I. Prologue
Emmett Dale McCarty
Damn that stupid alarm clock! I swung my arm swiftly towards the left and kept waving it until my hand connected with plastic and I heard a resounding thump a few seconds later. My little brother Joshua ran into my room and flicked on the lights. It burns I thought sarcastically before I sat up to see what Josh was so excited about. "It's moving day! It's moving day!" he yelled directly into my right ear. Ah Ha! Question asked, question answered.
No wonder I was so tired, I had been up until 1:00 last night, packing and saying goodbye to Liza, my girlfriend of six months. We decided to split, but remain friends. When we had first gotten together, we had a conversation about possible long distance relationships had it been necessary. We had both decided long ago that they did not work and that the best course of action was to stay friends, which we were going to. She had come over to help me pack and we just talked for a while. They split wasn't rocky or difficult for either of us. We had never said I love you to one another because we both knew inside it wasn't meant to be. The relationship was never supposed to last outside of a month anyway, it just became routine after a while and the move jolted us back to our original plans.
In secret, I was glad I we had never felt that way. First love was special to me. The idea of loving someone was foreign, but welcome. One thing I wanted out of life was to find someone and be happy. Not just anyone of course, but someone special. I wanted someone beautiful, smart, and able to keep me in my place. I loved ambition and strength in women. My mother had taught me to be a gentleman and respect women for whoever they were. On a trip to New York three months ago, I had seen someone. I had seen strength and power in her eyes, waiting to be used. She was everything I wanted but she had come from a horrible experience and I knew she wasn't ready and wouldn't be for a while. I let it go, knowing that if it was meant to be, it would be.
Josh had long since left my room; my mother had called him to finish packing. I stumbled sleepily into my bathroom and looked at the mirror. My dark curls gave away my just awake status with their haphazard position on my head. I smiled at this and my dimples popped into my cheeks. I continued to look myself over, smiling proudly at my arm and chest muscles. I had been working hard since freshman year to achieve what I called the perfect "quarterback physique". I had lifted weights, ran, trained, and bulked up for two years. Long story short, it paid off. My muscles were well defined in my arms, straining my T-shirt sleeves. My stomach was ripped and washboard. I had achieved an "eight-pack", as my sister Jenny called it, fit well with me height. I was 6'3 and I was grateful. My mother, sister, brother, and father were all about 5'7 to 6 ft, ranging. Last year, I had tried out for junior varsity football, and had ended up a linebacker for the varsity team. When my parents had told me we were moving, I wasn't surprised. We never stayed long in one place. I had been an army brat for a while, but my dad had gotten a leg injury and had an honorable discharge when I was about 12. That was when we moved to Tennessee. I had even been surprised to stay here until I was 17. So, when I had to relay to news to my coach and teammates, they weren't surprised. I had been saying since I arrived that I would probably not stay. They were sorry to see me go, but not angry.
I took my shower, got dressed, finished packing, and went downstairs for breakfast. My mother, Laina, was cooking eggs on the stove. Her dark hair was pushed back and I could see her ocean eyes. Her eyes, deep blue like mine, had always fascinated me, they were bottomless and clear. Anything she was feeling was in her eyes. It was how people knew her. My father, Charles, came in, smiling happily. His curly hair (also dark) was combed neatly and his hazel eyes were light with amusement at me, and love for his wife. I was happy. They were happy. My family was happy. I couldn't help being happy as well. My life was about to be new again, fresh and clean. This thought thrilled me and I smiled widely. I was ready.
Rosalie Lillian Hale
I was hiding in my room again. Well, actually, I was in my closet, to be precise. I was curled up in a cocoon of down quilts and flannel sheets. New York was to cold this time of year. The ground was cold. No Rosalie! Don't think! Stop! I tried to prevent the memories from flooding back, but they did anyway. Vividly. It hurt and I grabbed the blankets tighter around me. I felt safe again, but the tears still fell down my face silently. My blonde hair fell down my back as I sat up. It felt wet at the ends from where my tears had fallen into the strands of yellow hair.
It had been three months and my mind was still numb. I felt numb and alone. I heard soft footsteps on the stairs, and I walked over to my bed and lay down silently. I made sure my face and eyes were clear and waited until I heard the soft knocking. "Come in", I called quietly, and my mother stepped in. She tiptoed over to my bed and gave me a peck on the forehead. I smiled up at her, but I was positive she could see the pain in my sky blue eyes, because it was suddenly mirrored in her own pair.
"Rosalie, darling, today is moving day". I smiled again, genuinely this time. The idea that I would be leaving this horrid place (and all its horrid memories) appealed to me greatly.
I sat up and crawled out of bed as she glided gracefully out of my room. I was glad I had been lying down; she would have seen the fading bruises on my shoulders. I slowly walked back to the closet I had been in moments earlier. It was empty. My clothes were packed away, and the only furniture remaining in my room was a small cot that had served as my bed for the last week. I glanced in and grabbed my one remaining outfit, dark skinny jeans and a red spaghetti strap top. The jeans looked good with my long legs (I was 6 foot) and the top fit well on my trim stomach and hugged my defined, but small, waistline. I was glad I had kept one of my heather grey cashmere sweaters from being packed away; I put it on over my red top, and was grateful for the protection and covering it provided. After I was dressed I walked over one more time to the closet and just looked in it. Sunlight from the window next to me streamed in and cast a yellow square on the scrubbed white pine floorboards.
I crawled in and placed my back against the wall. I allowed the memories to come back to me. Slowly. Royce King had been my boyfriend for two months. We had been happy. Very happy. It had seemed too good to be true at the time and I now knew that it had been. I had been head cheerleader and he had been captain of the football team. Cliché, right? I remembered the day he asked me out, our first date, our time together. He had been a perfect gentleman. Never drinking, never smoking. Until that one night. The tears began to fall again as I relived it.
He had picked me up late. That had struck me as odd, he was never late. I climbed into car and gave him a peck on the cheek. He turned to me and smiled, but I could smell alcohol on his breath. It was strong, too. We were going to a party my friend Vera was hosting. She and her boyfriend were happy and he was sweet and gentlemanly. I had always pitied her, thinking I got the better deal. I was beautiful, rich, and my boyfriend was wonderful. Thinking back I realize how lucky she really was. More tears came as I smiled bitterly at my stupidity.
What had really bothered me that night was when he drove in the opposite direction that Vera's house was from mine. I asked him where we were going, and perhaps my tone was to sharp for him because he turned around and slapped me. Hard. My cheek stung but I remained quiet after that. We pulled up to a curb downtown. We had been in an area that I did not know well. We walked a few blocks to an area that looked deserted. I looked around, for any signs of life, and he noticed. That earned me another slap. I cried out and he smiled, enjoying me in pain. We walked into an alley, between two buildings; it had been about six feet wide. He asked me how I was. I didn't answer, I was afraid to. He shoved me into the wall, and repeated his question. I said fine, and nodded meekly. He said, "Good Rose, you know I always want you to be happy". That's when he crushed his lips against mine. Roughly. It wasn't like our other kisses, soft, tender, love-filled. This one was fueled by something else, and that scared me. I didn't respond though. I was afraid again. By that time, he had grown angry. He shoved me, upset, I suppose, that I hadn't kissed him back.
I tripped and fell flat on my back onto the cold ground. He leaned over me, and hurt me hurt me hurt me. I screamed loudly and he punched my eye. I was quiet after that. When he was finished, he laughed and punched and kicked me saying that he wasn't whipped and that Paul owed him a hundred bucks. I blacked out after that. I was awoken later by strong arms lifting me, I screamed and he assured me that he was a good guy. I floated in his arms. He took me to his car and asked me where I lived. I gave him my address, somehow I knew he was a good guy and I trusted him even though my subconscious was telling me to run. He smiled at me and his dimples appeared. The last things I saw before I fell asleep were deep blue eyes. When I awoke, about twenty minutes later, he was calling me "Excuse me, Miss, we're here." I appreciated that he knew enough not to touch me. Before I sat up and climbed out, he asked me what happened. I told him the whole story and he growled angrily. He apologized to me and told me he would find Royce. I told him Thank You and walked into the house. I lay on my bed and cried. I cried until my eyes were dry. I prayed for severed ties and I was answered. My mother came home that same night and told me we were moving in two weeks. I was elated. I never had to come back. I had never told her what happened. She had noticed me, sullen and quiet, but didn't press me. My father, Elliot, had noticed as well, but knew I would talk when I was ready.
My parents cared for me, their oldest child, but had never really been close with me. I knew they loved me, but they didn't know how to show it. My father had gotten promoted at the bank he worked at and we were moving to Forks, Washington for his new job's responsibilities. My mother was excited; she had a new restoration already underway in Forks.
That was one of the few things I had in common with my mother. We loved to restore things. For her it was houses and for me it was cars. I loved them. Every aspect. I could take down an engine and have it back together in better condition than before in twenty minutes. Cars became my lifeline. In these three months, I had taken self-defense classes and had gotten stronger. I was afraid, but I knew I was prepared for future battles. But I also knew there wouldn't be any. I was different now. I was stronger, colder and more independent. I didn't rely on people anymore. My classmates and friends noticed this and had avoided me. When they turned away, I turned to my car. My BMW M3. Red. I had rebuilt it from scrap metal. Literally. It was the only other person I had talked to and it never judged me.
I wasn't sorry to be leaving New York, but I was sorry to be leaving Vera. We were going to keep in touch. That and only that would be my last tie to my hometown. She was the only person I had told and she had sworn never to say a word. She told me that Royce had come back to school a week later with a broken leg, black eyes, and bruises everywhere.
In the back of my mind, I knew it had been my rescuer. I was grateful to him for the justice he provided to me. I snapped out of my reverie at the sound of my door opening. I wiped away my tears quickly and my father walked around the corner to my closet. He chuckled when he saw me sitting in the corner. "Rosie, my beauty, it's time to leave". I got up and followed him out the door. He shut the front door behind him and looked back, nodded once, and got in the car. I, meanwhile, had walked to the car, and had not looked back.
My two younger brothers (cute blonde twins - twelve) had been waiting for 10 minutes with my mother. They were also looking forward to the move. I climbed into the back seat with them and we started defining boundaries and playing card games. They loved me, I knew that much. Robert, the younger by two minutes, had an electric scooter that up and quit working one day. I fixed it for him in ten minutes and he had worshipped me ever since. Sebastian and I had been close right off the bat for some unknown reason, but I didn't mind, so no problems there. Even though they were younger than me, I loved them dearly and we were tighter than an emo kid in skinny jeans. The car started moving and elation filled me. I was free. I was happy. The slate was clean, and I was ready.
Mary Alice Brandon
"Mary Alice Brandon!" my sister, Cynthia, SynSyn for short, snapped behind me. I whirled around to face her. "Yes, Cynthia Josephine?" I laughed at her facial expression. Priceless. If she wanted to call me by my dreaded full name, I could too. Two could definitely play that game. "Come back to Victoria Secret with me! I need your help!" She whined. When she saw the confused look on my face she explained quickly and impatiently that when we had walked into Alannah Hill, I had "become lost in the beauty of the clothes" and she had been calling Al, Ali, Alice, Mary, Mary Alice, for ten minutes until I had finally responded. "Why, SynSyn, you're too young to need anything from there, especially if it's for a boy, besides we are leaving tomorrow. So, you'll just have to tell whoever it is goodbye anyway." Even though I hated giving up shoppurtunites (it was my lifeline) I knew we had to go. She huffed away from me and started walking towards the car garage. I sighed. I never liked leaving the mall, but we had to get home. I had to finish packing. We were leaving Mississippi tomorrow and moving to Forks, Washington. SynSyn and I had been devastated when we found out. We loved Biloxi. My friends were here, her friends were here. It had been a wonderful place to grow up. Sunny, open, green. I started thinking and reliving memories.
I pulled myself out of my favorite memory, my first sleep-over with my friends Brooke, Peyton, and Haley, we had so much fun. All of us had been eight and energetic. The first sleep-over for all of us. I smiled at the memory. They had been my best friends to this day, cheerleading with me, doing ballet with me. I was also sad to be leaving my dance company. I loved my instructor and had just made principal and gotten a starring role in Peter Pan as Tinkerbelle. My friends and I had laughed saying how it fit me since I was 4'11, energetic, and pixie-like, with a short temper to match. My short, spiky, black hair fit me well. My figure was trim and healthy.
I danced out to my baby. A canary yellow Porsche 911 turbo. It had been my sixteenth birthday gift from my mother. "Tweety", I called her. SynSyn leaned against it tapping her fingernails on the roof. She started walking around to her side of the car and suddenly a strong sense of deja-vu hit me. I suddenly knew I had to stop her from moving or something bad was going to happen. Very bad. I reached out and yanked her arm back just as a black Mercedes spun around the corner, its back bumper speeding into the slot of space she had seconds earlier occupied. I let out a sigh of relief. She squeezed my hand and said "another one?" I nodded slowly and she smiled weakly. "Let's just go, okay". It was her turn to nod and she climbed into the car as I did. I let my self fall against the black leather seat for a second before I opened my eyes and drove away.
When we got home I spoke with my mother about the mall. She nodded and sent me to fetch my father. Five years ago, when I had first started "sensing", she didn't believe me. I had never hidden anything from my mother before so I wasn't afraid to tell her what had happened. Two months later, I begged my father not to go on a fishing trip. He relented and stayed home. That afternoon, where he had been planning to fish, was hit by a strong thunderstorm, all other boats in that area capsized, and the sailor's drowned. My mother and father grew afraid. They sent me to an asylum. That year was the worst of my life. It was dark, and cold. Shock treatments, medicines, torture. I stopped before the blackness could come back into my head and send me into a negative spiral of depression. After that year, my parents visited me. They saw that I was underfed and in pain. My mother pulled me out immediately and asked me to explain everything to her. She believed me this time and the family had a discussion about it. We all agreed to take careful notice of my "feelings" and keep an eye on them. And I had never been back. However, the year of blackness was still with me, but clothes and shopping became my outlet, and they were how I expressed myself. Fashion and design (an art of sorts) became me, who I was, how people knew me. Whenever I had another "sensing", I would tell my mother and her and my father would discuss it, but this issue would be filed and talked about months later.
I fetched my father, Jonathan, and told him my mother, Katherine, wished to see him. He kissed me on the forehead and told me to finish packing. I did. I later went to help SynSyn and after we had finished we talked about earlier. SynSyn had always been understanding about everything. She was two years younger than me, but we were very close as sisters go.
When I woke up the next morning, I felt light and free. Something in me told me Forks was where I needed to be. I felt happy at this. That is was like it was a fresh start for me. That the light I had was going to erase the blackness. I was calm and controlled. I was ready.
Jasper Whitlock
His fist came in contact with my jaw again. I was fighting a boy, an infant really, who was being initiated. It wasn't much of a fight. My eyes watered at the impact, but the tears I had been holding for thirteen years did not fall. Since it wasn't much of a fight, I thought back to my own initiation three years ago into the Blood-Eaters gang in Houston, Texas. It had gone well. Their leader, Mario, had tested me. I had decided to join the gang because I needed an outlet. I had bounced from foster home to foster home since I was four years old. My biological parents had died in a car crash. I had been an only child. None of my relatives were alive. I had had nowhere to go. So I became a "ward of the state". The first home I went to, I stayed in for two years. They had beaten me brutally. I had run away. I had been living in El Paso with them and I ran to a small town situated a few miles away. I was taken in by the first people who saw me. I had lived with them for three years. Somehow, child services found me and sent me to Austin. I stayed there for five years. These people beat me, but only occasionally. I continually surprised me that child services didn't do better background checks. When I couldn't take it anymore, I hitchhiked to Houston. I had been living on the streets for three years, but I managed to stay away from drugs. I had felt alone but strong. It was when I was alone that I had begun to hurt myself. I would cut crescent shaped scars into my neck and arms, just to feel something. The pain was like a drug. It connected me to the world. A steel cable fixed to the world that constantly reminded me how strong I really was.
I decided to join the Blood-Eaters. I needed to feel like a part of something, I rationalized. Mario had approached me a year ago, and told me I was a good candidate. I agreed and was initiated. Since then, they had taught me how to fight back. Surprisingly, my gang brothers became my real brothers. I had talked to them about my life. They understood and many had experiences similar. Talking to them, people who really understood, was better for me than talking to any quack pot therapist.
They occasionally gave me a roof to sleep under and food to eat. It will sound cheesy if I tell you that they were my friends. But they were. The bond shared between the other BEs and I was strong. We had talked about it and everyone felt the same way. We looked out for each other. We cared for each other when no one else did. Mario, Jacob, Sam, Embry, Quil, Jared, Seth (Sam's little brother) and I were a family. The only people each of us had. We were certainly a group, them tall, russet-skinned, with dark eyes. Me, tall but shorter than them with natural dirty blonde hair and open blue eyes. They could be brothers while I was the black sheep. It struck me a funny constantly, but we never paid any mind to that at all. They didn't care and neither did I.
When I had found out three weeks ago that child services had tracked me down again, I had panicked. I ran to Jacob and told him. He listened patiently and said that it was best to go. We had called the others and they said the same thing. Something told them and me that this was a good thing. A sign of sorts, perhaps. In other gangs like ours, leaving was considered traitorous, but our group wasn't like that, we respected the path we had been living on, and we all knew that if it was leading us away from the others, we weren't going to fight it. I was moving to Forks, Washington, to live with Carlisle and Esme Cullen. I gave my farewell speech to the boys the following day. I was Mario's beta now, his second-in-command. People listened to me. I had power with my words. I was able to read people's emotions like books. I could excite people and calm them down. This was a skill very, very useful to Mario.
The fight ended. He had lost. Mario laughed bitterly and said "Try again in a few years, squirt". I chuckled and muttered "pathetic" under my breath just loud enough for Mario to hear. It was my last day in the gang. Tomorrow I was leaving to Forks. I felt an overwhelming sense of hope from deep inside me. I was ready.
Edward Anthony Masen
Warm sunshine wormed its way under my eyelids and I opened them slowly, yawning as I did so. I ran my fingers through my perpetually messy bronze hair. It felt greasy and I decided to take a shower.
An hour later I was clean, dressed, and fully awake. I walked slowly down the stairs to the kitchen. My mother, Elizabeth, was cooking eggs on the stove. Her wavy brown hair fell past her shoulders to her mid-back. She turned to face me and locked her jade eyes with my emerald orbs. "Good Morning, Son" she said and smiled widely. I heard footsteps behind me and turned to face my father, Edward Sr. He was dressed formally. We were moving to Forks, Washington today due to his new job. My mother was ecstatic and couldn't wait to move to a small town. It was all she had wanted since she was a little girl. She was tired of living in "bustling Chicago, the big city" as she called it. My father chuckled and it pulled me out of my haze. "All packed, Edward?" he asked and I nodded. "Good, then, we will be leaving soon"
Suddenly, the doorbell rang and I walked to get it. My (ex, but she doesn't seem to get that part) girlfriend, Tanya Denali, was standing with her sister Irina and Irina's boyfriend, Laurent. My friend James was here also, with his girlfriend Victoria. I was surprised to see them all; we had just had a going away party two nights ago. I was quickly enveloped in hugs from everyone, some longer than the others if it was a female. I chuckled quietly, thinking that this could work to my advantage when I got to Forks. I had always been a player of sorts, flirting and such, but I only had one girlfriend at a time. I respected women and believed that when you were with one you need to be loyal and grateful. It was her choice to be with you and not the other way around. Ruining that choice embarrassed her and it embarrassed you. So, I just didn't do it. They all walked into my house, said good morning to my parents, and traipsed into the living room. I followed behind them, thinking about how to "dazzle" the girls in Forks. My baseball player physique certainly helped, I was well-built, muscled, a little lanky, but not large and intimidating. I had a smooth jaw, angled cheekbones and nose, full lips, and sparking emerald green eyes.
I had never felt seriously enough about someone to give up my virginity. I know, I know. Seventeen, A GUY, and a virgin. Something doesn't add up. But, I didn't care what people said, I believed in special, sentimental moments, and sex would be no different.
My life had been good so far. I grew up in Chicago, in a nice home in a nice neighborhood. I had good parents who loved me. Good friends. I was satisfied. Or was I? I had always felt incomplete. Music had been my constant companion and I had had Tanya. The only problem was that she, frankly, was an airhead. A ditzy, silly girl who was more interested in Seventeen and America's Next Top Model to really connect to me. I remembered about a year ago when I was in Phoenix, Arizona. I was in a bookstore and a beautiful brunette had tripped into my arms. She apologized and blushed. Cutely. I remembered loving it, and wanting to know more about her. I asked her out for coffee and we sat and talked for hours. I learned millions of things about her, but I never learned her name. She was the first one who accused me of "dazzling". I had chuckled and asked if I dazzled her. She blushed and laughed (I loved that too, it sounded like the tinkling of small bells) and said "Frequently today". Since then all I had done was compose. My solid eggshell white piano was my best friend. It knew all my secrets, everything about me. Tanya had never heard me play, but the brunette I had met said she would have loved to have heard me play and I believed her. She crossed my mind nearly every day. It always irked me that she wasn't right next to me to tell me what she was thinking. One of the things I had found out about her that day was that her eyes we bottomless. A warm, chocolate brown. Their depth was endless. I could know everything she was feeling from those eyes. Tanya's, while navy blue, had no depth and were flat constantly, and only lit up at the prospect of a shoe sale.
After I was finished thinking about all of this, I asked my "friends" to leave, using the excuse that I needed to pack. A lie. I was leaving in two hours. I was packed; my furniture was gone, shipped to the new house with my piano. The house was empty. My slate felt clean and unused. I caught myself wanting to leave. I knew it was the start of a new chapter in my life. This thought did not scare me. I was ready.
Isabella Marie Swan
I was going to miss the heat. The sun, the plants, the craggy mountains. I would miss every single detail. The crunch of gravel under my feet as I walked up to my door. Everything. My mother had gotten remarried this past summer. Phil Dwyer. I liked him, a little young, but if she was happy, I was too. He traveled a lot. Minor league baseball. I knew she wanted to go with him, but stayed with me. I also knew this made her sad, which is why I insisted on going to Forks to live with Charlie (my father, Renee (my mother) and he were divorced) until college. She had agreed reluctantly, but I knew she would be happier. In a way, I had always been the parent. Looking after her, guiding her from crazy ideas, cleaning the house, doing the shopping, and the cooking. This, however, did not bother me in the slightest. I loved my mother. She was my best friend. Always there when I needed her. I was shy at school. I was plain, wavy brown hair to my waist, plain brown eyes. No boys ever noticed me.
I smiled as I corrected myself. I had been in my favorite "around-the-corner" bookstore in the classical music section when I had tripped and fell into a pair of strong, warm arms. They had cinched around my waist and pulled me up. I noticed the beautiful boy with messy bronze hair and incredibly green eyes had been reluctant to pull away. After that we just stared at each other for a long while. I felt like his eyes were pools that never ended. Books that never stopped, easy to read, but the emotions had not always been clear. I blushed after our little staring contest and he smiled. He invited me for coffee and I agreed. We went and spoke for hours about anything and everything. I never got his name though. He passed through my head almost everyday, his smile, his laugh, and his eyes.
He told me he played piano and I was regretful that I would probably never get to hear it. He looked like someone who could make music come out of his hair. His voice was smooth and velvety. The right pitch, the right deepness. His laugh was like music, genuine and clear. He had smiled at the server when she came to take our order. I snorted. He had looked over at me with confusion etched on his attractive features. I accused him of "dazzling". I said it wasn't fair. She had probably been freaking out that he had even looked at her in the back room right that second. He chuckled quietly, rolled his eyes (annoyingly but attractively) and asked if he dazzled me. I laughed out of embarrassment, and said "Frequently today". He had smiled widely at that, and I blushed, again. We went to our respective homes a few minutes later without getting contact info or anything. Somehow, I think I preferred it that way. Like it was a pleasant dream that would always stay within my grasp because we hadn't pushed things further than they needed to be that day. I was happy with my life. I was happy with myself. I was excited to be going to Forks. This independence I had carved for myself meant a lot to me. I was ready.