Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns everything. I am but her humble servant.
Ah for fuck's sake!
Little by little I could see the storm, raging and roiling all around me. The clouds were like little lakes of freezing water, and I could just about see the little fishies. Out to bite me, of course. Mother freaking nature decided to give me more that one 'gift' this month, apparently. Now I had some freak-storm to worry about. Then the lightning flashed, one, two, three times. That's when I noticed.
The lightning was pink.
What the fu-
RING! BLEEP!
I rolled off the bed in surprise, hitting my head on the dresser as I went. Then I was spread eagle on the floor, chin touching the ground, arms spread out, back arched and legs still on bed.
A typical waking up position if I do say so myself.
"Hummmmmmmmm. Find your inner Bella. The Swan ready to take flight." I burst out laughing at that. Yeah me and my stupid little Swan complex. I guess I'm more likely to find my inner Ugly-Duckling while fake meditating.
I slid my legs off the bed, rolled on my side, and painfully stood up. My knees cracked, my back ached, and my head swam with the image of pink lightning. Jeez, that was one weird dream, even for me. I closed my eyes and could still see Pepto Bismol flashing across the sky.
Cringe. NOT the time to be thinking about indigestion.
Yawning, I stumbled my way over to my dresser. The mirror reflected back at me a plain girl. Brown hair, brown eyes with a hint of defiance (well I am a teenager), and lips that hardly smiled. Right now they were bared as I practiced my mean look for the morning. Curl top lip, widen eyes, bare teeth, growl.
Perfect.
Satisfied, I turned to the closet. God I hate closets. They're always so small and dark and monsters live in them. It's messed up I tell you. So I tiptoed over to the menacingly harmless closet like the dork that I am and smacked the light on.
"Hah monsters! Die! Feel the wrath of the restless and the idle!" I love killing my bedtime stories. Monsters in the closet? Psh, the only monster I know is Renee and she wouldn't touch my dresser with a ten foot stiletto heel.
Did I say I hated my closet? Never mind, I love my closet.
Smile in place and looting for clothes. Wow that's a good morning for me. Anything important today? Dressing up? Then it hit me.
Forks. Renee. Charlie. Freak. Leaving. Leaving me.
I stopped and fell to the floor, loopy mood ultimately smothered by shock and despair. All I could think was 'I'm leaving.' I'm leaving my home, my school, my mom, my friends-
Wait a second? What friends? I have no friends.
I have no friends. I hate my mother because she hates me. I despise my school. Everybody here knows I'm a freak, I mean they don't know why, they just know that I am. I don't have a home, really.
I looked around at my room, taking in the bed, the dresser, closet, and tiny window in the corner. The plain cream walls and bed sheet; this place looked like a hotel room. Somewhere to crash for the night and then move on. There was no touch of personality to it, no pictures of friends or baubles hanging from the ceiling. Hell, I didn't even have that stereotypical lipstick studded mirror on the dresser!
Really, if you didn't know that this was my room, you'd probably be like," Oh look! They have two guest bedrooms!"
Well, then again, I guess they do now. You know, since I'm moving in with dear old Charlie.
Which reminds me, why the hell am I sad? I mean, really! I have a chance to start over somewhere! Isn't that the dream of every little lost and rejected girl? I have a chance to become part of the crowd. I have a chance to have friends. And yesterday when I found out that this holy and wonderful miracle was going to happen to little old me, I cried?
Fuck that! It's time to celebrate!
Finally realizing that it wasn't the end of the world, that in fact, this was the best day of my life, I scurried out of the closet only half clothed. Find the envelope, the big brown envelope. And bingo! There it was on the bed. I snatched it up and dumped the contents out on the only piece of clean floor I could find. Then the next five minutes commenced as such:
Scrabble, scrabble, where, where, where did it go? Ah ha! Found you. Shake out the flight info, straighten the flight info, and examine the flight info. Scroll, scroll, read down and down and down. There it is. Now let's make some sense of these numbers…12:45… wait a second-
"12:45?!" I screeched it at the paper and then at the clock. The stupid, dumb, evil little clock that read out my impending doom…12:00.
"I have 45 fucking minutes to pack up all possessions, look presentable, and drive 15 minutes to the airport?!" WHAT THE HELL?
Karma officially hates me.
I ran to the closet and pulled out a suitcase from the back. I threw in all the items of mine I could reach, grabbed some probably mismatched outfit to wear, and threw anything else I might want to take with me into the black hole of a bag. 10 minutes later I was packed with suitcase and purse. Another 5 minutes later had me lugging said bags down stairs and me in black shorts a gray tee with a cat saying "Mess the cat, you got the claws" and my old, worn Airwalk wanna-be Converse. Gotta love wanna-bes!
Grunting and heaving that stupid fucking gorilla case into the back of my Oldsmobile had me sweating. In a gray shirt. On a hot sunny day in Phoenix, Arizona.
Well shit.
Let's just refrain from EVER lifting our arms and all will be fine.
I hopped into the ugly yellow taxi cab thing that Renee gave me so I wouldn't 'call her up every time I didn't have a ride and be ungrateful about it'. Bitch. Only thing I'm ungrateful about is your stupid genetics that landed me with my freaky mind- skin powers. Fucking Renee.
So I put the key in the ignition and was soon speeding my way down the highway at 70 mph. The breeze was cool and hot guys were smiling at me from their cars, and I miraculously made it to the airport in 3 minutes flat. Then Robert Pattinson and Taylor Lautner carried my suitcase to my own private jet where I played 'pin the explosive to the live bitch ass mom'. Who then promptly blew up while I laughed. And nobody noticed my smelly, sweaty pits.
Yeah, I wish.
What really happened was that the key for the ignition was-uh, well... the wrong key. So I had to run back inside and find the right key, which took me 4 extra minutes. Then the car wouldn't start up properly so I had to push start it. Which took twenty feet and ten minutes to do. Next on the list of catastrophes was a fucking GAGGLE OF GEESE crossing the fucking road. I mean, really?! Geese in Arizona? Then there just HAD to be traffic and morons who can't drive on the highway. So by the time I got to the airport I had 10 minutes to board.
Oh fuck. God, please, if you are up there and listening to me, I beg of you to please get me through this and to the plane on time with small amounts of bitchitude from staff members. If you could do that I would be mighty grateful and will attempt to stop swearing. Just attempt.
Is that too much to ask of a supernatural being?
Ten minutes later I was on the plane.
I was also on the plane extremely annoyed, embarrassed, and pissed off. Why? Well let me tell you a little story called " Public Humiliation and Harassment in only 10 minutes," by Bella Swan.
Once upon a time in an airport not so far away, stood a sweaty armpit girl. She had a black hole mammoth bag and a dainty little purse in her hand. The mammoth bag was hard to drag into the airport because its wheels were so old and rusty. So when an older man stepped forward and offered to help her she accepted graciously, thinking her luck had turned.
Stupid sweaty girl.
While she strolled into the terminal, brimming with anxiousness and prayer, the man slipped something into her purse. She would later realize that it was a rather NOT harmless something. Actually it was about the worst thing possible to slip into her bag. So sweaty girl went ahead, not knowing the stress and danger she was putting herself into by doing so.
Sweaty girl got her boarding pass and luggage checked with general ease. Soon she was walking through security and passing under the little beeping arch, when the nice people working the machine started saying some rather worrying things.
"Carl, get over here. I think you should check this out." The nice lady at the monitor motioned to her co-worker with a rather serious face. Sweaty girl was the only one getting checked by security so she knew that they were discussing her belongings. The co-worker, whose name was Carl, ran over and looked at the screen. Carl and the serious faced lady examined it together, their eyes darting back and forth between the screen and sweaty girl.
They looked like they were watching a tennis match. Where the opponents shot bullets at each other from each side of the net.
Needless to say, sweaty girl got scared.
"Mam," Carl said in a very professional tone, "we'd like you to step forward into this area here," he pointed to a chair that was surrounded on three sides by a glass wall, "and please take a seat while we examine your bag's contents." Sweaty girl, who was getting sweatier by the minute, complied and watched with growing terror as he nodded to another co-worker who blocked her only escape from the almost-prison.
She was surrounded on three sides by glass and on one side by a slightly smaller and more normally colored Incredible-Hulk. This all took place within about 2 minutes. Sweaty girl knew she was in trouble, and not because her flight left in 8 minutes.
But because she wasn't sure if they'd even let her get on her flight.
Carl dumped her bag onto the conveyor belt and emptied it. Then he shifted the contents around until, with a grim face, he pulled up a little plastic bag filled with a fine white- yellowish powder. Sweaty girl looked on confusedly.
What is that, she thought, for she knew she hadn't packed anything like it into her purse. Carl waltzed his way over and asked the man-mountain to take a step back. He leaned down to her eye level holding the bag with the weird material in front of him. Carl had murky blue eyes. Sweaty girl had never liked blue eyes. Her mother had blue eyes, just like Carl.
Sweaty girl didn't like her mother.
She didn't like Carl and his little powdery bag either.
Sweaty girl glanced nervously between him and the bag. Then behind him at the clock. She had six minutes to get this over with, and time was running out.
"Mam, would you mind telling me where you got this?" Sweaty girl didn't like his tone. It was very presumptuous. Presumptuous people thought they knew everything.
"I don't even know what it is. Now would you mind letting me get to my plane? I need to go. Now." She stared defiantly into the blue eyes. Blue like the ocean.
But she didn't care much for the ocean either. Fish peed and pooped in the ocean. People died in the ocean. Being stuck in the middle of the ocean was a bad, bad thing.
Just like this was a bad, bad thing.
Carl smirked. Which made sweaty girl angry. Then he opened his big fat pie-hole again, still wasting time. Why didn't he just let her through?
"This, little missy, is meth. A highly illegal drug. Now how did someone like you get something like this and bring it to somewhere like, oh, I don't know, this airport?" He smiled again, thinking she was going to break down and confess.
Too bad the 'little missy' was spitting mad.
"Now listen here! I am not a 'little missy' and I did not bring that in with me. You said it yourself Carl," at the sound of his name she curled her lip, "how could someone like me, by which I take it you mean someone wholly innocent, bring it somewhere like here? Do I look as stupid as that?" She huffed and puffed, ready to set his little house on fire. She glanced at the clock again, 5 minutes. Then she turned back to Carl and waited.
He looked bored. Which just made her angrier.
"I'm the one asking the questions here miss, and I've got me an illegal substance from your bag in my hand. Answer how that came to happen please." The smug smile was on his stupid ratty face again. Sweaty girl was pissed.
She stood up, knocking her stupid little chair to the floor. The motion caused Carl to fall back off his heels onto his ass. She smirked in satisfaction; now she had the higher ground. She bent her head and looked him in his ugly fish-feces eyes.
"I have 4 minutes left to get on an expensive flight that you are stupidly keeping me off. A man helped me into the airport not but 5 minutes ago. Maybe he slipped it into my bag. Go check your security cameras and call my flight. If I miss it," She glared at his slightly scared features, "there will be absolute hell to pay. You hear me?" He nodded dumbly and jumped up. The serious looking lady, who had a better head on her shoulders, turned on the camera and pulled up a scene. Sweaty girl waited as the two looked on and conversed.
4 minutes…3 minutes and 30 seconds.
Carl turned and looked at her sheepishly.
"Uh sorry miss, I just saw the man you mentioned slip a distinct looking powder filled bag into your purse." Sweaty girl nodded triumphantly, dashed around the man-mountain (who looked quite impressed), grabbed her purse, and ran to her boarding area. She was just on time and made it on the plane. She stored her purse under the seat in front of her, pulled on her belt, and was seated comfortably in her chair in record time waiting for take off. She lived Happily Ever After. The End.
Yeah fucking right.
So there is my tale of frustration. I made it on the plane in time, no thanks to the jack-off Carl. But I was now irritated, even more sweaty, flushed, and sitting next to someone who looked JUST. LIKE. CARL.
I mean, what the fuck? These guys could be freaking brothers or something. Same oily brown hair, ratty features, and ocean-feces eyes. Seriously? That was just wrong. It was bad enough that one guy had to look like that. Now I just felt bad for the look-alike. If I had to share features with that fucker I would probably grow the guts to kill myself.
I realized that I had developed a pretty intense hatred for some guy I'd only had a short conversation with. I guess it wasn't really healthy or anything, but still. He just ticked me off. Then I realized that Carl II was backed into the window as far away from me as he could get. He looked like he wanted to melt into the wall.
He also looked like he would pee his pants.
I saw that terrified face and noticed that I was glaring. Like glaring, glaring. I was glaring like I wanted to shove a sharp 10 inch knife through his skull and carve out his brain. I was also giving him a little of my signature mean look on the side. You know, the one I practiced in the mirror this morning.
Feeling sorry for the poor guy, I eased off a bit and kind of, well, tried to smile kindly at him.
I'm pretty sure I looked like the Cheshire Cat with a bad case of the runs.
He let up off the window a bit and smiled weakly in return. He obviously had no idea why I seemed to dislike him so much. Hoping to keep it that way.
"Hi there. My name is Isabella, but most people call me Bella." Most people meaning just me and now this sad loser. I extended my hand, though reluctantly, to him. He shook my hand, and I'm pretty sure there was some trembling going on. I cringed as the sensation of apprehension overtook my senses,
Dude, this chick is going to kill me and I don't know the fuck why. Maybe she's a serial killer or something.
I pulled my hand back fastish and wiped his sweat off on the armrest. Well at least he knows who's in charge here.
"My name is Logan." Great. Logan. I hate the name Logan. It's actually second on my Worst- Names-Ever list to Carl. I bet he could see the dislike on my face.
"Wow. What a choke, hack um nice name you have (swallow down the bile) Logan. Do you have another name? Like a nickname or something?" Oh please have a nickname. Other than Logie. Shudder, that's just as bad.
He smiled nervously, "Uh yeah, but it's kind of embarrassing." He turned a bit pink around the ears. "See, I died my hair senior year of high school. Purple. And one day in the cafeteria, I had um a case of the runs. So, you know I got to the bathroom as fast as I could." At that he turned positively magenta.
"Yeah, and I went to a small school so everybody saw my mad dash. And it was the middle of the year, so the dye-job had gone kind of awry. If you get my drift. They said I ran the fastest they'd ever seen that day. Of course, the notorious name didn't follow me to college. I'm a freshman at the University of Illinois," his chest puffed out a bit, expecting me to look impressed. Apparently we'd gotten over the scary-chick-looks-like –she-wants-to-cut-out-my-brains stage and moved onto the 'I am college man, hear me roar.'
I think I liked the cutting out the brains stage better.
"So what was that nickname again? I don't think I heard you." His chest deflated like a popped balloon. I lifted my hand, feigning wiping my lip, to hide my smirk. He looked around nervously, like this was a life or death secret and ninja cats were lurking in the carry-ons.
"Well, since I don't know you, I might as well," he looked scared and miserable. And like he might pee his pants again.
"I am holding you to the strictest confidence here, so no telling anybody about it." He saw the look in my eye when he tried to order me to do something and flinched.
"I mean, please don't tell anyone." I smiled.
Good dog.
He took a deep breath, looked me in the eye, and turned pink again. Wait, pink. Dreams, and Pepto Bismol and conversations with myself after that strange dream all came flashing back in an instant with that single little color. Pink. Flash…
"My nickname was Pink Lightning."
REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW. THIS CHAPTER GOES OUT TO ECXE. I LOVE YOU!
BTW, IF YOUR NAME IS CARL OR LOGAN, PLEASE DON'T TAKE OFFENSE OF MY BELLA'S HATRED FOR THOSE NAMES.
I LIKE THE NAMES CARL AND LOGAN. I ALSO LIKE BLUE EYES.
NO OFFENSE PEOPLE,
PEACE OUT
