Title: What Was And Is No More
Summary: "Permit me to unburden my heart" An exploration of the transformation into vampire and the price one must pay. In two parts.
Disclaimer: Characters belong to Stephenie Meyer and this story is produced without profit. Cover photo is free use and belongs to .
Characters: Lauren
Genre: Tragedy/Horror
Rating: Older Teen
Warnings: Graphic scenes of violence.
Status: Completed.
Archiving: Please PM me.
Inspirations/Dedications:
Author's Notes: Title is from a song calledVos Geven Iz Geven Un Nito as is the quote which is slightly adapted to suit.
What Was And Is No More:
Part One
Permit me to unburden my heart.
Whether I talk sense or whether I talk from sadness,
I suffer from a disease that is not called an illness.
It gnaws and it yearns.
What was, was - and is no more.
"Hey Lauren! Can you add another coke for table five?"
I nod and head off to the kitchen. The cafe is full, bustling with activity and families hoping to take advantage of the rare day of sunshine. I hand the cook the orders and pour four cokes from the dispenser. Before picking up my tray, I take a sneaky glance at my watch. Only two more hours to go.
My boyfriend, Tyler, has taken a seat at one of the booths, even though I've asked him not to visit me in work on many occasions. Six hours on your feet, serving the greasiest food known to man, and even the most beautiful woman in the world would have trouble looking her best. As it stands, my long blonde hair is scraped back in a clip and the dowdy uniform does nothing to flatter my figure.
"Hey babe." Tyler yells. I force a smile, pick up my flip pad and walk over to his booth. He's with his friends, so I brace myself for the lewd comments that they can't seem to help themselves from spewing. Tyler scoops me up in a hug. His tongue is making its way down my throat before I can even think. I pull back, making an excuse about proper professional behaviour and trying to ignore the slight nausea that is creeping up my stomach.
I suppose if I ever allowed myself to confide in someone, they would tell me that when even the thought of kissing your boyfriend makes you feel sick, it is probably best to leave and move on-but it's not always that easy.
"Hey. Do you guys want to order?" I say, flipping open my pad and pasting on a smile. I could write their orders down from memory-they never change, so I use the opportunity to zone out a little. Just three more days. Three more days and I can leave Forks and never look back.
After making the proper amount of small talk, and dropping the order off with the cook, I tell Shelley that I need to use the bathroom. I don't. Instead, I sit there, picking at the loose, yellowed sealant and counting the cracks in the tiles. My pumps squeak on the linoleum as I drag my feet across it. The sound is high, and harsh, and strangely comforting. A perfect foil to the dull buzzing of silence in my ears.
In three days I'll be gone. Maybe I'll be dragging my feet across a grotty old floor elsewhere. It's even possible that all my dreams may crumble around me, but as long as it is not here then I'll be okay. I'm sure of it.
It has to be.
I am barely back on the floor when Shelley accosts me. "The hustle isn't dying down. Can you stay til closing?"
I bite back a no. There may come a day when I need Shelley to give me a reference. A little bit of trouble now will make things easier in the long run. I do allow myself a small sigh. "Okay, sure."
...
It's true that when you're having fun time goes far too quickly, but when you are waiting tables, one second can feel like one hour. Einstein's Theory of Relativity-after a fashion. I stopped watching the clock an hour ago. It only seems to drag more.
We have one customer in, a old man who smells like he's just come in from a bar, and I am cleaning tables when Shelley tells me I can go. I pray that the scent of lemon disinfectant will wash out of my hair. It's already dark outside and I wish I had the foresight to bring a jacket with me.
The night air is fresh and crisp but I can't see any beauty in it. All I want is to go home, soak in a hot bubble bath and pretend that I don't have to work tomorrow. Then I remember that I didn't drive to work this morning, because I assumed that I would be out in time to enjoy the sunshine whilst getting some exercise.
I debate collapsing onto the floor and screaming until it somehow delivers me to my doorstep, but I settle for the more practical option instead. There's nothing like a late night walk to clear your lungs and make you appreciate the comforts of your bed. I set my hair free from its clip and run my fingers through it. I had it cut short once, one of my many attempts to get out of this town, and never again. It took me far too long to grow it back and left me pretty much heartbroken.
"Working and walking. The joys of being an adult." I mutter to myself. The air is cool against my skin, sending little shivers down my spine. I check over my shoulder, just to make sure but the street behind me is empty. There is not a soul out tonight but I'm more bothered by the burn that's starting on the soles of my feet. I'll be lucky if I can stand tomorrow, never mind work.
Something darts behind me. I spin around, expecting to see a rat or a raccoon or something but there is nothing there. My pounding heart settles as I hear a car engine a slight distance away. Just knowing that someone else is around is enough to make me feel better, but I keep a hand on the canister of pepper spray I store in my purse. Just in case.
The car is familiar. A Cullen's car. Edward's to be exact. It slows to a crawl beside me. I pick up my pace when I notice that it isn't not Edward in the driving seat. If the driver recognises my discomfort, they seem unconcerned by it, the car continues to move slowly beside me. I decide that my pride is not worth my life and I make a decision to run. I'm only one step into my sprint when I feel arms around me. The last thing I remember is a solid weight hitting my head.
...
The flicker of the street lamps bring me out of my memory. I can hear whispered voices all around me. Apparently, I am awake.
"Edward said not to take from this area." The voice is soft, melodic; a woman's voice. "That was the deal."
"How were we to know she was from this area? Besides, there are many girls here. If they find out then we'll say we found her elsewhere." The answering voice is not a womans but the elegant, smooth tones are still the same. The accent gives me more trouble. It's a slightly stilted version of American. It sounds dated. Hints of old English heritage break through every other word.
I try to sit up, and mutter something but my words come out in unintelligible babble. The change in position brings on a wave of dizziness and I sink back into the seat. We're still moving, shadows flickering as we pass clusters of trees. That's when I really begin to panic.
It must show on my face or something because the man peers into the rear-view mirror, his eyes settling on mine, shining red as the light hits the back of his retina. His jaw clenches, and he turns his face slightly. "The smell is stronger in this air."
The woman nods, I can feel her chest move against my back. Her arms feel like lead around me. "Less pollution. That's why it's worse in the countryside." She leans over slightly. "Try your best to ignore it for now. It will be more enjoyable if we don't have to worry about being discovered."
Oh god. I am being kidnapped by two psychopaths who plan on torturing me and killing me. I have to escape, I know this, but I can't think clearly. Terrified rage infuses my limbs and I lash out against the woman. My hand cracks as it connects with her skin and I let out a howl of pain. Her eyes glitter in the dark, red as rubies. Just like the other one. I don't allow my confusion to cloud my ability to plot, to plan.
"Stop fighting," she hisses at me. "It is pointless."
I swallow a sob. If I die tonight then they will never have heard me beg or seen me cry. She tosses me to the side. There is a small dent in the car door, where her back has been resting. There may even be a small chance that the locking mechanism has been damaged. If I apply enough pressure, I might be able to force it open. I sink back, giving the appearance of submission and resting my weight against the door. She nods, slightly and turns her face back to the driver. As soon as her eyes are on him, I kick out with both feet, using her as leverage and force myself against the door. The lock pops and I am falling backwards onto the ground. I don't look behind me, I scramble to my feet and I run.
...