Summary: A pure tragedy of youth. Star-cross'd lovers, Edward and Bella, fight family, pain and death to be together. Romeo and Juliet- but darker and more twisted.
Author's Note: This is my first fanfiction ever. I am doing this for fun and to stretch my writing muscles. It's an intended homage to Romeo and Juliet, though don't get ahead of yourself- you don't know what's coming. I enjoy any kind of feedback and will read every comment. I will respond to you, so any questions are encouraged. The title of my story, as well as the title of every chapter, belong to actual songs. These songs and artists will be listed in my profile. As always, no copyright infringement intended.
Chapter 1: Get Out Of My House
Edward:
I stared at my reflection with distaste and reproach, not the least bit impressed. I loosened the tie I had around my neck and squared my shoulders. The dark glass reflecting my image may as well have been laughing in my face. I had, after all, spent all day in avoidance of seeing myself like this. I turned quickly and headed for the door, ripping off the ridiculous tie as I went. The gloom of Seattle matched my mood well today, pathetic fallacy at its finest. A good day to be visiting, weather-wise, at the very least. I was pleased to see the dark, to see the night had come to put at an end to the day I'd had to endure. I quickened my pace, anxious to reach my car and complete the escape.
I slid in to the seat and closed my eyes, relishing the safety. I fumbled with the keys, hands still shaking, his words flashing through my head; provoking me, taunting me. Ah, Carlisle Cullen, seated atop his empire. The mogul, the CEO, the father. My father, in fact, and I was not to forget such a blessing, according to him. I had anticipated our meeting, though this had not made me any more prepared. I remained stunned, still sitting stiffly, my keys now grating uncomfortably in my clenched fist. They fell in to my lap when I heard a rapid knock against the tinted glass beside me. Newly alert, I grabbed them again and started the car. I rolled the window down and peered out curiously, almost grateful for the distraction.
I tilted my head to the side when I saw the girl standing there, waiting for an explanation. She blinked slowly, a flash of recognition in her eyes, and then quickly began to speak.
"You can't park here," she said.
I raised an eyebrow, taking my time to respond, though she didn't provide the chance.
"Customers only," she slowly turned her head toward the sign in front of my car and pointed.
I looked at the sign and then looked at her. She stood with her arms crossed, her stance squared, as though she was ready for a fight. I almost chuckled at the idea of her being in any kind of altercation, what with her size and all, it was fairly laughable. Was she waiting for me to leave? Alas, I could not resist.
"Oh," I nodded. I reached down in a painfully slow manner and turned off the ignition. "I'm a customer," I grinned innocently.
I saw her roll her eyes and take a calculating glance at my car before she turned and headed toward the building she, apparently, was adamantly protecting for customers, and customers only.
"What?" I called after her as I opened the door. "Too ostentatious?" I laughed then, as I had to agree, my car was rather pretentious. I did like to drive fast, and this was the one amenity I had accepted from my illustrious father without shame.
I walked casually behind her, watching her open the door to the modest bar and letting it close after her, despite my proximity. Chivalry is dead, I thought.
I stood at the entrance and surveyed what was in front of me. Your typical establishment, of course, small tables, low lit, the hum of every conversation in the room melded together. She was standing behind a counter, tying a small apron at her waist, smiling as she absently listened to what one of her customers was saying to her.
I took a seat at the bar, anticipating a drink more than ever. Now that I was here, I realised I certainly needed one, considering the day's events. I grimaced at the reminder and took a deep breath, attempting to soothe myself. When I looked up, I saw her shoulders rise and fall emphatically, as if she was taking soothing breaths of her own while she walked over to me. She lightly threw a paper coaster in front of me.
"What can I get for you?" She asked unenthusiastically. I wondered how many times she'd asked that in her life.
"Whatever you have on tap," I shrugged.
She nodded once and quickly filled a pint, placing it effortlessly in the middle of the coaster in front of me, but didn't let go of the glass. She leaned forward and narrowed her eyes.
"What are you doing here?" She asked, almost in a whisper.
I gawked at her, not hiding the confusion on my face. I opened my mouth to speak, but stopped when she turned her head in alert.
"Bella! When you get a second, sweetie, can we get another round?" A large man had called out to her. Seated with a group at one of the small tables near the bar, he waved his empty glass in the air. She smiled halfheartedly while he leered at her. She glanced back at me quickly with a blank expression and then turned, walking away.
My eyes did not follow her. They remained staring straight ahead, right at the place she had been standing. Bella? I searched my brain, looking for familiarity, trying to find some spark of recognition. Trying, but failing. I did not know who she was, and moreover, I did not know why she didn't seem to like me very much. Sure, some might recognise my full name, usually just by association, especially in Seattle. But my face? I no longer lived here. My picture hadn't popped up in the paper for years, much to the dismay of my father, as I was not turning out to be the prodigal son he was expecting. In fact, I was more of an embarrassment, my temper often getting me in to trouble, my habit of reckless fighting always leaving me battered and unbecoming. I had no business in the coverage of the Cullen empire growth, I was no one, and no one knew me; exactly the way I liked to keep it.
I watched her as she returned behind the bar, glasses clinking, bottles being opened quickly. She was careful not to look at me as she did her work. I heard more people loudly enter the bar one after the other, her eyes rapidly taking note of every movement as she seemingly knew what order to prepare before it was asked of her.
She was a blur as the night continued. Laughing, smiling, providing effortless small talk and expertly shying away from drunken ogling. And all the while, skillfully ignoring my existence, refilling my glass occasionally and then disappearing again. This didn't matter to me, I would wait it out. It was her fault, after all, for piquing my interest and leaving me with so many questions.
The room did slowly grow less hectic, and closing time finally approached. She was cleaning the counter diligently with a bar rag as her last customer wished her a good night, shooting me a strange glance as he walked out the door. I watched him leave, and when I heard the door click shut, perched on the stool I had never left, I turned to her.
Feeling my gaze on her, she finally spoke to me. "We're closed now," she said without looking up.
I ignored her obvious statement and walked toward her, leaning on the bar in front of her. "What did you mean before?" I asked purposefully.
She pursed her lips and rubbed the counter harder. I put my hand on top of hers, stopping the circular motion she was making in the same spot for far too long. Her head shot up and she yanked her hand away, as though I'd hurt her, like my touch had burned her. I took a step back and raised my hands.
"Sorry," I said.
She swallowed slowly and grabbed a bottle from under the counter. Walking around the bar, she took her apron off as she went. It sagged in her hands, full of the night's, I had to admit, well-earned gratuity. She sat on the small couch against the wall and placed the beer she had grabbed at her feet. She dropped the apron on the table in front of her, pulling out the wadded bills, smoothing them out with her hands. Ignoring me again, a useless thing to do, I decided.
I walked over and sat down beside her. She looked at me, surprised, as if she thought that walking away from me would've been the final say. She swiftly looked away as she rested her elbow on her knee and began biting the nail on her thumb.
I looked at my own hands, balled up into fists, giving away my frustration. Enough, now.
"Listen, um, it's Bella, right?" I knew it was. "Bella, I don't know what I did, or who you think I am, but I think you've made a mistake-"
"Seriously?" She cut me off abruptly.
My brows furrowed in thought, but before I could even begin to ask, we both turned to the sound of the door opening loudly, the look on her face telling me that she knew the man who walked in.
"Jacob." She said his name in exasperation so quietly, I wasn't sure if I was meant to hear it.
He looked at the both of us, a quizzical expression distorting his features. By the way he stumbled, I assumed alcohol was the reason. I ran a hand through my hair and sighed, wondering how long this would take, how much longer, exactly, I would have to wait.
He made his way over, much to my disappointment. He sat down on the arm of the couch and then slid down next to her haphazardly, practically pushing her on top of me. She straightened herself out, stiff and uncomfortable, but did not move away from me. I thought I almost felt her inch closer. I looked at her, but she was looking at him. I could only assume that shock was plastered all over my face. After all of this, after barely looking at me all night, she was all right with this? This was okay, being pressed up against me, but my merely touching her hand was an affront? I thought of getting up, leaving and never thinking about this again. But I didn't move. She looked almost as though she was scared, but I couldn't exactly tell. Of her discomfort I was sure, but fear, from her, after the way she'd been acting, did not seem likely. Her eyes bore into him, which suggested confidence. Regardless, I leaned slightly in her direction, instantly hoping she would know it was all right if she needed to sit a little closer. The moment I did it, my mind began to reel. What was I doing? Before I could decipher my own actions, she was speaking again.
"We're closed, Jacob."
"You didn't answer my calls," he slurred.
"My phone is off," she offered. Her tone was calm.
He took a long swig of the beer she had set down next to her feet. She looked at him with a blank expression. I could not detect concern, just betrayal.
"You said you were going to stop drinking so much," she said quietly. This time, with defeat.
"I told you not to worry about that," he said coldly. His face was calm as he looked at me again, though it seemed for the first time, as if truly noting my presence only now.
She suddenly looked very tired. Her eyes seemed to glaze over as she watched us stare at each other. He moved closer toward her and threw his arm around her neck, pulling her even closer to his face. She winced but made no attempt to move. I clenched my jaw. He was touching her, and it was rude. He was taking her away from me, like he owned her. He rested his forehead against her ear and smiled impishly. He whispered something to her, and then, finally, she pulled away. His grip loosened, but he kept his arm resting on her shoulder as he casually continued to smile. She was closer to me again, but it didn't feel like enough then.
It was not my place, and I knew little of the situation to make such a decision, but at this point, I was looking for a fight. I could feel the heat rising in my chest, my temper flaring. My day had been too much. My night had been just as bad. I simply wanted one conversation I had today to go my way. It was almost an audible snap. I did not know if it was what she would have wanted, if she would have asked for it if she could have, if I was about to offend her. I did not care anymore.
I snaked my arm behind her and wrapped it around her waist. I felt her jump slightly. I pulled her as close to me as I could while I placed my free hand on her thigh nearest to him and pulled her closer still in my direction. Our eyes flickered past each other's and I saw the surprise there. But that was all I saw. Surprise. I did not see anger or disgust any longer. I looked directly at him and minutely cocked my head to the side, daring him to protest. I felt his arm slide off her shoulder and down her back, a clenched fist coming to rest in his lap. He glared at me, and it was my turn to assess him. He was taller than her, but, admittedly, that wasn't saying much. Despite the height difference I knew would leave me towering over him, he looked about my size. Fair fight.
I almost stopped myself in the realisation that I was actually considering fighting with him when I felt her body press against my side. She was holding her wrist loosely with one hand, and it was as though she was caving in on herself. I could feel her breathing quicken, and I wondered if I was also feeling her shake, but in that moment, Jacob stood. He roughly knocked over the bottle at her feet in his haste, the sound of breaking glass grabbing my attention. Calmly, I looked up at him. This was the last time of the evening he'd find me in such a position. He was breathing heavily, obviously agitated. I held her still as she continued to gaze down at her wrist.
I needed to think. My mind was racing uncontrollably, jumping from one thought to the next. Should I let go of her? Did she want me to? I found myself suddenly protective, strangely invested in her safety. I didn't mind the way she felt against my body, I didn't know why I was instinctively guarding her, and all the while, hoping she wanted it. Gladly, I would face him, but really, I just wanted to stay like this. Why? Maybe he would get angry enough to leave. I could spend the rest of the night comforting her, instead of wasting time on him. But who did I think I was, assuming she even wanted comfort? And from me, of all people. She seemed like she needed it, but ever mysterious, she could have just been taking advantage of the situation to rid herself of him. That was likely. But comfort, why did I want to be the source of comfort? Unable to follow my own thought process with ease, I was lost. With what I'd seen of her, helpless, like she was now, was not an adjective I imagined her capable of. For some reason, I cared. For an especially unknown reason, it was breaking my heart.
I never ended up making the decision for myself; they both made it for me. Coming back from wherever she was, I felt her palm slowly come to rest on top of the hand I still had on her leg. She let it linger there for a moment, and then her fingers curled around mine as she pulled it off of her. She stood, my arm slipping from its position on her waist, and stepped forward. Jacob inched toward her, so she raised a hand and placed it on his chest. I winced at the gesture. She should have been slapping him.
She spoke quietly. "Please. It's not what you think."
He scoffed. "You know you can't."
I chuckled involuntarily, as the idea of him telling her she couldn't do anything seemed preposterous to me. After the way she'd treated me, I didn't get that impression.
He slowly lunged forward then, toward me, but she squared her stance and now, had both hands on his chest, pushing against him. His hand shot up loosely around her neck as he used all of his force to push her back on to the couch. She fell almost lifelessly, shocked into silence. I immediately turned to her and placed a hand on either side of her body while I leaned in closer to her.
"Are you all right?" I asked hurriedly, because I knew what was coming. She closed her eyes and raised a hand to her neck. She nodded listlessly.
As I registered that she did, in fact, look okay, I let the rage wash over me. I could feel it dispersing itself throughout my body. I turned and stood, finding him there, erect and waiting. He looked smug. And that was enough, all of it was enough. Enough of these bewildering thoughts, these silly questions. I looked down at him and smiled.
