A/N: I have never read the Twilight Saga, and only just watched the New Moon film two days ago. I will try my very best to follow along with what Stephenie Meyer has created. By the way, all credit goes to her for her works, and everyone else who has put their time and effort into Twilight. Kudos to them!
This story was inspired by a picture and a song. The song is called Hearing Damage by Thom Yorke (featured on the New Moon soundtrack, you should listen to it sometime). The picture is my current avatar. Take a look at it. It might help you get a better grasp/deeper feeling for this story as it unfolds. It has certainly helped me.
I hope you enjoy this story. If you read, please respond and review. I'd love to hear your thoughts, praises, ideas, or complaints.
The arrival of the new student had the entire school buzzing with excitement, anticipation, and rumors (of course), but few dared to speak to the boy. He always looked so sad, lost, and alone. He rarely spoke, and when he did, it was in private with an adult. If another student said anything to him elsewhere, he would disregard it and walk away. During the first two weeks of school, he had received a equal samples of friendship and taunting but responded to neither. Something was strange about this boy, and the entire student body was eager to find out what.
It was the first day of the third week since his arrival. He sat on the bus looking more troubled than ever. His very presence and demeanor intimidated those who were around him, even the bus driver. His head rested on the window; his dark brown eyes peering out at nothing specific. His mind was running and he didn't care to stop it, or else he would feel it again – the pain that had haunted him for far too long with no sign of relenting. Absence of the mind was his only escape.
The thumb of his left hand was pressed against his upper lip while his fingers held loosely to his chin. His elbow was propped up on his left thigh which was up on the seat with him. Raindrops fell on the window, and a fog hovered over the road. The outdoor setting almost fit perfectly with the feelings of his heart, except, even with the dark clouds above, it was still too bright. His world was darker than it had ever been, and he feared this darkness would consume him soon. There was no relief for his pain, nothing to dry his tears, and nothing to lift the anger and bitterness that held onto him so tightly. Various muscles were growing sore with tension from the stress of it all. Neither a warm bath nor a good night of sleep or even pain medication would relieve him of these aches and they tormented him terribly. But this was nothing compared to his emotional pain; absolutely nothing. The bus drove over a pothole and shook, reengaging his focus. He blinked and then tore his eyes away from the window and back down to the pad of paper in his lap. In beautiful cursive, he wrote:
I am afraid again. I fear that nothing will ever bring me out of this seemingly endless damnation I have been unfairly sentenced to.
Where is my savior? I fear that there will be no salvation for me.
In frustration he slammed the pencil down on the pad. There were so many things he wanted to say, but he had not the heart to put them into words. Why couldn't he write out what was on his mind? What was this filter the constantly interfered, and how could he be rid of it? He feared the answers to these questions would come too late. He was in hell on earth and he couldn't get out which forced him to believe that hell was just where he belonged. He sighed. The idea came to his mind that maybe… just maybe… he would see her there. She was such an angel in life – at least in his eyes – but what if they would be reunited in the flames of hell? It couldn't be worse than this, right? A life without her was not worthy of living.
He shook his head and shifted his position on the seat. These were the thoughts that scared him. Occurring more often, they were growing more and more fierce, violent and… convincing. What if he bought into the irreversible idea? Would anybody care? Would it make him feel better? He shook his head once more and tried to focus on something else. Out of the corner of his eye he could see a group of three students sitting ahead of him to his right. They were staring at him. The boy in the middle had a particularly concentrated look on his face. He tried to ignore them, as their glares made him feel quite unsettled.
Looking back down to his notepad, he pressed the tip of the pencil against it, but much to his aggravation, it wouldn't move. His thoughts were trapped inside again. Already he could feel the burning sting of warmth behind his eyes as they began to tear up. If nothing came out onto the paper soon, he would surely be compromised by his emotions, which were now beyond his control. But no matter how hard he tried to move the pencil, it would not budge. Instead, it snapped at the tip, bringing the troubled boy one step closer to a break down.
Suddenly, the notepad was ripped from his hands, leaving a burning feeling on them as well as scratches from the metallic rings, though he did not react to the pain because it was so minuscule compared to what he felt on the inside. Instead, he kept his eyes fixed where they had been before as he tried to keep the rising tears at bay. The boy who had been examining him so closely before now had the notepad, and was carelessly flipping through the pages, all while laughing hysterically.
"Look here; the guy's got a diary." He chuckled.
"How sweet." Another boy mocked, rolling his eyes sarcastically.
"Just look at him." The bully turned his eyes from the notepad to the boy, whose face was still downcast. "He hasn't looked any different since the day he first showed up at our school. I bet we can find some sick old skeletons in this thing." He raised the notepad up and began flipping through it once more, but soon paused and looked back at the boy. "What do you write about in here, huh? Your dark way of life that has everyone at school freaked? Cutting your wrists and bleeding out your pains? What is it?"
There was no response, so the boy threw his fist against the front of his seat. "HEY!"
The sound caught his attention and he flinched, and at last his eyes flickered up to meet the boy's. They were gleaming with malice, and his vicious smile revealed his thirst to cause trouble.
"That's better." The boy said, returning to the notepad.
He continued to turn the pages, none of them really catching his interest, until he saw one and noticed that the words written on it were in a different handwriting than the others. He read it out loud; a sly smile forming on his lips as he did:
"Dear Joseph,
We're in the park right now, sitting in the grass out by the lake. Well, actually, you're sleeping. You dozed off in the coolness of the shade,
so I took your notebook to write you this letter. I hope you don't mind. I will gladly let you write something in mine later… just as soon as you wake up and read this.
As I've watched you sleep, I've slowly realized just how much you mean to me. You probably don't understand why I'm describing all of this to you. I don't even understand myself entirely. I mean, you're going to see it all again when you wake up.
Your closed eyes, the soft expression on your face and the lightness of your breaths… the image of you sleeping like a baby is reminding me of what peace is like.
As you know, I haven't felt it for a long time, but in this moment as I sit next to your precious sleeping body I can honestly say that I finally feel it again.
The wind is blowing through my long hair. Birds are chirping around us. Oh, how I wish you could hear them right now. You would love the sounds they're making so much.
I cannot even begin to describe how enjoyable they are. The blue sky above us is beautiful, painted with big, white, puffy clouds. Not too many, mind you. No, they are in perfect quantity.
Despite the heat and dryness of the season, the grass is very green, but none too soft, just the way I like it.
But what you won't see is how pleasant you look now that you're asleep, not to say that you're not pleasant when you're awake – you are.
Maybe I'm doing this because I want you to remember how it was when things were good. I guess I'm afraid; afraid that you will someday forget
what we had together and the gorgeousness of it all. I guess I'm afraid that you will forget me after I'm gone. I should probably have more faith in you and your gem of a heart.
You will never forget me, will you? Promise me you will never forget.
I want you to know how thankful I am to have had you in my life. You have made it worthwhile.
I have cherished every touch and every kiss like a treasure, and I will keep them all locked away in my heart even after it stops beating.
You will always be with me, as I will always be with you. You are everything to me; my hero and my very best friend. I love you.
Yours truly,
Adele."
The three boys burst out into laughter so loud that it caught the attention of the bus driver, who until this point hadn't been aware of what was happening behind him. As he watched them laugh, Joseph felt the rate of his heart growing faster and his temperature begin to climb. He could withstand it forever, had it been directed at him, but in this case it was not. No, the boys were laughing at Adele. She had always been sensitive to what others thought of her. The smallest of teases made at her would be enough to send her into hiding for three days. Joseph's mind trailed back to the many hours they spent together in the darkness of her bedroom, when she cried so sharply about her insecurities. Her sobs would be so strong at times that her thin body would literally shake in his arms.
Of course, she was long gone now, but his need to protect her was stronger than ever. In his imagining, he felt his anger escalating quickly. In a swift movement he ripped the notebook out of the boy's hands and tried to tuck it away in his backpack, but the boy and his friends all rose to their feet, as if threatened by his action. Joseph stood up as well. The boys had underestimated his stature. The boy in front was tall himself, standing just over six feet, but Joseph surpassed him by three or four inches.
"Glad to finally coax something out of you." The boy spat, trying hard to conceal his intimidation. "You ever gonna say anything?"
Several students were moving to nearby seats, encouraging the boys to fight while others sat back and begged them to stop. Unfortunately, they were ignored. The boy, now eager to get something started, was driven by the other students' cheers, so he took a step closer to Joseph until their noses were mere inches apart. To everyone's dismay, Joseph did not move. In fact, he didn't do a thing. This frustrated the other boy. Hoping to get more of a reaction out of Joseph, he pushed his hands against Joseph's chest. Again, nothing happened. He continued to make physical contact with the taller boy, which failed to provoke any counter. That was until his hand, balled up into a lose fist, brushed the side of Joseph's head. It went across his left ear, which, for reasons unknown, was like the trigger of a gun, and set Joseph off.
Even before the stroke of the boy's hand fell, Joseph shrieked and took the front of his neck into his own hand. In the other, he took the boy's arm and pulled it outward, threatening to remove it from its socket entirely. The bully-turned-victim also let out a shout of pain. He couldn't even put up a fight now. Joseph's hold was too strong. Students gasped and screamed, pleading for Joseph to let go before the other boy lost consciousness, but Joseph did not hear them. All he could hear was a high-pitched ring in his ears. As the ringing grew louder, a flashback consumed his mind. It was so vivid, that he could see it happening before his eyes once again:
June was coming to an end as was the day. The house, deprived of an air conditioning unit, was uncomfortably hot, and both Hayden and Celia were growing antsy because of it. Joseph removed Celia's clothing, leaving her in only a diaper, then gave Hayden permission to sleep in his underwear as well. The 7-year-old boy wasted no time in throwing off his pajama shirt and pants, but still complained of the heat. After placing Celia on her small mattress and kissing her forehead, Joseph opened the window above his own bed, which cooled off the room a little, giving the younger children comfort. Joseph sat on his bed for nearly thirty minutes, watching the kids and waiting for them to go to sleep. When Celia was turned over on her side, and with Hayden sprawled out on top of his sheets, Joseph decided that it was okay to leave. He quietly exited the room, closing the door behind him. But then suddenly, a hand came down strongly on his shoulder. Whipping his head around, he saw his father standing behind him, a glazed look in his eye which only meant one thing.
"Shhhh." The man hushed, putting a finger up to his mouth. Then he forcefully tugged at Joseph, leading him down the hallway and into the living room, where Joseph's suspicions were proven true. On the coffee table there were three cans of beer, all crumpled up and lying on their sides.
"I thought I heard you going at it out here." He uttered bitterly.
"Shut up!" The man ordered as he pushed Joseph ahead of him.
Joseph turned around defensively, but refrained from making any other movement towards the bear of a man that was his father. There were few things in life that intimidated Joseph, and that man was one of them. With a scowl planted on his face, Joseph stormed over to the refrigerator and nearly tore the door open. It was empty except for half of a gallon of milk, three apples, half a loaf of bread, a small bag of lunch meat, and the remains of a brand new six-pack of beer. Growling, he slammed the door shut and turned to face his father again.
"That money was supposed to buy us food."
"Please, Jo. That ain't important right now." The man slurred. "Neighbor's been tellin' me that they been seein' you climbing out your window about this time every night."
Joseph couldn't deny it, so he said nothing. His father continued.
"You been dealin' again, haven't you?"
"I don't have a choice. You spend all of your money on booze and women, leaving nothing for Hayden, Celia, or for me. If you're not fit to take care of them, then I've got to do it somehow."
The man belched into his hand. "You better not cock an attitude with me, boy. Where you been sneakin' off to, huh?"
Joseph wouldn't entertain the question. Shaking his head, he walked past his father, but was stopped moments later with a loud, "Joseph!"
"I swear, if you wake them up with your shouting--"
"You won't do nothin' you pathetic lil' runt."
As the man came forward, Joseph held his ground, biting his tongue fiercely to avoid saying anything that would really set him off. His jaw hadn't yet healed from their last confrontation, and he was in no mood to fight the man again. The man, however, driven by the alcohol, was itching for trouble, and he knew just how to get it.
"How's your little girlfriend been?" He asked, cruelty dripping from his tone of voice.
"Shut up..."
"She still living?"
"Stop it."
"Last I heard, she's supposed to be kickin' the bucket any day now. About time too. You waste too much time on that little slut."
Eyes burning with tears and body hot with rage, Joseph lost control. He shouted a curse at the man, holding his fists at his side as a last resort to keep from throwing them into the man's face. By now, Hayden and Celia were awake and approaching the living room to see what was happening, and what they saw horrified them both. Their father, red in the face with fury at his eldest child, brutally slammed his hand into the side of Joseph's head. The boy didn't stand a chance and fell straight to the floor, too shocked by the blow to even catch himself on his hands. His vision doubled and the room around him spun. He heard Celia screaming and his heart was filled with sadness for the small child, but her terrified voice was quickly drowned out by a painful high-pitched ring. Soon, it was all he could hear, and all he could feel was the throbbing pain left over in his left ear.
What seemed like several long minutes to Joseph was only a moment on the bus. Students were still fighting to break his hold on the other boy, and the bus driver was on his way back to contain the fight. But Joseph's fury doubled. Before he could realize it, his hold on the boy tightened, and he lunged forward with another battle cry, slamming the boy into the inner wall of the bus. He clashed with such force that it not only produced a deafening sound, but it actually jolted the bus. Everyone inside was jerked to the side and those who were standing stumbled.
Meanwhile, the boy was still trapped in Joseph's death grip with his bleeding head pressed against the spider web of broken glass that was once a complete window. With all of what remained of his might he tried to speak, but Joseph's mighty hand covered his vocal chords, and so every sound he tried to make came out as a pathetic wheeze. Students were now screaming frightfully for Joseph to let go, but their words were silenced in his ears. All he could hear was the dreaded ringing, which even still grew louder and louder. His veins throbbed as warm blood coursed through them. Drops of sweat broke out on his brow. He grunted with anger, but his grunts suddenly turned to gasps. His lungs ached. An immediate feeling of sickness crashed into him like an ocean wave, and he felt his body begin to weaken.
His hand fell from the boy's neck and he stumbled backwards. His eyes caught one last glimpse of the boy's terrified expression, and then all went black. Joseph's body fell; his head narrowly avoiding slamming into the seat behind him. No one dared to even try to catch him out of fear because of what he had just done. In awe, the victim's friends turned to him.
"What did you do?!" One of them asked.
But the boy could not respond. He was too out of breath to even sort through his own thoughts.
As swiftly and naturally as the wind and the rain, Edward Cullen flew through the trees with masterful speed and agility. The darkness of the forest concealed his dark clothing, and the rapidness of his movements kept his pale skin hidden, but the anger he felt inside could be seen on his features, even by the naked eye. He could hear her thoughts now. "What's happening?" She asked herself. He was getting closer. He let her thoughts lead him to her, and in only a few minutes, he saw her figure crouching on the branch of a tree. With grace and majesty, he leapt a great distance and landed behind her in silence. She sensed him, but before she could turn around to face him, he took hold of her arm.
"You're coming with me… now!" He ordered as he pulled her deeper into the forest.
"Let me go!" She tore her arm away from him.
"Listen," he growled angrily, stepping nearer to her, "I am growing tired of your childish games. My family and I, we do nothing but show you kindness, and yet you continually rebel against us; running away and forcing us to chase after you--"
"I don't ask to be chased after, Edward. It's your choice to come after me."
"And it's for your own good that I do, I just can't get that through your thick skull. What will it take to convince you, Serafina? You're like an unbroken stallion, I swear. "
"The unbroken are meant to remain unbroken."
"Not in our world they're not." He said through tightly gritted teeth. "One wrong move on your part, and we'll all be exposed."
They stood in silence together for several long moments, then Edward asked quietly, "Who is he?"
Serafina had not the heart to lie, and she knew better than to. Edward was already in her mind and could find the truth on a whim. There was no use. She had to be honest.
"I don't know." She sighed.
Edward was relieved enough now to speak calmly to the unruly girl.
"We'd better get moving," he said "Carlisle is waiting to have a word with you."
Together the vampires jumped deeper into the forest, leaving behind the open road, on which was a lone school bus, stalled and filled with commotion.