All rights go Stephenie Meyer, I own nothing except my own character, Elizabeth.
Elizabeth POV
It was cold, it was dark and it was raining. As usual.
But it was still a hell of a lot better than what I had waiting for me at home.
My father doesn't like me very much. Whether it's because of my panic disorder, his fatherly instincts sensing my closeted bisexuality, or me just not being able to measure up to my sister, Pure and Perfect Isabella, I'll never know. I just know that he hates me and the feeling's pretty much mutual.
Stopping to pull my damp jean jacket tighter around my hunched shoulders, I felt a sudden rush of cold penetrate my toes. Glancing down at the moon-illuminated puddle currently soaking my black combat boats, I saw my mother's green eyes and light brown hair reflected back at me. Is my mother really watching over me?
That's impossible, shaking my head in frustration, I resumed my hurried gait. Mom was in Florida taking care of Phil while his torn ligament healed and happily working her way through every player on his minor league baseball team.
Brushing away all thoughts of my mother's blissfully ignorant attitude towards me, I finally got within sight of my destination; the two-story Victorian era masterpiece currently masquerading as the Cullen home. Trudging up the driveway, I could see the kitchen light burst to life through the rain-soaked strands of hair plastered to my face. Reaching out and grasping the doorknob, a simple flick of the wrist rewarded me with a blast of heat and the intoxicating aroma of Esme Cullen's signature sheppard's pie.
"Elizabeth Swan!" came Esme's sharp motherly cry as she bustled around the kitchen, sitting a piping-hot plate of food on the kitchen counter. "What have I told you about staying out in this kind of weather? You know you're always welcome here."
Staring into her concerned honey brown eyes, I felt a familiar pang of longing as I hoped futilely that the Cullen matriarch could be my real mother. She cooked, cleaned and cared, which was more than my biological mother had even done. She even had the same light ash brown hair that did, to my human eyes anyways. But that was where the physical similarities ended, despite our bevvy of emotional similarities, our love of singing and old cartoons, she was vampiric perfection and I was human mediocrity.
"You know I hate bothering you Esme", I answered meekly, pulling myself from both my inner monologue and my rain-drenched clothes. "Besides, I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself", I added, while popping myself in front of Esme's heavenly creation.
"Mmhmm", she murmured sarcastically. "Well if you need anything Beth, I'll be in the laundry room. Jasper and Emmett thought it would be fun to have a mud fight while seeing who could put on the most clothes, so I'm up to my ears in dirty laundry".
Chuckling quietly, I watched Esme gracefully dance out of the room and down the stairs, and tucked into her delicious meal.
Upon finishing, I placed my plate in the sink and quickly washed it before daring my eyes around the house, looking for signs of life, or in the Cullens' case, death. My answer came soon enough - footsteps quickly descending the staircase in the melodic, yet hallmark vampire fashion. Tip-tap. Tip-tap. Tip-tap. Unsure whether it was friend or foe - this house was firmly divided between Team Beth and Team Bella - my gaze flashed over to mahogany front door which had granted me access to the Cullen home, wondering if I could grab my jacket and my shoes and get out before whoever it was got down the stairs. After coming to the conclusion that my feeble human speed wouldn't be able to save me before the Cullen in question made it down the stairs, I began to pray that whoever it was was Team Beth, Rosalie, Jasper and Emmett, or even blissfully unaligned (and unaware) Carlisle and Esme, rather than anyone from the hatred-inducing Team Bella.
Tensing as I prepared for a world class death glare, I was greeted by the tight jeans, four inch heels and signature blonde locks of my first real girl-crush and fuck buddy, Rosalie Hale.
"Well fancy meeting you here", she drawled lazily, with a mischievous twinkle in her golden eyes. "I just knew I smelled teen spirit. Let me guess, you couldn't stay away from me and now you're back to beg for more?"
Narrowing my eyes playfully, I rose to my full 5'9", in an attempt to match Rosalie's own wry flirtatiousness. "We both know I'm not the one who does the begging in this relationship, Rosalie".
"Really? Because I seem to recall a certain human moaning something along the lines of 'oh god Rosalie, please, please don't stop'", she retorted in a high, breathy tone. "Hmm, maybe it was Bella then".
At the mention of my not-so-dear sister, my eyebrows shot up.
"Hmm, I'd think you'd remember something as horrifying as taking my sister to bed".
"Well, she's not exactly the remarkable twin now is she?" Rosalie prompted, tilting her head coyly, while smoothly closing the space between us and cupping my chin.
"Depends on who you ask", I murmured darkly.
"Well if you ask me", she started, pulling me flush against her by the loops of my own jeans and pressing her lips against my ear, "You are the most smart. Sexy. And downright enjoyable little human I've come across in all my years." she breathed, punctuating each word with a gentle kiss just below my ear. On my spot. The one little spot that only Rosalie and a select few of my exes knew about that could make me see stars.
"And I intend to prove it to you. Even if it takes all night."
With that statement both in the air and firmly ingrained in our lust-filled minds, Rosalie grabbed me by the wrist and quickly pulled me up to her bedroom, slamming the door behind her, as if to warm all of the house's other inhabitants that peace and quiet would elude them for the next while. Pushing me down onto her bed and pressing her lips to mine, I knew I was in for a long night.
First story, thoughts?