A/N: Now, now, now... where do we begin? Twilight was my first love (like a toxic first boyfriend, as I spent more time reading it cover to cover than I did focusing on anything else) - though for some reason, I've never written a fanfiction for it. Maybe that's because I felt that everything was said and done... all the great ideas were *sparkled* off into the great beyond, and I had nothing to contribute. But then this idea stood out, first as an original story, that would probably sit in the bottom of my document folder somewhere, and then as something I could share... making a little *alternate universe* version of my favourite characters.

So enjoy! This was long overdue, and I'm excited to see where it goes.

Have fun in Forks!

InsomniousInk

xo


I always wanted a little more of yesterday and not enough tomorrow.

Though Mama said that was spoiled talk, and spoiled girls in Forks were often shunned for speaking too much of their mind.

I was made up of all the wrong things for such a small town, from my frizz ball raven-dark hair, to the low grade academic progress I had made in my previous schooling years, frequently framing the family in disappointment. I swear, I would've been shunned off to serve in some military camp hadn't I held a pair of breasts and a 'missus' on the front of my passport.

Forks loved to segregate the men from the women, keeping to that age-old tradition of kitchen training and children producing for me and my kind. Men got to see everything the world had to offer– not that there was much to see in this quiet little town.

The summers were too sticky and hot, and snow was a myth made up on television. Business kept to front porches and small gatherings around ice tea, opposed to the banks and highrise buildings I saw in the newspaper.

So much money in the world, and not a dime going into Forks.

My family - the Swan clan– owned a large portion of real-estate in the suburbs, and held good form in the sticky social climate. Men just adored shaking hands with my daddy, and neighbors were always borrowing recipes from mama's cook books.

Life was as simplistic as it was boring, and the yawning stretch of my life seemed too comfortable even for a hiccup. School followed by work, and work rolling into marriage, and marriage drifting to a life sentence of making that damn ice tea whilst my husband shook hands like my daddy did.

God, grace me with some kind of disease, I would find myself wishing. As dirty of a thought as sweaty laundry, tumbling around the empty spaces of my mind. I dreamt about shutting this book, having read it a thousand times, knowing how it ended. Though the pages kept turning, and I woke up on frequent mornings miserable with the idea that tomorrow would indeed come.

On a monday - as mundane as monday's could get - I brushed the ringlets from my hair and curled the mass of frizz into a tidy braid, scrubbing my teeth and splashing my face with water; trying to rinse that god-awful sweat that Summer had brought.

Forks was in the books for a long-awaited thunderstorm, all the rain in the world needing to wash the stew-heat from the air. The reporter for the southern stretch of the country had promised puddles and umbrellas, though as I threw open the curtains in my bedroom, I was irritated to find that runny egg sun in the sky.

Today would be another dress day.

Mama would be happy.

I threw on that white-cotton slip that showed too much of my neckline and headed down for breakfast. The radio was on, and daddy was submerged in his chair at the tippity top of the table, nothing but a pair of hands and the spread of the Forks newspaper.

On the front, it said that there had been an oil crisis across the sea, and a bunch of old, wrinkled men arguing about a war for boys to go die in. I grunted a good morning and picked an apple from the bowl, sitting on my knees by his side.

"Don't ruin your breakfast, Isabella." The newspaper grumbled.

I sank my teeth into its red skin and crunched off a slice, chewing as daddy muttered beneath his breath.

"Where is Seth?" I asked around the mouthful.

"He's at the carnival with a friend from camp." Mama said, entering with a plate of burnt bacon and black coffee, just the way Paul liked it.

Paul was the eldest of us Chapman children, and lived up to his prodigious title with a kiss on Mama's cheek, taking his place by our father.

"Your brother is going down there later to fetch him home." She added, making a'thing of scowling at the dress I had chosen to wear.

I did my best attempt to ignore the look.

"I can't today." Paul said, shoveling on a scoop of runny egg from the dish in the center. The yolk melted over his hands. "I've got to see Mr Skeeter about that apprenticeship in Wildetown."

"Oh yes." Daddy said, setting down his newspaper. "He can't miss that, Honey."

Honey was a good'a name for any wife, if it hadn't already been Mama's name. She had spread her midnight blackhair to all three of her children, and still kept enough to keep away the gray. Her perfect pin-wheel curls bouncing as she nodded curtly now, dressed in a yellow apron that hadn't seen a smudge of fat or dirt in the ten years she'd owned it.

"Isabella can go." Honey said.

"Mama, not today… I have a headac–"

"No back talking to your mama." Daddy said, his comb mustache twitching. His face got all red like that when he was angry, and something other than me had put him in a bad mood this morning.

Not a time to test his temper.

"You go down there and fetch your brother before he spends all his pocket money."

I scowled down at my apple and ate it right to the core, feeling my gums ache as I avoided all the words wanting to spill out. Paul grinned all cherub like as Honey walked away, eating his black bacon.

I hoped he choked on it, though dropped my glare as Daddy caught it like a nasty wasp.

"Wildetown is a good place to build a future, Paul." He said, relaxing back into his chair. "Good grades get you into good places. It's a goldmine for business and money."

"I'm looking to open as many doors as possible."

"Atta boy."

"Any idea on what you're doing this summer?" Paul prompted, reaching my eye as he slurped that coffee. It stank up the room and tainted the smugness on his breath.

"She's going to help Mz Flowers for the pageant." Mama said, returning in another sweep from the kitchen. This time, she set down a plate of toasted bread and homemade jam. Daddy served himself as he waited for confirmation.

I uncomfortably gave him a nod, wanting the ground to swallow me entirely.

"That sounds promising." Paul smiled.

The urge to smack that smile off of his face was almost insufferable.

"Isn't it?" Honey beamed. "She's going to help the ladies with their dresses and make up, fix their hair and prune their bouquets! Oh, I loved the summer pageants this time of year. Didn't you, Charlie?"

My father grunted.

"Isabella is going to make a superstar of herself, just in time for her exams."

"Superstar." Paul picked the word like the bacon between his teeth, snorting.

"Shut up." I growled.

Luckily, mama and daddy didn't hear.

"You working today, Charl?" Honey asked her husband.

"I've got to see the Newmans about planning permission, and was going to head over to the dealership to discuss a bit of marketing."

"What of the Cullen family?"

A lightbulb went off in my head.

The Cullen Family.

Suddenly, Charlie Swan's bad mood made sense, as did the untouched plate of food in front of him. Draiden had inherited a pack of 'gypsies' last Spring, and had done everything in their power to make them not welcome. Though to no avail did these travelers budge, seeming to enjoy the pursed lips and furrowed brows of their new neighbors.

They had set up their carnival on owned land, and offered free entry on the weekends if it meant they weren't bothered. For a few disgruntled people, this seemed okay throughout the summer. Not much happened this far south and the excitement of new people attracted a gossipy buzz for business, and for the women that whispered like a hive of bees.

For the Swan business, this deal didn't fly.

That land was owned and had a long stretch of high-hopes for Daddy and his partners. It would house the new strip-mall, said to put Forks back on the map again.

I had wondered why so many sorry folk would trapse all the way down here to see a few hanging dresses, or a movie that was probably released three months prior. Though my opinions had been made quiet, as busy parents equalled an easier time.

And an easier time was what I needed with the possibility of school coming up.

Daddy must have been mad that Seth was down at the carnival now, spending his money and buying into their cotton-candy scheme.

"Third notice this year." Charlie grumbled. "They ignore any mail that comes to their hand and plead the fifth if they're ever spoken to."

"Wasteless criminals." Honey spat.

Paul's eyes widened. "Mama."

"They are! Your daddy works hard to put food on this table and to keep our neighborhood safe. For them to just turn up from some foreign little island is an invasion, is what it is. A damn right invasion."

"Easy, Honey. We've got it covered." Charlie assured.

She pinched her lips and nodded, returning back to the kitchen in a brisker walk.

"Besides," He sighed, "they won't be around much longer."

I risked a question. "How come?"

"I'm meeting with Carlisle Cullen tomorrow evening." Daddy boasted, finally reaching for a fork to eat his breakfast. "We're going to squash this thing once and for all."

Carlisle was the one in charge, I remembered, having seen him around town with his ice–white hair and approaching smile. He didn't look like a businessman, not in the way that her father did. Though there was something smart and calculating about him– smart enough that he moved most of his family across an ocean and into the southern stretch of America.

I thought about this man meeting my father in an open field, trying to squash the tomato red fury that seethed from the Swan name. I hoped that Carlisle would laugh and hock a wad of spit right into the mouth of this town, and tear up that grassy land with the wheels of his carnival trucks and cars.

I diverted my gaze sharply, realizing I was glaring into the side of my father's round face, and disappeared into the kitchen to get rid of my apple core. A little blood on what was left of its center. As I came back through, Paul grabbed me by the arm and leant over the back of his chair.

"Mind dropping me at the station on your way for Seth?"

"Drop yourself." I yanked my arm free.

"You take your brother!" Honey objected before Charlie could, his mouth stuffed with all the grease and fat of his wife's good cooking. "This is a big day for him."

"I was going to walk." I winged like a child. "I don't want to be stuck in that hot old car."

"Nonsense." Mama wiped her hands on her apron. Still clean. "We didn't pay for all of those driving lessons for you to walk about the streets. Now, throw on a jacket and get go'in."

I opened her mouth to object, though was silenced by the scowling fury of our father, sending me all the way back upstairs and into my wardrobe to cover what the dress hadn't.

IIIIII

That sticky stretch of Summer had made its way into the truck– the leather interior hot against the backs of my thighs, and the loose smell of tobacco and age caught in the seams. This had been our granddaddy's prize possession, floating its way down the family tree before landing in my back pocket. A curse rather than a gift, seeing as it purred and whirled, defying all expectation that surely one day, it would perish.

The engine roared as I changed gears, and Paul let out a low whistle.

"Easy, girl. Don't want to let daddy know you're marking up his pride and joy, now."

"Fuck off, Paul." I grumbled, rolling down the window to let in some air.

Paul grinned, all teeth and arrogance, and leant back to enjoy the journey. He was smartly dressed, wearing one of Charlie's old shirts and a pair of faded jeans. His paperwork blowing lightly with the wind that came through the windows, turning all the frayed hairs from my ponytail.

My freckles had come out under the sun, like an inferred night sky, or scars I couldn't quite erase– hidden usually under a pair of trousers, or maybe even a jacket, had I bothered to listen to Mama and cover up. Though I remained in that white dress, hand on the tarnished wheel to this incessant creature and eyes pinned to the curve in the road.

A curve that ran all the way into New Town, and Forks' grimier area - if such a thing existed.

The 'lesser folk' lived here, Honey said. The people that rode the bus and couldn't afford proper books for their children. They were notoriously late to church, and didn't stop to say 'hi' during market month or the Christmas fate.

Big no-no's.

There was a popular nursery just off the main road, and a little further than that, a station that led to the main circuit in the suburbs– the rails running far enough that you could get all the way to Texas if you had enough money.

Paul had his wallet today and a little something extra from daddy's savings. He flashed it on his way out of the truck, and only stopped to make sure he had all of his papers together.

"Tell mama I won't be back tonight." He said, his voice offshore and distracted.

I frowned. "Where 'you staying?"

"A few of the boys are meeting me up there. I won't be alone."

"They won't like it." I warned.

"Then don't tell them." He said, slamming the truck door and hollering a hand as he went.

I shook my head, already feeling the iron-hot glare of my father as the skies went dark, the grand clock announcing midnight and no word coming from my eldest brother.

Somehow, punishment wouldn't be waiting for him when he did come home though.

Paul always found a way around it.

The carnival was a stone's throw away from the station, its great underbelly parading red and white in the distance– luring people in like a lighthouse. All the broken ships and jagged smiles of Forks coming to find out what the tide had brought them, and in this instance, the stragglers from Ireland.

I parked the car and fetched the brown leather of my purse, the heavy smell of roasted peanuts assaulting my senses, married with the bass and drum of chiming music. Too new and youthful for the clean streets that surrounded it.

The tickets here were gold and circular, punched for admission and branded with the family name. A fountain of ruby coins acting as their mascot, and what money they had reaped on their journey over.

I inspected the admission token and wandered into the mouth of the crowd, trying to seek Seth and his new little friend. For a Monday morning, the carnival was teeming with a busy crowd– the sticky hands of children grabbing at giant lollipops and fluffy teddy bears, hot dogs and popcorn; hungering to get on another ride, or see another animal.

Ahead, the squeal of a mare sent an 'oooo' through a sea of onlookers, and a man riding its hind charged around a track, bare-chested and bearded. He didn't have a cowboy hat, or the charm of a good entertainer, though got the crowd interested enough to stay. A mad man with a death wish.

The South loved nothing more.

I found Seth near the arcade, firing down dollars and shooting aliens. He was short and stubby, with a flick of that midnight coloured hair– inheriting all of daddy's anger and none of mama's enthusiasm to leave a crowded room.

His friend from camp watched wide-eyed now as he tore through a high score, and landed himself at the top of the leaderboard.

"Hand me another dollar from my back pocket!" Seth demanded of his mate. The boy went to oblige without question, though I stepped forward before he could try.

"Your sister is here." The boy said in a glum voice. Seth didn't tear his eyes away from the screen, acting as if he hadn't heard.

"Seth." His friend warned. "She's crossing her arms."

"Lord save me!" My eight year old brother wept, turning from the controller. An alien had chewed his head clean off, and there was nothing but blood and guts on the screen.

His round, freckled face scowled from so far below.

"I'm not arguing with you." I warned.

"Daddy send you to get me?"

"A'yup."

"He mad?"

"Mama made a big breakfast."

Seth sighed. "If he's mad, what would ten minutes hurt?"

I wanted to smile, feeling the ruthlessness in him that came from mama. Glad I wasn't the only one who inherited it. I jerked my chin to the game. "Fifteen minutes but nothing over five dollars, alright?"

"You got it, Bells." Seth said, turning without much care.

He'd have to work on his manners if he was to brown-nose a little more out of people. Though he was on the right track.

I came out into that melty southern heat and saw a few of the girls from school, huddled together with their cellphones and sleek hair. They had mattefied their faces in heavy makeup and were picking at the sweet mounds of red taffy, their flirtations aimed at the candy vendor.

He looked to be in his thirties and was heavily tatted. Angry looking… or maybe that was just his face. The word 'arcade' spilled between the giggles and fake amusement of the girls, and I knew I had to divert out of sight. My patience not iron-strong enough to deal with a flock of hens.

I slipped down the side of some duck-catching game and rounded the edge of the arcade tent, standing where all the motors chuffed out dark smoke and people disposed of their rubbish. A half-eaten burger wrapper was by my feet, and an empty cup of sudsy beer. I peeled my sandals from the sticky grass and wandered further, stumbling right into the area where the caravans and sleeping quarters were.

The sacred village from nowhere.

An old lady was hanging out washing, and a young boy was perched in a gardening chair, eating strawberries with his fingers. His mouth looked sticky and sore.

"Can I help you?"

I whirled, finding a man in the midst of cigarette smoke. Or at least, that's what it looked like. The smoke was a lot sweeter and dense.

He had a shoulder against the edge of a van, the slick reddish-brown of his hair pushed to reveal an unkind face and a pair of intrusively green eyes. Emeralds, if I was to pick something pretty to liken them to. Though the salt waste of the sea was a better description– sharp and surreal.

That cigarette rested on the bottom of his lip, bobbing where he smoked and scowled, held just where a small scar had dented the space beneath his nose. After a moment, he pinched that cigarette away with his thumb and forefinger– possibly thinking I couldn't decipher him through the thick, Irish accent.

"You lost or sommit?"

"No." I was quick to reply. "I just needed some space away from the crowd. Sorry… I'll–"

I stepped into that beer puddle and hissed, flagging out an arm and shifting to where he stood; cutting through that sweet smoke. There was glass here, something I stupidly hadn't seen before. A shard got caught in my sandal and sliced through my toes, mixing all that dark bitter and grass in the cut.

"Crap." I breathed, and felt my face get hot with embarrassment.

The stranger reached out to steady me, though I recoiled away and made it worse by treading on more glass. A thin smear of blood now dirtying the grass.

The pain was nauseating, though mild.

"Christ almighty. Stand still." He snapped, and this time, I held my breath and my stance.

The man tossed his cigarette into a small pitcher of water and looped an arm around my middle, lifting me smoothly from the slim-naval passageway and into the open clearing before the van.

I felt a knot of discomfort tousle at my insides, though remained quiet as he set me down, all six-foot-something of him not even breaking a sweat.

From this proximity, I noted the tattoos under his white tunic, and the hair that marked his chest. A bit too rugged and manly for the pruned and bloomed streets of Forks.

Surprising, as he seemed not that much older than me.

Nineteen, twenty, maybe…

"Wait here." He said, vanishing into the van before I had time to thank his not-so southern hospitality. He returned a moment later with a silver tin, and turned over an empty bucket to sit on.

With one smack on his knee, he gestured for my foot.

"Really, it's nothing." I stammered.

"Are all you folk here so hellbent on running away from us?" He scoffed.

I frowned, feeling all the bright-red burden pour out from my skin as I shakily lifted my knee, holding the edge of the truck for support.

"What's your name?" I asked awkwardly.

"Eddie."

"Eddie." I tasted the word.

"Yours?"

"Bella."

"Bella." He tasted it right back.

Eddie unbuckled the little gold metal of my sandal and freed my foot, resting the bare skin on his knee. The scratchy material of his trousers felt foreign, and I aimed my free hand down, not wanting the hem of the white dress to blow up.

"Are you from the area?" I asked, knowing too-well that he wasn't.

"I'm from the arse-end of nowhere."

From the tin, Eddie produced a small pack of antibacterial wipes and a strip of bandaids. Needed on the road, perhaps. Or just a family that lived with a first-aid kit.

"Will you be joining school after the summer?" I looked away, trying to prompt conversation.

An all-but arrogant smile twisted his lips. "I'm a bit too old for a classroom."

"How old are you?"

"22."

Four years older, then.

Eddie wiped the oozy wounds on my toes, and I jerked, stopped by his fingers as they latched around my knee, holding me in place. I hissed, though he squeezed enough in an attempt to keep me calm, trusting that he knew what to do with that strange little box.

"You don't look like the other girls around here." He said after some time– quiet, contemplative.

I tried to search that assumption for an insult, though only found curiosity.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Ah, I mean no'n by it." He squinted one eye from the sun, looking at me from the height of his stool. "They're all prissy and powdered. The kinda women to clutch their pearls, if you know what I mean. I see no pearls on you… no powder."

"I left it at home." I bit.

There was some playfulness in my voice.

The smile that crossed his face made my stomach go hot, and I saw the small remnants of a dimple pull in his cheek. A little sign of boyishness.

I was sad to find a perfect bandaid on my toes, and my sandal as he rinsed it off with water and slipped it back on. The very touch of his fingers around that metal clasp made the breath evade from my lungs.

"All done."

"Do I owe you anything?" I asked, stepping back– mindful of the puddle and glass and blood. Eddie stood and wrung his hands on the bottom of his white shirt – dirty enough it would make mama squeal.

"Nah. Unlike you lot, we extend a supportive hand every now and t'en."

I heard the flirtation even in his insult, and thought about returning it. Though too many years on a tight-leash had rendered me awkward.

"I'll be seein yeh." He turned, venturing off into that truck.

I hesitated for a moment, before eventually wandering back toward the carnival. Mindful of my steps.

Seth was standing outside the arcade, a dozen tickets and a stuffed rhino under his arm. His friend had long gone, and the little pocket with his weekly spends was flatter– lighter.

Five dollars had been a concept and not an agreement, then, I thought.

We ventured together back to grandaddy's truck, and I took a shameful look back, not even noticing the cloud as that storm finally came as promised.

Not even feeling the rain with the heat under my skin.