I've read all the good Jasper/Bella stories so here's my attempt. No beta, feel free to leave crit!
Twilight belongs to Stephanie Meyer.
Chapter 1 (BPOV)
Quicksand, I think, reaching into the trunk of Charlie's cruiser for my bags.
I run through the rules in my head, rules I've slowly established over the years, codified by experience, practically etched into the stone of my mind.
Treat every floor like quicksand, every look, every word. Everything has the potential to open up below your feet and swallow you whole, devour you painfully. And that's okay, that's life, but you can't forget and you have to prepare an exit strategy.
Quicksand.
I nod slightly, shouldering my backpack and duffel, and close the trunk.
The house looks the same, if a bit more weathered. White siding, two stories, four windows with the same neutral curtains peeking out. There's a chair on the porch that I remember from my last visit, though it seems to have a new pillow; the old one wasn't red.
The trees hugging the yard are about the same height, about the same color. That's good, solid. Somehow the ground still seems to lurch quietly, telling me to be wary, be on edge.
Charlie clears his throat, interrupting my scanning. I look over and see him scratch the stubble on his neck, before hooking his thumbs into the worn blue denim of his jean pockets.
"Nothing changed, right?"
As if he knows what I'm doing, notices the cataloging in my eyes. I feel a little exposed by his comment, just a little off balance.
And he's right, nothing really has changed, but I still feel like I can't trust my eyes. This isn't new. I always feel like I'm missing something that's bound to give me a nasty surprise.
If you're always looking for the thing that can go wrong, you're never really surprised for long, though, and that's my secret; my superpower.
We walk up the creaking, faded steps and I look down at a welcome mat proclaiming, "Have a Crappie day".
Charlie notices my pause and chuckles.
"White elephant at the rez last Christmas. About 3 or 4 of those got passed around. We're pretty predictable."
I try to think of a good response but just settle for smiling back at him. He doesn't seem to expect more, which is a relief.
We get inside and Charlie takes my bags despite my protests.
"You just grab some water and let your old man do the heavy lifting. Bottles are in the fridge, bring me one, too."
I open the fridge and grab two bottles of water, noting the tomatoes, lettuce, multigrain bread, and… sprouts? Charlie doesn't do sprouts or any vegetables, far as I can
remember from our infrequent visits. I'm guessing he bought them for me, which is sweet.
The inside of the house seems about as unchanged as the outside. The little living room and hallway are just as undecorated (save the Bella parade of photos on the mantle and walls). Walking up the short stairway prompts the same squeaks on the third and sixth steps.
"Hey, kid," says Charlie as I walk into the room closest to the stairs. He's sitting in the rocking chair by the window, pushing it slowly with his boots.
We crack open the cold bottles of water and both take big swigs.
"Thanks. Haven't changed much here, either, never saw the point. Thought you could decorate it
however you want as we go," he says, wiping his mustache with the back of his hand.
I sit down on the bed with its mint green duvet and glance at the desk and chair to the right.
"That sounds good, but it's fine the way it is. I don't really know what I would do anyway. I've never been much for decorating, kind of like you."
"Hey now, I'm an interior designer genius. I just never have time to execute them, those fish won't catch themselves."
"Sure, Ch-Dad," I say, laughing, "Blame it in the fish. So how is everything in town? Any hot news?"
Charlie leans back in the chair, hooking his hands behind his head and looking up at the ceiling.
"Well, let's see. Billy and Jake are doing good, Jake's starting to show some real skill at building
and fixing cars. The rest of the gang down there's doing fine, too. Jake's real excited to see you, they'll be coming to dinner on Sunday."
Jake. Jacob and Billy Black, the names are familiar because Charlie talks about them but can't remember them, though I know I should, so I pretend.
"That'll be nice. Jake must look so different now, it's been so long."
I try to mean it and I think it comes out sincere. I feel bad that I have to try so hard and worse when I can't maintain it.
Charlie doesn't notice, he's still talking about what his friends on the rez have been up to, the logging accident last month, how Liz at the diner and his work buddies can't wait to see me.
I look down at the duvet, tracing the pale green threads with one nail bitten finger. The air feels too heavy, I decide. It's too cool. Too quiet.
"…and she's well preserved, too. I think she's perfect for you and thankfully, the Blacks were willing to let us adopt it."
"I'm sorry?"
Are we getting a cat or something? I can't help the thought and the little bit of hope that bubbles up.
"A truck, Bella! I thought you're probably a little old to get dropped off at school by your dad, not that I would mind. They'll bring it when they come to dinner this weekend."
My heart drops, then rises, then drops again. I keep my breath steady and smile.
"Wow, Dad! That's awesome, how much did you pay? I don't have much saved up but I promise I can pay you back as soon as I find a job. It might take me a few months, though. But if I don't spend any, it shouldn't be too long, and.."
Charlie cuts me off with a wave of his hand and a mustache twitch.
"Not going to tell you, but it wasn't much. I'll find some stuff you can do around the house if you want, consider it a homecoming gift."
Chill, I tell myself, before I start protesting more and making it weird. People can do nice things. If there's a catch, you'll find out sooner or later so don't obsess.
"Well, I'll let you get to it," Charlie says, getting up and stretching his arms.
As he walks toward the door, I notice the way his hair is thinner at his temples, the slight thickening of his midsection, the wrinkles in the skin around his wrist. His gait is just as brisk, but I can see time in it all the same.
He closes it behind him. A nice touch, and pleasantly surprising. Now I can just be.
I lay down slowly where I sit until my head touches the bed and sinks down slightly in the softness of the down-filled comforter. The ceiling is pretty much the same, lightly textured off-white paint. I can see the same half-dog half-man in the paint that I always used to look at.
Suddenly I'm just itching to get out of the house. The off feeling grows the longer I'm alone and it's going to take more than walls to level me out. I grab my favorite gray hoodie and drug it on while I walk down the stairs. Charlie is already parked in the recliner in front of the TV, some game or another blaring from the speakers about touchdowns and baskets or whatever
"I'm just going to take a short walk," I throw over my shoulder as I walk out the door.
"Be back before dark! You're in bear country now, Bells!"
Bells. Suddenly I'm ten again, sitting on the bench of a boat on a quiet river, watching Charlie fish, bored out of my mind, when a silvery fish explodes out of the water.
I don't have many solid memories of my summers here, of much before I was 12 or 13, but this is a nice one and I'm glad to remember it.
The forest path is still cool and dark, the number of different pine trees is strange. I guess I always lumped them together as a kid, but I can see the different varieties now. Some thick, some some thing, shades of green from new grass to dying moss.
I know I'm feeling weird because of school. And being in a different state. And being away from Renee. I don't want to call her but I do, sitting down on a dead trunk.
I pick away little pieces of crumbling bark as her voicemail sounds.
"Hi, Mom. It's me. I got to Forks okay. Everything is just the same. Text me when you can. Love
you."
I click the side button on my phone and heave a long sigh. The light is fading so I start back home, wiping the dirt and leaves from my jeans. Somehow the sky and trees and leaves and all the rest haven't really tamped down the restlessness inside. I'm getting to that place.
The one where a panic attack isn't far off, the one where I'll need to do certain things to get away from if I fall inside.
It's Renee, partly. I'm worrying about what she fed herself, if she and Phil stopped fighting after they dropped me off, if she remembered to bring the clothes in from the line.
I decide that the forest is partly to blame, then the move, all the change.
Try to name the feeling, the reasons, convince myself there is no danger. That I'm safe. Try to get ahold of the shifting, roiling, make-you-seasick stuff going on in my heart. The pounding in my ears and veins and throat. I focus on the trees, the shifting greens, the browns, the bursts of birdsong. The tingling tremble in my chest and hands and feet.
"I'm Bella Swan. I'm seventeen years old. I'm in the forest behind my dad's house in Forks, Washington. It's 2022. I have ten fingers. I'm wearing a blue sweater, jeans with a rip in the left knee. My hair is brown and frizzy because it's misting and humid and this is an effing rain forest. Nothing is going to hurt me. I'm okay. I feel nervous, and scared, and hopeful, and afraid because I'm in a new place, I'm going to a new school. I'm lonely but it's okay, it's okay, it's okay."