parents is that even though they say they'll accept whatever you choose to do, you can still see the disappointment glistening from their eyes when you don't follow the script they've written for you. I knew I was lucky, my house wasn't a dictatorship, but then again being an only son has some unwritten expectations that are hard to live up to. I stopped trying a long time ago.
When Carlisle and Esme met in college, never in their wildest dreams they thought they were gonna end up married. Whenever my mom tells me the story of the first time they met she never fails to mention how at first sight my dad's display of bravado, even though it was meant to charm her out of her pants, rubbed her the wrong way. It took him a whole semester getting her to accept to go out on a date with him. What a pussy my dad.
So after marrying straight out of college they decided a child was the missing piece that would complete their oh so perfect home. I was destined for greatness in their eyes, and after almost a decade of waiting and expecting there I was. Only I wasn't what they hoped for.
The first time I saw a ghost I was five. I was at the park playing in the sandbox while my mom talked to other moms about mom's stuff. I was a very sharp kid even back then, so when I felt a sudden chill I knew something was up. Every parent feels the biological need to remind their progeny never to talk to strangers from the moment they're conceived, and I was no exception, so as soon as I noticed someone watching me I looked for my mom.
She was still talking to her friends and I wasn't particularly spooked, so I kept playing.
He kept staring, and although I knew what I was supposed to do, which was go running towards any parental unit, I turned to face the stranger. My own 5-year-old self couldn't deny the pull towards the mysterious, that craving to face the unfamiliar, the almost morbid case of curiosity.
The old man was wearing a long coat, he was kneeling on the other edge of the sandbox. He had so many wrinkles, I remember thinking at the time, he seemed to be made out of paper. He had so many creases and lines around his eyes that I couldn't even tell the color of his irises. They were so small, his eyes, two little dots in the center of his face. He was smiling at me, a sad kind of smile. He never spoke, he just stared at me and I stared back. When my mom came looking for me she asked me what I was doing, and I made the first of many many mistakes, that would come to define my life.
I told her about the old man, who of course, she couldn't see. I pointed, cried, shrieked but she couldn't see him. People around me started noticing my outburst and they stood there, staring at me, giving my mom sympathetic looks.
Why she couldn't see him? What was wrong with her?
Later, I came to realize there was nothing wrong with her. There was something wrong with me.
Eventually the old man stood up and walked away, into the cover of the trees and disappeared. No one said anything, no one looked at him, they just stared at me. My mom tried to calm me down, she held me and started sobbing. Now that I look back I can almost sense what she was feeling then, what she was thinking. Probably something like: You wanted a son? Congratulations, here, have a freak.
I should've kept my mouth shut after that, but I was a fucking kid and I was scared. So for the next following years I kept trying to convince my parents that what I was seeing was real. It didn't matter when or where it happened, to me it was another opportunity to convince them of my sanity. As soon as I felt the chill, the goosebumps, the feeling of being watched, I turned to them. As I grew up my attempt to prove them wrong surpassed my survival instinct, and I started trying to reach the shades (as I later started calling them). However, it was like I could never get close enough, they always walked away, disappeared before I could even get near.
Me: Mom, look! Can't you see him?
Esme: Who, honey?
Me: The boy. The dead boy, he's standing right over there.
Esme: (sigh) Not here, please Edward.
Me: Mom, please. Try to see him. Just try. Pleasepleaseplease.
Esme: (sobbing) There's no one there baby.
Me: Please.
Esme: (holding me) There's never someone there.
It didn't take long for Esme and Carlisle to convince themselves that I needed special help. It would only take a few sessions, they thought, everything will be alright.
After six years, six fucking years (I was a stubborn little shit), of psychiatric treatment I came to the realization that no one was ever going to believe me. So I did what everyone expected me to do. I got better.
I started acting normal again, I made friends, I was perfect. My teenage years came with expected rebelliousness, a lot of girls and not a single mention of my troubled past. I never saw a shade again.
Only I did, but I knew better then.
The year I smoked my first cigarette and kissed a girl I learned how to keep my goddamned mouth shut.
Crazy meets his Elysium
I arrived at the school's parking lot and sighed to myself. I still couldn't believe I was going to spend my junior and senior year in fucking Forks.
When my dad first told me he was being transferred to Washington to become the chief surgeon of a small town I almost screamed Bullshit! at him. Did I say almost? I actually did yelled that at him, and kicked a chair and stormed out of the house. Very teenagery of me. I spent the rest of that day smoking weed and playing GTA at a friend's house. I came home the day after and it was as if nothing had happened. Two weeks later we were on our way to Forks.
I stepped out of the car and grabbed my bag. I was itching for a smoke.
A blonde girl approached me suddenly. She had a really big rack and she knew it. She had the whole Scarlet Johansson vibe going on, she was taller though. All in all she was hot, but not my type.
She was standing next to my car with her eyes squinted. Didn't even look in my direction.
"Uh, can I help you?" I asked her.
"Q7?" She asked in return, her eyes still trained on my car.
"Yeah." I answered.
She nodded once and turned to face me. "Sweet ride. I'm Rosalie."
"You like cars huh?"
"I like ice cream, I absolutely love cars." I was starting to like this chick.
I smiled and nodded. "I'm Edward."
She was about to say something when a guy called out her name. "That's Emmett, my boyfriend," she said, pointing at him. "Bell's about to ring. See ya."
I was about to head inside when I saw a matte black G-Wagon approaching way too fast. I thought whoever was driving it was gonna crash another car but ended up avoiding it at the last second. The shitty driver parked about three cars away and I winced when it passed mine.
I shook my head, amazed at how some people were actually allowed to drive. That shit should be illegal.
I heard the car door opening and for some reason I decided to check who was the infamous pilot. I sure as hell wasn't expecting what I saw.
Rosalie was hot, very much so, but she wasn't my cup of tea. Unlike the majority of the male population I didn't like huge boobs, or blonde hair. Oh no, I preferred by far long legs, slim build, narrow waist, messy hair and that's exactly what came out of that car.
In a pair of black Doc Martens and a gait that couldn't exude more confidence she strode past me, leaving me standing there like a complete fucking moron. In all my life I'd never been so attracted to someone and all I had was the image of her walking away from me and the scent of strawberries.