Such a short prologue, but such a positive response! Thanks for the support, everyone!
A special thanks to pippapear, my wonderfully patient and dedicated Beta.
Inside the dark room, sitting on one of the cardboard boxes, I played with the black, unlit cigarette, rolling it between my fingers.
London was still asleep, the eerie grey light that comes right before dawn defining the monstrous pile of buildings I was allowed to see from my window, under the ever cloudy sky.
In autopilot, I got up, maneuvering around the taped up boxes and through the empty apartment, showered and dressed in the appropriate clothes for the day: silk blouse and a graphite pencil skirt I hated wearing. I was much too young for the outfit, but I had to admit it helped me get into character.
I got out, empty stomach and a small travel bag in hand, and got a cab to the corporation where my early meeting would be held.
Once there, I spent three hours listening to things I already knew, dodging traps and giving out orders to men three times my age.
I was tired. I was restless, anxious, suffocating. I wanted nothing more than to shed the horrid skin I was wearing, but that skin didn't define me. I didn't know what was underneath, but unleashing it was not an option, so I kept wearing my cover.
Yet another cab ride was all it took to get me to the airport – and I managed to get enough time before the flight to get into a pair of jeans, scrub away the little makeup I had put on.
The stewardesses looked down on me, as a response to my apparent simplicity and lack of vanity, and I ignored them, preferring the soothing comfort of music to keep me company.
I said one last, guiltless goodbye to the London skyline I'd come to know well and slept through most of the flight, my discomfort magnified by the knowledge that I had yet another plane to catch before reaching Washington.
Overall, it took me nearly twenty-four hours to get there. Surprisingly, the last bit of the trip was the most enjoyable.
I blessed my good decision in getting a rental car and enjoyed the drive to Forks.
The air was humid and static-filled, the sky was overcast, and the impending rain was sure to reach the proportions of a storm.
You'd think this wasn't all that different from London. It was.
The road was framed by tall, moss covered trees and lush ferns, demanding respect for their sheer age. I felt as if I was entering an old temple, and that sense of wonder and fear took hold of me, mixed in with overwhelming nostalgia.
I hadn't committed Forks to memory as well as I thought.
The beautiful expanse of land I saw now had nothing to do with my early childhood sensory recollections – wet and green all over.
I drove through town with little curiosity, seeing it as a scar in the midst of otherwise untouched, beautiful forest, only making sure to memorize the location of the local high school.
As soon as I reached the house, I sucked a breath. Not because I remembered it very well, not because I'd ever lived there long, but because it meant something to me. I could feel it in my bones as I entered.
There was no dust on top of the furniture, nor did the house smell as if it'd been lifeless for as long as it had. I felt guilty, at that moment, for getting people to take care of such things before my arrival. I should have been the one to do it.
The cupboards were filled with food, as was the fridge, and every possible supply I needed for the following month had been looked after. I enjoyed the old feel of everything – from the chipping yellow paint in the kitchen to the old framed pictures, nearly falling apart. The new washer and dryer displeased me in its modern sleekness. It didn't belong.
Maybe I didn't belong, either, but at least I'd find out. At least I'd try to find my roots again.
The nights were very cold and very long, and during my first week I didn't sleep as well as I usually did. The humidity rendered me constantly sick: either coughing or sneezing or both, in a house that didn't extend the comforts I was used to. Yet, I liked it better.
Before long, I couldn't keep myself occupied with unpacking boxes, sent in the meanwhile, or walks through the surrounding woods.
Painfully idle, I forced myself to consider some shopping, and then went through with it while the resolve lasted.
The town was very small and, as a result, everyone knew who I was. Or, rather, everyone knew I was the one no one knew yet. The stranger, the new girl.
I plastered my best "don't bother me" look and shopped for some books and school related material. The high school building loomed, visible from nearly everywhere I went.
Everything was visible, really. Existing in Forks was like living under a magnifying glass.
Fortunately, I must have made my point across, and wasn't approached as I shopped. A blond boy – probably my age or slightly younger – tried to half smile, half muster up something to say, and failed. I was glad for it.
Only as I got back home I realized that I should have been nicer. That I shouldn't have worn the same cloak I'd carried around for the last few months.
Maybe I'd change that in the future.
Begrudgingly, I lived as the days ticked away until the start of school. The physical urge to just lie in bed and not go almost trumped the sense of duty I felt. Almost.
But, less than three weeks after my arrival, I drove my inconspicuous new Ford to school, parked it, and went in, holding my big notebooks. I tried to look back, in the eye, everyone that was ogling me, but there were simply too many for me to succeed.
Instead, I examined the parking lot, and got pretty annoyed as I found out that my car was actually pretty conspicuous. Aside from a sleek looking Volvo parked on the other side of the lot, the student body of Forks seemed to prefer used cars.
I allowed the chattering mass of teenagers to engulf me, and made no move to get to know any of them, focusing instead on finding my first period classroom instead.
I sat on the chair, frowning at it being too small for any decent sized adult, and crossed my arms on top of my chest, tipping my chair back the slightest bit.
It was either that or get the pack of cigarettes resting inside my bag, but I figured my new teacher wouldn't care much for the latter.
I was seated at the furthest table from the door, alone, giving me a wonderful point of observation towards my fellow students.
My presence was very much noted, with that horror that accompanies the excitement of something totally new. I was ogled at, commented, dissected. My shoes were inspected, my clothes, my hair, my notebooks. A pair of girls to the right didn't even bother trying to pass off their attention as sympathy.
The teacher was stoically trying to discuss the syllabus. He was met with the lack of attention and cooperation of a group of people otherwise engaged.
Mid class, I drowned it all out, disappointed.
I toyed with the piece of scarlet silk I'd tied to my schoolbag, a token of good luck given to me by a friend, so long ago. I was not superstitious; I wore it not because I believed, but because there was something in the beliefs of others that fascinated me. I wish I could be just as credulous in something, anything.
A religion. A superstition. Even the wholly trinity of envying, lusting and feasting.
I'd lived too much.
The little sample of barely contained curiosity was proof enough.
The bell rang, and my first class ended. I wasn't used to this – as, previously, I was half home-schooled, half self-taught – and it took me a little while to get my bearings.
The blonde boy from the supermarket came up to me, and I suppressed a groan.
"Hi, I'm Mike, Mike Newton," he finally said, trying on a smile that was meant to be charming. Fidgeting with his hands ruined the effect, though.
"Hello, Mike. I'm Bella," I answered, in my best behavior. Don't bite the guy's head off, be nice.
"Looks like we have History together," he smiled, seemingly truly happy about it. "I could trade out back to sit with you, if you want…"
"Oh, that's really unnecessary," I cut, and then stopped myself. "It's just that I'm usually quiet and focused, so you'd probably feel alone."
He smiled. Nice save.
"Yeah, I get it, no problem. Bella, this is Jessica Stanley," he introduced, and I fought back a frown. He'd known me for two minutes, but had already placed himself in charge of my social development.
The chirping girl launched herself in a whirlwind of questions – some of which she answered herself – and gave out more information than I could handle about my classmates, most of which should have been private.
Hello, high school gossip girl.
With a smile hanging by a thread, I accepted Mike's help in finding my new class. More people introduced themselves to me, including Eric Yorkie and Tyler Crowley, both of which Mike seemed to feel threatened by.
By the time second period started, I had a massive headache.
The overly friendly display continued up until lunch time, when I decided to try my chances with finding the cafeteria myself and dodged Newton as well as I could.
I found a nice table to the side and put my bag there, getting my wallet out. I noticed then that the piece of silk was gone.
I searched for it under the table, and inside the bag, but it was nowhere to be found. I'd walked a great deal during the morning, it could have fallen anywhere.
Mourning the loss of something that had accompanied me for so long, I went to stand in line for food I didn't particularly crave.
That's when I spotted them for the first time.
Sitting at a corner table, the five were talking amidst themselves over their forgotten trays laden with lunch. All of them different, peculiar, all of them so much the same.
I'd seen so many different faces, of so many different origins, and yet I'd never seen anyone quite like them.
I registered their distinguishable characteristics, the things that separated them and drew them together.
But out of them stood out one boy, slim and grave, seemingly lost in thought.
There would be many ways to describe him but the best I could find – and the corner of my lips betrayed me as I thought it – was devastating. It couldn't even be analyzed, be classified. I'd be content with just observing him, but something told me I'd, at least, try to start a conversation, someday.
I was still smiling as I approached my table, but my horrified gasp cut right through my musings as I saw what others had done.
Two other tables had been pushed against it, and the whole gang – Mike, Jessica, and some I'd met, others I haven't, were happily eating their lunch. Invading my space, denying my privacy.
"Hey, Bella! Nice going, saving us a table."
I just took a deep breath, nodded and sat, pushing the food away and ignoring the people around me, having had my share of human interaction for the day.
"What's Edward Cullen doing?"
I picked up the fragment of conversation and looked up from my book. Probably because of the tone Jessica used, more than anything else. Maybe because the name was curious.
I was left even more intrigued to see the reddish haired boy walking to our table, my lost piece of silk in his hand. He'd found it.
Smiling in earnest, I stood up, my hair spilling over my shoulder as I maneuvered my way to reach him.
He stopped, and our eyes locked.
His – an iridescent shade of golden, so much more complex, animated, than any I had ever seen – were wide and burning into mine, even as far away as he was. I was also frozen, in shock of his expression, of the flickering emotions of them, the power they held.
For seconds, minutes – hours? – we stood in front of each other, attracting everyone's attention as he breathed a lungful of air he didn't let go of.
And then, just like that, he turned and left, dropping the scarlet strand to the floor. I watched his back as he rushed out of the cafeteria, and one of the girls from his table – the little one – followed him.
Finally able to move again, I got the piece of silk and went back to my seat at the table, wishing, now more than ever, that I was alone.
I was asked if I knew him. I did not.
I was asked if I knew what it was about. Again, no.
My lack of interesting information did nothing to qualm the whispers that now leapt, from table to table, all the way round the cafeteria.
I held the piece of silk, like solid water between my fingers, and observed his table for a moment.
Jessica was telling anyone who'd hear her that they were all adoptive siblings, notorious for being detached and keeping to themselves. That they were always strange, but that this was a new degree of it – one that involved interaction.
I found myself replaying it my head, watching the stiff stances of the siblings that stayed, just for a little while longer, before filtering out gracefully.
It couldn't be, and yet I'd seen it.
I could see it as clearly as if he was still standing in front of me, the scarlet material in his hand, meant for me.
I was sure that he'd hated me in that moment. Why? Why had I earned such a dreadful response?
And how?
I had no faith in superstitions, no faith in omens, but that I'd seen.
I'd seen it as he looked back at me, and there was no denying it. No mistake.
His golden eyes had turned pitch black. Murky, dead, hateful eyes.
I tied the piece of silk back in its place and left the cafeteria, still lost in thought.
Strange, indeed.
