A/N: I'm just a crazy fangirl—I don't own Edward or Twilight's people. I've met Stephanie Meyer, and I can tell you that she's so nice that I'd NEVER steal from her!!! Please R&R!!!!
Bella pulled the outfit on, shivering as the cool material encompassed her being. Bella had lost her endearing clumsiness with His departure, along with her feeling. She had no emotions—every day was the same, and yet she could not (would not) change her routine.
Bella stood up and walked elegantly into the small bathroom and stood before the mirror again. She teased her hair into a radical sort of ponytail and applied layer upon layer of too-stand-out-ish makeup to her eyes, cheeks, and lips. She hitched a purse over her shoulder and walked out the door, not bothering to lock it behind her.
Less than ten minutes later, Bella had arrived at her job site. She stood uncertainly, a little wary, as she always did before going inside. Then she reminded herself: He had done this to her. It was all His fault. He had driven her to this! With newfound resolution Bella squared her shoulders and walked into the place.
The lighting was bright and beat down with all the intensity of a thousand suns. She deposited her purse in the back room and stepped out onto the stage, giving herself the usual mental pep talk. This wasn't a good job by any means. Some would consider it unrighteous, some would call it desperate—and if it was anything, the job was desperate. Even the poorest of women shied away from this profession, claiming it was wrong or against their personal beliefs. They would sooner live in boxes on the street collecting cans, they said, than do this to themselves. And maybe they were right—Bella had been through the same routine often enough to realize why. But she stepped further onto the stage nonetheless, pushing these thoughts and regrets to the back of her mind and bearing her teeth in a wide, fake smile meant to entice customers.
"Look, children, it's Candy the Clown!" boomed the manager's voice.
Small children gasped in wonderment as Bella started doing a little jig on the stage, the fake smile still plastered on her face. The clown suit—made out of a hula hoop around the waist and some colorful fabric—bounced with her, reeking of shows past, sweat, and beer. Bella nearly gagged on the scent; when it was combined with the ever-present stench of low-budget pizza that surrounded the place like an aura, she always told herself I'll quit. This is stupid. Why am I doing this? But then the manager would give her the tiny paycheck and she'd remember that if she didn't deserve Him, then surely she was demoted to clown status.
That was when the first plastic cup came flying towards her head. It smashed into the side of her skull; the remaining liquid flowed over her clown suit, spattering her face. A small, bratty boy of about seven was sitting in the front row, wearing a conical birthday hat, surrounded by presents. He had a smirk the size of a bus on his face. It stretched from ear to ear, making the boy look like a cross between the Grinch and Draco Malfoy. His little friends laughed along with him as Bella shook the suit out, trying to dry it before it was stained. Then a slice of pizza tore through the air and smacked her left arm, leaving a triangular grease stain before it fell to the floor. Another plastic cup from the birthday boy, a hunk of cake, and a scoop of ice cream were all hurtling through the air within seconds. They all hit their mark, and Bella was running away by this point. Why did this always happen to HER? He did this to her, and now look what was happening. After the manager had apologized—Apologized?! For WHAT? Thought Bella—to the parents of the children, he came backstage. Bella was scraping cheese and cheap ice cream off of the clown suit when he poked his greasy, bald head around the corner. He told her how sorry he was, but that he was going to have to let her go. She didn't care—who needed a job like this?
And with that Bella ended her career as Candy the Clown at Pizza Palace, walking out of the establishment with her head held high. She'd find another job…Wouldn't she?