Seriously peeps...mind the ratings. Basically, if you aren't old enough to vote, you shouldn't be reading this.
Everything Twilight belongs to Stephenie Meyer. I just like to play in her proverbial sandbox.
BPV
I am either dead, or dreaming.
Or I'm just fucking crazy.
I made my way around the stack of display tables, their harsh, glossy white lacquer offensive against the black walnut tile plank flooring- meant to be fashionable but dually pointing out the squeaking of my worn Chucks like a glaring neon sign of faux pas to the haute surrounding me. Despite my unease at the shopping excursion, I couldn't help but run my fingers lovingly along the stacks of cashmere sweaters, expertly avoiding the price tags to keep a neutral expression upon my face. This was our normal tax return routine, Alice and I. It was an experience I dread, but was also grateful for.
Money wasn't tight for me or Alice. She had grown up in a much more affluent subdivision on the outskirts of Forks, Washington, than I, but I still had a generic but comfortable middle-class upbringing full of sunny vacations, overabundance under the Christmas tree, and sad attempts at intramural sports. We met in high school when the city junior highs converged into one awkward set of hormones and hour-long bus rides. Physically, we couldn't be more unevenly paired. I wasn't a loner, but didn't have a true place where I belonged, merely bouncing among both outcasts and those wise enough to find some middle-plane where they could fly under the radar. Alice saw through the bullshit and the drama of our classmates, more focused on her own goals and the simple things that brought her pleasure in life, and expertly thwarted attempts by the 'popular girls' to recruit her to their ranks. One October morning's rants by Jessica, the fucking vilest of the group, in my direction because her 'true love' Mike had the audacity to ask me a question about Calculus, caused Alice's ears to perk genuinely for the first time since the school year began. Unlike most of my peers, I didn't see school as the peak of my life experiences. It seemed like an uneven path that I simply had to stumble through as quickly as possible in order to get to the Real World, and unbeknownst to me, one Alice Whitlock agreed. Queue my quick wit and unabashedly cutting sarcasm in Jessica's direction, undoubtedly my best trait, and a barking laugh resulted from dear Alice. She bumped shoulders roughly while walking past Jessica to reach me, linked her arm through mine, and the rest was both friendship history and a pet project for Alice that was dear to her heart.
It wasn't that I hated fashion. Every woman loves to feel confident in their clothing and with themselves. It's an easy way to hide superficial flaws or highlight our best attributes in an attempt to draw attention away from what is actually going on in our heads. Regardless, my reluctance usually comes from the actual shopping part of the equation. I have a terrible eye for such things, and it's difficult to hear praises or criticisms from anyone, especially your best friend. Alice constantly tells me how beautiful my long chestnut locks are, that my brown eyes look enviously great with any shade of shadow or liner. That nothing flatters me more than a great pair of high rise skinny jeans because I have 'curves for days'. It's the compliments that are the most difficult to swallow when you don't see the same thing in the mirror as others seem to. I know Alice has nothing to gain from showering me with obscure lies about my looks because she is the first to cut me to the quick when I do something stupid or look less than my best. So, I've been working on myself half-heartedly for the better part of a decade, trying to see in me what Alice genuinely does. High school brought minor improvements in Alice 101: coordinating but not matching. Rooming together for four years at Washington State skyrocketed me to the 300-level courses in accessorizing and walking in heels. Then, I apparently peaked at age 22, spectacularly falling from my minor brush with fashion grace with a resounding 'thud' in the dreary reality of the pacific northwest job market.
Now we're 28 years old and still the best of friends, but where she has soared, deservedly so, I have faltered. She has blossomed into one of the most sought-after designers in the country, her AW Designs clothing gracing the pages of every fashion magazine and red carpet. I, however, embarrassed now in my naïve choice of a bachelor's degree in English, partnered in Alice's fashion house as vice president, controlling what she flippantly deemed 'the boring stuff'. We've grown by leaps and bounds due to her creative eye and my investments, but to say it doesn't sting when a press release is as close to my degree as I will ever get would be a lie. As always, it was Alice who brought me out of my shell, and even in my professional life, it's Alice that leads the way.
Alice met her fiancé Jasper Hale three years ago at an outdoor market that we frequented on Saturday mornings, bumping into him at a booth she had wandered into that housed water color paintings depicting American rural family life during times of war because she "just had a feeling that she'd find something there". I knew better than to argue with Alice, who had a keen sense of finding the diamond in the rough, and sure enough she emerged from the blue tarp-lined doorway clutching the hand of Jasper. He molded so perfectly into our life and we continued on as three best friends as if he had always been there as an unseen extension of Alice. When she and Jasper would make a grocery store run, or decide to hit up a new local bar, or spend a lazy rainy afternoon binge-watching Netflix in our condo, they always included me in a natural way that didn't make me feel like the third wheel. I appreciated it, but the moments when they would steal a quick kiss or he would look lovingly across the room at Alice while she made her way to the kitchen for more drinks made my heartache silently grow. I had dated on and off, but my last and longest relationship was with Jacob Black, a local contractor I met when we opened our second retail location, which fizzled after limping along and dying a slow, painful demise at a mere 7 months. I wanted a Jasper of my own- an extension of myself to sense my needs before I did, to love and accept my family and friends, to share precious moments with me as simple as rainy Netflix days or grand as our wedding day.
So here we are, present location downtown Seattle on our annual 'Raid Bella's Closet Day'. I had a constant supply of AWD clothing filling my massive but underutilized walk-in closet, but Alice always stressed that it was important to have a well-rounded wardrobe that included all kinds of fancy names and fabrics. She claimed that it helped the business to represent it as a fashionable united front, and who was I, the VP of "boring stuff", to argue? While my bank account was now massively padded for the 'Bella: Party of 1' I had become accustomed to, it still went against my middle-class sensibilities to drop four or five figures on a new in-season wardrobe regularly, especially with my simple tastes. So, as a concession and to earn one of the patented Alice Whitlock Genuine Smiles that I held so dear, each February I resigned my fate to placing my tax return into her eager hands to do with as she pleased.
Bundled in artfully destroyed denim jeans, the black All-Stars that were the one argument that Alice could never win, a quilted black leather moto jacket, and the most amazing Burberry grey wool infinity scarf that wrapped around for days (and was easily the only item she ever picked out that I accepted eagerly), we made our way from shop to shop. And while to the casual passerby I may have looked like I belonged, any other astute observer would see that here I was once again, the perpetual round peg attempting to fit into the square hole. And also once again, Alice was sternly looking my way with her arms crossed and brown suede bootie tapping loudly on the tile floor.
"Earth to Bella! Did you hear anything in the last five minutes? Because you have that look on your face when you're overthinking, or being overly critical of yourself, or reminiscing about the past in a totally untrue and seriously fucking depressing way, or…" she held her hand up, counting off on each Promiscuous Pink-manicured nail all the ways that I was obvious.
I grinned. Sometimes I wondered if she was psychic.
"Or?" I laughed, earning her lively but flustered laugh in response.
"Or just being Bella!" Alice giggled. "Here I am, so honorably talking up your fantastic business, amazing BFF, and genuine hottie attributes to Rose here, and your head's in the clouds making all my hard work go to waste!"
It was just then that I noticed she was standing next to Rosalie Hale, Jasper's cousin who I had heard so much about but had yet to meet. She was stunningly gorgeous, with the Hale blonde hair and baby blues, but was giving me a sympathetic smile while slowly shaking her head at what I am assuming is my hopelessness.
"It's wonderful to meet you, Bella. Jasper and Alice have told me so much about you, and it's great to finally put a face to the name. I've been begging Alice to bless me with an exclusive AWD line in my shop here, but she's insistent that you're the brains behind this operation." I smiled gratefully at Rose, who took some of the heat off of my daydreaming and steered the direction towards my comfort zone.
"It's great to meet you too, Rose. Alice lives in a fantasy world where I am much more appealing," I chuckled, "I wish I lived there, too." I heard a "Pshh! Crazy, blind woman!" from Alice's general direction while she snatched two of the sweaters from my hand and stomped off towards the menswear, Rose and I locking eyes and breaking into giggles at the pint-sized exuberance.
It was then, suddenly, that a light-headed feeling washed over me; that time slowed inexplicably as if something was important about this moment…that the large, gold ornate clock above the white marble counter seemed to tick ear-piercingly loud for one…two…three…four seconds before the front door opened in a cacophony of rustling footsteps and audible gasps from several patrons. I heard someone call Rose's name, while heavy footfalls made their way in my direction. I continued to peruse the display table in an attempt to distract myself, before they abruptly stopped on the other side. I hadn't looked up, but felt someone starting at me, causing my heart to race with anticipation. Before I was forced to acknowledge it, Rose stepped forward and I could let out a sigh of relief.
"Edward Cullen! Welcome back. It's a pleasant surprise to have you here again!"
My eyes shot up on their own accord, locking with a set of green ones that were tracking my every move. He looked at me expectantly before answering Rose, keeping his eyes trained to mine.
"I was driving by and saw something that I had to have immediately."