Musical Suggestion: Kings & Queens - 30 Seconds To Mars
AN: This is one of those short chapters that I was telling you about. Don't worry. I'll try to make them all equal in the future. I'll post the next chapter once I hit 5 reviews because I KNOW people are reading it and I would LOVE to hear what you are thinking, so don't be shy and leave me a little review. And if you would like to see some artwork I did for this story it can be found here: .com
Emmett
So at the command of Alice I drove her to the hardware store to purchase some paint. I was watching her out of the corner of my eye as I continued down the winding roads that lead back into the town. Her eyes were shifting back and forth as if she was internally debating something.
"I was thinking Asparagus with a white accent wall or a deep red. I've heard that red inspires great thoughts." She blurted out of nowhere, starring intently at me as if I were there to solve all her problems. Alice was a very amusing one.
"I'd say red." I nodded my head enthusiastically. "Carlisle and Esme's room is green."
"Emmett, asparagus, not olive." Alice explained, "There is a large difference." She scaled her arms out as far as she could reach them in attempts to show the difference.
"Right." I said, still confused. Green was green, but the little bird on my shoulder told me that it was not the time to disagree. "I still say red."
"Me too." She agreed and toyed with her… bag?
"So where'd you get that bag?" I asked, trying to spark up conversation. I figured she'd appreciate my interest in her …accessories?
"Chanel." Alice stated in that I-Can't-Believe-You-Don't-Know-What-This-Is tone.
"Nice." I commented, trying to sound impressed. "Who is the designer?" I almost had to smile to myself. I was getting good at this.
The look she gave me, however, suddenly squashed my ego. It was a mix of 'WTF' and 'Really?' "Chanel."
"Oh." And I decided that it was a good time to stop talking.
We spent the rest of the drive in silence with the exception of the persistent tapping of her fingernails on the screen of her iPhone. The thing had barely left her hand since she had arrived. Once we reached the hardware store she jumped down from the Hummer and was in the store faster than I could kill the engine. I was only a few steps behind her but she had made it to the paint wall and was already discussing, with herself, the pros and cons of several different reds that all looked the same. She was rambling on about how she should have waited and seen the different lights of the bedroom, people were starring and the kid behind the desk looked scared that he would have to help her at one point.
"Emmett," Alice summoned from in front of the paint chips, "I'm perplexed. Can they mix pigments here?"
"Uhhhh…" I looked back at the kid behind the desk, who I now realized was in my calculus class the previous semester. "Can you mix pigments?"
Well, it turned out you could. Alice stood in front of the desk for at least another hour naming of pigment numbers by memory and had scribbled down liquid measurements on a scrap piece of paper. She bought five cans of the 'red' paint – I was scolded for calling it red, she had named it something stupid – and one can of white paint for some 'french provincial' motif she was going to hand paint around the room. Although I would have much preferred watching the TSN highlights I figured this would have made her happy. The last thing I needed was to witness one of the dreaded 'meltdowns' that Esme described to us. The more I thought about it, the more I realized I knew very little about Alice. We were told the basics; she loved anything to do with clothing, she was very artistic and vegetarian, watched a lot of old movies, and she was easily excitable. We were also told that she had been in an institution after the death of her parents, we did not, however, know why; just that she had meltdowns occasionally and we were to avoid all talk of her parents.
It all happened really quickly, the idea of Alice coming to live with us. Esme one day received a phone call from New York and the next she was preparing for her estranged niece to come and live with us. Alice, for the most part, seemed manageable. She was talkative and obviously intelligent when it came to things she was interested in. There was something, however, that was… off about her. I just couldn't put my finger on what.
Once all the paint was mixed, she paid for it and I carried it out to the car for her. We spent the rest of the day painting and talking about, well, everything. She told me what it was like living in various countries around the world, explained how to tell a fake Chanel handbag from a real one and clarified why she had gone vegetarian whilst I clarified the rules of football, talked about our childhood and told her a few things about school. I think she just enjoyed the company even if the conversation wasn't something she was comfortable with. Esme and Carlisle brought us take-out Chinese and we ended up painting all night. When Edward came home around 2 AM he picked up a paintbrush and started helping us. By the time first light hit we had successfully finished three coats of red paint. The three of us then collapsed on the plastic covering the floor and picked at the cold leftover Chinese from dinner.
"So, you definitely know how to paint." Edward observed, taking a look around the room. "When I heard you guys were painting I was sure this would have taken days."
"I used to paint my room a lot." Alice shrugged her shoulders. "I like change… for the most part."
"Well, one thing's for sure," I stretched out my arms as far as I could and pushed myself up from the floor. "This red will be staying here for a while. Now, I'm off to bed. Do you need anything?"
Alice looked around the room, her eyes landing on the mattress that sat on the floor. Her tiny nose crinkled a bit. She did not look down for sleeping on something that wasn't a bed. With a sigh I asked, "Do you want to take my room? I really don't mind sleeping on the couch downstairs."
She looked at me with widened eyes and a smile pushing on the corners of her mouth. However, Alice pulled her smile back and responded with a, "No I couldn't do that. I'm fine here."
"No, just take my room, it'll be cold on the floor." I insisted. "Besides, I've slept on that couch downstairs plenty of times." I had a point. I had slept on that couch more than she realized. Often I wasn't sober enough to make it up the stairs without passing out or breaking something.
"Are you sure?" She said sheepishly.
"Of course." I didn't mind at all. After saying goodnight to Edward, I waited for Alice to grab what she needed for the night, which consisted of an entire travel bag with luxurious looking bottles of moisturizer, among other things, pouring out. I lead her to my room, grabbed some clean sweatpants off the floor and said goodnight before hitting the couch downstairs.
