Chapter One: April 2010

A/N: This story will deal with depression and emotional abuse. If you're sensitive to these themes, please read with caution.

This is my first ever fanfic, so if you could spare a couple of minutes to let me know how I'm doing, I'd REALLY appreciate it!

Shell x

I fell in love with Edward Cullen's music about a month before I married Jacob Black.

I stumbled across it when I was downloading something or other, maybe it was Laura Marling, I can't really remember. The recommendation that I might also like Edward's music is probably the only good thing to ever come out of that ridiculous iTunes Genius bar. Usually my tastes are far too eclectic for iTunes to predict what I might like, but in this case, it was spot-on.

Edward Cullen's powerful, gravelly voice, and his raw, passionate poetry had me completely enraptured from the first listen. Edward wasn't just another unshaven "singer/songwriter" with an acoustic guitar strapped to his flannel-clad back. First and foremost he was a poet, a twenty-first century Thomas or Yeats. His songs weren't about a catchy chorus—if anything, the music seemed more about creating a background for the story he wanted to tell.

I downloaded every track he'd made available, and spent hours YouTubing his live performances. I may have become just a little obsessed, but there was something about his music that tapped directly into my soul. I listened to the songs over and over again, trying to unravel the lyrics. I treated his pieces much as I did the poems I had pored over throughout my English degree, analyzing the themes, the poetic devices he employed, my awe for his talent ever-increasing.

And though Jacob had expected the bridal procession at our wedding to be along more traditional lines, I made a last minute change. I chose to walk down the aisle to Edward's "Walking Home". I thought it was beautiful and romantic; screw Wagner and his pompous Bridal Chorus, I wanted music that spoke of the love Jacob and I shared, and music that reflected us. His family wasn't terribly impressed by that decision, but then, that seemed to be the unifying theme for nearly all the plans I made for the wedding.

To be fair, some of my plans were a little unorthodox. I had wanted to wear a red wedding dress. My mom, and Jacob's family, were not impressed, and threatened to withdraw any funding of said nuptials, so I conceded to the more traditional ivory. However, in a secret act of defiance and as an homage to my own, well-documented stubbornness, I managed to find some vibrant red stilettos that I gleefully slipped under my dress on the morning of the wedding—a secret I shared only with my best friend, and maid-of-honor, Alice.

Despite differences of opinion on wedding etiquette and expectations, at 22 years of age, Jacob and I managed to get ourselves legally bound in matrimony. Perhaps we were too young, perhaps we didn't know each other as well as we thought, but it didn't take very long for our home life to become strained.

"Oh shit!"

A quick glance at the clock in the top corner of my laptop screen shows me that I've gotten carried away on YouTube again. It happens too often. I quickly close down the screens I have open, and clear out the computer's history. I doubt Jake will check, but he will be pissed off if he sees I've been "wasting my time" watching more Edward Cullen videos. It's just not worth the arguments.

I push away from my desk, stretching out my stiff back. Ripping my headphones off, I throw them down next to my laptop. I really need to get started on dinner. It's six o'clock, and Jake will be home within the half hour.

I detour via the laundry, shifting the load that's waiting in the washer into the dryer, then starting another load of washing. Both machines going at once—that looks productive, right? I can iron and fold all the dry clothes after dinner. I don't have any marking to deal with tonight as I finished reading my ninth graders' essays during a free period this morning.

In the kitchen, I fit my iPod into the dock and select my 'April Blooming' playlist: it's heavy on the Edward Cullen tunes, of course, but there's also a mix of other artists that I felt were fitting for the Spring weather: Elixir, Ellery, Hey Marseilles, Angus and Julia Stone, Matt Corby, The Civil Wars. Of course, Spring in Forks is much like all the other seasons—overcast and dreary. If I can't force the sun to shine, I can at least brighten our little home with music.

Katie Noonan's sweet vocals fill the kitchen, and I sway and hum along as I get dinner started. I love to cook, and I'm passionate about seasonality—hence the vegetable gardens and greenhouses that take up more than half of our backyard. Dad and Jake built them for me in the fall, and with a lot of work and time spent digging and composting and weeding, I now grow all the vegetables and herbs I use in my cooking.

Tonight I decide to make an asparagus, leek and morel lasagna. I love to make pasta from scratch—it's such a great way to unwind. It doesn't take long before I'm lost in my own world, my hands busy, my music soothing me into a state of bliss.

Just as I put the lasagna in the oven, I'm wrenched back to reality by the loud and repetitive thrumming coming from the lounge-room. It drowns out the music in the kitchen.

The steady, pulsing beat that means my husband is home. Jake and I couldn't have more dissimilar tastes in music. He is fond of hardcore techno, house, and all that other stuff that I refer to as "doof-doof noise."

It was our conflicting musical tastes that initially sparked our interest in each other.

I moved to Forks as we started the ninth-grade, after my Mom remarried and decided to travel the world with her new husband. Mom's always been a tad flighty, and marrying a guy with more money than sense indulged her short attention span—they flit from country to country as the whimsy takes them.

Mom and Dad split when I was just a toddler, so my poor Dad was suddenly faced with raising a teenaged daughter he barely knew. Jake's dad is a good friend of Dad's, and they threw us together in the summer break before school, hoping it would make starting high school in a new town a little easier on me.

The first time Dad took me over to the Black's place, I was sent to find Jake and 'make friends'. I found him in the garage, tinkering with a motorcycle engine, with a stereo blasting the most god-awful noise I had ever heard. I asked him, "What the hell is this awful noise?" and our lengthy debates over music began.

At the time, Jake was a devotee of nineties rap and hip-hop: 2Pac, Public Enemy, Cypress Hill, Notorious B.I.G, Wu-Tang Clan, and so on. I was immersing myself in The Beatles, Leonard Cohen, Bob Dylan, Joni Mitchell, Neil Young, and Van Morrison.

Jake and I would spend hours forcing each other to listen to our new music discoveries, trying to explain to each other what appealed to us, or why we couldn't comprehend the other's tastes. Neither of us would back down, and some of our more passionate debates became legendary.

With the frenetic, bass-heavy nightclub music blaring, I concede defeat, switching off my iPod. I slip it into my pocket, before grabbing a beer from the fridge and heading into the living room.

Jake is already on the couch, X-Box controller in hand.

"How are you, honey? How was your day?"

"Fine. Long. What's for dinner?" He grabs the beer I offer him, his eyes still on the screen.

"Leek, asparagus and morel lasagna. It'll be ready in about twenty minutes."

"Great. Let me know when it's done."

Jacob's attention is already fixed on whatever violently epic battle he's engaged in on-screen, so I lean over, kiss him on the cheek, and head back into the kitchen. Ten months of marriage have taught me Jake needs at least half an hour of shooting bad guys after work before conversation can be attempted.

I try to patient about this. I know Jake's work is physically draining, and he needs time to relax before he can deal with my "dramas."

As a construction worker, he spends a lot of time travelling—his company often has to take jobs quite a distance from Forks. There's not much work in our tiny town, so he frequently has to work as far away as Seattle. At the moment he's on a job in Port Angeles, which means he's dealing with an hour-long commute each way. If the company takes a job more than two hours away, he'll usually spend Monday to Friday on site, and only travel home for the weekends.

Once I'm back in the kitchen, I stare into the oven aimlessly for a few minutes, willing dinner to cook faster. Out of habit, I pull my iPhone out of my back pocket and open up Twitter. I scroll through the updates, smiling at my friends' updates.

AliceBrandon - 2 hours ago
I'd rather beat my head against a brick wall than ready any more of my ninth graders impressionism essays. Wait. It's essentially the same thing.

JazzW – an hour ago
AliceBrandon aww hun. Don't do any damage to that pretty face of yours.

Jessisababe – 30 minutes ago
Going to see the new Emmett McCarty movie. OMG is he HOT!

MikeyN69 – 20 minutes ago
Jessisababe But not as hot as me, right babe.

EdwardCullen – 17 minutes ago
Just announced Nth America tour dates. See website for details and tix.

AliceBrandon – 12 minutes ago
JazzW No damage to my face, I may never regain the IQ points I just lost though…

JazzW – 2 minutes ago
AliceBrandon oh well, that's no biggie then. :P

Giggling at Alice and Jasper's banter, it takes me a second to register … Edward Cullen is touring the US again?!

Jake and I were honeymooning in Vancouver last time Edward Cullen toured North America. He played in Vancouver, but Jake wasn't interested in seeing him live, so we didn't go. Edward's since been touring Europe and recording a new album in London, and this is the first I've heard of another US tour.

Using the browser app on my phone, I navigate to Edward's website with ease, holding my breath as I wait for the list of tour dates down the right hand side of the page to load. I cross my fingers, hoping that he'll be playing somewhere in the North-West.

PORTLAND – AUGUST 3rd

SEATTLE – AUGUST 5th and 6th

VANCOUVER – AUGUST 10th and 12th.

I clamp my hand over my mouth to muffle my squeal. Edward Cullen is touring—during the summer break no less—and in only four months time! And it's quite possible I could see him play five times …

I'm startled out of my giddy fan-girling by the oven timer. I slip my phone into my back pocket and try to calm myself down as I set the table and plate up dinner.

"Jake, dinner's ready!"

"Coming."

He slouches into a chair at the kitchen table as I set his plate down.

We eat in silence at first.

"How was your day, Jake?"

"Yeah, fine. Busy. Long. We're nearly finished this job, then we'll have a few to do here in Forks which'll be good."

"Oh, that's great. It'll be nice to have some work close by."

"Yeah, don't I know it. I'm sick of the travel. How was school?"

"It was fine, though my ninth graders are driving me crazy."

Jake smiles at this.

"I'm pretty sure I drove my English teacher crazy in ninth grade … and tenth grade. Actually, I probably drove all my teachers crazy in every grade."

I giggle, remembering Jake in high school. He had very little patience for subjects he couldn't see the point of, and English was definitely one of them.

As we continue to make small talk and laugh over shared high school memories, my mind is only half on the conversation.

I'm still shocked that this summer, all things going well, I'm finally going to get to see Edward Cullen play live. My mind drifts further, wondering if he'll be playing with a band, or just accompanied by his acoustic guitar. I've seen videos of both, and I can't decide which I prefer. The atmosphere is bigger when there's a full band behind him, but there's something so intimate about seeing him on stage, alone.

"Isabella!" Jake's voice cuts through the fantasies I'm spinning.

"Huh?"

"Jesus, woman. You could at least listen to what I'm saying."

I frown at being addressed as 'woman', but quickly apologize—I was daydreaming mid-conversation. "Sorry, I zoned out. It was rude of me."

"Damn right it was."

"I'm sorry, what were you saying?"

"You know what? It doesn't even matter. Just try to pay attention when I'm speaking, would you? I've been out working my ass off all day, and it'd be nice if you could pretend to give a shit about me."

This is not an unusual complaint, but I know from experience that there's really no point mentioning the fact I also work a fulltime job—as well as managing the household.

Because my job isn't physically demanding, Jake doesn't see it as "real work"—and the cooking, cleaning, laundering and gardening I also manage to juggle are just what I'm "supposed" to do. I am, after all, a female, and we're programmed for domesticity. These arguments have been hashed out a number of times in our ten months of marriage, and I've learned the easiest way to deal with Jake when he's upset like this is to simply agree with him.

"I do care, Jake. I'm sorry for spacing out. I'm just tired."

"What the fuck could you possibly be tired from? You only work from nine 'til three. You're a fucking English teacher. All you do is talk and wave chalk around all day."

Teaching can be really draining. As a colleague pointed out to me—how many other professions are there in which the people you're trying to work with are actively trying to prevent you from doing your job?! Still, I don't feel like arguing with Jake, so I mentally roll my eyes and settle for trying to pacify him.

"Sorry, honey. I know it's not as demanding as your job. You know I appreciate how hard you work to support us."

"Good. You should." His knife and fork land on his plate with a clatter. "I'm going to take a shower."

He disappears from the kitchen, leaving me to deal with the dirty dishes. It's pretty routine by now, though we've discussed the "I cook, you clean" concept more than a few times.

As I wipe down the counters, I ponder at the changes I'm seeing in myself, and the way I respond to Jake.

Earlier on in our marriage, even two months ago, I would hold my own in those sorts of arguments. I would have refused to accept his demeaning of my work, and I would have not-so-subtly reminded him that he's perfectly capable of placing his plate in the dishwasher. I'm just so weary of the bickering, and I can diffuse the situations by agreeing with him. But am I just compromising—something every marriage requires—or am I losing some sense of who I am? I don't believe the things Jake says—it just seems easier to let him think I do, rather than engage in another round of heated arguments.

Once the kitchen is clean, I head into the bedroom, pulling the ironing board out of the wardrobe. I retrieve the pile of clean laundry from the dryer and slip on my headphones as I wait for the iron to heat up, and immediately immerse myself in Jacqueline Du Pré's inspiring interpretation of Elgar's Cello Concertos in E Minor.

It's only as I crawl into our empty bed—two hours and four loads of laundry later—that I allow myself a small smile in the dark: I'm going to see Edward Cullen perform live this summer!