Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters. They are from Twilight and Stephanie Meyer owns them.
Summary: Bella Swan trusts no one and never lets herself care about anyone. When the Cullens come to town, her life gets flipped and twisted, especially with Edward Cullen, who hates her with a passion she doesn't understand. When they learn of each other's secrets and a danger comes to light, who will survive
Chapter 2: Black Eyes
Even with him sitting, I could easily tell he was much taller than me. His torso was extremely well muscled and the simple grey button shirt plastered to him like a second skin did not hide it one bit. Without even a blemish or mole, his skin was as pale and white as can be. He had a slightly crooked nose, like it had been broken once and never healed correctly, but instead of the flaw making him look less attractive, it only made him more alluring and roguish. His hair was easily noticeable—the color being so unusual I had to study it for a few seconds before I could decide on a color. Brown? Red? No, it was somewhere in the middle. More like the color of a penny, a bronze. Another reason why his hair stood out so much was because of how messy it was, how uncontrollable it looked. However, the thing that drew me the most were eyes of depthless coals that instantly had me feeling exposed and knocked off balance.
In other words? He was the most beautiful man I had ever seen.
And he was glaring at me with pure black hatred.
I blinked, taken aback by the obvious vibes of dislike that was emanating from him like waves of heat. His body was tightly coiled with the intensity of his feelings, and suddenly, a voice inside of my mind was screaming at me to run away. Fast.
But I never ran away from anything unless I had a reason to. I also felt a sudden amount of indignation at his negative feelings when this was the first time he had laid eyes on me. I mean, I knew the rumors and what the Populars say about me, but it wasn't something that you could so easily overreact to. Not up to the point you were glowering at me as if I had killed your parents.
With my head held high, I stubbornly walked towards him, twisting to sit in my chair and pulling my textbook and folder out. I felt Edward's eyes lock and prepare to attack at any moment.
As I watched him covertly, another thing suddenly came to my attention with alarm and bewilderment. How was I completely sure that this was Edward Cullen? When I had first seen him, his name immediately came to mind, but like I said, this was the first time we had laid eyes on each other. I do not know what Edward Cullen looks like. For all I knew, this could be Emmett or Jasper.
The tardy bell rang, and Mr. Banner called the class to attention. "Everyone, this is Edward Cullen, who is just starting today. He's come here with the rest of his family from Chicago and will be staying with us for the remainder of high school. I would like all of you to make sure that Mr. Cullen has no trouble transitioning." There was an implied or else in his tone, and with that he plunged with gusto into his lesson.
I wasn't paying attention. Instead of being impressed that I was right in my guessing his name, I had a sense of shock and unease. No, I told myself, you're just being paranoid. Don't let all of Charles's lessons bleed into your school life. Ignoring my father's voice inside my head, I focused on my new lab partner.
He was still as tense as he was when I first entered the classroom, if not more. With his pale hands clenched into tight fists, his shoulders hunched, and his body so still he could have been ice or stone, I was again forced to fight the instinct to back away from him. This was too much for a few little rumors the Populars told him about me, I realized. Did he know my father? With that question in mind I froze as well, my senses spiraling and jerking as I tried to pick up any threats.
Mr. Banner lecturing loudly about genetics.
Paper, stale air, cloth.
Mike muttering something to Eric about Jessica's mom getting a face lift.
Deodorant, wood.
Two girls whispering about their grades.
Steel.
Lead scraping against paper furiously.
Sweat.
Thirty two people breathing.
Wet forest, rough leather, man.
As time passed, my muscles slowly relaxed, cautiously believing that there was nothing around that should cause alarm. With that issue cleared up my curiosity returned and I once again gazed at the man who was sitting there as if he was in Hell on Earth.
Who was this guy?
The bell rang abruptly and decisively, cutting me from my musings. Edward sprang from his chair as if he were a bullet from a gun and raced swiftly out of the classroom so fast I couldn't even blink before he was gone.
Still in a state of bafflement I shut my books in a confusing daze. I don't even remember heading to the locker rooms or getting dressed, but all of a sudden I found myself in the middle of gym class playing soccer with my body on autopilot. To everybody else, it looked as if I had been born a professional soccer player with the absolute ease I was moving right now. Looking around me, I saw all of my classmates giving me awed and envious looks of disbelief, their mouths opened slightly. Fucking idiot, I berated myself. This is what I get for zoning. Cringing on the inside, I hastily allowed Mike to steal the ball from my possession and score a goal. After that I continued to play poorly for the rest of the game, trying to, as usual, attract as little attention as possible. Hopefully everyone will forget my slip up in trying to be a regular human girl by the time class is over.
Once school was done for the day and I was driving back home, my mind floods with the questions that had been on my mind since I walked into my Bio class and "met" Edward Cullen. Then I questioned why I cared about the boy at all. What did it matter? As the Cullens get settled and become more acquainted with life in Forks, they will quickly see that I am the geeky, closed-off freak everyone thinks I am and will want nothing to do with me.
But as I'm pulling into the driveway of my house, I had a revelation. I did not want Edward Cullen to do any of those things.
Snap the fuck out of it! One cute guy stumbles into town that already hates you and you're so bothered by it you want to prove to him you're not what everybody thinks you are? He's doing you a favor! Any other guy would attempt to start a conversation with you for weeks before giving up and now you want the one guy who doesn't do that to become goody-goody with you? Again, wake the hell up, Swan!
Only he's not just a cute guy, a voice whispered in the back of my head, he is the embodiment of masculine perfection. And you secretly want to make sure that somebody out there still wants to be close to you even though you know they can't so you can feel some form of love or human contact.
You. Are. Not. Helping.
I have to take advantage of the situation and evade Edward Cullen, I decided. I would not speak to him, look at him, or even think about him unless I absolutely had to do it.
There. Problem solved.
Feeling better and more stable now that my problems were solved, I got out of my car and let myself into the house. Dropping my bag on the chilly tile floor of the kitchen, I made myself a snack and began working on my homework. By the time I was done, it was four o'clock and I decided to make dinner early. Pulling out the necessary items, I made myself chicken parmesan with a salad. I had been forced to fend for myself when I was really young—making toast and cereal when I was nine and having as much sugar and carbs as I could. Thankfully I eventually grew tired of eating the same thing every night and gradually pushed myself into making things that were a little more healthy and nutritious for me.
After swallowing my last bite, I washed the dishes and went upstairs to my room. It was rather bare with a clunky queen bed dressed in a simple sheet and two pillows, a dresser for the minimal clothing I had, and used books from multiple hole-in-the-wall bookstores covering the surface of the floor. It wasn't much, but it was just what I needed. Walking to a corner beside my bed, I carefully pushed a few stacks of novels aside and carefully pried open a piece of the floor that carefully hid a ditch in an excellent and brilliant presentation of woodwork. I grunted as I hauled a scarred and battered steel chest out of the hole, slightly rusty from the air and branded with phrases and sentences in different languages, once legible a few years ago. The only thing that wasn't old and worn was a huge lock attached to the lips of the chest—insanely complicated and strong. It could only be opened by pressing my fingerprints to the touch screen and entering two different passwords. One used the lock's voice recognition feature and the other required typing a twenty five symbol combo into it. It was a really big lock. Actually, the entire chest was the lock.
The only reason I used a lock that the CIA only dreamed about was the fact that it held the most precious items in the world for me and I didn't want anybody to be able to access them.
Lifting the lid of the chest, I uncovered the soft protective cover obscuring what lay underneath. The first thing that drew your eyes was the large sleek bow that nearly spanned the entire length of the box. Next to it was a large quiver stuffed with dozens of different types of arrows, from regular steelhead arrows to the exploding trick arrows. Another bundle of cloth was packed at the top, and I pulled all of these items out. Like every other day I do this, I first waxed both my bow and arrow, then restrung the bow and made sure the fletching of each arrow was not damaged or crooked. I cleaned the shaft and sharpened the arrowhead. Next, I took the heap of cloth and rolled it out. Dozens of weapons ranging from knives to sai to katanas, as well as shurikens and kunai fit snugly in the interior of the protective material. For the next hour or so I spent my time carefully sharpening and polishing each weapon laid before me. I handled them with a familiarity that was almost frightening, the balance of each object second nature to me. If a grown man saw the variety and sheer number of equipment created to kill and torture I had before me, he would pee in his pants and run away like a bat out of hell. But me? Before I could even walk or talk I was playing with knives and other objects most toddlers wouldn't go near if their mothers didn't want to have a heart attack.
While I was working, I stared at what was at the bottom of the chest. The locket, whistle, beautiful angel wing necklace, and a picture of a woman with my brown hair and slender figure were the only things I had left of the innocent side of my childhood. The childhood that had crumbled to dust before my eyes. Before memories could overtake me, I focused my concentration on testing the sharpness of my collapsible katana's blade.
Once my task was done, I cleared all of the items away and placed them back in the chest. Locking it and dropping it back into the concealed pit, I made sure that it looked exactly as it did before I opened the floor.
I stretched my tight muscles and yawned. It was nine o'clock and I should probably go to bed if I wanted to wake up at five. Trudging to my bathroom I changed into baggy sweats and my "THE BOOK WAS BETTER" T-shirt and brushed my teeth. Plopping onto my mattress, I twined myself around a pillow and snuggled in, waiting for the sheets to warm from my body heat. Operation Ignore Edward At All Costs would begin in the morning.
Yet as I began drifting off soft black eyes brushed behind my eyelids and gazed back at me, secrets flitting underneath the surface.
If anybody is interested in beta-ing this story, I would be so very grateful to have the assistance and support. I'm still a newbie and will most likely need some guidance in the future, as well as some pointers in things like punctuation and grammar. So please message me if you can!
