A/N: Thanks again for any/all support! This was a long one, guys. I am REALLY nervous about it, so some feedback would be fantastic.
*Warning-this chapter contains sexual violence and lots of vulgar language. If you are sensitive to any of that, please don't read. I can PM you a short summary of what happens.*
Chapter Song: Wishing Well by The Airborne Toxic Event.
I walked out of Edward's bedroom with him trailing behind me. I felt good. Confident for the first time in a very long time. I would do this and it would be fun. It was normal and I would be surrounded by friends and people who love me. Possibly, I'd even dance.
The voices of those friends carried up the stairs and I could hear them arguing about The Beatles. Jeopardy was probably on and if Pat Sajak brought out the competitive side of Jasper, Alec Trabek turned him into some kind of monster.
"Bella," Edward whispered from behind me. I turned around and he leaned in, whispering close to my ear, "You were talking about not letting anyone control me and my decisions." He looked down and for a moment I thought he was ogling my boobs but then it hit me like a ton of bricks. Ten minutes ago, I had sat down beside him, and gave him a spiel about not letting other forces control your life and I couldn't even pick my own clothes. I am the walking, talking, retarded contradiction that is Bella Swan.
"Do you really want to wear that?" he asked, one side of his mouth pulled up into a smirk. It was that same smile I used to see in college that would send me into panic mode because of the Newton fiasco. It meant something completely different to me now but for the life of me, I couldn't describe the jumble of feelings that rushed through me when it crossed over his lips.
"You're right." I smiled at him and his half smile turned into a whole one, white teeth and all. For the first time, I really looked at Edward. Sure, I had seen him everyday for the past couple of weeks but I never really looked at him. His face was clean shaven, which I had only seen a couple of times since I met him and his hair was a violent mess. The exhausted look that was so prominent on his features that night I broke the glass in the kitchen was fogged over by a tan and vibrant green eyes. The tired Edward was still there, living beneath the folds of beach and beer, but he wasn't dominant anymore. Whatever it was that put those blue circles under his eyes and made the little worry wrinkle between his eyebrows a permanent feature was something he came here to escape. Call me Matlock but I had a feeling it was tied into the phone calls.
"You go on down and tell them that I'll be right there."
He nodded and I turned toward my room.
A few minutes later, I padded down the stairs in brown Chuck Taylors and a fitted black Metallica t-shirt. Everyone was gathered by the door shuffling their feet, sighing dramatically and looking at their watches.
Alice smiled at me, "I thought you were chickening out."
I shrugged, "I had to get rid of the hooker shirt."
Rose sucked in some air and managed to look offended. "Did you just…that shirt is classy, Bella!"
"Who gives a shit was Bella wears, Rose? She's got tits and a…" He stopped short as Rose glared at him. Then he turned back to me and smiled, "I love Metallica, Bella."
Rosalie sighed as all of us shuffled out the door. We were like a herd of elephants, and Edward and Emmett actually got stuck in the doorway for a few beats.
"That shirt was just about as classy as your pants," I told her and Alice laughed, expelling a little snort.
Rose huffed and squeaked away, following Emmett to the SUV.
"I think I'm going to drive separate, guys." Edward pulled his keys out of his pocket and headed toward his rental car. "Bella, you want a ride?"
"She could have gotten an easy one if she would have kept my shirt on!" Rose yelled from inside Emmett's car. I had carefully painted my fingernails Ruby Red that afternoon, and at that moment I showed one to Rose for inspection. It just happened to be my tallest finger and she wasn't impressed.
"Sure, thanks."
"Nice ride. Very reliable," I told him as he turned the engine over.
Emmett peeled out of the driveway, honking at us and I could hear Rosalie now squealing at him to slow down. The exhaust went right into her Petunias. She was a very protective plant mommy.
"Fucking Volvo. I tried…I really tried to get something more my style but this was all they had for a long term rental," he complained.
"You're like a soccer mom…only hairier."
He pulled a CD case out from the floor of the back seat and started flipping through it.
"I don't know, there are some soccer moms that can grow some pretty neat beards," he replied.
I cocked an eyebrow. "Where did you learn so much about soccer moms?"
"The Volvo rental line at the airport," he grinned.
He found what he was looking for and pulled it out of the case. After popping it in to the CD player, he pushed a few buttons and Enter Sandman started playing.
"I thought this was appropriate," he smiled.
I looked down at my shirt and grinned out the window as he put the car in drive.
When we reached "Wet Willie's", the rest of the gang was waiting by the front door, hopping on their toes in anticipation. Rose had her arms wrapped around Emmett's large trunk and his arms was wrapped around her shoulders. Alice was waving her arms around animatedly as she told Jasper something. A smile played at his lips as her facial expressions changed with each movement of her hands. That man adored her and I was terribly happy for her. Their relationship made me a little jealous at times, but it wasn't anything I couldn't handle. I only caught them half naked on the couch once, and after a long lecture on the difficulty of removing stains from suede, they squeaked out an simultaneous apology and retired to the bedroom.
Alice grabbed my hand as we reached them and gave me a questioning glance. I sent her one back that said that I was fine and there was no need to worry. I was a little nervous but I felt much better since Edward and his magic hands were two steps behind me, within reach of a quick grab.
It was crowded but it could have been worse. Loud pop music was playing out of the speakers, the bass shaking my insides like an artificial heart. We followed Emmett to a table in the corner that had a reserved sign sitting on it.
"The owner is a big fan of Emmett's glory days," Alice yelled at me over the music, which was a rapper singing about dancing at a club. It was actually pretty catchy, in spite of the rapping.
I didn't listen to much radio but I loved music. In fact, "love" is not the appropriate word in my case. It was a therapy for me. I could always conjure up a song from the seventies or eighties that matched perfectly with my mood. There were nights in college when I'd pop my headphones on and Fleetwood Mac or Journey would make me feel like I was understood while the rest of the world just wasn't cool enough to get me. The new music I found was something I came across on the internet and it was most likely never found on the radio.
I nodded at Alice and we sat down, myself sandwiched in between her and Rose. Edward was across from myself, with Jasper and Emmett on each of his sides so that they could sit by their ladies.
A tan little brunette by the name of Jessica came by and took all of our drink orders. Her shorts allowed some of her ass cheeks to seep out and her shirt had that "shrunk in the dryer" appearance. She hopped when she walked and her ponytail bobbed with each word she squeaked out. The worst of it was the lack of eye contact with anyone who possessed a vagina. I wasn't even sure if she heard my order or not because she was checking Emmett's package out through her peripheral vision.
Shortly after our second round of drinks had arrived at the table, the guys had lapsed into their own conversation about which one of the them was luckiest in terms of their city having the best sports teams. I was feeling pretty good, even as the crowd grew a little thicker and little more intoxicated.
"Jasper thinks he might have to go back to Seattle in a few days." Alice's face twitched with determination as she said it, trying not to show the wretchedness that she felt. It was the hardest thing for Alice; saying goodbye to people that she loved. Her father had told her goodbye the day after her ninth birthday and he never looked back. Her abandonment issues ran deep which was one of the reasons Al and I were so close as prepubescent girls. I knew Jasper leaving would be devastating for her even if it was only for a few days.
Rose didn't look surprised at Alice's statement. "He loves that bar and he's a nervous wreck even if he doesn't look it. Honestly, I didn't think he'd come in the first place."
Alice sighed, "I know. I'm so proud of him for starting from the ground up like that. It's amazing to actually see him take responsibility for something for once."
Alice and Rose laughed and I raised my eyebrows at them. "Jasper has always been responsible."
This made them laugh even harder. Rose blew out a very unladylike snort which caught Emmett's attention for a moment. He hated when anyone but him made her laugh that hard.
"Jasper has never been responsible," Rose laughed, "He was a mess in high school and an even bigger mess in college!"
I was astonished, having always seen the conscientious side of Jasper. Always calling when he was going to be late, picking up dinner on occasion when he was on his way, making Alice do her homework.
Alice had finally stopped laughing. "This one time in college, he got smashed and streaked by the Blessed Sacrament on 8th Avenue shouting things about Adam and Eve."
"Oh, and the one time he skipped two weeks of Microeconomics and the teacher almost booted him out of the class. That was classic. Dad was pissed. I thought he was going to bring the belt out on his ass, again." Rosalie's smile didn't reach her eyes. Any conversation involving Mr. or Mrs. Hale was a downer in Rosalie's book even if we were making fun of Jasper in the process.
"I can't imagine Jasper skipping class. He's always so…punctual," I told them, staring at my Amoretto Sour with wide eyes.
"Alice taught him punctuality," Rose grinned.
I turned to Alice and she was grinning smugly. "I've taught him many things, dear Rosalie."
I made a face. "If you start wiggling your eyebrows, I'm outta here," I deadpanned.
"So, Bella, we should be able to find you a man here tonight," Rose said, sitting up straighter and eye balling the crowd that circled around the bar like flies.
I followed her line of vision and didn't see anyone who looked desperate enough to hit on a girl wearing a faded band t-shirt and a pair of worn tennis shoes. Everyone looked the same: tanned skin, greasy hair and a cocky gait.
"I don't see my type, Rose."
She sighed, "I don't either."
I cut my eyes to her and raised my eyebrows expectantly. "You know my type?"
She scoffed, "You're so predictable, Bella."
I leaned back and crossed my arms over my chest. "Really?"
"Yes, you are," she grinned. She leaned forward with her elbows on the table creating a cleavage line that even I had trouble keeping my eyes from. "Let me tell you what your type is."
I cocked my head, waiting for her description.
"All right, your type is a guy is tall, dark and uniquely handsome. He carries himself with an unusual ease that not many guys can pull off, and that is what attracts you to him in the first place. He has major issues that make you want to put on a cat woman suit, swoop down and save him. He likes dogs and hates cats but deep down he really wants one of those pot bellied pigs like George Clooney has. Your ideal man makes you laugh without even trying, wants to make you happy without drawing attention to his effort, and plays a mean game of beach volleyball." Rosalie sat back, satisfied with herself.
"Are you done?" I asked.
"Yep."
"Good, because you just described Emmett."
With that, the three of us laughed like hyenas. People were staring but we didn't give two shits about it. When we were done, our guys were amongst the ones gawking at us like we had lost our marbles after gulping down our second round of drinks.
After catching her breath, Alice sighed, "Cat Woman was kind of a bad guy, right?"
"Cat Woman? You guys are talking about Cat Woman?" Emmett's tone reflected a mixture of wonderment and disappointment that he had missed a conversation about a crazy lady who dresses up in leather to resemble a cat.
"I thought you hated cats, Emmett?" I asked, and the laughter ensued.
I discovered a lot of things that I didn't like about the bar scene. Jessica The Waitress, chili fries that had a puddle of grease pooled in the center, and the standard dance of dry humping in public were a few of the qualities of the bar scene that didn't appeal to me. In spite of our slutty waitress and fries "guaranteed to give Emmett the shits" (as stated factually by my friend Rosalie as they were daintily set down in the center of the table by the first disliked quality mentioned above), I was having a blast. My four horny friends had taken up dancing about forty five minutes ago, and Edward had moved around to my side of the table. We sat watching them dance, poking fun at them where we could, which was pretty fucking easy. They fit in well on the dance floor, dry humping one another until they started panting like wild animals then they'd cozy up together, trying desperately to conceal erections.
"Favorite musician?" Edward asked. We had been playing twenty questions in between insults to our friends' dancing abilities.
I scrunched my face up in thought. "Probably….hmmm…probably, Dolly Parton."
If he had looked any more shocked, it would have been insulting.
"What? Dolly is amazing."
"You're kidding, right?" His mouth formed a grin/sneer and my palm twitched to slap it off his face.
"Dolly Parton came from nothing. She grew up in the Smokey Mountains in a one bedroom cabin she shared with eleven siblings and her parents. Her voice is beautiful, she writes her own songs and makes no excuses for who she is. She's a legend," I shrugged and took a sip of my water. If I would have drank a third Amoretto Sour, I'd be blackened toast.
"Sounds like you really admire her," he said and I nodded as enthusiastically as I could but my head sort of wobbled around on my shoulders like a large boulder. I did it a few more times because it felt a little funny, and suddenly I wanted to go to sleep. Change into PJ's, climb into bed and dream about burly mountain men climbing up snow capped mountains.
"Is she really your favorite musician?"
I shot him a look. A look that was supposed to portray my annoyance at his question, but probably made me appear nauseous. I felt myself sway on the chair a little.
He leaned in, the beer on his breath wafting into my nose with each word that escaped his lips, "You okay, Bella?"
I nodded, "Yeah," then I shook my head a little. "What about you? Who has the honor of being your favorite musician?" My tone reflected the bitter annoyance that was supposed to be my previous facial expression but failed miserably.
He sighed, "Van Morrison."
Then I waited, expectantly for him to defend himself like I had.
He shrugged and smiled that smile I had grown to love the past couple of weeks. "I don't know how many brother or sisters he had and I don't know how many rooms he had in his house growing up but I do know one thing…" he leaned over and breathed warmth into my ear "…he's a fucking amazing artist."
My breath hitched as he leaned back and took my hand in his. The feel of his palm on mine as he wrapped his large hand around mine was the equivalent to a shot of whiskey. I still swayed a little in my chair, like I had been hit with something invisible.
"We should dance," he grinned.
My eyes grew as wide as they could and at that moment I really did get the urge to vomit. He had seen my mad skills in the boogie department, so he obviously had one too many beers. As if on cue, he took a long pull from the bottle in his hand and set it back down with a loud clunk, empty.
"I'm not feeling too good. I need to…" I trailed off, looking frantically for a sign for the restroom.
His stare went from amused to concerned in a flash and he dropped my hand. The effects of the vanished magic was even more sobering and I suddenly had the rapid symptoms of a horrible hangover. There was no question…the purging of the sweet and sour drink was inevitable.
"Do you want to go home?"
I clamped my mouth shut, terrified of what would come out of it if I answered him and bolted toward the rear of the bar. Damn it. I bounced off of people, stepped on a few feet and was called some repulsive names as I made my way to the back of the building. There had to be a bathroom somewhere back here. Drunk people always had to piss, right? Finally, I spotted it along with the seemingly mile long line of chattering half-drunk women that were waiting their turn to expel their night of fun in one way or another.
I cursed in thought because my lips were still tightly clamped together. After stomping my foot, because that made it a lot better, I spotted a rear entrance. I quickly checked for emergency alarms before crashing through the door and spewing on the ground just outside. I put my palms on my knees and breathed heavily until I felt safe that the dry heaving that followed had concluded.
"Shit!" I hissed, spitting as much of the foul taste of stomach acid and liquor out of my mouth.
I stood up and breathed in the stale air of the alley that I had just exited into. It was, thankfully, empty, so I took a few moments to close my eyes and lean my back against the warm brick wall of the building. Sweat beaded around my forehead, and I felt as if I could sleep, right here, leaning against the bar. What the hell had just happened? One minute I was defending Dolly Parton and the next, I was running away to vomit. Was it because he asked me to dance? Christ, I'm so dramatic. I'm a lost cause. In that moment, I came to realization that maybe it was my fault that my life was not normal. I blamed it on this "gift", this curse that seemed to rule my life for the first twenty five years, however it hadn't reared it's ugly head all night and this is how I ended up. Alone with vomit breath.
"There you are; I thought I saw you rush out the back door." The voice was familiar but I couldn't place it so I opened my eyes.
The creepy guy from the beach. Jake, I think was his name, was looking at me with a glint of redemption in his eyes. He stood about ten feet away from me with two of his moron friends flanking each side. The one to his right had a shaved head and a tight red muscle shirt on; the only thing I noticed about the other one was the short black Mohawk that ran from his forehead, across his scalp and to his neck.
"What cha' doing out here all by yourself? A girl like you could get into some trouble without her fuck-up bodyguards out here to protect her." His tone was evil and his smile iniquitous, as he slowly walked closer.
"Fuck off!" I spun on my heel and pulled on the handle of the door that I had just came from. It didn't budge. Locked. Fuck! The door that had just saved my ass was now screwing me over. I kicked the door because it needed to know what it had done. Something crashed behind me and I wasn't sure if it had been me or them doing it.
The maniacal laughter from behind me broke me away from the internal question. I slowly turned around and they were only a few feet away.
"I think someone needs to be taught a lesson on respect."
If my "gift" had a purpose, this was it: To save my ass when all else fails.
I stared at a metal trash can, willing it to obey me but it didn't budge. Instead the dumpster lid fell with a loud "CRASH!", turning their attention from me but only for a moment. I focused harder on the trash can, imagining it lifting up and flying through the air at a ridiculous speed. I saw it in my mind. I saw Jake getting cracked in the head with it, and the other two running off with a start . Some empty discarded bottles ten feet down the alley rolled forcibly against the wall, smashing. I had no doubt I had done it but it didn't help my situation. The invisible hand in my torso squeezed my stomach so hard that I let out a painful groan.
Jake ordered Muscle Shirt to check out the noise, make sure no one was there to keep me from learning my lesson. Warm tears were starting to form in my eyes, and I thought ridiculously about my brain being so fucked up that maybe I could send subliminal "help!' messages to Alice or Rose or Edward. Anyone.
"Leave me alone, you piece of shit!" I tried desperately to sound unafraid but my voice betrayed me as a weak squeak.
He laughed again, then grabbed my upper arms in both of his hands. His fingers gripped me so hard, I knew there would be bruises. The trash can fell over causing another loud crash. I stared hopefully at it but instead of obeying, it rolled in a semi-circle and seemed to die.
Jake's hands moved down my arms and stopped at my hands which were balled up into shaky fists. I pulled away from him, trying to pull myself from his grasp but he was too strong. His hands twisted my wrists and I pulled my knee up, aiming for his crotch. He swerved to the side, and pinned me against the wall with his body. His eyes revealed pleasure at the sight of a tear rolling down my cheek. He was getting off on my fear. I felt the evidence against my hip and I held back a terrified sob.
"Nuthin' there." Muscle Shirt had returned, puffing out his chest and waddling like a duck. I imagined him doing the chicken dance, but at the moment I couldn't find any humor in the image.
He threw my hands against the wall above my head and latched them there, using one hand to hold me. His other hand traveled down my face, then my neck and stopped at my breast. He kneaded it like pizza dough, harshly, digging his fingertips into the soft flesh. I whimpered, turned my face away and stared longingly at the traitorous door. Someone. Anyone.
"I'm going to show you, Bella, how a real man likes to fuck." He spat my name, and his lackeys chuckled behind him. I wanted to call him names, spit in his face, fight back, do anything that could buy me some time. However, the look in his eyes was growing dangerously close to being insane. Insane people murdered other people, left them for dead in dumpsters like the one in that alley. I heard something rattle that sounded like metal, possibly the trash can. Mowawk mumbled something unintelligible.
He forcibly wedged his knee between mine and forced my feet apart.
"Please…" I didn't mean to say it out loud because I wasn't talking to him. I was begging for help. I closed my eyes tight as I continued the mantra in my head. Please…please…please…
He threw his head back and laughed, "She's begging! She wants it!" The lackeys followed with inhumane guffaws, sounding like donkeys in distress.
The laughter was interrupted by another crash. What pointless and unhelpful thing had my brain moved now? I opened my eyes and there he was, a flash of snarling white teeth and wild hair. His eyes glinted madly from the light of the street lamp, and he hit my attacker at full force. I fell from the impact, my knees cracking against the pavement but there was no time to think of my own bruises or blood.
I looked up and saw Edward and Jake wrestling around on the ground, swinging fists and ripping clothes. I hesitated, trying to decide the best course of action. I could stay and help or run inside and get Emmett. I looked at the door. Closed. Shit!
Jake's lackeys came upon Edward like two wild gorillas, hitting him in the kidneys. Edward groaned and fell to the side, releasing Jake from underneath him. The twisting in my stomach took over, leaving me feeling dizzy and weak. If I could just go fetal and cry, I would feel a hundred times better.
Edward was on his feet, being circled as he clutched onto his stomach in a half-bent posture. Blood was oozing from a cut on his forehead and his jaw was starting to swell. I shot the metal trash can one more determined look and nothing happened.
"Fucking piece of shit!" I hissed, unsure of who I was talking to but it felt damn good to get it out.
Gathering up all the energy I had, I stomped over to the trash can and picked it up. It wasn't really heavy but it would have to do so I shoved it toward Mohawk and Muscle Shirt, hitting them in the back and knocking them forward. Jake's viewing of his friends falling face first into the concrete was interrupted by a hard blow to the nose. He wobbled back a few feet and fell flat on his ass.
Edward hobbled quickly over to me, his arm guarding his bruised torso. I didn't hesitate to grab his hand. Suddenly, the world was right and I had to bite my lip to keep from grinning. That was until all three bastards were on their feet again and coming toward us.
Jake was spitting blood onto the ground and cursing under his breath. I would never forget the look in his eyes as he came toward us. Dark and murderous, terrifyingly determined. We were walking backward as they slowly came at us, like vultures searching for a dead carcass.
I looked over my shoulder and cursed. We were backing ourselves into a dead end. Edward followed my eyes, and gritted his teeth together as he turned back toward them. He pulled me behind him but I wouldn't let go of his hand.
"Bella," he whispered, "if you get the chance, just run."
I shook my head and gripped his hand until I was sure it was cutting off circulation to my fingers.
"You have to get Emmett and Jasper."
I pressed my lips together and didn't respond. There was no way I could just leave him to be beaten. There was no telling how long it would take for me to find them, and these guys were dangerous fuckers.
A maniacal laugh came from Jake, as he threw his head back and then spit a large amount of blood on the ground near a pile of empty bottles. If I could just get my hands on one of those bottles, I could…
Then something completely unexpected happened. One of the bottles came loose from the pile and rolled a foot in our direction. What. The. Fuck. Had I done that?
"Aren't you two sweet? Came for some pussy and I get an added bonus of busting up the Pretty Boy's face," Jake bellowed and the other two chuckled at his sides.
"Bring it on, Motherfucker!" Edward growled back.
My eyes found the glass beer bottles once again, praying to any God that would hear me to help me move them. I needed to move them; they were our only hope. Pulling any strength I had from the tips of my toes to the abnormal wiring of my brain, I focused on what I wanted the bottle to do. My head was starting to pound, and I could feel my fingernails digging into Edward's palm. Just when my thoughts were circulating around giving up, the bottle moved again. However, this time it didn't just roll off the pile. Instead, it did something even more miraculous. It lifted off the ground, floating in midair raising inch by inch until my mind told it to halt.
I hadn't even realized that the verbal abuse had ended and our attackers were getting close. It was do or die, and I chose the former. Sweat rolled down my back and into my jeans, and my knees ached but I raised the bottle further to waist height. Everyone else was too focused on each other to notice the floating bottle beside the disgusting dumpster.
It was amazing. The bottle was doing everything I wanted it to do as if it were alive and breathing and here to serve me. I internally called it to me, imagining it coming between us and them, like some sort of force field; and it did. That's when things got really interesting.
Being too focused on the bottle, I couldn't see everyone's expression but I could hear their words.
Edward tensed up and backed up somewhat, but remained silent.
"Jesus Christ! What the hell!"
"That fucking bottle is…"
"Holy Shit!"
I felt Edward tugging at my hand, trying to release me probably wanting to grab the bottle with his right hand but I couldn't let go. I gripped onto his hand even tighter, resisting the release, and he relented. I wasn't sure how I was doing it but I was positive that if anything physically changed with me right now, I would lose it.
The bottle floated close to Edward, as if telling him to grab it so he did with his other hand then without missing a beat, he broke it in half against the wall behind us. It went from being a useless bottle to a lethal weapon. I took a deep breath, and my lungs drunk in the oxygen causing me to cough and sputter. I had barely been breathing.
Jake took one look at me and then the broken bottle that Edward gripped in his hand.
"Are you some sort of freak?"
Why, yes…yes I am.
Edward moved forward slowly, holding the sharp edges of the bottle toward our assailants. I moved with him, searching the alley with my eyes for other weapons that could help us get out of this with the help of my freaky brain. With wide eyes, Jake walked slowly backwards. I was briefly reminded of West Side Story, the five of us doing battle in an alley while doing some wacky dance. Only our version of it involved a broken bottle and a few Psychopaths.
"Just move out of the way," Edward growled, "and I won't rip your throat out."
Jake sneered, "I'd like to see you try."
Uh oh. Just when I thought we were going to be able to get the fuck out, testosterone gives Jake a God complex.
I gripped Edward's hand and twisted my other one in the polyester of his Oxford shirt. We were easing our way by the dumpster, and the look in Jake's eyes told me that I didn't have much time until he attacked. The other two stood back, unsure of what to do because that broken bottle scared the fuck out of them.
I stared at the closed lid of the dumpster, focusing on what I needed it to do. It complied by lifting up a few feet and then slamming back down. Everyone jumped, including myself and Edward but he didn't take his eyes off of Jake or his minions. I chanced a glance at the three of them and "deer in headlights" didn't do it justice. This is what people looked like when they saw dead relatives or monsters they didn't know existed standing over their bed, watching them sleep.
Jake cut his eyes to me and hissed, "You're doing this! You fucking freak!"
Edward tensed beside me, and I was afraid he was going to crush the bottle with his fist. His fingers were turning white and his hand was shaking. Perfect. I was freaking him out just as much as everyone else, but who wouldn't be?
As insulting as Jake thought he was to me, I had already accepted the title of "freak". It was nothing that I hadn't called myself every day since I was eight. But that didn't stop me from having to hold my tongue, reaching back to my grade school days when if you were called a name, you flung one right back. If I was a freak, what was he? A crazy fucking rapist with homicidal tendencies. I'd rather be a freak.
I felt powerful and in control for the first time in my life. My eyes found the trash can further up the alley that I had thrown fifteen minutes earlier, trying to rescue Edward. I focused, narrowing my eyes at the metal trashcan and keeping a firm grip on Edward with both hands. The trash can started rolled, and just as Jake was turning around to see what was coming, it bowled under him. He fell forward and smashed his face on the concrete. That would have been good enough but the trashcan kept coming, and it took Muscle Shirt down with him.
Mohawk was the only one standing, other than us. He took one look at the bottle then at me and a terrified expression crossed his features.
"Fuck this," he muttered and took off running toward the open end of the alley.
Muscle Shirt was soon to follow, leaving Jake by himself.
"Paul! You fucking coward!" he yelled behind his shoulder as the retreating form of his friend disappeared around the corner.
"Just you and me, Jake," Edward spat. He inched closer to Jake, and for the first time I felt relief. "Bella, do you have your phone?"
"Yes."
"Call the police."
Jake narrowed his eyes, looking directly at me who was still half hiding behind Edward. I reached around and managed to get my phone out of my right pocket with my left hand because there was no way in hell I was using my right which was firmly planted in Edward's palm. I opened it and pressed 911, then put it to my ear forgetting to press send.
"I'll see you again, Bella."
Then he turned to walk swiftly away from us and I flipped the phone shut. I couldn't leave it there so I gathered up my remaining psychological strength and sent the metal trashcan toward him again, rolling violently on the ground. He glanced at it once over his shoulder, and picked up his pace. Eventually it chased him from the alley in a ridiculously humorous fashion.
We stood frozen for a few moments, letting the past thirty minutes sink in to our brains. I couldn't imagine what Edward was thinking, probably trying to plan his own escape without being chased by a rolling trashcan.
He tugged on his hand, in order to swivel me around so that I was facing him. He looked horrible. The cut above his eye had stopped bleeding but the blood that had escaped it, had dried through his eyebrow and around his eye. A flash of green in the middle of a thick coating of dark red goop. His jaw was moderately swollen, as well as a cut on his lip.
His gaze left me breathless, searching for excuses in my mind that I had used in the past when something similar had happened around the unknowing. None of them would work this time. I would have to tell him and then watch him leave my life like all the rest. Alice was the exception.
"Where's Alice?" My voice was hoarse and broken. "I need Alice."
He pressed his lips together, and looked at me, a mixture of disappointment and fear written on his face. I was used to that look but not by him, and it hurt. It left me feeling empty and ashamed.
"I don't know. They don't know where we are," he whispered, still staring into my eyes.
He tried to remove his hand from mine but I couldn't. The clutching in my stomach would be too unbearable in this moment. I needed more relief…more touching…more…
"Please…" I whimpered and his brows came together.
"Bella," he breathed and put his other hand on my cheek. It felt remarkably like a notion of pleading as if he were searching my face for answers that weren't coming from my mouth. "We have to call the police."
I felt my eyes nearly bug out of my head. I hadn't thought about that. What would we tell them? What would he tell them? The look of pure fear must have been evident on my face because he sighed and removed his hand from my cheek.
"They can't get away with this. You have to tell the police, sweetheart, those assholes deserve to go to jail."
I squeezed my eyes shut and shook my head in a frantic motion. His hand returned to my face and I involuntarily leaned into it.
"We won't tell them the…supernatural part of the story if that's what you're worried about," he whispered.
My eyes shot open and a tear ran down my cheek. It burned with every centimeter that it conquered until Edward wiped it away with his thumb. Why wasn't he asking what was wrong with me? There were probably millions of questions that he wanted to ask. Why wasn't he asking them?
"They will tell them."
I imagined myself chained up in some lab with tubes running out of me, things being thrown at me to provoke my brain into reacting the way they wanted. Men in lab coats poking me with sticks until my "gift" sent something flying at them.
He grinned at my concern. "Do you think the police would believe them?"
I thought about this for a moment. For the first time in years, I wished I could talk to my Dad. Being a Police Chief and knowing of what I was capable of, he could tell me what to do. Most likely, he would hush me up, embarrassed of my unnatural ability to scare off an attacker with my mystical "gift".
"I need Alice," I croaked, holding in a sob.
He sighed, "Come on. We can go to my car, and call her."
When we reached his car, I reluctantly let go of his hand. Immediately, I doubled over, holding my stomach as the clenching ache of fretfulness took hold of me again. Tension traveled up my esophagus, and up my throat and out my mouth in the sound of broken sobs.
"Bella!" Edward leaned down and reached his hand out for me. I couldn't touch him. I needed to re-acclimate myself to this again, and I couldn't do that if he kept touching me then letting me go.
I held my hands up, "Don't touch me!"
"Okay, Bella, let me open the door for you." He said it slow and deliberate, like he was talking to a child or an elderly person.
"Sorry," I mumbled as he opened the door. My body was aching and the adrenaline that had been pumping through my veins was diminishing. I was freezing even though it was in the eighties.
Edward squatted by the car and watched me shake, concern on his face. He pulled out his cell phone and pushed some buttons, then put it against his ear.
"You'll be okay, Bella. After you talk to Alice…Emmett…no…I need to talk to Alice." He stood up and put a hand in his pocket. There was blood on his jeans, probably his own. I felt sick again and a shudder went through my body. What Edward went through to help me was beyond remarkable and I hadn't even thanked him yet.
"Emmett, for fuck's sake just get Alice to come out to my car and make sure Jasper comes with her," he said though gritted teeth. He hung his phone up with a adamant push of a button and he stuffed it back in his pocket. After squatting again, he ran his tongue over the cut in his bottom lip and grimaced a little.
"I'm sorry, Edward." I was disgusted by the sound of my voice; I meant to sound sincere but it came out whiny and feeble.
"Hey, what are you sorry for?" He reached a hand out to touch my face but stopped halfway and let it drop to his knee. I couldn't even be comforted like a normal girl. Fuck my life.
"I just…I just…for…you know."
The half cocked smile that I was growing to adore slowly crept onto his face. Through the dirt and grime and dried blood he was my savior, my light at the end of the tunnel, magic touch or not. He had always been handsome, gorgeous at times, but in that moment as he looked at me with compassion and sorrow, he was beautiful. Perhaps he wouldn't run, perhaps we could continue building the friendship that had bloomed between us so quickly over the past couple of weeks. My history of relationships tells me something different, however. He will run faster than the truth will come out.
A/N: I'll beat Jake up some more if you leave me some love.
