Author's Note: First chapter of this new, harebrained idea! It's around 2,500 words, so enjoy! :D
Story feedback is always coveted and encouraged, and definitely welcomed. Please keep any story hate or flaming/bullying to yourself, however. There are plenty of stories out there, if this one isn't for you, I encourage you to find one that is!
Disclaimer: Please see beginning!
-One-
It was a rocking chair.
Not one of those partly made of plastic, poorly constructed and cheaply made knock-off versions you could get from a superstore, though. No, this was the real kind of rocking chair. The cut and crafted in the early eighteen hundred's kind of rocking chair. The varnished and polished by hand type, the kind that you could rub your hands up and down the arms, feel the wood grain against your palms without catching a splinter, type. It was handcrafted, a gift from the Quileute Tribe down at the Reservation that had been given to the Swan family ancestors, over a century before. Passed down through generations, always well taken care of, a sign that the Swan's had always been friends to the Tribe. Made of dark, rich woods that had been taken from the forest; she could probably fit two of herself in the seat if she gave it a try and squeezed in just right. For now, with her oversized pillow and warm blanket, it was just perfect. Positioned right in front of the large bay window that took up nearly half of one of her bedroom walls, it faced the backyard, and the unending green and trees that lay beyond the window pane.
She spent a lot of time in the chair, the gentle back-and-forth motion blessing her with a soothing pattern that left her a bit brighter eyed, not quite so erratic in both movement and mood.
It quieted the screams.
Bella had learned quickly after he left, that sleep was no longer a simple, casual commodity.
After muddling her way through the catatonic state she had submerged herself in immediately after his departure, and managing to become lost in the vast maze that was Washington's national forest, only to be delivered home by a very tall, very tanned, very worried Samuel Uley; she swiftly found out that her dreams were no longer a place of peace and solitude. Gone were the fantastical feats and futures she created with her imagination, and in their place was left nothing but terror and sharp, heartbreaking pain. Warm, topaz eyes that bled a panic-inducing pitch black, wild and untamable curls that were the color of crackling flames; the manic, evil laughter that echoed in her ears, transforming her blood to some ice cold sludge in her veins, and left her jerking awake with an unearthly wail almost every night.
The first time she came awake after such terrors, she was left in a cold, sweat-soaked bed with Charlie nearly ripping her bedroom door from its hinges as her burst inside, dark eyes sleepy but alert and his pistol poised, ready to shoot. He checked every nook and cranny of the room before turning to his screaming daughter, finding her pressed up against the headboard so tightly, she might as well become a part of it. Her legs flailed around the mattress, kicking wildly, unable to free her feet from the tangle of blankets and sheets. Her eyes were just as wild, the pupils so dilated, they were more black than brown; and her lips were pale, parted to let free the blood-curdling scream that seemed to never end. He rushed to her, the pistol forgotten on the nightstand, and cradled her shaking body tightly in his arms, something he hadn't been able to do since she was a mere toddler. She pressed her face into his chest, muffling the deranged muttering that fell from her lips, a jumble of words he couldn't even begin to understand.
Bella's bedroom door still hung crookedly at the hinges, and it no longer matched up at the seams, unable to seal shut properly any time she attempted to close it.
Which wasn't often, anymore.
She rapidly came to the conclusion that sleeping in her bed, especially during the darkness of night, wasn't an optimal option. Each night, no matter what time she attempted to lie down or how many sleeping pills she popped, the night terrors remained. She was always running from him, something she never thought she would do, with the taste of blood in her mouth and that same, eerie laughter ringing in her ears. He caught her, it never failed; but instead of taking her in his arms like she longed for, his pianist fingers tangled in her long, wavy hair, nearly ripping it from the follicle. He would yank her head back so hard, her neck creaked in protest and, before she even had the chance to utter a sound, his razor-like teeth were buried in her throat.
It was no wonder she woke with a scream on her lips.
After a failed attempt at simply not sleeping, something she knew realistically was impossible to achieve, Bella finally dozed off one afternoon as she rocked herself, Charlie having put the chair in her room in hopes that she would do just that. Her breath evened out and, despite the fact that she still dreamed, there was a difference in their makeup. They were less frightening, more like the fuzzy picture on an ancient television rather than the horrifying experience she had before. They were easier to wake herself up from as well, almost as if they grippy little fingers of darkness held little to no power over her unconscious mind, as they once had. She wasn't sure if it was simply the fact that she was sleeping during sunlit hours, instead of with the moon, or if it had something to do with the ancient carvings that adorned the rocking chair, symbols and words that she couldn't even hope to translate without the help of Billy Black.
It wasn't perfect; she still woke up gasping sometimes, nearly toppling from the chair. The nightmares still plagued her, to the point where she was beginning to wonder how much was simply her mind's creation, and how much might have the slightest possibility of being real. They never gave her a break, always haunting her in the back of her mind, even when she wasn't taking a chance at sleeping.
Which was why it was utterly baffling when, one chilly December night only a little over a week before Christmas, her dreams changed.
Everything changed.
December-
She was running, always running.
Vaguely, she wondered how it was exactly that she could do all this running in her dreams, yet hardly manage to jog twenty paces without tripping in reality. Her clumsiness never seemed to follow her into the land of mist, a small reprieve she supposed. Still, it was never enough to actually make it, to get away.
He always caught her.
And he always ripped her throat out.
Her sprinted steps seemed to echo in her ears, calling out like a beacon to that which hunted her. Perhaps, that was the downside. Despite not being one to trip and fall all over herself in her dreams, her footsteps always seemed to be so damned loud! She might as well have been shouting, ringing a dinner bell for the fucker. They never seemed to run as fast as she thought was proper as well, because they never seemed to match up with the fast paced beating of her heart. It was almost like running through invisible sludge, for all the good it did her.
The trees and brush around her continued on for miles, an unending maze of greens. Deep, dark ones that were near black in their shadows, and brighter ones, lively ones that played with the bits of sun that managed to filter through the leaves. Huffing quietly to herself, she came to a stop in a small opening, bending with her hands braced on her knees and her chest heaving up and down. She wasn't actually out of breath, it was a dream after all, but it seemed like the right thing to do. You run for your life, you end up a hot, panting mess. It was only common sense.
A branch cracked to her left, causing her head to whip to the side, dark eyes searching for the source.
It was him, it was always him. And she now hated it.
When had it all changed?
The loss had been devastating, his words like knives being jammed between each of her ribs; she had easily been reduced down to a sniveling, crying mess upon the forest floor, feeling utterly worthless and like she would rather die than take a single breath without him. Her chest kept rising and falling though, the oxygen constantly making its way into her body, with no final breath in sight. She had laid there for hours; shivering, her lips slowly turning with a faint twinge of blue, her hair sectioned off into damp clusters and her clothes soaked through, clear to her skin. Her teeth had been chattering, not that she could hear it over the replay of his callous words, ripping her apart from the insides.
And now here he was, haunting her dreams, ready to finish off the job.
She was tired.
Tired of running, of constantly looking over her shoulder in both hope and fear that he might be there. She was tired of the rumors over her sleep deprived, less than capable, hardly-handling-this, self. More so, she was tired of worrying those she still had left; Charlie was drinking more coffee, and the shadows beneath his eyes had begun to deepen. Jacob called nonstop, always hovering any time he was near, as if she might crack in two. Billy gazed back at her with an impassive face, but eyes that held all the secrets, knowing, judging, pitying eyes. Sam checked in weekly, gauging her state of mental competence, thinking she hadn't noticed. Angela fretted, Jessica gossiped, Mike trailed after her like a puppy, waiting to be fed table scraps. And here she was, stuck in a constantly replaying horror show with this fiend, unable to escape. Wasn't that supposed to be what dreams were?
Another snap, another crack, a dewy breath upon the nape of her neck.
"You stopped," She didn't turn. "Why did you stop?"
Why had she stopped?
Any other time, Bella had continued to run. She ran and she ran, reaching distances that weren't even feasible, until her once-upon-a-time boyfriend's dream countenance put a stop to it all. Sometimes it was quick, sometimes it was not. But either way, she always ran until Edward found her, taunted her, sunk the sharp edges of his stupidly perfect teeth into the creamy expanse of her neck and pulled. Ripped her throat right open, reveling in the nectar that was her blood to him, the perfect drug. She would watch on, gazing almost unblinkingly through dead eyes as the crimson liquid stained the pale, sparkly expanse of his chin and cheeks, dripped down his own neck, coated his hands. He was like a child really, a little boy with his first paint set.
So why had she stopped? Better yet, how had she stopped?
Her mouth opened, closed. Pink lips parted, pressed together, parted again. He made an impatient sound, somewhere between a scoff and a snarl. She rolled her eyes, blurting out the first words that bubbled up her throat, forcing their way forward without thought of consequence.
"I don't want to do this anymore."
There was nothing but an eerie silence for a moment, before there was a hair-raising snarl. She didn't have a chance to spin on her heels before ice cold hands were gripping at her shoulders, their touch far from the once careful and gentle nature they had been. He yanked roughly at them, ignoring her protests and only squeezing harder when her bones creaked, grinding together underneath the supernatural pressure.
"Edward, stop-!" She snapped, glaring up into those evil eyes.
The cold one bared his teeth at her, the white expanse filmed over with venom, and she cringed away just the slightest as he nearly hissed out his words, almost spitting. "You don't get to just stop because you don't feel like-"
"And why not?!" Bella cried out, struggling in his vice-like grip. "It's my dream, I can do what I want!"
He snorted then, a patronizingly amused sound.
Not for the first time, she wondered if her dreams weren't exactly as they appeared. It was too strange; they were too similar, too constant. She halfway wondered if the Cullen's had been holding out on their explanations when it came to gifts, if there wasn't a secret coven member prowling around, twisting her mind to the point of insanity.
"Run," He insisted, giving her a harsh push, as if to get her started.
She nearly stomped her foot in all her sudden, stubborn glory. "No."
The eternal teenager puffed up like a blowfish, and Bella almost swore his cheeks tinted red in his anger. His eyes blazed despite their darkness, and his upper lip curled at her defiance. She simply crossed her arms over her chest, unaware of where the sudden bought of confidence she possessed had come from, but grateful either way. There would be no more running.
"I said run you little-"
"Now, now. Let's not say things we don't mean."
Bella nearly toppled ass over teakettle when she sprang back to consciousness, gasping for breath as she did, the scream caught in her throat one borne of surprise rather than pure, unadulterated terror. The fleece throw had tangled tightly around her legs, causing her to pitch forward, and she winced when her elbows caught on the windowsill, keeping her from crashing to the floor at the expense of bruised forearms, no doubt.
"Shit!" She hissed, her voice low, eyes blinking against the onslaught of clouded sunlight filtering in through her window.
Blue eyes.
She hadn't been able to hold on to the dream after the sudden, unexpected words, interjected by an unknown source. One that had never shown up before. The additional voice had startled Bella so, that she had jerked awake before she could figure out just where exactly it had come from. It had never shown up before.
The voice had been deep, perhaps a touch raspy, as if it hadn't been used very often, or in a very long time. Still, despite its obvious lack of use, there was a certain quality to it, a ring of authority that had been laced with traces of amusement. Lurking beneath both of those, however, was something darker. Something wild and untamed, something she couldn't quite figure out. Those thoughts quickly left though, in trying to recall any noticeable characteristics so that she might recognize who her mind had supplied her with, and all she was left with were blue eyes.
Icy blue eyes, so strikingly blue that her breath hitched, reminding her of chips broken off from a glacier.
"Bella! Pizza's here!"
Sinking her teeth down into her bottom lip, the brunette glanced over her shoulder toward the hallway, before letting out a soft sigh and untangling herself from the blankets that had wound themselves around her legs. As she trudged down the stairs, following the sound of Charlie's absentminded humming, she refused to acknowledge the faint shiver unease that threatened to ripple down her spine.
She didn't know a single soul with blue eyes.