Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight.
CAUTION:This chapter contains sensitive subject matter on the case of sexual abuse [nothing too graphic, though]. If you're uncomfortable with anything like that, you might not want to read ahead.
Also, the level of angst is pretty high.
Chapter 4- Welcome To My Life
Do you ever feel like breaking down?
Do you ever feel out of place?|
Like somehow you just don't belong
And no one understands you?
Do you ever wanna run away?
Do you lock yourself in your room?
With the radio on turned up so loud
That no one hears you screaming.
No you don't know what it's like
When nothing feels all right
You don't know what it's like
To be like me.
Welcome To My Life- Simple Plan
Edward POV
I hated this fucking town. I hated everything about it. It was too fucking green, too small, too isolated. Shit compared to London. Of course, when you grew up in London like I did, you can't see anything else measure up. Well, perhaps that's just me. I was in love with London and every part of it. It was my home; it was a part of me. It was everything I knew and more. My mates were there, my family was there, my life was there.
Then my dad had to go and be so fucking successful in his business that they want to move him to America. I wasn't exactly of age yet, so of course they had to drag my ass along. I thought we'd be moving to New York or Chicago- some big city where businesses run the place. But they move us to Forks of all places.
It's cruel, really. To grow up in a big city full of life and full of things to do, and then be forced to move to a small ass town overseas where everything is the color of shit. Really fucking cruel. I threw a right fit when my mum told me we'd be going to Forks. I knew there wasn't a place in England with a name as stupid as that, so I was pretty pissed off that we'd have to leave the country.
Honestly, if it weren't for the fact that I was worried about my mother, I probably would have bunked with a mate for another year before I could get my own place. But just the thought of my mother living alone in a new country, with that dirty old bastard called my father, was enough to make my blood boil.
The fact that Rosalie lived nearby the town we would be moving to helped ease my stress a bit. Rose and I were pretty close growing up, even with our difference in age. When she was eighteen and I was thirteen, she announced that she would be moving to America. That, at the time, was the most fucked up thing she could possibly have said to me.
There was enough crap going on in my life at thirteen, and the fact that my older sister, the only person that fucking understood me, was going to live across the ocean was enough to ruin me. Somehow it was worse than my wanker of a father being an alcoholic, worse than my mother being his little pet that didn't do shit about him, and worse than the fact that I had just hit puberty and was going through loads of confusing hormonal shit.
I was angry with her for a long time. Then I told myself to grow some balls and stop being so selfish. Because I understood why Rose would want to move out of the country. It wasn't so much the country itself, but it was more of who lived here that fucked up her life. It was the past that she could never seem to get away from. In order to start anew and move on with her life, she felt she had to leave the continent. It was a drastic move, but her pain was that much. Even though I didn't share that pain on the same level, I understood it.
My father, Carlisle, was the reason that Rose felt the need to leave. See, he wasn't just an alcoholic that got so plastered every night that he couldn't remember his fucking name. He was also sick, sick in the head. Drunk or not, he would find the need to go into Rosalie's room every night and do things the Queen would frown upon. I caught him at it when I was six, though I had no idea what the hell was going on.
"Daddy, what are you doing?" I had asked. I saw the panic in his eyes and the fear in Rosalie's. Carlisle stopped his hands and dragged me out of the room and into my own. He made me swear I would never tell anyone what I saw, and threatened to smack me if I did. Of course, at six, I didn't know any better and just did as I was told. Sex to me at that age was something unheard of. For all I knew, the banging I heard every night coming from my parents' bedroom was my father trying to unsuccessfully hammer something into the wall.
But the fear I saw in Rosalie's eyes would haunt me forever. Over time I couldn't figure out if it had been a dream; I was so fucking young and also a bit disoriented with sleep.
It wasn't until I was a bit older that I started figuring out what was really happening. I had grown to be pretty perceptive, and by the time I was eleven or twelve, I had figured it all out. I saw the shift in my sister's demeanour, in the way that she held herself. The older she got, the less fragile she seemed but the more reserved she became in public. I started to notice the way Carlisle would look at her, his eyes so fucking greedy. I saw the way Rosalie would look at him, with fear and resentment. They barely ever spoke to one another, but when they did it was curt.
My own relationship with my dad wasn't exactly brilliant itself. He just wasn't around all that much. Not that I cared. Work took up most of his time, and when he was home, beer was his best friend. He was an angry alcoholic, always rambling about one thing or another. He never really got violent, but the things he would say were enough to hurt anyone emotionally. You'd take a blow to the face rather than hear what my dad had to say in one of his drunken rages. Rose and I would usually keep ourselves in our rooms until he passed out, but my mother would have nowhere to go.
My mum, Esme, was someone that I loved dearly, but also someone that drove me mad. She was a lovely woman, taking care of Rose and me with the greatest possible affection. She was gentle and loving, the complete opposite of Carlisle. You could tell she was a kind person just by looking at her heart-shaped face and soft bronze coloured hair. There was nothing but kindness in her eyes. But that kindness was gone when my father was around. It was instead replaced by worry, hurt, and what I hated most of all- fear. I still cannot, to this day, understand why the fuck she is still with a prick like that.
She tried to put on a strong front when us kids were around, but as perceptive as I was, she couldn't fool me. I knew my mother as a person who loved to laugh, who was always smiling and always had a nice thing to say. There was always light in her eyes and she put the needs of others before her own. But that fun-loving woman was gone whilst my father was home. Sometimes he wouldn't come home for days, and she was happiest then. I could never really understand why. I started to notice how she changed around him, and that made me resent my father even more. Because he was, in a way, taking my mother away from me.
The older I got, the more guts I had to say what I felt. My relationship with my father seemed to get worse and worse as time went on, because I wouldn't put up with his bullshit anymore. I would tell him straight up that he was pissing me off, or that he needed to treat my mother better. He would proceed to shouting at me, telling me that I was good for nothing and worth shit to him. He would tell me I was a useless little bugger and a disappointment to him and my mother. I shouted right back, telling him he was a sick old bastard. Sure, that was a bit disrespectful, but why should I give respect to a man who wouldn't know respect if it kicked him in the nuts? I should respect him because he's my father?
Fuck it. He was no father of mine.
I never brought up the issue of Carlisle sneaking into Rosalie's room at night until I was much older and able to understand, in my early teens perhaps. I told my mother one morning whilst Carlisle was at work and Rosalie was finally settled in America. It was something that had always been at the back of my head, and now that I got it I was ready to fuck someone up. Esme had remained quiet the whole time I was telling her what I had seen when I was six. Her silence was maddening. Why wasn't she upset? Why wasn't she ready to call the police or something?
Finally she said, "That stopped happening ages ago. It's best to just let it go."
That was what drove me insane. She knew? She knew what was happening and she did nothing? This was her fucking daughter we were talking about.
I was gobsmacked. I didn't think that just because it stopped happening, Carlisle shouldn't be held responsible for his sick, twisted actions.
Father or not, I would have fucked Carlisle up when he came home that day. But Esme insisted that I control myself. Seeing my furious expression, she became panicked. She didn't want a brawl between my father and me. She persuaded me that he regretted what he did, and that he was punishing himself more than anyone else possibly could.
Right. I didn't believe a word of that. Like getting fucking drunk every day was some punishment. But I respected Esme, and I didn't want to upset her by messing up my father's face. If she wanted me to back off, I would. It was hard, but I had to. For her.
I rang Rose in Port Angeles and spoke to her over the phone, asking her if she remembered that night. Of course she remembered. Shit like that is unforgettable. But Rose told me to let it go, that she was trying to get over it and move on now that she was in a different country and around people she didn't know.
Apparently Carlisle really had stopped doing what he did, but that doesn't mean the scars weren't still there. That doesn't mean she wasn't emotionally damaged and torn apart on the inside because of what her father did to her. Rosalie assured me that she was okay, and that she was sorry I had seen what I did. I told her I would never be able to let it go, no matter how long I lived. I could never forgive him for what he did to my sister, and what he was doing to my mother. I was pretty sure Rosalie didn't forgive him herself, but at least she was getting help.
After that revelation, I officially loathed my father. If he weren't the boss over at the company he worked for, he probably would have gotten sacked by now.
My family life was so fucked up that I had to go to the streets to find any kind of solace. I had probably just hit puberty when I started hanging out with the wrong people, doing the wrong things, getting into all kinds of trouble. I wasn't really feeling the love at home, so I sought happiness in all the wrong places.
There were only two people that I was happy around- my best mate, Peter, and my girlfriend Tanya.
The only two people that I would trust with my life were the only two people to ever betray me.
So the summer of 2008 was probably the worst of my life. Not only did I do shit that would be enough to dub me a monster, but I lost a grip on what was real and what wasn't. I was one screwed up individual, and I hated myself, I hated everyone.
When the whole thing with Tanya and Peter went down, I found myself alone in a world full of chaos. I found myself angry at the world, but most of all, angry at myself for being the person that I was. For trusting people. For resorting to all sorts of dangerous methods to make myself feel better.
For being a criminal.
And you know what the cause was for my bad behavior?
Love.
I let myself love, I searched for it, and I found it in all the wrong places. Then when that was snatched from under my feet, I was blindsided. It made me even worse, it made my world worse.
Still, it wasn't enough to make me want to move out of the damn continent. But at the same time, I wanted to start fresh, leave all the fucked-up-ness behind.
A part of me felt that by moving to America for a bit, I could take a break or start afresh. I didn't really want to make new friends or anything; I just wanted a new life. I wanted to get away from all the people that wouldn't get off my bollocks back in London. I just needed a long vacation.
I had just gotten out of year 12 of school and should have been starting year 13 that September, but school was the last fucking thing I wanted to do at the moment. I couldn't see those two again, not so soon after they ripped out my fucking heart and then stepped on my dick. Besides, who cares if I started year 13 a year later than normal?
It had been two weeks into our move and I was right depressed. My father hadn't been going to work just yet so it was two weeks of watching him sit on his arse and chug down beer like it was the last drink on Earth.
Mum was obsessed with settling in, pulling in furniture and hanging up paintings and other decorative shit. Once she settled in the kitchen to cook, I had nothing to do. I had been around town; it was as boring as watching paint dry. Such was the situation in my room; the dark gray paint on the walls was drying and I couldn't stand the smell. My dad was sitting in the living room, drinking and watching American news on the telly. I didn't want to be in the same room as him, so I decided it was time to visit Rose in Port Angeles.
Again.
Just as I pulled on my jacket and took a step towards the garage door to get on the motorbike I bought, Carlisle's voice rang out from the parlour.
"Oi, Edward? Come in here a moment, will you?"
I groaned. I avoided speaking to my dad at all costs. I couldn't just ignore him when he called for me. I mean, I could, but he was drunk so I might as well just go with the fucking flow of things.
I slowly walked into the parlour and eyed him cautiously. He was slouched back into the couch, a beer can in his right hand. He had on a gray t-shirt and his blonde hair was messed up from the back where his head rested against the couch.
"What?" I asked irritably. I wanted to get out of there.
"Off to school?" he asked, his eyes still on the telly. I furrowed my brows at him.
"School?" I repeated. "What do you mean, 'school'? I'm done with school. For now." I had no idea what he was getting at, and I hated people being vague.
"They're telling me you have to go to school," he replied, taking a swig from the can. "It's the law. You should be in high school, they say."
"Who the fuck are 'they'?" I snapped. The last thing I wanted was to go to high school. I was probably loads smarter than anyone there, anyway.
"The authorities," he shrugged. "Apparently if you don't go to school at your age, it's wrong. You're underage here as well."
"Like you give a fuck about right and wrong," I grumbled. "No one needs to know whether or not I'm going. That's stupid. I'm not going to go to high school for one fucking year. What for? There's no point, I'm moving back home next summer."
"You're not eighteen, you can't just do what you want, boy," Carlisle said. "Besides, I've already got you enrolled at the high school."
I immediately started fuming.
"What!" I said. "You fucking enrolled me? What did you do that for? I'm not fucking going, I don't care what you say!"
Carlisle looked at me for the first time, his blue eyes slightly glazed over from intoxication. They flashed with anger and before he could shout at me, I turned around and headed back towards the garage.
"Edward." My mum's voice rang out and I froze. She stood in the kitchen doorway, a look of concern on her face. I felt my expression soften when I looked at her.
"We've discussed this once before," she said quietly. "About you going to school here. It would be good for-"
"I know," I cut her off gently. "I just. . . I really, really don't want to. I need a break from people. I can't go through all that shit again. . . "
Esme smiled sadly. "It's not likely to happen again, darling. It's one year."
"Loads of shit happened in one summer, Mum," I reminded her.
Her eyes were permanently saddened as she gazed me. '
Then she blinked. "Where were you off to?" she asked.
I shrugged."Rose's."
Esme raised her eyebrows. "Again?" I shrugged again and she smiled. "Tell her I said hello."
I nodded and walked over to her, kissing her on the cheek.
Yes, I was quite the mummy's boy.
I walked into the garage and pulled out the motorbike that I had purchased shortly after coming here. Bikes were something I loved as much as Rose loved cars. I liked cars too, but there was just something personal about motorbikes; something that made me feel free from life's bullshit. The bike I had in England, a Triumph, was unfortunately unable to be shipped here, so I had to get one as soon I could. I fell in love with the Yamaha F6 I found here. I didn't know what the rules were for licenses in this country, but I never had one in England either, so it didn't mean anything to me.
Normally I wouldn't bother wearing a helmet, but for my Mum's sake I did. I promised her I would change my "ways", so to speak, and this was a small step towards what was hopefully a better life.
I shoved the piece of shit on and climbed on the bike, putting it into gear and taking off into the streets.
Riding a motorbike wasn't the same with a helmet on. I used to love the feeling of the wind blasting through my hair and shit, but that always got me into a bit of trouble.
Trouble. Like that was anything new. I reckoned if this country had some strict rule about helmets, I might as well comply and wear the damn thing to avoid the American authorities from giving me crap.
I got to Rosalie's building and got in the lift to go up to her flat. There was a girl inside who looked like a slag, her skirt so short it could be used as a fucking belt. Her top was tight and so low that her tits hung out. Her face was covered in cosmetic shit and that, combined with her dead and unnaturally colored hair, made her look like a drag queen.
She smirked at me and gave me a once-over as I got in. I stood as far from her as I could manage but as soon as the doors shut, she moved closer.
"Hey baby," she said. "Anything I can do for you?"
I looked down at her from the corner of my eyes as she fluttered her eyelashes sporadically.
"Something in your fucking eye?" I asked.
She blinked and raised her eyebrows before smiling widely. "Oh my gosh," she said. Her voice was whiny and annoying. "Are you from, like, Britain?"
I rolled my eyes. What was with the yanks' fascination with Brits anyway?
The doors opened to the fourth floor and the girl took a step forward and stuck her hand into the side of the lift so the doors wouldn't close.
"You know," she said. "If you want, you can come hang out in my apartment. . ." She puckered her too-shiny lips and widened her eyes at me.
"No," I told her, stepping out of the lift. "I'd rather not get an STD, thanks."
I left her looking at me with an offended expression as I went in search of a staircase. I found a doorway with a symbol on it and immediately went through.
The stairwell was dimly lit by a fluorescent light that blinked a bit. I hopped up two flights of stairs, taking two steps at a time, before I reached the door that opened onto the fifth level. I walked down the hallway and reached flat 5E, knocking on it loudly. I waited impatiently, tapping my foot, as I waited for Rose to get the door. She would be back from work by now and wouldn't have gone out anywhere since she said she was having 'guests' over for dinner. I planned on being in and out before they got here.
I banged on the door again and called, "Come on, Rose, open the fucking door! I didn't come all the way here to-" I broke off when the door flew open.
"Edward. What are you doing here?" she asked, looking slightly stunned and annoyed.
"Lovely to see you too, sis," I replied, pushing past her and into her flat. "I can't just come and see you?"
"Not after I've told you I've got guests coming over," she said, shutting the door. "They'll be here any minute. This is kind of important."
"Who's more important than your younger brother, eh? What, is it the prime minister or something? Fuck, I forgot we're not in England."
"It's Emmett and his sister," she said, walking towards the glass round-table and wiping it with a rag.
"That's it?" I asked. "Your boyfriend and his sister? Really, Rose? They're more important than me?"
Rosalie sighed and set the rag down, her hands on her hips. "Look, I love Emmett. You know that. He's as close to his sister as you are to me, and I really want to get to know her. Having you and your bad attitude here isn't exactly a brilliant idea."
"Wow," I said, putting on a hurt tone. "I can't believe you think so low of me. You think I'll ruin this evening for you? Ouch."
Rosalie rolled her eyes. "You can stay if you want, but you have to swear you'll be good."
I snorted at that. "Right. Like anything's going to stop me from saying what I want to."
I spotted the drawing of London on her fridge and walked over to it. It was something I drew for her right before she left London to come here almost five years ago; it was a little something to remind her of home. I felt bittersweet looking at the picture. It was the place I loved, yet also the place where all the shit took place.
"You've still got this?" I asked, pointing to the picture. "I thought you would have chucked it by now."
Rosalie smiled fondly at me. "When have I ever chucked out something you drew for me, Edward? I've still got things you made me when you were five."
I chuckled and shook my head. "I'd rather not see those."
"Are you staying, then?" she asked.
"Nah. I'll leave. I figured I could kill some time here, but I guess I've got to go back home. . ."
My expression must have looked depressed, because her brows immediately furrowed with concern. She was going into big sister/therapist mode.
"What happened now?" she asked gently. I shook my head and walked out onto her balcony.
I liked standing out there; the view wasn't magnificent but it made me feel like I was away from all the bullshit. I liked to just stare at the mass of trees and the clouds to get my mind off things. A part of me loved nature, but that was something I never told anyone.
Rosalie followed me out and I stood staring up at the gray clouds. The weather here wasn't that different from London; it rained often there, too.
Rose put a hand on my arm. "Go on," she said. "Is it Carlisle again?"
Rosalie hadn't called our father 'dad' for a very long time. Like me, she didn't see him as much of a father.
I shrugged. "Almost. They want me to go to fucking school. School, Rose. Here. Why? I don't bloody get it. Can't I get a fucking break?"
I shook my head and my hand instinctively flew to my back jeans pocket, for my pack of fags. But then I remembered Rose didn't like me smoking, especially in her flat, so I ran my hand through my hair instead.
"Maybe it's not a bad idea," she said quietly.
My eyes widened with disbelief. "Not a bad idea? Are you mad? What the fuck am I supposed to do with a high school diploma if I'm moving back to London next year?"
Rosalie frowned. "You're not staying?" she asked, sounding disappointed.
"Why should I?"
My sister stared at me and I couldn't put a finger on the emotion in her eyes. It looked like worry more than anything, but there was something else. . .
"Just think about it," she said, and I groaned. Before I could protest, she kept going, "This could be a good opportunity for you! Look, I know you want to start over, and that's great. But moving back to London in such a short amount of time isn't going to change much. How are you going to manage there on your own? You're bright, yes, but we don't have many people there to help you out if you need it. And your friends and Tanya-"
"Don't," I said through clenched teeth. "Don't . . . bring them up."
"Sorry," she said softly. "What I mean to say is, I know it seems easy to just go back to London alone once you turn eighteen, buy a flat, get a job and all that. But it's really not that simple. Do you know how hard it was for me to start a life here? I had no one. I worked my ass off to get where I am now, and London may be familiar to you, but it's really not going to be all that different."
"No one told you that you had to move to the fucking states," I said.
She narrowed her eyes at me. "I know that. And I wouldn't have changed my decision. Just take it from someone that knows; it's not easy to start your life over when you've got no support system."
"I won't be alone," I argued. "I know those wankers who fucked up my life aren't going to be there, and that's exactly what I want. There's still family. There's Aunt Kate and Uncle Garrett. So they live in Norwich, not London, but at least it's England. If worst comes to worst, I'll crash at their house."
Rosalie sighed. "Would you really want to do that to them, Edward?" she asked.. "I know for a fact you wouldn't really do that. Besides, where will you sleep, on their couch? It's a small house-"
"I know, I know," I said "And no, I wouldn't do that. Not really. I'll figure something out. . . "
"While you're figuring something out', try school-"
"I'm notgoing to-"
"Will you stop interrupting me?" she said irritably.
I shut my mouth and raised my eyebrows at her, telling her to proceed as she sighed.
"Thank you," she said calmly. "Look. . . I know you think you can start a life here without going to school. I know you want to avoid making friends and dating. But Edward, being antisocial is not healthy for you, or anyone else for that matter. You need to be around new people. Not only that, but you won't have much of a life without school. Do you plan on getting a part time job here?"
"What for?"
"Exactly. I know you won't be at home all the time, and I'm starting work soon. Are you just going to walk around town all day?"
"I cando that, really. . . " I said quietly. She was close to convincing me. Damn Rose and her logical ways.
"You can, but you won't. You're not that stupid." Shit. Now she was using reverse psychology.
"So, because I don't want to go to a new school in a new country with new people for one year to get a useless diploma, I'm stupid?" She shook her head, a small smile on her lips.
"Not because of that," she said. "Because you won't do the one thing that will help you do what you want to do: move on. Come on, Ed. Do it for Mum."
"Don't bring Mum into this!" I said irritably. I definitely had a sore spot for my mother. "She's got nothing to do with it.."
"She does. She would really love for you to go to school. She told me just the other day over the phone…"
"Yeah, yeah," I said dismissively. Honestly, she had me there.
Suddenly Rose's mobile phone went off. She pulled it out and sighed when she saw the number on the ID.
Flipping it open and holding it to her ear, she turned slightly away from me and said, "Ann? You all right?" Her voice was full of nothing but concern; it was always the tone her voice took on when she went into guidance counsellor mode. She probably handed her number to anyone on the street that looked like they had personal shit they needed to talk about.
Rosalie listened to the voice on the other end, occasionally sighing and shaking her head.
"Again?" she said, her brows furrowing. "Oh no. . . All right, just. . . Mm hmm . . . oh good Lord. All right, calm down, sweetheart, I'll come right down. Okay. All right. See you in a bit." She flipped the phone closed and looked at me.
"Someone wants to talk about their fucked up life?" I asked her.
Rose nodded sadly. "It's Ann, a student at the middle school," she said hurriedly. Her brows were permanently furrowed and she seemed distracted. "She actually happens to live down on the third floor. Her mother . . . never mind. I need to speak to her, now." I nodded and gazed at the trees before me.
"Mull things over for a bit, okay?" she said. "Please. Think about it, I really do believe it's for your benefit. I wouldn't be trying to convince you if I didn't care."
She smiled sadly at me before patting my arm and walking back into her flat. After a minute, I assumed she was gone so I immediately pulled out a cigarette and lit it. The heat ran down my throat and into my lungs, putting me at ease immediately. I liked to smoke when I had a lot to think about; somehow it helped me sort things out.
It was raining hard now, but it didn't hit me because the balcony had an awning. I gazed through the screen of falling rain, and stared at the mass of trees that was Forks. I loved the rain; I always had, for as long as I could remember. Even as a child I would love to just sit in the window and watch it fall. There was something peaceful about it, a type of serenity that nothing else in nature could match. When it rained as hard as it was now, it was like it rained for me. It was like the skies were telling me that they felt my pain and were crying for me.
This was shit I would never tell anyone. Wouldn't want anyone thinking of me as some pansy, always roaming about it nature. But I couldn't deny on the way rain made me feel. Everything about it gave me peace, especially its smell. I was glad Washington wasn't some ridiculously sunny place; it reminded me of London with its frequent raining. The rain smelled different here, though. It smelled more natural, earthier. It was new to me, but it was actually something new that I didn't mind.
I suddenly remembered how opposed Rose was to my smoking, and I didn't want her knowing I smoked anywhere near her flat, so I shut the balcony doors. They shut with a soft thud.
I turned back to gaze at the rain some more, and stared at the trees again. My mother was there, in Forks, and I wondered what she was doing now. I wondered if Carlisle had passed out yet. I wondered when he was going to pass out without ever waking up.
My fag was getting dull so I put it out in a potted plant that was in the corner of the balcony. I then leaned over the balcony to see if there was anyone on the pavement below, before dropping the cigarette. I watched it fall, move about the rain, land. Then it was just a minuscule little dot on the rain darkened pavement.
Suddenly, I heard something crash inside and I whirled around toward the doors. I opened them just in time to hear someone hiss, "Shit!"
Peering out, I saw someone's feet crawling around on the floor, having knocked something over. All I saw were the shoes, which were simple Chucks and could have belonged to anyone. My mind immediately said, "robber" and I contemplated what to do.
I could take him out with my fist. But what if he had a weapon? What if he had a gun? I could take anyone out with my fist; years of getting into brawls on the streets of London taught me that. But my blows were nothing compared to the quick pull of a trigger. Sure, I thought my life was fucked up, but I didn't want to die just yet.
I knew that Rose kept a bat in her room for security. Thinking quick, I slipped out of the balcony and into her bedroom. Once inside, I looked around for the bat. I was right when I assumed it was under the bed, so I quickly pulled it out and silently went back outside.
The intruder was in the kitchen now. Their back was to me as they stared at the drawing of London I made. I would have immediately snuck up on them and knocked them on the head, but what stopped me was that I wasn't sure it was a male anymore. The intruder wore a black hoodie, the hood up. The jeans were fitted to show thin legs, definitely on the feminine side. I suddenly thought, "Nice ass." before mentally slapping myself. Sometimes I couldn't escape being a bloke.
My bat was still halfway raised as I tried to figure out what to do. Then, the intruder lifted a slender finger to touch the drawing.
They touched the fucking drawing. They touched my fucking drawing.
"Who the fuck are you?" I snapped, and the intruder turned around, frightened.
I was right. It was a girl.
She stared at me with wide brown eyes, her brown locks damp and hanging out from under her hood. She eyed me with shock as I glared at her. Her eyes roamed my face and it felt like they left a trail as the skin on my face started to feel prickly.
"Well?" I asked, dropping the bat. Clearly, she wasn't harmful and even she was a thief of some kind, she was a bad one. I kept myself talking, not liking how I was all but entranced by her porcelain-like skin, slender features, and pink lips.
Her upper lip was fuller than her bottom one. Something about that had me feeling things I hadn't felt in a while. . .
"Are you going to tell me who the fuck you are and what the hell you're doing in my sister's flat?" I asked her harshly. She blinked and stared at me some more. It was putting me on edge, something about her gaze sending what felt like static across my skin.
"Oh," I said, pretending to become aware of something. "So you're fucking mute then, are you?"
Her brows furrowed. Finally, some emotion other than shock on that face.
"And you're deaf, too?" I continued my verbal attack. "Or are you just plain stupid?"
Yes, I was being a dick. But this girl comes out of nowhere and does things to me just by looking at me, and that catches me off guard. I didn't like it. I didn't like it one bit. Who did she think she was, anyway?
"I, uh -" she began to speak, her voice soft and low. Rose and her giant bloke of a boyfriend chose that moment to burst in.
Rose greeted The Intruder, whose name I learned was Bella.
Bella. Ever since I heard it, the name played itself over and over in my head like a broken record. It was irritating me to no end, and I tried to think of other things as the girl and Rose chatted away for almost an hour. I stayed mostly in the kitchen, playing around with my barely used mobile or listening to my iPod.
It didn't matter what I did, my thoughts and my body unwillingly made me aware of who else was there.
I could have left, but I didn't. For one thing, there was no fucking way I was going home yet. In all honesty, I didn't want to.
I didn't know what was wrong with me. This girl did absolutely nothing to me and yet she was driving me mad by just being there.
Was it the way I was drawn to her without reason? I couldn't see anything special about her. She was fairly nice-looking, I supposed, but nothing about her made her unique to me. She was absolutely ordinary.
What was it then? I was confused, and mostly annoyed at the situation. I wanted to tear my hair out.
Because this girl was no one, yet clearly she was someone.
Pizza came, and I insisted on staying in the kitchen but Rose started bitching at me about manners and shit. I ended up sitting somewhat next to Bella. I saw her tense up when I sat down; was she afraid of me? I didn't want her to be. I wanted her to steer clear, definitely, but she didn't have to be afraid. It's not like I was going to fucking touch her or anything. I wasn't my father.
Rosalie and Emmett were arguing about the difference between "chips" in the UK compared to "chips" in the US. In England, chips are the American equivalent to French fries. Apparently this had confused Emmett when he and my sister went on a casual date and she felt like having chips. The dimwit took her to the grocery store for crisps.
I liked Emmett. It was hard for me to like anyone at all, yet Emmett had a personality that I had never really come across. He was boisterous, playful, and extremely corny with his jokes. Normally I would find someone like that extremely irritating, yet it amused me because it didn't fit Emmett's physical appearance at all. Not only that, but he was good to Rose. When I heard Rose had a boyfriend, I was wary. I thought, Oh boy, what fucked up bugger is she going out with now? Rose didn't date just anyone. Dating was something she did not take lightly, and I knew she would be extra careful with whoever she went out with. But I was pleasantly surprised by Emmett. He was a bit on the wacky side, but I thought he was cool.
And that was a first for me.
I could tell Rose was in love with him, and that was fine by me. You could tell by the way she smiled at him, the way she looked at him, the way she listened to what he said. Same went for Emmett- he clearly wasn't going out with her for the shagging. He seemed to appreciate her intellectually, always asking her about things and seeming interested in whatever she was talking about. There was a spark in his eyes when he looked at her; it was never horny, just infatuated.
I wondered if I had ever looked like that when I was with my ex. Did I look at her the same way? Did she look at me like Rose looked at Emmett? Now, I doubted that she did. I couldn't believe I ever thought she loved me, but most of all I couldn't believe what I let her do to me…
Rose went off to answer the phone in her room, and Emmett went off to the loo. That left just Bella and I. I was aware that we were alone, yet I was still lost in my thoughts of Tanya.
Tanya. The only girl that I loved and the only girl that screwed me over. The only girl that I would have died for at one point, and the only one that killed me on the inside.
Love. What a broad concept. To me, love meant one thing and one thing only.
Pain.
I felt Bella's gaze on me and I was snapped out of my reverie. She was staring at my arm, her mouth slightly open and her eyes probing. I had never actually looked at her this close up before.
Did I think she was just ordinary before? All of a sudden, she was far from. . .
Her skin was as clear as day, looking so fucking soft that it took everything in me not to just reach over and run my fingers over it. Her cheeks were pink and her eyes matched the color of her hair. Her features were slender and feminine. She looked fragile, like you could break her just by stroking her cheek.
But her lips had me flipped over and fucked up in so many ways. The top one stuck out in a natural pout, leaving the lower one lonely and on its own. They were a dark pink and so fascinating to me. They looked so fucking soft. I wondered what it would feel like to. . .
Shit. What was she doing to me? She had no right to make me feel this way. Sure, it wasn't exactly her fault, but either way, she was sending static through me without even fucking trying.
Fuck it. I couldn't go through that again. Never, ever again.
I asked her what she was staring at and she said, "Nothing" before looking down at the table. She was so strange. I told her that straight up, that she was weird.
I thought that by telling her that out loud, I would be able to convince myself that it was true.
Her brows furrowed and she said, "What's that supposed to mean?" She sounded slightly insulted, and I was pleased. Maybe I was going somewhere with this.
"Weird, strange, odd, queer, bizarre," I explained. "Have you not finished primary school, then?"
"I have finished 'primary school'," she replied. She swallowed before continuing. "And I know what 'weird' means." She was defending herself. Good. That's how it should be. It would suck if she let me talk shit without fighting back. Where's the fun in that? It wouldn't work any other way. . .
"Well if you didn't act so dim-witted. . ." I continued. She wasn't stupid, and she wasn't acting like it. But I had to make her think so.
"Are you calling me stupid?" she asked. Her voice wasn't low anymore, it was normal. It was angry. Her anger was . . . cute. It was like a small kitten trying to be intimidating.
I pretended to think about it before saying, "Yeah, I reckon I am."
"Why are you such an asshole?" she blurted.
I didn't know I was smirking until the smirk fell. Yes, I was an asshole. But I had to be. She didn't understand. Maybe it was irrational of me to think that she should think about what may have made me this way, but at the time all I could think was about how fucked up my life was and how I couldn't help being this way. She just didn't fucking understand.
She clamped her hand to her mouth, looking regretful.
"Sorry," she said quietly. "That was rude." Why was she apologizing? She didn't need to fucking apologize to me. Then again, she should be sorry. She should be sorry for not trying to get where I was coming from.
"You should be fucking sorry," I said angrily. "You don't know who the fuck you're talking to." It was true. She had no idea. And I hoped she would never find out.
"I know exactly who I'm talking to, I'm talking to you," she snapped. My blood was suddenly boiling, the hints of the old me trying to resurface.
"Yeah? Well I suggest you stop talking altogether, if you know what's good for you," I said. My fist was clenched and I tried not to punch anything. Something was very, very wrong with me.
"Are you threatening me?" I wasn't threatening her, I was warning her. She really shouldn't be around me, and I shouldn't be around her. I wouldn't hurt her, but the situation wasn't safe for either of us.
"Maybe I am, maybe I'm not," I said vaguely.
We glared at each other for a few moments. Her eyes shone with anger and her brows were furrowed, creating a slight shadow over her chocolate brown eyes. Her lips were in an angry pout and her long brown hair draped her face wildly, still damp from the rain.
I couldn't do this. I couldn't look at her. It felt right, yet it felt wrong because I didn't want it to feel right. What the fuck was wrong with me?
I stood up and pulled out my cigarettes, not caring that Rose was in the other room. I needed this, and I needed it now.
I needed to feel the heat radiating down to my lungs to distract me. I needed to feel a different kind of heat, not the heat I was feeling now. It was an angry heat, a frustrated heat, a confused heat.
It was a heat of desire, and that was very, very dangerous for me.
She shot out of her seat and covered her nose as I let out the smoke, a look of revulsion on her face.
"Gross," she mumbled.
"Got a problem with me smoking?" I asked.
"Yes," she replied. "Smoking is disgusting. It turns your lungs black, stains your teeth, and makes your breath stink. Not only that but it's slow suicide." She was right, it was slow suicide. It was too late, though. Fags became the one thing that helped me get through the day. Maybe the slow suicide thing was intentional. Maybe it wasn't.
"Look at you sounding like a geek," I told her, although I really didn't care. "We're all going to die one fucking day, might as well speed up the process, no?"
She looked at me, horrified. "Are you that depressed?"
I snorted. "Piss off." Her probing was making me uncomfortable.
"Well, sorry to piss you off, but you're kind of being a jerk," she retorted, and I rolled my eyes.
"Americans," I muttered, shaking my head. "I'm not saying you're pissing me off, I'm telling you to piss off. Means the same as bugger off, or fuck off. Get it now?"
"Don't tell me to fuck off," she said, clearly offended.
"Too fucking late, I already have," I spat. "Now do me a favour and shut up, will you? Your voice is like fingernails on a chalkboard, its grating at my nerves." That was a lie. Her voice was nowhere near that.
"Don't tell me to shut up," she countered. Her voice got higher in pitch and my scowl deepened.
"If you would shut your mouth I wouldn't have to!" I said, raising my voice. I didn't shout, but I was close to it.
Here he comes, I thought remorsefully. The old Edward.
Thankfully, Rose came out of her bedroom in time before I could say anything I regretted. Not that I had said anything nice, but when I felt the old Edward coming out, that was bad.
"What the bloody hell is going on?" Rose asked. She saw the fag in my hand and went bonkers.
"Are you mad?" she cried. "What the hell do you think you're doing, smoking in my apartment? Either take that out on the balcony or leave! Look! You're getting ashes all over the rug! What is wrong with you, Edward?"
I wish I knew. I wish I could tell her what the hell was going on inside of me. It was a whirlwind of emotions, frustration more than anything. I knew what I was frustrated about but I didn't want to admit it. Instead of admitting anything, I decided to blame.
I pointed at Bella and said, "If she wasn't so fucking annoying I wouldn't have had to have a fag!"
"I didn't do anything to you!" Bella yelled. "You're the one being a douche bag for no reason and talking down to me like you're so damn superior!"
"You're barmy, that's what you are," was all I could say.
A look of confusion crossed her face. "What the hell does that even mean?"
"Christ, you don't know what anything means, do you?" I said. Communication would be a problem. "I knew you were thick from the moment I saw you."
"I am not fat!" she retorted.
"Thick mean's stupid, Bella," Rosalie explained to her, still glaring at me. "And I don't appreciate you calling her that, Edward. You should apologize."
"Apologize?" I said with disbelief. "For what, for being honest?"
I wasn't being honest. I hadn't been honest with myself since the moment I saw her.
"For being rude!" Rose said sternly, hands on her hips.
"Fuck that," I said."Everything about her is annoying; she never understands any fucking thing I say to her."
"Maybe if you spoke plain English, I would understand what the hell you say," Bella stated.
"I am fucking speaking plain English!" I snapped. "I'm speaking real English, not your Americanized shit! It's not my fault you don't bloody understand."
We glared at one another, the air tense. I turned my back to her, not liking the expression of hate on her face. I deserved it, and it was best for the both of us, but that didn't mean I liked it.
"Edward," Rose said quietly. "Come out to the balcony. I want to speak with you."
"No," I said curtly. I wasn't in the mood for one of her shrink sessions.
"Either get on the balcony, or go home."
I turned my head a little towards her, bringing up 'home' a smart way to get me to listen. She knew I didn't want to go home, not yet at least. It was no 'home' of mine after all.
I finally stomped off to the balcony, slamming the doors behind me. I put out the fag in the same potted plant as earlier and sighed. I walked over to the ledge, leaning my elbows on it and once again throwing my cigarette down. It had stopped raining, but the scent of earthy rain still hung in the air. I breathed it in deep, hoping it would help me clear my thoughts.
What was the matter with me? I was so fucking confused. Did I like her? Did I not? I knew absolutely nothing about the girl. She was my sister's boyfriend's sister. What did that make her to me? Nothing, I hoped.
I didn't know what to do with myself. I knew what I was feeling and I tried to push it away.
This is wrong, I lectured myself. Think about what you're doing. You can't do this again. You can't think about anyone but yourself. You know what happened last time. You know what happened the last time you let yourself like anyone.
Was this love? It couldn't be, and it wasn't at the time. Why did it feel so much like it, then?
I need to be careful, I thought. I can't let her have the effect she has on me. She must not even be worth it. You better fucking hope she isn't worth it.
Rose was taking too long. I grew impatient, wanting to get over with whatever the hell she wanted to say to me. I opened the balcony doors and stuck my head in, seeing Rose and Bella still standing there, talking.
"What the fuck," I said. "I thought you wanted to talk to me, and now you're out here talking to this . . ." I waved my hand in the air, trying to think of a word that described her. Several words did come to mind, but I couldn't say them. Not for the life of me. "Fuck it. There isn't a word that describes her."
Rose sighed and said, "Edward, please. I'm coming, have some patience." I told her to hurry up and closed the doors again.
I shook my head and looked up at the darkening sky.
I was screwed. I was so very, very screwed.
Rose finally came out and shut the doors gently behind her.
"Why, Edward?" she asked gently. She didn't look angry, but she did look disturbed. "Why must you treat her like that?" I shook my head again, not wanting to answer her.
Of course I knew why I had treated Bella like shit. None of it was her fault, but I had to protect myself. I had been through too much pain and had just stitched myself up again.
Then comes this girl, who with one look was threatening to open up those scars again.
I glanced at Rosalie from the corner of my eyes, and she was staring at me with deep concentration. It was the look she got when someone was talking about their feelings, though I wasn't really saying anything.
Damn. It must have been written on my face.
Suddenly, Rose gasped softly. My head snapped towards her, and her mouth was slightly open, her eyes wide.
"Oh, no," she said.
I furrowed my brows at her. "What?"
What had she just realized? Clearly not the truth. . .
"Don't tell me," she said.
"Don't tell you what?"
"You fancy her, don't you?"
"No!" I said too quickly. Rose's eyes got wider and I fully turned towards her.
"Rose," I said urgently. "I don't. I really don't. It's not that, it's just . . . something about her irritates me. That's all."
She raised her brows at me, not buying it.
"Really!" I said, trying to persuade her. "I don't even know her Rose, do you really think I like her already?"
She stared at me. "I don't know. . . you just seem. . ."
"What? I seem what?"
"You seem. . . distracted."
I let out and exasperated breath. "Let it go, okay? I don't fucking like her. There isn't anything I like about her. I talked to her the way I talk to everyone else. She isn't anyone special."
Rose eyed me skeptically, still not buying it but almost on the verge.
I would have to go deeper.
"Do you really think I'd let myself like anyone at the moment? After all that bullshit with . . . with Tanya?"
I thought about it, but I never really talked about it out loud. Rose looked slightly stunned at my having finally spoken the name out loud.
"Oh," she said quietly. "So you don't. . ."
"No," I said, my voice low. "I can't. Even if I wanted to, I couldn't. Don't think this girl's got to me, all right? Because she hasn't. She's nothing to me. I just got pissy with her because she was bitching about me smoking. I get that enough from you and Mum, I don't need her doing that, too."
Rose smiled sadly. "Anything you want to talk about?"
I shook my head and turned away from her. "No," I said, staring at the darkened trees. "Not yet."
"Just promise me one thing," she suddenly said. I cocked an eyebrow at her. "Promise me you'll be just a bit nicer to Bella than you were."
"No can do," I said.
"Why? What is so difficult about being nice to someone?"
"What's difficult is when you're nice to someone and they fucking backstab you. What's difficult is when you let yourself trust someone and they take that trust and shove it up your ass. What's difficult is when the one person you care about fucking screws you over after all you fucking did for them. You can't ever be too nice to anyone, because they'll take advantage of you. They'll think they can do whatever the fuck they want, not giving a shit about the consequences it can have on a person. You want me to be nice? Sorry, sis, not going to happen. I won't do it. I won't make that mistake again. I won't make the mistake of fucking being kind to someone when they haven't shown me anything that tells me they deserve my fucking kindness. Because if you ask me, every fucking person in this shithole of a world can't be trusted."
I didn't know where my outburst came from. The timing was unexpected, but it was something I had wanted to say for a very long time.
"Wow," Rose said. "I didn't know you felt that way."
I snorted bitterly. "Look. I don't want to discuss it. You want me to be nice to the girl? I'll try. No guarantees. I guess it's because she's Emmett's sister right? She means something to you?" Rose nodded. "Right. I reckoned as much. I won't say anything else to her for the rest of the night if that makes you happy."
"That's not enough," she said quietly.
"It may not be, but that's all I've got to offer. I'll try not to be here when she comes round next time, all right?"
"It would be nice if you two got to know each other a bit-"
I laughed bitterly. "What good's that going to do?"
"I'm knackered," I sighed. I really did feel exhausted, the emotional roller coaster overwhelming me. "All this thinking . . . it's fucking with my head. Let's go back inside, shall we? I won't say another word to her. Promise."
Rose suddenly hugged me, her head on my chest. I was taken aback, but hugged her back as she squeezed me.
"If there's anything you want to talk about, you know I'll always be here, right?"
I sighed and nodded. "Yeah. I know that."
She pulled away, her nose wrinkled. "You stink like smoke, Ed. Try quitting-"
"Deal with it."
We headed back inside, and I kept my expression blank as I went back to lean against the kitchen counter. Emmett was out of the loo, and told Rose that he needed to go because Bella had school.
School. That was another thing I had to think about.
I noticed that Bella had taken off her hoodie. It lay on the couch as she stood there in a blue top that hugged her curves. The color was striking against her skin, making her look like she was glowing. It brought out the pink in her cheeks, and I couldn't take my eyes off her body as she hugged Rose, her back to me.
Look away, you pervert, I told myself.
I tried, but I couldn't. Was she trying to drive me insane, wearing a top like that? It wasn't revealing, but it was fucking sending heat through my body.
Bella and Emmett left and soon after I realized that Bella had left her hoodie. It was chilly outside by now; she would be without it?
Without thinking, I grabbed it and ran out the door. The two were closer to the lift at the end, and I jogged towards her.
"Oi!" I called. She whirled around, confused, and I tossed her hoodie at her.
I expected her to catch it, but obviously her reflexes weren't very good since the hoodie ended up draping over her face. I smirked at the sight and walked away as Emmett chuckled.
I went back into Rose's flat and lay on her couch, closing my eyes. My head was pounding, and my thoughts were still a jumbled mess.
That night I came to the conclusion that I needed to make myself hate Bella Swan before it was too late.
If I knew what was good for me, I never wanted to see her again.
A/N: I swear he won't always be this mean, but at least we know the reasons now.