A/N - Dear jkane180 and Mac214, I'd like to make out with you both for your mad beta skills, inappropriately, me. Also, big love to DoUTrustMe and Cryptthing for pre-reading. Chapter dedication for fave review goes to twisurfgrl and shout outs to my sister pimps twicharmed and altheajams for bearing the brunt of the work in the Fandom People Awards.
Facebook Status: my psychiatrist gave me pink elephant juice today.
I hated him.
Oh, how I fucking hated him. Let me count the ways...
I hated his beautiful hair, soulful eyes, and perfect fucking jaw line. I hated that he knew I secretly coveted him. I hated the expression on his face - the way he arranged his mouth as if my proximity caused him physical pain.
The grey jacket he wore (which I really fucking hated) was tailored to fit his lean muscles perfectly. The fabric was probably soft... like an octogenarian's cock. Not really. More like Egyptian cotton. Fuck, I needed to touch... no. I didn't. I hated him.
All the same, I could feel my fingers stretching towards him, betraying my bitter resolve by reaching for his sleeve. My mind was numb, but my body was alive and electric. I touched his cuff and was met with his sorrowful grunt.
This situation was ridiculous. Honestly, if I stepped outside myself and took on an omniscient perspective, this is what I would have seen: an utterly plain girl and a brooding heartthrob torturing each other with long, withering glares.
Fuck me if Forks High wasn't The Vampire Diaries.
"Bella," Edward whispered pathetically. He opened his mouth as if he was going to say more but took a swipe at his lower lip with his tongue rather than offering me words.
His mouth was lush and pink, and did I mention how I hated it?
Was he suffering? What right did he have to be hurting? I was the one who was hurting. I was hurting because I hated him.
But he was suffering for some unknown reason, and I couldn't hold onto my hatred. The bastard! I wanted to comfort him.
So I hated him all over again because he was denying me my hatred.
"I'm in hell," he muttered. His elegant hands and long fingers clutched the table we shared as if he was in profound anguish, and I really hated them too. I tossed my hair back, and he groaned.
"What the fuck?" I hissed. Why the need for all this melodrama? Only moments ago I was rimming an orange juice bottle, and now everything was suddenly emo but not in a cool arthouse/Japanese anime kind of way.
"Nothing," he mumbled, leaning away from me and scowling. Did I smell bad?
"You're acting strange," I pointed out. "Also, I really hate you," I added because it had to be said.
"Yeah... I guess I had that one coming."
He ran out of biology class as soon as the bell rang, and while I enjoyed the view of his ass, it occurred to me I'd just told him I hated him.
"Edward, wait up!" Lauren called and launched herself after him.
I hated Lauren too.
By the time I got home, my stomach felt like it had digested itself in some sort of perverse act of autocannibalism. I ate nearly an entire box of Rice Crispies in an effort to fill the nauseated void in my belly. I did my best not to relive the day's events as I licked cereal dust off my fingers and attempted to text Jake again. Where the fuck was he? I needed to go through the day's events and bitch to a sympathetic ear. Also, I needed a cuddle; I needed to curl up inside of him and disappear.
But several texts to my only lifeline proved to be fruitless. I didn't want to be paranoid, but something felt decidedly off. Jake never ignored me.
With my hunger abated, other impulses such as my teenage hormonal lust and psychotic paranoia made themselves known.
Taking the stairs two at a time, I sang Marvin Gaye a little to romance myself. Little extravagancies such as a serenade before I finger banged my sex-starved girly bits were important. If I couldn't respect myself, I mean, who could?
Not that I did... respect myself, that is.
I totally didn't.
But fuck if I wasn't horny as a hound dog from Edward and the orange juice bottle.
Before I could commence the bean flickage, there was the little matter of psychotic paranoia to attend to. I grabbed my beautiful new iPad from my dresser and opened my Tweetdeck:
SPlathisDead: Spanking the monkey. Where's (at)jblack180? I could use a hand...
Needless to say, my phone started vibrating a few seconds later. My voicemails and innocent text messages didn't warrant a call back; however, a dirty tweet sure coaxed a reply out of my boyfriend, the asshole.
"Bella?"
Yeah, I really hated Jake too.
"You sound weird," I bitched into my phone. I was irritated. This, coupled with my need for a release, made me bolder than usual.
"Weird how?" Jake asked with casual disinterest. Oh my god, boys fucking sucked so much! Even the good ones. Whatever... I knew how to get his attention.
"I'm taking my pants off." Actually, I wasn't wearing any pants at all, but removing clothes sounded more seductive than random nudity.
"Shit, Bella. Embry will be here any second-"
"Shut the fuck up, asshat. I've had the day from hell. I want to come." I unbuttoned my shirt and flipped my bra up. "Want to see my tits? I'll email you a pic."
"Shiiiit," I heard him groan lightly into the phone. "I'm sporting wood now."
"Jake," I whispered while pinching my nipples lustfully, "have you ever gone down on a girl?"
"Yeah... once." He sounded really guilty.
"It's okay, Jake. I didn't expect you to be completely innocent." For some reason, the idea that he'd licked clam before made me unbelievably wet. I mean, if he'd done it once, maybe he'd do it again. "I was just checking to see if it's something you liked... and maybe would do to me?"
"Oh, fuck..."
"Is that a yes?"
"Yeah, Bell. I'd eat you in a second."
Good fucking answer.
"I'd let you. In fact, I want your tongue in my pussy right now," I moaned into the phone and clutched my pillow between my thighs. "Touch your dick for me," I demanded.
"Bells... I can't. Shit, I want to, but I have to get to tribal council."
"Lame," I muttered and tossed the pillow on the floor, no longer feeling amorous. His reticence to join me left me with a sobering feeling of shame.
-({})-
Edward didn't show up on the second day of school. Who the fuck skipped school in the first week?
Edward fucking Cullen did, because nothing about him was status quo.
The rest of the day progressed as if I was walking around in a fugue state. The air was oppressive in the tiny classrooms, but it didn't really matter. I didn't feel like an inhabitant of my own body, which must have been evident to the other students as they didn't even try to approach me… not even to ridicule me.
This made me feel mildly vindicated.
Rather than my mind becoming unhinged, I imagined that my soul had taken flight from my body. I was made of air and light and thought. This pile of flesh and bone was of no consequence whatsoever.
Also, I liked the idea of being a ghost, but ghosts were comprised of spirit, not heavy despair. Why was everything so heavy?
Only one person dared to speak to me at the end of the day in the parking lot, but that was okay; she was a ghost too. Her speech was wordless at first, an annoying monotonous buzz in my ear. She darkened the space in front of me and refused to move.
"What?" I demanded rudely.
"Do you have a monopoly on flannel plaid?" She was so morose. Yes, my assessment certainly was the pot calling the kettle emo, but she really was the personification of Winona Ryder, circa 1988.
"Totally," I said dully and then added for effect, "Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice!"
"Whatever," she grumbled, and I sucked in a shocked breath when I took notice of her face. "This was stupid." She jogged away from me without saying another word.
Except now I was painfully curious about her. First of all, there was her hair – the obsidian tresses with paradoxically blonde roots. It was so counter-intuitive I wasn't sure what to make of it… but also there was her face. It was possibly the most beautiful face I'd ever seen, despite every effort she made to make herself unappealing with heavy black liner and white pancake.
-({})-
Jake wasn't answering my fucking texts. I shifted uncomfortably in Dr. Banner's horrid vinyl chair and glared openly at him as he unscrewed the cap off something shiny.
"Would you please put your cell phone away?"
"Never."
"Would you do it for a Klondike bar?"
I giggle-scowled, and he passed me a silver flask with a ridiculous pink elephant on it. "Take a swig," he said, smiling encouragingly.
"You do realize I'm underage, right?" I asked, taking the flask cautiously. "What's in here?"
"Try it," he encouraged almost playfully.
What could I say? I liked to live dangerously. Despite Dr. Banner's benevolent smile, I suspected he was concocting a terrible plan. Not evil, per se, just something underhanded.
"It'll take a little more than cheap booze to get me to reveal my tender underbelly to you." Nevertheless, I tipped the liquid back into my mouth. It was sweet and tangy, with none of the burn or mind-numbing balm of alcohol at all. "What the fuck?"
"What?"
"That's not booze," I protested.
"Of course not! You're underage, and I'm your therapist. What kind of quack do you think I am?"
"I dunno… the Robin Williams, Dead Poet Society kind? The kind that makes me stand up on chairs while reciting poetry, O Captain! My Captain!"
"I'm not Robin Williams. First of all, I'm not part-sasquatch... also, I don't think that movie is a good reference point. There was a suicide scene."
"Oh, I forgot about that part... nah, I already got naked and tried to take my own life... seems sort of passé now."
"What do you feel like talking about today?" He was changing the subject. Good idea.
"Do you want me to tell you about my dreams? I can't even articulate them anymore, Dr. Banner." And I couldn't. My dreams, like my life, were like a slow asphyxiation. Everything was muffled, and I never seemed to be able to draw the right amount of air into my lungs.
"Why? Are they important?"
"Probably. Can't you map them? Make sense out of the chaos like an astronomer finding order in the stars?" That was really poetic. He was sure to be impressed.
"Stop evading. I think you've had too much Elephant Juice."
"It's Kool-Aid," I protested, but he grabbed the flask out of my hand.
"Want a smoke?"
"Um… no?"
"Your loss." He pulled a box of Wonderbars out of his desk and opened the top, revealing cigars rather than chocolate. "They're robusto."
"You can't smoke in here!"
"Why not?" He unwrapped the Corona and bit the tip.
"It's, like, illegal and stuff…"
"What stuff?" He unearthed a Zippo from his pocket and flipped the top, igniting the flint.
"And… highly unexpected and unprofessional."
"So, no to the cigar?"
"No… thanks." I had to admit I was all kinds of curious.
"Have you ever had one?"
"A cigar?"
"Yes. Have you ever smoked a cigar?"
"I'm a cigar virgin," I admitted, and he raised his eyebrows in effective mockery. "What?"
"A virgin, you say?" He placed the cigar down on the table, and I grabbed the fucker and lit the tip before he could utter another word.
"Only where cigars are concerned!" A terrible image of Monica Lewinsky and Clinton and the oral orifice invaded my mind. Ew. "And don't get all Freudian on me!"
"I thought you liked Freud?"
"Yeah, well… sometimes a cigar is just a fucking cigar." I took a hefty pull and bravely inhaled a cloud of delicious tasting smoke. Instantly, I was convulsing and hacking, tears pouring out my eyes as I tried to expel the fire out of my lungs.
"You're not supposed to inhale," he said mildly.
"In my dreams I can't breathe," I said suddenly. "I can't speak or move."
"Are you drowning?"
"Not in water. I'm drowning in need. I'm drowning in indecision and loneliness and loathing but not in water…"
"I'm afraid I don't understand. Could you be a little less abstract?"
No. I couldn't speak plainly. I could only offer him poetry. "There's a heavy weight lying on top of me. He won't let me go."
"What's his name?"
"Phil," I confessed.
"Who is he?"
"My mother's husband."
"Did he hurt you?"
"He does… hurt me. Every day. It never stops - this weight on me. I can't breathe. I want to breathe."
"Tell me what happened?"
"I can't." I shook my head and smiled coolly. "Will you teach me to smoke a cigar?"
"I'm sorry, Bella. You can't smoke a metaphor."
Scowling, I jumped up suddenly and wrapped my sweater about my shoulders, not bothering to put it on properly. "A metaphor for what?"
"Your innocence."
I snorted and kicked one of his cheap-ass chairs. "I have none."
"Children don't know how to smoke cigars. Adults do," he said simply.
"What does that have to do with anything?" I raged and plucked the cigar out of his hand. "Watch my innocence go up in smoke." My laughter sounded manic even to me, and I wrapped my mouth around the crudely-cut tip.
"What if a cigar isn't just a cigar?"
It was difficult but not impossible to pull the cloud over my tongue and hold it just shy of my windpipe. The sensation was sweet and slightly unpleasant at the same time because every instinct inside of me demanded I inhale.
My instincts were always backwards.
"What is it then?" I asked, exhaling a clumsy donut.
"The cigar is Phil's dick," he deadpanned in the same moment I brought it back to my puckered lips.
It dropped from my hand, landing cherry-side-down on the carpet. The synthetic fibers ignited and disintegrated, still, I couldn't muster a reaction of any kind.
The smell hit me, all noxious and suffocating, and the stench of melted plastic spurred Dr. Banner into action. He swiftly doused the fire with whatever was in the elephant flask, and the flame transformed into a sickly sweet smoke as it fizzled.
I was going to faint.
I opened my mouth to scream, but my throat strangled off the sound. The pressure crushing my chest now settled in my larynx.
"You're going to be okay, Bella," he said calmly.
I shook my head. I wasn't. He had no fucking idea.
Dr. Banner placed a tentative hand on my shoulder. When I didn't cringe away, he rubbed my back in a fatherly way. "What can I get you?"
"I want my mother," I whispered, even though the request was ridiculous. Suddenly, I was a child.
A/N - Stay tuned for the Fandom People Award winners, both the voting results and the results predetermined by nominations. Check my profile for the linkie.
Also, MacFlan (Mac214 and me) will be posting the final chapter of Sweet Tooth this week. Link to MacFlan on my profile.
Any idea who emo girl/Beetlejuice is?
I couldn't help but notice my pocket isn't buzzing *Sadpanda*