Okay, I'm doing a few major changes in the story.
Like, for example, Bella has her family problems, and actually cares about it.
The start may seem like a carbon copy of the book, but it's not, really.
I hope you like it.
First sight;
I was torn between humiliation and fury at the sight of my grinning father.
His beaming face was the first thing I had noticed as I made my way off the plane. He waved with such enthusiasm I knew I could never give him in return, even if I wanted to. People close to him stared in amusement at his overexcitement, and in curiosity at the shiny police badge pinned on his shirt.
As soon as he had seen me, "Bella," he reached out to give me a hug. I tolerated it stiffly; despite my resentment towards him and the whole of Olympic Peninsula of Washington State, Forks in particular, I didn't want to start my new life with a bang of hostility— I'll wait for it to unfold gradually. "I missed you so much," he said warmly, his lean arms still clasped around my shoulders.
I didn't trust myself to speak, and cleared my face of traitorous emotions.
But he could tell anyway. Charlie abruptly released me from his embrace, and we left the Port Angeles Airport in silence.
Our next destination? The small, accursed town of Forks. The logging capital of the US.
"Did you have a safe trip?" He asked the moment we were safely buckled in his rundown cruiser.
I tucked my knees securely within my arms and bit my tongue, fighting the urge to snap at him.
"I guess I did. I wouldn't be here I didn't, would I?"
That shut him up for a while. I peeked sideways, wincing almost, expecting what I would have expected from Phil, my mother's new husband, had I snapped at him in a similar manner. Instead, he looked unswervingly at the road before him, face set in an infuriatingly calm approach.
I wished he would stop the charade.
Then I remembered my mother's words as we waited for my flight only hours ago.
Renee's long, bony fingers were clamped onto my tiny, delicate ones. An unfamiliar gleam shone from her large, brown eyes— a faint gleam of worry. My mother was not one for worrying, not for me especially. She was the kind of woman who did the most ridiculous things for her own enjoyment, whether she knew how nonsensical they were or not, regardless of how much it would affect those who cared for her. She knew her marriage with Charlie would always be nothing but an amusement from the beginning; she had had no intention of living up to it. But then I came into existence, and there she was, married and knocked up at the age of eighteen, with no goals for her life whatsoever. Though we both so rarely talked about it, I estimated the years they struggled together to be a mere five. Sometimes, though, it's seemed so much more than that to me.
Charlie was, in the kindest words, worlds apart in manner and beliefs from Renee.
Renee had glanced around us, taking advantage of Phil's momentary absence.
"You don't have to do this," she said in a steady, emotional voice so unlike her. "We'll find another way to suit you and your dad both."
"Don't call him that," I said as calmly as I could. She went on as if I'd said not a thing, as she did always. And I repeated, in a much quieter voice, almost to myself, "Don't call him that."
She resorted to her casual pout. "I need you here with me. Charlie doesn't need you. I do." I tried my best not to cringe at her tight grip on my hands.
"Do you, now?" I hadn't meant for my tone to be so harsh. When had this begun, the discomfort between my mother and I? True, we were never the closest; we've never really had the normal mother-daughter relationship. From the instance Renee stowed away with the five year old me from the suffocating clutches of Forks and Charlie, an unspoken seal sparked. She could have so easily left me with Charlie, but she chose not to. That's what I would think over and over during those frequent times of loneliness and depression in her care. It cheered me up, that small thought.
Renee was the kind of mother who was there all the time, yet not really there at all. Ready to answer, reluctant to listen; yet so easily manipulated by her new, handsome, and shockingly too-young husband.
And that's, I supposed, when it began.
"Well, I tried," No, you didn't, I wanted to tell her. She gave one of her world-weary sighs. "He's not going to be an easy man to live with, Bella, I'm telling you now. There's a reason why I left him in the first place." She let go hastily of my hands and a wide smile broke over her face.
I closed my eyes as my mother took notice of Phil's sudden reappearance.
My plane was here.
Dull shows of muddled colors of green and brown emerged seemingly from nowhere on each sides of the road. The murkiness gave a claustrophobic feeling. Large, imposing clusters of trees, their deracinated roots overlapping one another, some extending to the edge of our road. And past these, Charlie's ramshackle house stood in a muddy clearing on the end of the path, farther than any other house. Charlie parked the cruiser in front of the house, right beside an old, severely damaged truck; its red paint was starting to peel off.
For some reason I felt annoyed by its sight. "Did you invite anyone over?"
Charlie smiled as he opened the door and walked out of the car. He neared me as I lugged my scanty luggage with some difficulties. The woes of skipping gym.
"'m okay," I mumbled, purposely drawing away from him. I caught a brief glimpse of his face as I passed him, and tried, as soon as I did, to forget the sight. I walked towards the front door, taking slow, careful steps up the icy stairs.
"Bella, wait," I groaned inside my head and turned to face him.
"What is it—Dad?" I wasn't allowed to call him Charlie in the face, though it was thoroughly encouraged back at my mother's home in Phoenix.
"I—ah—have something for you."
I lay in bed with uncontained tears streaming down my face.
Like always, my cries were so silent even I couldn't hear them, though the never-ending rain may have been a factor. I shook at every powerful blast of air that hit the glass window, and tightly clutched the ends of the threadbare coverlet at each whooshing of the trees.
Maybe it was the rain. Maybe it was this room. Or maybe, I just wanted to cry.
The tempting thought of slumber won after what seemed like forever.
I woke at five-thirty a.m. sharp. Late for me, but I cut myself some slack, just this once. Charlie's two-storey house consisted of two small bedrooms, mine and Charlie's, above, and all the other rooms below. Even then, from the kitchen while I fixed us breakfast, I heard his wild snores.
When I finished my cereal, I still had an hour to kill. I decided to gaze around the rest of the rooms in this house.
I strained my memory, wanting bright bits and pieces of this place I had once, twelve years ago, called home. Nothing. Instead, I remembered the yells, the constant door-slamming. I could almost hear the glass shattering from the living room along with Renee's screams.
I held onto the mantelpiece of Charlie's living room for support, only to receive something quite like a blow as I looked over the picture frames on top. Renee and Charlie's wedding in Vegas; a stained photograph of me building a snowman, all grins despite the equally frosty atmosphere coming not only from the snowy background; countless photos of me through the ages, all sent to him dutifully and without protest by Renee.
The last time I'd set foot in this house, I was fourteen years old. And even then, I had spent nearly less than a day here. So it bothered me, despite years of never truly being here, how precisely I still envisioned the very scenes I'd seen in this room.
That's when I decided to leave, ignoring the fact that I had about half an hour to spare.
I stumbled clumsily into Charlie's arms as I exited the living room.
"Whoa, slow down," he said, looking slightly drowsy but sounding the exact opposite. He added, "Don't you think it's a bit early, Bells?"
"I'd rather be early than late. Why, is it wrong?" I wriggled out of his reach frantically, as though his hold sent electric shocks through my veins.
"Are you sure you can get there all by yourself? I can drive you if you want, just for today . . .?"
"I'm fine, really." I said flatly as I rushed in the direction of the front door. "I don't need your help." But just a step out, my hesitation so blatantly obvious, I stopped in the doorway and turned to face him, "Thanks for . . . thanks for the truck again, Dad." and left quickly. One can't hold that much disrespect for her dad, in spite of everything.
I parked the truck Charlie had bought me over the farthest and murkiest corner of the school parking lot. Beneath two enormous, mossy trees; a plus, though, was that it served as a weak veil from the ceaseless rainfall. The drive was relatively easy, hardly any traffic. The truck, on the other hand, was a bit too ancient for my taste. I smelled faintly of mixed tobacco and sharp peppermint, like Phil. Therefore I hated it. But it was a set of wheels nonetheless, and I had to be, I tried to be, grateful for the thought.
Many curious sets of eyes trailed after me as I made my way to the Front Office. Most were easy to ignore, but some. . .
Some were not.
Ahead of me, only a few feet from the Front Office, he stood leaning against a gleaming car—a Volvo. Lean and bronze-haired, with an unusually pale complexion that seemed to stand out from the dark, murky surroundings. He wasn't alone, four more were about him; two girls and one muscular guy sat within the car, busy in a hushed conversation, and another guy, a tad lanky and yellow-haired, had only just gotten out of the Volvo to accompany the bronze-haired one. Yellow-haired had clutched bronze-haired's shoulders firmly, as though holding him in place.
His black eyes were locked on me. There was a glint in them—anger? Frustration?
"Hey, move it, fat ass!"A honk of a car and an irate voice shouted from behind. I'd been standing in the middle of the road.
"I'm sorry," I said, quickly getting out of the way and moving to the side. A few students close by snickered.
My thoughts seemed to be fading away from my grasp. The intensity of his dark gaze was taking its toll on me. But not for reasons one would have expected. I couldn't look at him anymore, I could feel my eyes burning with emotions I so hated.
Yellow-haired's grip was without doubt the only reason bronze-haired kept in place, hissing from the corners of his blood-red lips harsh words into his ears. His lightly shaded eyes, too, would not leave me.
"Excuse me?" a bubbly voice said. I turned, startled. An angel of a boy stood by my side, blonde, with the largest blue eyes I've ever seen, smiling widely and pointing ahead. "If you're lost or anything, front office is just over there." For a second I wondered if he was making fun of me. No, he wasn't, of course. Renee had told me, during those regular Wednesday nights when Phil had bowling out with friends that I tended to overreact, that I was too sensitive for my own good. She would tell me to stop thinking and start living. You should be like me, Renee said. An unpredictable rock. Though at that moment she had confused me completely, I came to understand it gradually. Unpredictable, she was, that was not the cause of my confusion. A rock, though, it was an odd thing to describe my erratic mother.
So I thought of Phil, and I had not needed any other explanation.
"I know," I answered the boy, unable to help the iciness of my voice. "I can see it right in front of me. Thanks." He looked slightly awkward, putting scratching one foot behind the other. With a softer tone, "I'm Bella. Swan. Bella Swan." I extended a hand toward him.
Relief flooded his face while his friends, most watching him as they copied each other's homework, snickered yet again. "Mike. Mike Newton." he shook my hand earnestly, it took quite a while for him to let go. "Bella, hmm? As in, Isabella Swan, Chief Swan's daughter? Brilliant. Of course, I knew you were coming. I just didn't know when. If I had, I'd have gone out of my way to show you around this prison. My father happens to be a close acquaintance of your father, I expect you know that, supplies him with all his fishing gears and whatnot—" His ramblings were cut by the upsetting racket of large chunk of metal flung unto a car.
I scanned through the lot for the source. Mike whistled, amused.
"What?" I asked him.
"Cullen's at it again, the freak." with a thumb he motioned towards bronze- and yellow-haired.
"Which one is Cullen?"
"Both of them, rather tricky to explain. Brothers. The one with yellow hair is Jasper, and the guy he's shoving? That's Edward. Edward Cullen." Edward Cullen. . . "Anyway, what's you first period? Oh wait, I've forgotten, you've not been to the front office yet. Mine happens to be Spanish, so. . ." Mike's bouncy voice dispersed as I watched across a silent battle.
In the shadows, right next to the front office, it was as though Jasper was restraining Edward Cullen. Jasper's delicate hands clasped onto Edwards forearms, thrusting him against the passenger's seat car-door, away from my view, with a force that would have knocked the breath out of anyone. The force did seem to affect those sitting idly within the vehicle. The girls narrowed their eyes, shot the two boys threatening glares, and with an exaggerated manner of haughtiness went out of the car. The smaller of the two girls strode to assist Jasper with whatever it was he and Edward were doing, along with the muscular guy who'd accompany them inside the car. Their lips moved fast, but no sound was coming. All eyes were directed at Edward, who succumbed and did not fight a bit as they huddled before him.
The other girl merely observed from her comfortable position underneath the closest tree, a smile crept on her face.
"What's wrong with that group?" I interrupted Mike just as he'd started on lunchroom rules.
"What? Oh, the Cullens? Everything's wrong with them. No, I'm only joking. They're just all rather odd, moved in town a couple years ago. You'll get used to them, even bored, soon enough," Mike glanced at his watch. "Oh, good Lord. It's nearly first bell. You'd better get to the front office or you'll be late. See you at lunch." He waved and went on to join his eager friends.
They were the only ones left, the Cullens, I saw as I glanced about the lot. I moved quickly, my steps faster than I'd risk in this icy state. The front door was, thankfully, wide open, so all I had needed to do was barge right in without another thought.
I didn't do so, sadly.
Pausing a step before the couple stairs, I wiped my boots on the mat and looked behind me.
They were watching me. A pause in their argument, a hiss from the one called Jasper. Edward reached out sideways to clutch the clothing of the small girl, whose lips curled into something not quite a smile at the sight of me.