Thank you for the love- this has blown up big time, and I'm in absolutely shock. I'd also like to note that the past few chapters had an odd and accidental bounce around from first to third person, which was pointed out (thank you for whoever told me) and at some point, I'll re-edit over it. Though this is the true voice of the story- Isabella.
From Forks to Wildetown is going to take an odd avenue, some of which you guys might not like. Though it's going to feature a bisexual love interest at some point, which really pairs well with the plot. If you're not into that, avoid now! But It's going to be amazing.
Thanks again for the love!
The engine kicked back in protest and I fluttered my hands across the cab– trying to steer the wheel myself. Eddie had been driving three and a half hours, and no matter his skill back at the fairground, he couldn't handle the stick.
"You're going to kill it."
"Quiet."
"You're going to kill us."
Eddie growled and edged his foot further on the pedal, steering us further from the little town off Route 46 and back onto the highway– Wildetown a handful of hours ahead.
We had no money for a motel, nor the desire to lay on an uncomfortable bed and probably share too close a proximity– instead, deciding to use the blankets from the glove compartment to darken out the windows and keep us warm.
The night had passed slowly, and I hadn't slept longer than thirty minutes before I gave up and fiddled with the heating. Eddie, on the other hand, slept soundly without a twitch or a snore– a stray cat who could find comfort on any street corner. An asset on the road, if we were going to make it to the south in one piece.
He had seen my dark circles and slammed down any idea of me putting a finger on the wheel, my vision now merging into one big swimming pool of blur and imbalance, whilst Paul's crushing words circled the drain of my dignity like a hungry vulture.
Here lies Isabella, homeless and free of family ties. A freedom or an onslaught of crippling loneliness? Text now at 1800-nevermind-my-mind to find out.
The engine choked again, and this time, I sprang so quickly across the cab that the truck rocked– doing 70mph in thundering argument.
"Hit the clutch twice and steer a little to the left!"
"Are you crazy? You're going to drive us off the fuckin' road."
"Trust me!"
Eddie swerved the wheel off-angle and the truck centered with little protest, abiding like a circus animal under the poise of a ringmaster. Eddie cranked the clutch in a double-jolt and the engine purred, smoothing out its cricks and whoops– back on track.
Taking a moment to realize I was half in Eddie's lap, I sighed and slowly retreated. A little embarrassed, still in my blue silk ensemble, the make up now smeared to nothing around my eyes. He observed me with a skeptical brow cocked, that smirky-charm covered in concern.
"You're a dominant little thing, aren't ya?"
I threw him a scathing look, kicking off those muddy sneakers and freeing up my toes. I placed my feet on the dashboard, noting the fresh pedicure mama had paid for before Mz Flowers event – a shiny pearl gloss that made me look a lot prettier and feminine than I felt.
The breeze came in from the open window, blowing the dark hair off my face and Eddie's open shirt– still sliced and revealing the gradually healing cut that Paul's blade made. I eyed it for a little too long, feeling the pang of guilt wreck my insides, watching the cars instead.
"It doesn't hurt." He said, reading the room– or truck, in this instance.
I sighed without facing him. "You're just saying that."
"So what if I am? It might stop your face from screwing up like that."
I tried to settle the wrinkle of frustration between my brows, though it seemed impossible.
"The man my brother has turned into wasn't the boy I grew up with."
Eddie shifted, changing hands on the wheel. "It doesn't take much to change people, Isabella. The wrong crowd, a bad relationship, an absent father."
"Inexcusable things."
"You may think so, though I know first hand what trauma can do to a man's head."
I snorted. "You think Paul has been traumatized?"
"With a father like that, perhaps."
I'd almost forgotten that Eddie had lost Carlisle Cullen, and in his mind, his death was at the mercy of my own father. I went quiet, though this didn't slice off the conversation.
"You still think he didn't do it?"
"Let's not, Eddie."
"You think that another son'ovva'bitch burnt down that field?"
"I think that this should be an untouched topic if we're to survive this trek."
He went quiet.
I took a cautious peek through my blowing hair, seeing his muscled arm tense at the wheel, his jaw following similar irritation. He seemed pissed, though didn't approach the topic again.
The last stretch of the ride went by quickly– both of us on the same page when it came to pit stops and pee breaks. Not wanting to waste anymore time in such a small box, with nothing but murder and anger to discuss. We spent a few dollars on bread and a jar of peanut butter, slapping together a few dozen sandwiches with nothing but water to wash it down– hitting the road after hitting the bathroom.
The road signs were easy to read, the mileage near each turn slowly melting down to a minimal distance– Wildetown in reach. The radio fuzzed and hissed as we ducked out of range, churning out an old tune between squashes of adverts and local news. It sizzled with static as we left the highway, Eddie now getting a hand of grandaddy's monster.
Ahead, a splash of lights came into view.
"Is that it?" Eddie squinted, hunching over the wheel to see.
I inched closer toward the window with that same hook of curiosity, trying to make out the pinks and purples, oranges and greens; colors blurring like a rainbow of stars, only getting clearer as the truck invaded the inner city, finding a bridge on its course.
A great stretch of deep water surrounded us all at once, carving Wildetown off of Texas, married only together by one long road that was littered in lamps. Ahead, the colorful island greeted us with a flashing sign– a pariah to the shy smile that was Las Vegas.
Wildetown, in large, curved letters.
Leave yourself at the threshold.
My heart leapt.
The bridge stretched for two miles in total, giving my little truck hope of respite. Eddie cranked it twice into final gear, and we entered the underbelly in silence.
Large buildings stretched high, stacked like dominos in wonky, mismatched fashion– all wood and brick, with sloping roof tiles that resembled a huddle of cowboys tipping their hats in greeting. Signs of bars and western casinos at the forefront, whilst smoky barbeque restaurants and mustache-barbers filtered a little further out.
At its heart, there was a rugged, old charm that sang well with thick cigars, cowboy boots and malt liquor. As raw as a Bruce Springsteen anthem, with a little Clint Eastwood in the back. I lapped it up hungrily, my eyes as deep as my pockets only wished to be– though only for its unexpected grandeur.
Wildetown appeared as southern as a wrap-around porch, though what made it spectacular was the cyber-glitch of glittering lights and colour, flashing like paparazzi cameras.
A group of girls walked past, decked in corsets and fur coats– a pavement burlesque show.
Two men were dancing for a crowd, using the coins they had received for tips as props– tossing and catching between kicks and spins.
Eddie did a bad job of keeping his eyes on the road ahead, taking in as much as he could, with little to spare. The truck veered right, and the engine grumbled as he adjusted the wheel, clearing his throat.
"It's…" I began.
"Yeah." He finished.
"Where are we going?" I asked, as if he suddenly held all the answers.
My confidence felt small in such a big pond.
"A parking lot… somewhere to crash for the night. I don't know."
"That sounds… wise– is that a bear?"
A great shaggy beast came ampling down the street, walking in union with what appeared to be a circus act– top hat and cane in tow. He waved warmly as we passed, the bear seeming unfazed beside him– an ally rather than a pet.
"Fuckin' hell." Eddie scoffed, trying to refocus. "We're not in Kansas anymore."
I held in a laugh.
The truck rolled on, and we entered a spread of chalets, just a stone's throw away from the center. There, performers sat on small porches and tuned instruments, old folk rocked in chairs, police handcuffed criminals on the hoods of cars. A hundred little houses in all, no bigger than a floor tall with a bedroom and bath to exist in– a kettle and a fridge if lucky.
One step above a group of tents, though what would everyone be camping out in the middle of a city for?
The truck pushed further out, and Isabella all but squeezed the life out of Eddie's arm, feeling the muscles tense beneath her fingers. Up ahead, a strip of golden gates encased pillows of green land– odd, surrounded by so much city life. Though yards upon yards of emerald grass seemed untouched, with enough space for a hundred houses - rather than chalets.
A singular mansion sat to its right, just out of the range of the gates– housed between a few others, though nothing quite as grand as this one; with its streaming pond, four-car drive, and six story grandeur. Out front, beside a mailbox and a golden view of Wildetown itself, a large sign pointed to the land:
COMPETITION FOR LAND. SIGN UP BEFORE THE 15th.
The truck rolled to a stop, Eddie's foot coming off the gas.
"This was why you wanted to come here? A competition?"
"It's the fourteenth." I stammered. "We were almost too late."
"I'm not a US resident." Eddie turned, serious now. "I'm not going to be able to apply for any kind of competition. Can I even stay here?"
I didn't think much of this, already having a plan in mind. I remained silent, staring at the endless acres of emerald green– envisioning houses, stables, offices and new life.
A new chance at restarting, with something that was only mine.
"Isabella."
"It's fine… people aren't just here for a competition, this is an entire city. We'll blend in."
"You'll blend in." He furthered. "Not my accent."
"You're my estranged husband." I then voiced. "Paul is meant to be working here a month or two from now, and he put forward interest in an advert for the competition. Daddy shut it down before his hopes raised any higher, but we can use his name for you."
"Paul Swan?" Eddie looked horrified. "I'd rather fuckin' not."
"We can stay here, I can enter the competition, we'll be safe in one another's company rather than out on our own. What aren't you enjoying about this?"
Eddie looked at me incredulously.
I realized I sounded a little bit too much like Honey, though I didn't let that knock my confidence. Instead, I sat up straighter in the cab and released my grip that had been welded into his arm. He ran a hand through his hair– showing all those tattoos as his shirt rose.
"We're not going to get any accommodation here. Hotels will be mad expensive, as will be food and anything else to keep us alive." Eddie sighed. "This will be harder than you think."
"We'll make it work." I softened my voice. "I'll find a job for the summer, so can you– it'll be good."
A car behind us honked, and Eddie almost jammed the engine with his sudden hit on the gas– forgetting we weren't the only people in the world.
In a slow roll, we began to cruise forward and loosely search the streets for a decent parking lot - knowing that would be a better place than any to bunker down.
Still, he didn't say much.