The summer pageant was everything that Forks lived for, luring the townspeople from their porches and curtain-peeping windows, all in an attempt to celebrate what Forks was and all it promised to be.
A shit show.
Or so Isabella thought, pruning the last bouquet for the ceremony.
Mz Flowers had her completing all mundane tasks, from polishing silverware to blowing balloons– making sure the decor in the Town Hall looked presentable enough for the afternoon. A soft spot for all the young girls competing today, as the prize consisted of a fancy stretch of dinners and limousines, as well as a shot at competing in Miss America.
The thought alone made Isabella want to yak.
After much blood, sweat and tears, she swept the wooden stage at the front of the hall, and cracked open the door to let in some of that sticky southern heat – a pariah of cars loading into the bay, flashy and new from waxing and polishing. Everyone wanting to make an effort, especially with the cameras and Forks' journalists afloat.
Isabella stood in Mz Flowers office, dressing behind the comfort of the heavy, pink drapes. A little essence of rose and lavender floating throughout the building, and sticking like toffee to her skin as she undressed.
Honey had brought Isabella a new dress for the occasion– a blue, satin strapless monster that hugged all the right places and accentuated others. A modern girl's dream – though Isabella's nightmare.
She didn't want attention like that from Forks, nor from the men that lingered in it.
The idea of exposed skin made her lungs all heavy and tight, like all the air had been vacuumed out of the vicinity. Thinking specifically of Mike Newton and his wandering eye, or the boys from school and their ridiculing comments.
Isabella quickly swiped on a few coats of mascara and shoved her feet into a pair of beaten up sneakers that had a bit of mud and grit from the garden, tarnishing the pristine image the Swan's were trying to maintain.
Charlie had already busied himself with the outdoor barbecue, and Seth was sitting in the corner playing on some gaming console– killing aliens, which seemed appealing in comparison to champagne and fake gossip. The talk of this month, speaking of which, was the fairground fire and Carlisle Cullen's death– a particularly sensitive topic for the 'idiots' (as Honey deemed them) who enjoyed the Irish travelers. And a victory for the old blood of Forks, and their dead hearts.
Isabella didn't know how to feel about the situation. On one hand, Carlisle was an interesting man who didn't put a step wrong. Always smiling, always something kind to say. He didn't deserve to lose his home, nor did the others who were only looking for a place to rest their head– though the son. Eddie.
He made things difficult.
On first thought, she had liked Eddie– maybe a little bit too much, for their different status' in life. Though the gun, anger and basement vengeance had coiled some fear out of her she hadn't known existed - not since the accident, anyway.
As she approached the hall, a swarm of people came to offer her trays of empty drinks and requests for music– smiling their perfect smiles and bickering like flocks of hens. Isabella grimaced and vanished for canopies and more bottles of champagne, trying to head out of Miss Flowers way as the vein began bulging in her forehead– a bomb sure enough to deteonate with minimal survivors.
She served the onlookers and their children, the parents of the contestants and the musicians playing the live band– listening to conversation as she went in dull, lulling circles.
"All of them shipped off–"
"-will be gone by the weekend, says Doris next door."
"-only a few of them are remaining now."
"They'll bury their father on their own land, and not ours, thank our lord and savior–"
Her heart sank.
The travelers were to travel on. A short lived journey– one she was envious that they had the decision to restart, without the morbid circumstances. As free as wild animals, or cageless birds.
She turned sharply as someone tapped her on the shoulder, and almost launched the silver platter across the floor.
"Easy, now." Paul grinned, much to her distaste. He swiped a few of the salmon rolls from the tray and popped them in his mouth, chewing on one side. "How are your duties?"
"Fuck off, Paul."
"Language, language." He tutted. "Miss Flowers wouldn't be impressed. Plus, you'll miss me when I'm gone."
"I find that hard to believe."
Isabella tried to evade his presence, though he ducked ahead and cut her short.
"It's next week. One ticket, a field full of dreams… all the while you stay here, as I dive off into Wildetown." He sighed wistfully. "I wonder when Mike Newton will pop the question and take you off daddy's hands."
The urge to clobber him was relentless, though she smiled through the pain. "I'm going to give you until the count of five, before I crumble you into a small bread-roll and serve you to the rest of the hall."
Paul's smile dropped, and he inched forward with a sharp glint in his eye. "Watch your mouth."
Music broke out conveniently, and Isabella jerked at the noise, pulling her attention to the main stage as all five pageant contestants greeted the audience. All beautiful, and all sporting the Miss Forks golden ribbon.
Front and center, it happens, with a bouquet of red roses and a flock of red hair, was Victoria – Paul's one time (but only) ex girlfriend. His attention was captured, and Isabella ducked away before she could get the brunt of his anger once again. Another cancer to grow from the gut of their town.
Isabella dropped the silver tray on a clear table and decided now was a good time to take her break– throwing the denim jacket over her blue dress and whisking into the trees out back, knowing if she submerged herself far enough, that no one could bother her.
Twigs snapped beneath her trainers and the live band became a whisper of music in the distance– her only compass to go back, if she dared enough.
Out here, the air was sweet and clear, pulling all the tar-anger out from her lungs and disarming the sinister thoughts that plagued her head. A little too dark for a bright day, or for a girl of eighteen.
She was one bad decision away from smoking the nearly-crumped cigarette in her pocket (an old friend and habit) when leaves rustled, and a figure emerged a stone's-throw away.
Eddie Cullen.
He stood in the clearing of the forest with a smaller, pixie-like girl at his side. A fairy that had gotten lost on the way to hell– with black, spiked curls and eyes that bloomed like a cartoon character. Now staring up at the tall shadow of her friend, boyfriend, or murderer… Isabella wasn't sure.
"Please."
"I said no."
"Ed–"
"Alice, I said no."
Alice chewed on her cheek and looked away, trying to stifle a few tears, or maybe a volatile anger. "I'd saved up for this. Carlisle promised me…"
"Carlisle isn't here anymore." Eddie retorted, looking offshore, opposed to the little frame of the girl beside him. She was dressed in a yellow, flowery number that made her look like a daffodil – only accentuating her childlike behavior. A strange and yet beautiful thing.
Eddie was in a black shirt and a leather jacket, his face but a map of bruises and blood.
Isabella refrained from gasping, unable to look away from the deformed gash that was his face.
Had Paul done this the other day?
Had Charlie?
Alice began to weep, and Eddie sighed as his defense was broken down – reaching out a hand and taking her by the shoulder, all but throwing her body into his. A bear trying to hug a butterfly.
"I know you wanted to compete." He said, softer now– his accent thick. "Though we'll get chased with pitchforks and flames. Carlisle isn't here to protect us anymore."
Alice nodded glumly, her small head just about visible between Eddie's arm and chest. "I guess I'll have to find somewhere else to wear this dress."
"I'm sure you'll think of a few things."
"You really won't come back?"
Eddie straightened. "Don't do that."
"Don't do what?"
"Use your innocence as a way of manipulating me home."
"But that's what it is… home."
Eddie stepped back and ran a hand over his face. Isabella stifled a grimace as he touched all of those cuts and bruises on his face, not the slightest bit fazed.
"I can't keep going backwards, Alice. Besides, if they see me again, they'll kill me."
Was he talking about the people of Forks?
Alice answered that invisible question altogether. "The boys will come around… they won't blame you forever."
Eddie snorted a response.
"I'm serious. Rosalie will miss you terribly." Alice bit. "Plus, your face is beginning to heal… they won't go as hard next time. Just take a few more beatings and you'll be forgiven."
"Just go, Alice."
"Please, I–"
"Go. I've made up my mind."
Alice shook her head, and in a feat of anger, shoved him hard– though it barely budged him an inch. She tore off through the trees and disappeared within a blink or two, too small to see through the green and brown.
Eddie clenched his teeth, the muscles flying in his jaw– highlighting all the sharpness in his face beneath that roadmap of blue and purple. A bit of blood still dried here and there.
Isabella must have been staring too intently for too long, as in a snap, Eddie's reflexes caught her trail, meeting her eyes with an incredulous glint lingering between them.
Now it was her turn to run off.
"Wait!" He called, though she was a pace ahead now, dodging his voice to meet the music again.
"Isabella." His hand wrapped around her arm, quicker than she could have imagined. She came to a gradual stop and turned, her curls tousling with the forest breeze.
"I don't have it in me for another gun fight." She snapped, a little too harsh.
His face was a warning sign, though his eyes held a defeat that made her soften– lowering her initial safeguarding barrier.
"I'm sorry, alrigh'?"
"That's it?"
"I'm sorry for bringing you into it."
"You really are bad with women." Isabella fought her arm back, and he gave it with little battle.
"I make no apologies for what your family did to my dad. Though I regret holding the gun." He said, inching his head down with a smack of sincerity there. The bruises were worse up close, and there was little of 'Eddie' beneath the trauma.
"What… happened?" She asked, too distracted to focus on the discussion at hand.
Eddie recoiled as if he remembered his appearance, and stood a little straighter– his height now casting shadows. "I… nothin'."
"Was it Paul?"
Eddie laughed a chaotic, broken laugh. "Was it fuck."
"Your family, then. They beat you?" Her eyes narrowed.
Eddie's lit up like a fourth of July bonfire. "No. I got a beating because I didn't pull the trigger."
Her blood ran like a cold river, and she did all she could to stop from visibly shivering– not wanting to give away the terror that froze her bones. "I… oh."
"My family lives by the 'eye for an eye' rule."
"I was the target?"
Eddie shook his head. "They're mad at me for not ending one of you whilst I had the chance."
"Why didn't you?"
Her morbidness shocked him, though not as much as the dress had– his eyes trying their hardest not to slide down. Isabella caught that emerald green gaze dripping like warm rain across her, though the action was so slight, so coy, she second guessed herself.
"Because I don't like killing."
"How heroic."
She was answering too quickly, too wittily– though he was beginning to make her nervous.
"You sound like you want to die."
"You don't?"
Eddie tilted his head to the side, and a little dimple poked out from his cheek– a tidbit of innocence, if such a thing could exist in him. "If you hate life that much, why don't you leave?"
Isabella did all she could to not freeze, to not seize up at the question she most dreaded – knowing no logical answer could come to an outsider, or someone who had the privilege of freedom.
Paul interrupted her answer– his voice carrying across the woods.
"Iz! Where are you? They're taking photographs!"
She stepped back, and this time, Eddie remained still, watching her with furrowed brows.
"I should go." He said.
"Yes." She replied. "Go… find your family."
"Alice was the last of them. I'm off to the bus station."
Why was he telling her this?
"You should consider it." He said, even as she began to walk away now. "If you're miserable n' all."
She shook her head at the thought and didn't bother saying goodbye, not even looking back as she toyed mercilessly with the idea of escaping Forks. His shuffling footsteps disturbed the leaves and what sanity remained in her, venturing from the woods as she ventured from his eyeshot.
Paul had been adamant for a photographer as Victoria was getting the most attention from the businessmen, and wanted an opportunity to steer her away. Isabella obliged, though could see the rosy pout of his ex pucker as the whiskey came out - and Paul began drinking away his troubles.
"Get a picture with me!" Paul insisted, throwing his arm around her crimson waist. Victoria struggled slightly, though his grip was vice-like, trapping her between him and the stench of disappointment.
Isabella snapped a few photographs and caught the attention of Seth, who had now been banned from his gaming console. Her little brother, all freckle-faced and round, did her the favor of grabbing Paul's hand and leading him away– the only one of the family he listened to, it seemed.
Isabella silently thanked him as they disappeared.
They awarded Miss Forks to Jane Chapman, a thumbnail of a girl who had skin like pink cream– probably the prettiest to come out of Forks, with the best chance at Miss America.
Isabella offered her the crown and the hall lit up in flashes of white as cameras went off, the journalists barging their way to get a little snippet for the Lavender Field Gazette.
Miss Flowers was drying her eyes on a napkin.
Music flooded and food was exchanged for cocktails, the transition into nightlife happening smoothly, with the help of a DJ and coloured lights. This had been her touch, and one the townsfolk of Forks seemed to warm up to– Pastor James busting out some moves and dragging old lady Renee from her wheelchair, all for the sake of Busta Rhymes and a little Drake.
Really, what was this town good for?
Isabella had a little sip of wine near the bar, and tried her hardest to ignore Mike as he came over– bright eyed and bushy tailed. He slipped into view and she smiled grimly, not the least impressed by his white suit and old-timer cigar.
"Wanna come out the back with me?" He asked, a little drunk.
Isabella shook her head, though he was relentless.
"Come on… I've got a flask of vodka in my pocket. Let's get away from this madness."
The idea piqued a little interest in her, as did the thought of getting away from Miss Flowers– who was now doing shots with a few senior year classmates.
They went to the back of the town hall and pitched up a mini-bar on the brick wall, Isabella dangling her feet off its edge as she downed one sip and then another.
"That's strong." She complained, getting that sweep of numbness.
Mike smiled and took the flask, tipping it back expertly.
"You thought about what you want to do after summer?"
Isabella grimaced. "My mama put you up to this?"
"No. Maybe I just want to see where the world will take you… us."
Oh god.
Isabella looked away, trying to ignore the intensity in his stare. "There is no us, Mike."
"Oh come on." He pushed. "That night after the movie theater meant nothing to you?"
"Pretty much." She said, feeling all the battle-shield that alcohol supplied. An invincibility that couldn't be tarnished, even though it was as flimsy as baking paper.
"You really are a bitch." He shook his head, all smiling gone. "I should have listened to the boys."
"The boys!" Isabella laughed. "Yeah, you probably should have."
"What made you think it was okay to treat people like that?" Mike then argued, coming a little close. "I'm a person you know, with feelings and a fucking heart."
Now, she felt bad.
"You knew I didn't want anything, Mike."
"Yeah, I got that. But I thought–"
"You thought what?" Isabella hopped down, landing on her feet. "That I'd get a magic taste of your dick and decide I wanted the whole white-picket fence fantasy? Please. Go home, Mike."
He raised his fist, and instinctively she reached out to block it, though just got a handful of his shirt. A car sped past and he froze, seeing the fear in her eyes from the tail lights as they went.
Mike choked up and dipped, running off back into the hall.
Isabella remained still.
Is this the life that mama wanted for her? Is this the dream she was promised?
She ran her fingers through her raven curls and resisted the urge to scream, trying to ignore the car as it did drunken loops in the car-park. Idiots.
A hand pulled at her dress, and within the sphere of her glassy gaze, she saw Seth.
Quickly, she wiped away a tear as others threatened to come.
"You okay?"
"Yeah, I'm okay… where is Paul?"
"He left."
Isabella laughed. "With Victoria?"
Seth shook his head, a little solemn, a little glum.
"Paul and his friends found out the Cullen boy was at the bus station. They've gone after him."
Isabella felt her stomach get hot, and a flush of blood roused to her skin.
"Are you okay, Bells?" Seth asked.
Isabella snapped from her thoughts and reached into her jacket pocket for keys– specifically, the ones to her grandaddy's truck. "I've got to go." She whispered, more to herself than Seth.
She went off in a maze between the cars and narrowly missed the one doing drunken loops, unlocking and jumping into the old cab that smelt strongly of peppermint toffee.
"Bells!" Seth shouted, not daring to get close with that wayward car spinning. "Where are you going?"
"Out!" She yelled out the window as the engine came to life. "I… tell daddy I'll be home later."
She tore from the carpark and felt herself sober up quickly, the alcohol fading from her system as adrenaline coursed in.
She was going to save Eddie Cullen.