Disclaimer: all recognizable characters belong to appropriate owners, the rest is from yours truly

October - November 2013

Learn How to Smile

xxx

It's night again, the yellow light from my lamp seeps under my eyelids coloring them a bright orange. My ears are still ringing from Carlisle's lecture, my body still cold despite the warmth of my blanket.

xxx

"What exactly were you thinking skipping dinner? Did none of the neurons in your brain think about the consequences? About those around you? I know you're smart, Isabella. Can you tell me why exactly you felt as if you had to not only skip school but drive off to God knows where, only to come home at this hour? God grant me patience, we had to drug Esme so that she could calm down enough to swallow her soup! What do you have to say for yourself?"

Carlisle sucked in a heavy breath. I shrank under his gaze. Though his speech was made of questions, each sentence sounded like an accusation.

I didn't say anything, though I wanted to. It was my fault anyway. It's best to stay quiet and just accept it.

xxx

I wake up. My legs are numb, so are my fingertips. All the endorphins from my stolen afternoon with Angela have deserted my brain, leaving it pounding with Carlisle's sermon.

A quick look out the window shows fog.

A quick rummage through my closet has me drowning in an oversized green sweatshirt advertizing the Forks Vikings.

A trip downstairs and a rummage through the cupboards reveal that we are completely out of cereal. Other searches show a lack of milk in the fridge and an alarming amount of molding leftovers in an army of plastic containers.

I eat toast at an empty table. A post-it note indicates that Rosalie and Esme have left for the hospital, my vanishing act during dinner time in mind. Jasper should still be in bed at this hour.

I am grateful that Carlisle works on Saturdays. I'd rather not face him just yet.

While I am rinsing my dishes, Jasper makes his appearance. His feet thump on the stairs, his yawn audible even with the sound of rushing water.

"Hey, B." his voice is thick with sleep. He easily rests his chin atop my head as he reaches into the cupboard above me. His warmth soaks me.

"Hey, J." I answer, playing along with the silly nickname he had given me.

His large hands move the old cereal boxes around, searching.

"We're out of cereal," I say putting my plate in the drying rack. "No milk either."

Jasper groans. His throat vibrates. "But I'm hungry."

I try to hold in my giggles, but he catches them. I laugh when he smacks my arm gently. "Fine, I'll pick something up at Walmart today." I say through my laughter.

His arms wrap around me.

"Thanks, B." I can hear the smile in his voice. "You're the best little sister in the world." the words fill me with warmth while a kernel of coldness grows in my chest.

No I'm not.

"No problem, J." I try to make my voice smile as his does.

We stand like this; he drifting off, I only being turned to ice by my guilt.

xxx

We drive through to the center of Forks: an intersection dominated by a greasy restaurant, a gas station, Walmart, and a police station.

I park in the empty parking lot shared with "Sally's", and prepare myself for the offending smell of rat crap and cockroaches.

Jasper doesn't look the least bit daunted. His eyes are exited. What a weirdo.

We walk up to the automatic doors together. "I'll just be here at the front Bells, getting, uh, stuff."

"Huh?"

But he's gone, his back shrinking with each step of his long legs.

I try to shrug off the feeling of abandonment. I should be used to it by now, but not from Jasper.

I see him as I look for batteries.

I hide behind shelves, darting out of sight as Jasper and a pretty girl with dark eyes, dark hair, and coffee skin moves towards my aisle. The nametag on her shirt reads "Maria".

So that's Maria.

I remember her vaguely, Jasper must have mentioned her.

I a not prepared, and slightly befuddled, by the wave of emotion that hits me.

Jealous?

Shut the fuck up.

I scowl, my hands fiddling with a package of curry.

"No boys asking for your number?" Jasper asks.

A giggle. "Jazzy, eres loco."

I hate her instantly.

From between the shelves lined with pasta sauce and boxes, I can see how Jasper watches her. His blue eyes are tender, his smile gentle.

She never meets his eyes. Not directly at least. They're large and brown, lined with mascara. They dart up then down, hand curling hair behind her ear. A giggle.

She isn't real. I've seen Alice play this character. The ingénue.

And how the ingénue has broken through Jasper's defenses. How weak he looks next to her. He's a mouse in the claws of a cat.

I am on autopilot as I grab toilet paper and detergent off the shelves.

Autopilot as I follow them, timing my foot falls to theirs, predicting their steps.

Autopilot as my wandering hands pick up a carton of half a dozen eggs.

Autopilot when I round the corner just as they turn.

I am very much aware of what I have done as she bumps into me. She is larger, plumper, bustier, and I fall. I drop the basket, the eggs, the tissue, the detergent, the cereal, the milk, and the batteries. Everything. I lay on the floor, the back of my head stinging, my shirt soaking up the spilled milk and the eggs a mess on my fingers and my pants. The batteries are the only undamaged item.

"Oh my God, I am so sorry! Miss, are you alright?" is what I hear first.

Then: "Bells!" Jasper cries out in alarm. Faces swim in my slightly blurred vision, but I feel his hand on my face. Maria's eyes dart, large and doe-like, innocent, between the two of us. Connecting dots, but missing the bigger picture.

"Let me help you, miss." She says, voice tighter, but Jasper has already beaten her to it. His fingers are at the back of my head checking for blood.

"Holy shit, are you okay?" he asks. I nod vaguely, but it makes my head spin. I settle for a noncommittal grunt.

Maria fades into the background, and I grow stronger, sharper. Jasper looks only at me.

I have forgotten what it felt like to win.

xxx

"I'm fine!" I snap, waving off Jasper's worries impatiently.

Jasper's eyebrows pull together. "No, Bella, I'm not leaving you alone, and that's final!"

I ignore him, turn around. I ignore the spinning of my head.

"I'm telling you, I can drive just fine!"

He loses his temper. "You, Isabella, are going to shut up and let me drive you home, and that is final!" His sharpness, the hardness in his voice shocks me in its similarity to Carlisle's.

I crumble, my victory shrinks in my chest.

"Fine." I tell him, and try to pass of as annoyed. He, thankfully, does not notice.

I hate being afraid.

We drive home in silence, but for the unhealthy rattling of my truck. Jasper has yet to master the brakes of my car, and I lurch forward against the loose seatbelt several times.

When we come home, Esme and Rosalie are already there to distract Jasper, so I climb up to my room to lie down.

I think of school and the homework I should probably do. Things I would care about it I was one of those college bound kids.

But instead, I think of Maria, and wonderful it felt to win, to be the sole being in Jasper's perception.

I think of Jake and Leah, and how badly I want what they have.

You're selfish.

It's painful to admit, but yes. Yes, I am.

Xxx

Sunday, it is colder that the days that precede it.

Esme burns her toast, and send he whole house in an uproar. Her emotional instability shakes the house to its foundations, sending Jasper to the bathroom cupboard for her happy pills, and Carlisle and Rosalie to her side. They pry a fork from her grasp and bring her to the living room. She sees me as the half drag her past the kitchen table. Our eyes meet, and I look straight into the heart of Esme Cullen.

Fear, pain, grief. Imperfection.

It is painful to see someone you love so broken.

She cries louder, and Carlisle shouts at me to get out of the house. I do, my own toast abandoned on my plate.

I'd rather not see Esme like that. I wonder why we live like this.

I drive no where, making split second decisions at the corners of streets. I take familiar roads, and before long, I'm driving down a road lined with trees.

It seems so long ago since I've gone down to La Push, though it's only been days.

So much can happen in a day.

Boys can jump and become men, strangers can drive you home, and friends can become enemies.

A past you'd rather not remember can resurface.

I press harder against the gas as if to leave the thoughts behind. The effect is the loud complains of my engine, which drowns them out well enough.

It is windy at La Push, windy and salty. And grey. I wish I'd brought a thicker coat.

I walk to Elder's Cliff, watching my feet most of the way there so as to not trip. When I look up, a figure of a man nearly frightens me out of my wits.

Even from so far away, I can tell who it is.

His figure is stark against the grey landscape. He wears large coats, layered on top of one another. His hair is longer than I thought it was. Less like his brother's preferred shortness, and more like Seth's longer locks. Except Edward Cullen's are brown, almost red. It is startling how the thought fills me with a certain lightness.

I am not quite sure of what I am doing as I call his name.

"Edward!"

I half wish my voice is carried away by the wind.

He turns. He doesn't smile. I walk up to him anyway, not quite knowing where my boldness is coming from..

"Hey, Rosalie's sister."

My smile melts off my face. "I'd prefer it if you didn't call me that.

"And why ever not?" he asks lightly, contradicting the sharpness in his eyes. "She's a beautiful woman. Any one I know would be proud to be related to her."

I shrug. "We aren't that close, really."

He lifts an eyebrow. "You sure looked it."

I wish.

I change the subject. "What are you doing here?"

"None of your business, darling" he reprimands me lightly in chemically saccharin tones.

"Oh?" my brows rise, mimicking both my temper and the blood that pounds in my ears.

He thinks you are a child.

But before I can retaliate, he speaks. "See how you feel when you get told to keep your nose out of something?"

I scowl at him, and my ears burn.

"You don't have the right to call me darling." I tell him, the word falling from my lips feel like a dead cockroach.

He pauses for a moment, his features frozen in what I take to be surprise. Then he laughs at me. My temper rises even more.

"You don't know how long I've waited to hear just those words!" he shouts up to the heavens.

He is smiling.

I am once more thrown out of my comfort zone.

Who is this man whose mood swings rival Esme?

"Why are you so…" I trail off awkwardly. He ignores me.

"Isabella Cullen," he grabs my shoulders and forces me to look at him. "thank you for coming here today." His eyes are bright, not exactly with happiness, but something close. Something akin to relief.

I'm even more confused. "Thanks? Happy I could be of service? Glad I could do something right?"

His smile drops slightly. "Been doing things wrong, lately?"

Yes.

"No."

"That's good." For some reason, I know that he doesn't believe me.

The two of us gaze out towards the sea. Elder's Cliff is backlit. No words pass between us, just the crashing of waves. The silence settles. It buzzes, like a mosquito. I brush it away.

"So, what are you doing here?"

He raises an eyebrow. One side of his mouth rises. "You already asked me that."

"You didn't answer." I tell him.

He shrugged "I know. So why are you here?"

That's actually a good question.

"I don't know why I come here, really. I guess this is just where I go when things get rough."

He nods absentmindedly. "I guess we have that in common."

I don't ask, and neither does he, for that I am grateful.

We stand in silence side by side, watching the sun make its snaillike journey into the sky. The waves grow tamer, then wilder in turns. Seagulls cry and peck at the sand. People come out, walking dogs, walking alone, wading into the cold vortex of the Pacific Ocean/ By the time the sun hits its zenith, my stomach grumbled with hunger. I realize that I never had breakfast. Edward hears my stomach.

"Hungry?"

"Didn't have breakfast."

He grunts noncommittally.

I stand with him a little longer till I can no longer ignore my stomach.

"Bye, I guess." I say, turning.

"Come back when you have time." he does not look at me, and I don't look back.

In my car, I smile secretly to myself. It feels wonderful to be wanted. I remember the smile he wore when I told him not to call me "darling". The feeling is strangely satisfying.

xxx

The week that follows is filled with grey skies and smiles. I come over to Angela's for dinner and smile at her behind my clasped hands as her father, Father Webber, recites a prayer. Alec and Jane, her mischievous twin brother and sister, steal spoonfuls of my ice cream dripping with chocolate sauce. I let them, and Father Webber pretends that he doesn't notice the smudged of chocolate at the corners of their lips.

Halloween comes. We carve pumpkins not at her house, but in the Walmart parking lot. We sit together on the hood of my car, scooping out orange goop and throwing it on the asphalt. Angela presses seeds to my face, and I return the favor. By sunset, around five, we leave: piles of pumpkin gunk on the ground, four triangles and an assortment of shapes, and two grinning pumpkins side by side lit by electric candle light.

We take the twins trick-or-treating. Two almost identical vampires walk before us, their majesty only slightly marred by the plastic pumpkin bags they carry. We follow them, fingers linked and smiling.

My smile fades only after the thirtieth house. I grow tired of watching the faked surprise and admiration as each door is opened, or the faked smiles, though I too wear them. The hands of children sicken me; sticky and grabby and greedy.

My face is a mask by the time we get back to Angela's, and she notices.

"Sorry," she murmurs.

I shrug it off with a laugh. "I never realized there were so many people in Forks."

"Thank you." she says.

"You're welcome." I say. And I mean it.

xxx

Weeks pass. Thanksgiving dawns too fast. The holiday I dread most. Esme's sister, Carmen Denali, and Carmen's husband Eleazar, drive up from Califonia to see us, bringing with them 10 year old Tanya, 8 year old Irina, and, 2 year old Kate.

Esme, Rosalie and Jasper love them.

Carlisle tolerates them.

I do neither. And while Carlisle doesn't give me shit about it, Carmen and Eleazar do.

Thanksgiving is a holiday of tradition. Esme creates the menu, which is the same every year, and Rosalie pulls Martha Stewart recipes from the internet. Jasper and I do the shopping, and Carlisle sits in his study drinking.

We all cook. Rosalie and Esme make the stuffing, using up more time giggling over girlish things like Royce than chopping or mixing ingredients. Jasper makes the cranberry sauce, and the gravy (a ridiculous recipe that includes a pound of mushrooms). Carlisle kills, plucks, and butchers the turkey till it is unrecognizable. It lies still on the counter, an obese human body with a torso far outgrowing its arms and legs. The two men are mostly silent, though they exchange a word now and then.

"How's that gravy going?" Carlsle might ask.

Jasper would shrug "'s okay, I guess,"

I worked in the corner, the light atmosphere, a facade put on for no good reason, tires me. I make rolls, which require hours of waiting for them to rise, and I make the pumpkin pie while I wait. I make it from a can like I do every year, Esme is firm in her belief that nothing tastes quite like pumpkin pie from a can.

Jasper is the first out of the kitchen, which is a relief given its size. Then Esme and Rosalie leave to giggle elsewhere. The air is heavy with tension as Carlile and I work in silence. After I put my rolls in the oven and move to put the pie in the fridge, Carlisle stops me, a heavy hand on my shoulder.

"Isabella, we need to talk."

Cold iron drops towards my stomach at his words.

I think back, back to the last time I might have disobeyed a rule, back to a time that I made him angry. I come up clean. The last few weeks, heck, months I've been good.

As I follow him up the stairs to his study, my footsteps echo on the floorboards. Each hollow thump, each squeak as pressure is put and released, seems to echo back my question.

What did you do now? What have you done wrong?

xxx

AN: Congratz on getting to the end!

Okay, firstly, apologies for being months late, reality hit me upside the head and so did my parents when they realized I was writing fanfiction.

Secondly, I'll try to get the next chapter up ASAP, but I dont know when that's going to be. As of now, give or take spring break. That's how busy I am.

Thirdly, if you feel like it, review! They make my heart beat and make me write with more fervor. :D

(And please alert me if you see any grammar mistakes! It freaks me out when I suddenly find them while rereading my work.)