Thank you, Livie79! You've helped me in ways you can't even imagine.
I didn't get to review responses this time around, and for that I'm sorry. Your continuous support and patience astounds me.
(Also, I apologize for any mistakes 'cause there may be a few.)
XI
Prince Charming Sucks. Literally.
|. . . : . . .|
He moved around the kitchen, searching for something to eat like he did every night an hour after dinner. I watched him from the living room, my eyes peering over the couch with the sound of his favorite t.v. show in my ears along with Mom's relentless snoring on the other end of the couch.
He came back with an entire bag of cookies, handed me two and kept the rest for himself.
"Go over it again," he said as he sat back in his recliner, sticking his hand in the wrinkling paper.
"Again?" I asked, slightly perturbed.
"Yeah, again. I want to make sure you remember this."
I didn't feel like eating a cookie. The thought of chocolate chips made me sick to my stomach in that moment. I suppose because he was right all along when I never thought he would be. I set them on the coffee table.
"Do whatever is asked within reason," I said.
When I turned my attention back to the flickering fifty-inch television, he motioned with a cookie-filled hand and mouth. "And?"
I sighed, my head lolling onto the back cushion. "You were right, dad."
His brows raised. "Never thought I'd hear those words come out of your mouth."
"I should've paid better attention. I should've listened when you talked. You were only trying to help. I thought it was dumb."
"That's what parents do. One day you'll learn that, and you'll be doing the same for your kid."
"I just hope they're never in this position, where I am."
His chewing was loud. "If they ever are, they'll be prepared. Just like you. Now, tell me."
"Do whatever is asked within reason," I began. "Be observant. Stay positive and remain calm. Don't insult."
"Should be an easy one for you," he said.
"I don't always tell people what I'm thinking."
He didn't say anything. He didn't need to. He only eyed me over his bag of cookies.
"Keep track of time. I've already lost that one."
"That's not the most important one. Keep going."
"Stay physically active. Establish a bond. Ask for small favors after they are established, then discreetly test the bonds."
"And finally? The most important."
"Make your escape count."
He smiled. "That's my girl. There. That wasn't so hard, was it? Eat your cookies."
In the pitch-black, under the sheets, a hot tear slid across my nose and onto the bed. I curled into a tighter ball. Make it count. "I will," I whispered into my pillow. I will.
. . . x . . .
The next few days, I did what was asked of me, and did it quietly, remembering what my dad had taught me when I was younger, and then again before I moved to L.A..
First steps: be quiet and observant. Remain positive.
I threw myself into the chores we were asked to do, turning over this new leaf. I folded towels and stacked them neatly, way better than the other girls. Buckets of white gowns fell down a chute into the decently-sized laundry room. There were three commercial-grade washing machines and an equal number of impressive dryers lined along the sand-colored wall. A long, but narrow window was near the ceiling, allowing in the bright daylight.
Through this thin strip, I could see the white clouds wave past and there would be moments of blue when it didn't seem like a window at all anymore, just a slather of paint imitating the outside world.
I tried not to let my gaze linger on the window since Jasper's keen eyes were never far. He sat in a chair at the door, his ankle propped on his knee with a Los Angeles Times unfolded and crinkled in his lap. He'd turn a page and break the peaceful hum of the dryers.
No arguments. No harsh words. It remained neutral, and honestly it felt good to not argue with him. Under his rough exterior, I imagined Jasper to be a peaceful soul. His empathy wouldn't allow him to become too violent. After all, what was theirs was his; at least, that's how I understood it. He'd threaten, but I couldn't imagine him taking life. Before he left us for the evening, he locked all but Alice in our bedroom prison.
It wasn't the first time it occurred. It happened the other night, too. She didn't appear to have given blood, just chipper: the same way she went out. What did they do while she was out of the room? Sex? Ew.
I lingered on the edge of the bed until it was my turn to use the bathroom, ignoring the other girls' talk of whatever it was they chatted about. No one mentioned Jane anymore, like she was never there to begin with. I couldn't escape the thought of her being dead. It became my conclusion, and it bothered me no one else cared. Would that be me: a long-forgotten memory?
I locked myself in the small room, hoping the cool water on my face would help refresh me.
I washed my arms and neck since showers were few and far between, paying extra attention to my wrist and the bitemark. It didn't really hurt anymore, thankfully. I dressed in a clean gown and went to lay on the bed. I don't know how long I'd been under the sheets, chatter flapping in my ears, but the door unlocked and a male voice said my name.
An unfamiliar face motioned for me and curious, I went to the door. He pulled me out and locked the thick slab behind us. "You've been requested," he said as we started down the hall.
"Not for dinner, I hope."
"No. It just ended. Edward asked you be brought to him."
My heart began to pound. It'd been awhile since I last saw him in his room that night. He almost broke my fingers, and no matter how hard I wanted to repress the memory, it always bubbled to the surface once more, reminding me how careful I had to tread. Every moment with him only deepened the promise of death.
I had to make my escape count, but I wondered how far could I run before being caught. Could I make it to the door, or out of it? Would I see the drive-way, or the glow from the city?
Were all vampires fast, or was speed a special gift? How could I get out of seeing him? My stomach hurt from dinner, maybe? No. That wouldn't matter. Any illness would excite him, add to my torture. It'd been—I hated to say—nice without seeing him, almost tolerable, but any slight edge of comfort was gone then.
We arrived outside his bedroom and the vampire beside me knocked twice. A moment later, Edward opened the door, his blue, unbuttoned shirt exposing his pale skin and fit physique underneath. His face, as always seemed emotionless. His eyes darker than usual. He stepped to the side and I entered, feeling my skin prickle at the sound of the door closing behind me.
Chills crept along my spine when he walked past, his arm brushing against my shoulder. I remained quiet and still, keeping the new mindset.
"Did you think I forgot about you?" he asked as he crossed the room to his large window and pulled the curtains closed.
"I didn't think about you much," I said.
"We both know that's a lie."
I continued to stare at him, my teeth beginning to gnash. "What do you want?"
A smile spread across his face, flexing his eyes. They were burgundy, not blood red as they once were, and I wondered why they changed. What encouraged this transformation? Such a small thing, but just as curious as a life-changing event. Be observant.
"Sit. I want to talk."
Don't insult. "I have nothing to say to you." That wasn't so bad, right?
"We could always use your fingers," he said and took a step toward me.
"No! That's alright, I'll sit." I did, but couldn't remove my eyes from him as I crossed my legs on the floor. His stare became cold, hypnotic and he moved suddenly, grabbing my arm and raising me from my position then throwing me down again.
"On your knees. Chin to your collarbone. Hands behind your back."
"Are you kidding me with this right now?" I adjusted the short robe, but my thighs remained exposed.
My spine curved in chilling agony when his voice was next to my ear, the flicks of soft breath against my skin agitating me. "One more word from you, and this will get ugly very quickly. Put your head and eyes down! Bend forward." A forceful hand on the back of my skull pushed my chin to my collarbone and bent me halfway to my knees. "Hands behind your back. You won't speak unless asked."
The sound of his armoire door caused me to flinch. I wanted to see what he was taking from there. Whatever it was, it couldn't have been good.
"This is how you should be. Subservient. Respectful. Eyes never on me, but on the floor, where you belong. But this isn't who you are, is it? As much as it pains me to admit, you're not a weak-minded human. Raise that head and you'll receive an unbearable sting across your hands!"
I tried to breathe through it, and held my position, my chin touching my collarbone once more. My only sight was his black dress shoes tapping on the floor as he walked around me. My intakes of breath sharp and loud. I tried to remember what Dad said, what he taught me. Do whatever is asked within reason.
"That being said, why are you acting like one of them?" he asked. "What are you playing at?"
"What do you mean?"
"Jasper believes you're conforming," his tone almost amused, "but that's not true. I don't believe it's in your nature. You're not conforming. You're not one of them."
"It's called surviving," I said.
"Surviving isn't conforming."
Breathe through this. "Conformity is survival. Ever been to high school?"
"No." It was then I saw a thin, black whip dangling close to the floor from his hand. "I don't need inside your mind to know what you're thinking, Bella. We're practically the same. I know you're up to something."
"I'm nothing like you, and I'll never be like you. You don't know anything about me."
"Au contraire. We're both fierce creatures made of silence and fire, imprisoned forever by others who feel they hold more power. You think you hold all the cards and so do I. We've damned each other in this way, wanting to take power for our own."
"I thought you said I have no power."
"Here you don't, but out there... it's a different story. Our control could never meet and agree. They're from two separate worlds just as we are. But herein lies our similarities which bond us."
He trailed off, and by that moment I was so incredibly confused about what he said. I didn't even know what he was talking about anymore, or what I was doing in his room. Was this all he wanted to talk about? How he knew I was up to something? "You lost me sometime during the beginning."
"The point is," he said, his words forceful and angry, "know you'll never succeed. I'm watching you. Understand?"
"Fine. May I get up now?"
"Yes. Wipe off."
The relief from that position was immediate as I rose and brushed the dirt from my fresh gown.
"By the way," Edward said at his armoire, storing away the stringy whip behind his small collection of dark blues, grays and blacks. He wore nothing else, it seemed. "Were you close to your father?"
A word I never wanted to hear him say... he'd said it. Father. My father. I could've fallen through the floor at that moment. I swear I could've.
"What?"
He closed the dark wooden door and faced me once more, a casual feel about his motions as he stuffed his pale hands into his pants pockets. He shrugged. "I'm asking because Jacob Black sent word that your father called your apartment. Several times, in fact. He seemed worried you hadn't answered or returned his calls."
My pulse quickened, but didn't exist at the same time. This monster, this thing, spoke of my dad. It wasn't just about me anymore and this turned my legs and arms to jelly. I didn't answer him.
"Did you speak to him often?"
"That's none of your business."
"Everything about you has become my business."
"Leave my family out of this."
"I can't," he said. "He became involved. He would've contacted local police. They would've started asking questions, looking for you. Even though they would've never found you, the potential outcome would've ended in a bloodbath on your behalf. You wouldn't want that, would you? So many lives lost over one foolish girl?"
I couldn't help but notice he used past tense. "When you say he would've..."
"I mean, it was much easier to tie a knot at the end of your rope."
The world faded. The hope waiting for me on the outside turned black. The only thing left was that large house with no feeling and empty, soulless rooms. "You... you killed him?"
"Where do you think I've been the past few days? Like I said, he started asking questions. He died quickly, if that makes you feel better. I don't think he felt a thing. Poor man couldn't handle the absence of his daughter, or the relationship with his soon-to-be ex-wife. Must've been lonely and drunk that night he shot himself in the head. "
The shock turned to anger. Anger to rage and all thoughts of how I was supposed to act dissolved. I tore across the room, after Edward screaming, "Why didn't you just kill me?! Why didn't you—"
He restrained my hands, his cool grip anchoring me to that room, making me aware of my actions. I hit him several times across the face and on his chest. Even though he restrained me, I fought against him with my entire body, throwing my weight into him. Though, it did no good.
His laughter contradicted my growls and gasps of air as I tried to hurt him. "There's that spirit! That fight! Yes, struggle! Push against me!"
I screamed in his face, my cheeks flush and head pounding. His pointed teeth were revealed by a delighted smile.
"I'll kill you!" I shouted. "I'll kill you!"
I was on the floor. My thighs ached from the impact, my wrist throbbed from his python-like grip and hot tears slid down my cheeks. He didn't advance, didn't move from where he stood, only watched as I picked myself up. I thought I would fall once more, my own doing that time, but somehow managed to stay on my feet.
"Are you done?" he asked, his chest rising and falling with excited breaths, a mirror of my own.
My eyes fluttered shut, my chin touched my collarbone and I turned from him. I couldn't be in that room anymore. I didn't want to see his face or smile. Was my father really dead, or was Edward bluffing? Was this another one of his tricks? All the same, it killed me; the idea of them finding my family. It wasn't just about me anymore.
It felt like a cool, gentle breeze pushed my hair away from my face, but it was his fingertips on my neck. I turned, preparing to push him away or dig my nails into his face, but his iron hands seized my wrists and twisted them both behind my back. He roped my hair into his other, wringing it around his fingers and palm, pulling my head. A vice. I couldn't move, couldn't fight. My throat became an involuntary invitation.
I could only gasp and watch him inch closer, his dark, red eyes on mine, his lips parted and his hair wild from our skirmish. His grip stole the breath from my lungs and time slowed as I was forced to concentrated on every sensation.
I felt the tip of his nose as it searched my throat; his breath cold and erratic, almost desperate. Then, lips dragged against my skin, and the world stood still. His breathing halted. His mouth parted further. I'd become those girls I pitied with their throats scarred and bruised. I'd become a meal for a monster.
"No! No, please! Please!" I managed to strangle out.
But he ignored my plea.
Knives skirted my neck and I groaned. Pressure. So much pressure!
Thip.
I screamed. My throat! It burned! Acid obliterated everything within me. I breathed deeper, holding onto consciousness, destroying the black which pushed against me, trying to consume. His lips, a severe contrast from the fire he gave, conformed to the curve of my throat. He sucked, each pull gathering more life, taking more away from me.
He rested after the pull, his teeth mooring into my skin as he swallowed loudly. He moaned against me and already I felt this would be my end. I would die in his arms, in this room with him sawing at my neck. The fire moved to my chest. There was light and darkness, sickness and death.
I thought I screamed, but realized my voice was paralyzed. It'd been in my head, and it was there I begged him to stop. I wanted him inside my head, I wanted him to surrender my body.
He didn't. Every gather of life from me, the weaker I became until I was putty, molding against his vice.
He removed his lips and I sank onto a soft surface, struggling for air, but it hurt to breathe. It hurt to move. Everything!
Every flicker of my eyelids became torture, every heartbeat an ache, spreading a poison deeper into my veins. I began to find my voice, a grunt at first then groans until I screamed in agony and squirmed. I hoped a position would bring relief, but nothing helped.
I begged for him to end me, but he was gone. "Edward," I called. No answer. There was only the sounds of my pain filling the room, and the blood swishing through my ears. "Please kill me."
"You're not worth anything to me dead," he said, hovering above me unexpectedly. Spattered blood stained his lips. My blood.
He raised my head and placed a folded towel underneath my neck and shoulders, then moved my hair away from where he bit. I wanted to feel how much of my neck had been eaten away, dissolved by acid. I reached for it, but he intercepted, curling my fingers inward then pushed my arm back to the bed. "Don't touch it," he said, his voice light, nearing a whisper. "You could infect it."
"Wh—what did you..."
"Try not to talk." He leaned in again, and I couldn't fight him. His breath spread like fingers over my skin, his weight distributed between his arms and knees as he hovered.
"Don't," I whispered as he turned my head to the side.
He shushed me, an action I would never associate with him unless it was angry. But he did it without either, then placed his mouth on my neck again. Afraid of increased pain, I tried to move away. Only this time, no teeth or pressure; just the kneading of his lips and tongue as the weight of his body bore onto mine, holding me from escape. A growl in my ear followed a long, slow lick and it caused me to shiver.
Stop. Please stop.
But he didn't hear me. He never would. For a reason I couldn't see, he'd never relinquish. I would die in this place, in his arms, and I already felt halfway there.
Werewolf by Cat Power
No real lyrical connection to the chapter. It's just a cool-sounding song.
