Of Lavendar, Roses, and Freesia Chapter 1

Bella

I glared at the shackles fastened painfully tight around the skin of my wrists and and around my ankles. Once again, I was on auction. It seemed I was on auction so much oftener now. I think the periods of time between each auction had begun to pass in a monotonous haze when I stopped caring. Every slave master or keeper, take you pick, that had ever bought me had beat me in the past and would continue to until I eventually died. And they had and would continue to be every slave, or "indentured servant". I scoffed at the name. We were not servants; they got actual sleeping quarters, clean clothes, and breaks. They were even allowed to sleep for a good 6 hours. No, we were slaves, lower than even dogs in society. We would and always will be, unless and until some old, tired slave master took pity on us and set us free--and since that had never happened before, we all knew it wouldn't now.

I knew that everything would be the same as I was pushed on the old, creak stage that's boards were so old and rotted that there were hols scattered about where boards had fallen away. I kept my eyes on those holes now, letting my hair fall to cover my face. Shouting and jeering were shot from the mouths of the bidders as I embarked the stage. It didn't disturb me anymore. I hated it all, but I had endured it so many times that I barely listened to the auctioneer as he called out my information. It was the same as always: Isabella Swan, female, 17 years old, indentured servant. I laughed inwardly at the last two words. I was not an indentured servant. No, I was a slave. Most people would have told you that slaves were black people, but they would be wrong. White people as well as black were made slaves by the harsh world, where money determined everything and even made families subject to the tragedy of selling a child to slavery to keep food in their mouth, if not a roof over their own heads. I would know. This was why my mother had given me up. But, that was not the only reason. No, there had been something else we were both afraid of . . .

I refused to remember more of the painful memories, focusing intently on the bid for me, wanting to forget I had ever thought about my nother and my life before the fall into slavery. As far as I could tell, the bid had only just started.

"$250!" One man bid. Others shouted and cheered mockingly at the low price.

"$400!" And so it began.

"$650!"

"$800!" Everyone, including myself, though that this would be the last bid. We were soon proved wrong, because not five seconds later a clear, velvety voice that was calmer than the others and made me feel happy in a way that I didn't understand rang out.

"$1,000!" Everyone turned to face the owner of the voice, shocked at the high bid. I craned my neck to try and see who it belonged to, but I only saw a mass of bronze hair where the stares centered. The bid would've been normal, had I been considered "superior". But I was not, and so it was way high--way too high. I could only assume that he was one of those rare young white men who came and bought a female slave for a ridiculously high price only to use her for their own selfish acts. Fury boiled up inside me. I was still a virgin--despite a few of my previous slave masters' attempts to take that. And if he thought I was losing my well-kept virginity to him, he had another thing coming. I had never been good at fighting, but I had a good, loud scream and wasn't afraid to use it if I needed to--and I had a suspicion (later proved wrong) that I would have to in the near future. The nasal voice of the auctioneer brought me back to earth.

"Do I hear a $ 1,050?" Silence.

"Going once!" Nothing. A few murmurs, but no one stepped forward or spoke up.

"Going twice!" Last chance. No one was willing to bid that high, because they were all silent and still, some eyes disappointed, some eyes mocking.

"Sold! The young man in the back, come recieve your sl--er, indentured servant." And so I was pushed off the stage, causing me to trip and fall flat on my face. Loud guffaws erupted, and even more hoots emited from the crowd as they saw me trying to get up. It was very hard, because both my hands and feet were shackled. I finally managed to use to my elbows to push myself up to a kneeling position, then stood up very slowly. By now, my face, hair and dress were filthy. I blushed, not immune to my clumsiness despite having it since I was born, and hurried to the back to meet my new master. The walk was short but embarrassing, and my only solace was that I would soon be away from the staring and snickering and would have a chance to calm my abashment. If my master hesitated in beating me--clumsiness was something that most beatings were the cause of. I suppose I would've been more indifferent, had it not that I was always tripping and stumbling over air and that I was always cause of laughter somewhere. Despite my obvious lack of interest in my slave life, insecurity was something I had suffered for quite a long time and couldn't rest a blind eye on. When I finally arrived at the man I was sure to be my new master, my legs almost gave way under me.

He was beyond handsome--there were barely any words. I traced the features of his face with my eyes, peeking up at him only slightly through my curtain of hair; pale skin, square jaw strong chin, full lips, a nose that seemed to have a slight crook in it if you looked at it sideways but still fit his face perfectly, and the most beautiful colored, warm topaz eyes, all topped with dark, messy bronze hair--the same that I had seen from the stage. His eyes were calculating, his lips a hard, straight line, and I felt my spirits drop in sudden, unusual panic that I'd never felt before, even when I had cared.

Edward

I was at the auction to buy a male servant to work in Esme's gardens. That is what I had been searching for originally, and I had my eyes set on a young, sturdy looking young man near 5th place in the line of "indentured servants" ,as the general public liked to call them, but they who referred to themselves as no more than slaves. It disturbed me greatly to see such young, vulnerable, surely innocent people faced with such a twisted fate and treated so horribly by their own compatible equals--which was why I was glad that Carlisle had chosen for us to use our wealth and well-off life to help others. It did make me feel like less of a monster, to rescue people from their horrible fates, though I also knew I was no more human than the people treating the children like dogs were.

It had all been planned out and set in my mind, until she stepped on stage. All of a sudden, I was absorbed in her. Wr seemed to be the only girl and man in the entire universe. I stared intently at her, noticing her limp, shackled hands and torn dress; her pale, dirty skin and slumped shoulders; the way she seemed recoiling in herself, as if she were about to get hit any moment and also the way she seemed perfectly still and calm, as if she did not care; the way her long mahogany hair covered her face. I wanted to see her face, to be able to remind myself that she was another human girl and that I was here to get a male servant--a male servant is what I should be focused on. But I could not deter my thoughts, could not look away. And, the thoughts of the people around me also watching her did not help one bit.

She'll make a good pet, one man was thinking, and I wanted to tear his infested, disgusting head off at the thoughts that circulated in it next. I found that many of the mens' thoughts were the same, besides a few that wanted only to buy her for abusive reasons. I growled, and as soon as the auctioneer called out her information and started the bid, I knew that I had to have her. I would have to buy her, there was no other possible way I would be able to leave her without her peacefully. I would outbid all the other sick, cruel men here and bring her home, where she would be safe, or so help me I would snatch her from anyone else that got her, anything to save her. She was so suddenly precious, so indescribably vital to me. Understanding of why this was did not reach my mind, nor did I search for it. Instead, I focused on the girl and the auctioneer.

"Isabella Swan, female, 17 years old, indentured servant!" He called. I could see the girls shoulders shake infinitesimally as if she were laughing. I could imagine she was, it was likely she considered herself no more a servant or equal as any other person in that line did. I tried to see in to her mind, but was met with nothing but emptiness and promptly shrugged it off as the distance between us and her unfamiliarness to me blocking my power temporarily. It was a problem I recieved every now and then, and I knew it'd probably clear up when the distance was relieved and I heard her voice. I couldn't help noticing the "when" in that sentence, and knew I had begun to plan that she would soon be living in the same house at me without my own permission. I almost questioned myself, but wrenched my focus back to the bidding, which was now at $800. I knew based on the thoughts of everyone around me that they believed that to be the highest bid, and before the auctioneer had a chance to speak I called out, in as clear and calm a voice as I could manage, a bid of $1,000 dollars. I knew no one would go higher. Maybe they would've, had Bella been labeled as a "superior", but she had not been and I used this to my advantage.

"Do I hear a $1,050?" The auctioneer called, doing his job despite his slightly flustered thoughts.

Damn that guy must have a ton of money if he's willing to waste that much on her--she's not even a superior! Her old master seemed to be glad to be rid of her! I feel sorry for him . . . I stopped listening at that point, irritated at the small man's assumptions. Of course, I was interested in the second and the first was true (pertaining to money that I did not feel was wasted) , but I ignored the third and any other of his thoughts after that. All that mattered was her--maybe, if I could just get her home soon and then know she was safe, I would be able to put my thoughts together again. I would have a hell of a lot to explain, though. Rosalie would be. . .well, she would be her normally self-absorbed self, Esme would question the reason I'd gotten a female instead of a male as planned but would graciously allow Bella to stay, Carlisle would be accepting, Emmett would just find some way to tease me, Jasper would question my emotions, and Alice would be excited to have a new friend and someone to dress up. Maybe she had seen this; her thoughts had been suspiciously focused on the market and clothes for the past few days, ever since Esme asked me to go and get another male servant for gardening. I would definitely be asking Alice about that. The loud sound of the auctioneer's voice pulled me out of my thoughts (it seemed I was thinking so much more now that I had seen Isabella [I now focused on calling her by her given name, I did not want to be so ungentlemanlike as to refer to her as "she" or "the girl", even if these were my thoughts])

"Going once!"

"Going twice!"

"Sold! To the young man in the back, come recieve your sl--er, indentured servant!" I was abotu to step forward when I heard laughing and snickering erupting from the crowd, seeming to increase only seconds later. I shifted, trying to see what had been the cause. Pity for Isabella, currently flailing around on ground, trying to get up (I read in a mans' mind near the front that she had been pushed off the stage and had tripped) and failing miserably because her hands and feet were shackled together (I would have to remember to get those unfastened as soon as I could) and then anger for the laughing crowd erupted. I wanted so badly to kill each one of them who were laughing at Isabella, but I did not know why--why I felt so protective of her, why I felt so angry that she was being laughed at. It was an indescribable feeling I had never felt before, and it confused me greatly while bringing me soft pleasure. I shook that off and zoomed in on Isabella, who had managed to climb up and was now walking (or rather half-stumbling) her way over to me. I stepped forward to make the walk shorter for her, and I saw a flash of crimson past those long mahogany locks.

And I realzed, hit by her intense smell of lavendar, roses and freesia, that she smelled better to me than anyone else had before.