"A hero is no braver than an ordinary man, but he is brave five minutes longer."
- Ralph Waldo Emerson
Chapter One
What kind of sane person walks around past midnight, all alone? The answer would be someone that's nothing like me, Bella Swan, because any freakin' sane person would know not to walk alone at night. God. I am an idiot. A stupid, freakin' idiot.
I should have just listened to Rosalie and left when she and Emmett had. But no, I stayed at the bar and wasted a whole hour of my life chatting it up with some guy who seemed decent on the outside, but was turned out to be very indecent. I mean, he invited me back to his house for some 'sexy time.' And he lives with his Mom.
If that's not an -worthy moment then I have no clue what is.
Why is it so damn cold? I thought to myself as I fished out the keys of my car out of my purse. As I walked, I heard nothing but the hum of the music coming from the bar and the soft tapping of my heels on the gravel. But I still felt some strange feeling in the pit of my stomach.
Walk faster, I commanded myself as I attempted to book it across the parking lot when I heard the sound of a car alarm and the sound of glass breaking.
Oh, shit.
I have the worst luck ever. I am a damn cursed rabbit's foot!
I began running towards my car, but strangely the sound became louder the closer I got to my car. What the--
Some asshole was breaking into my car! I stood there, frozen, as I watched him rifle through my glove compartment and attempt to rip out the sound system Emmett installed for me for my birthday last year. I didn't know what to do so I just screamed.
Pretty dumb of me, I know. I mean, what kind of sane person would scream when there is a potentially armed criminal breaking into their car? Me, of course. Because I'm a fucking idiot.
But you already knew this.
In response to my screaming, the asshole turned to look at where the noise was coming from. When he saw me, he got out of the car -- my emergency $100 bill that was in my glove compartment in hand -- and just looked me up and down.
"Shut up, bitch!" He yelled. I didn't know what to do so I screamed again. And again. And again. In fact, I screamed so much that he began walking towards me.
Where the fuck was Batman when you needed him?
Shit.
Shit.
Shit.
I didn't run, I didn't even attempt to hide. I just stood there. Scared shitless. The concept of 'fight or flight' was a bunch of bullshit at this point. When you're scared, you're fucking scared. And you don't know what to do, or think.
Plus, if I tried running in this heels, there was a very big chance I would fall on my ass and that wouldn't help much.
So I stood there, accepting my demise when the sudden sight of a big light and sound of a motorcycle engine interrupted everything. The most gorgeous person I have ever seen in my life just came to my rescue. Even though it was dark, I could still see all of his wonderful features.
He had a mess of bronze hair (it totally looked like sex hair) that I just wanted to run my fingers through and the most wonderful shade of green eyes which were currently just glaring at the asshole, the engine of his motorcycle still on.
"What the fuck are you looking at, Mr. Son of Anarchy?" The asshole said to my savior.
No response, Mr. Sex Hair just kept staring at him, his hard jaw line clenching until the asshole got scared or something because he mumbled something that sounded a lot like "fucking weirdo" and ran off.
I took a deep breath when Mr. Motorcycle turned toward me. "You alright?" He voice was stoic, but I felt a hint of concern coming from the way his forehead creased.
"Fine," I said, my voice a little shaky. "I'm fine."
"You sure?"
"Yeah, I'm fine, God," I responded, sounding a little cattier than I wanted but I was a little tipsy and still pretty shaken from the whole incident.
Batman rolled his eyes, "You're welcome."
I was taken aback by his rudeness, "Um, yeah, thanks."
"Like, I said, you're welcome," he shrugged, getting back onto his motorcycle.
"You want a ride?" He asked, and for some reason it sounded like a little more than just a ride on his motorcycle.
"No, thanks," I said, whipping out my cell phone. Which turned out to be dead. Freakin' fabulous.
"My phone's dead, can I borrow yours?" I asked and he handed it to me. I quickly dialed Rosalie's number but it went straight to voice mail. I called Emmett right after and the same thing happened. They're probably having crazy sex right now, I thought. And I'm tipsy in the middle of some parking lot with some random guy.
FML.
"I can give you a ride if you need one," he offered up, holding out his helmet for me to take.
"I'd rather walk," I replied, tripping over a bottle cap. "Whoops."
"Oh yeah," he chuckled,"that sounds like a great plan."
"I barely know you. You're a stranger—"
"—Who just saved your ass."
"I was holding my own."
"You call screaming and standing still like a statue 'holding your own'?"
"Whatever," I replied, grabbing the helmet. "Let's just hope you're not some psycho-stalker killer." He just laughed at me in response and asked me what my address was.
After I told him where I lived, I wrapped my arms around his torso (which was rock-solid, by the way, even though this wasn't important seeing as he could've been a psycho-stalker), and we zoomed off in the direction of my apartment. He drove super fast. It was seriously like some shit in The Fast And Furious. I actually think I left some fingernail marks on his torso. Whoops.
"So am I still a possible psycho-stalker killer?" He joked, as I handed him his helmet after we got to my apartment building.
"I don't know," I smiled, "it depends on what you do in the next few minutes."
He began to chuckle, but stopped abruptly when his cell phone rang. He quickly answered, saying "yes" a few times and nodding, even though the person he was talking with couldn't see him.
He shut his cell phone, a serious look on his face, "Is everything okay?" I asked.
"Yeah," he replied, his voice sounding like it was a million miles away. "I just have to go take care of something."
"Oh, yeah, well the night is still young, so as a good psycho-stalker killer, you have to make the most of this night and go stalk more drunk college girls home, right?" I joked.
He let out a small laugh, that didn't have as much heart in it as his previous laughs, "Right."
"Well, thanks for the ride…" I started saying, when I realized I had no idea what my savior's name was.
"Edward," he replied. "See you around…"
"Bella," I smiled. "See ya."
"Good night, Bellarina," he winked, putting on his helmet. I hated that nickname, infact, I loathed it. But when Edward said it in his husky voice, I didn't hate it so much.
"Cute.".
"I try," he said, revving up his engine.
"Good night and thanks again," I waved as he rode away.
"What happened?!" Rosalie shouted at the other end of the line.
"My car got robbed and I nearly got raped and/or killed," I deadpanned, as my co-worker at the University of Washington library, Mike, turned around and gave me a worried look. "I'm fine," I mouthed to him.
"Ho-ly shit!" Rosalie exclaimed.
"I know."
"So what happened to your car?"
"What happened to my car?" I asked, incredulously, "I nearly died and all you care about is my car."
"Oh shut up, you're clearly fine since you're talking to me right now…"
I rolled my eyes, "Right. Well, I didn't want to drive it home last night so I just left it on the lot, the passenger side window is broken and my stereo system Emmett installed is broken because the fucker tried to, like, claw it out or something. I called the tow guy this morning and it's in the shop. It should be fixed in a few days."
"Well, a broken window isn't too bad; at least he didn't mess up the lock on your door."
"I guess," I replied. "But the whole thing is sort of a blessing in one fucked up disguise, though. The guy who chased the asshole who tried to break into my car away was gorgeous, Rose he—"
Ping.
Ping.
Ping.
I sighed, hearing the familiar 'ping' of the bell on the counter that I was currently not occupying since I was on the phone. I hated working at the 'help desk' because someone always needed help. I mean geez, you'd think that by college, people would know the freakin' Dewey Decimal System.
"Mike, can you get that?" I asked sweetly, sitting on the chair behind the bookshelf that held students' 'on-hold' items.
"Can't," he replied. "I have to finish putting these books into the database."Sorry."
"It's okay," I replied. "I'll d—"
Ping.
Ping.
Ping.
Ping.
Ping.
Impatient, much?
Great. I'm probably gonna have to deal with some pushy Pre-Med major with a major chip on their shoulder right now.
"I'm coming," I said, getting up off chair.
"What can I help you with?" I asked, to the person who apparently was having a book emergency.
"Finally," the person huffed, turning around so that they were facing me.
Bronze sex hair. Beautiful Green Eyes. Hard jaw line. Full lips.
"Edward?" I said.
A/N: Let me know what you think, please :)
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