A/N: Hey y'all. So I'm not a fan of long author notes at the beginning of chapters, and I'll do my best to avoid them. That being said, there are a few housekeeping things to cover first. One is that there'll be almost no chance of the Cullens or Bella showing up in this story, beyond maybe a vague mention or two later on. I'm not confident enough to work with extensively established characters.
Another is that this story will contain a number of content warnings throughout. I'll always include and bold them at the beginning of the chapters. This one specifically has a warning for blatant transphobia (both external and internalized) and physical/emotional harassment. Please remember that I myself am a trans woman and that it informs how I write.
Lastly! The main thing I ask you to suspend your disbelief for (in a fanfiction about vampires) is the sparkling skin. They're sensitive to sunlight here, but as they age they gain more control over how their allure appears to humans. They can still sparkle, but with a good deal of effort they can suppress it for a time. It won't be all that important of a plot point, but just a heads up.
Chapter 1 Theme Song: The Passenger by Iggy Pop
I slowly walked up the gravel walkway leading to the school's front entrance. It was the greyest of days in western Oregon, but a soundtrack always seemed to make it more beautiful. Only a few slurs and rocks were thrown at me today, which I counted as a success. I didn't bother to dodge any of them because I knew that that would only encourage the others to try harder. I did my best to tune it all out with my ear buds placed as far in as I could get them, focusing all I could on Iggy Pop's melancholic croon.
I am the Passenger,
And I ride and I ride.
I ride through the city's backsides.
I see the stars come out of the sky
My shoulder length dirty-blonde hair flew up from a sudden gust of wind. Startled slightly I brought my downturned head up and saw disgusted sneers from a few nearby classmates. I quickly looked back down. I smoothed out my dull grey t-shirt and kept on walking, my jeans already wet at the bottoms from a few puddles I had unwittingly walked into on the way to school. My sneakers were in an even worse state.
At 17 just about all of my peers had their own cars and could drive to school. My mother couldn't be bothered to even help me get my license, let alone a car. As far as she was concerned, I was just a disappointment against her and God that she had to put up with for only one more year. If we lived in a relatively sunny town or a place with a functional public transit system this may not have been a problem, but living in a small western Oregon town fit neither criteria.
I am the Passenger.
I stay under glass.
I look through my window at night.
I see the stars come out tonight.
It may not come as a surprise but small-town life for a young trans woman was not particularly easy, nor enjoyable. It certainly didn't help that I had inherited my mother's slighter build, soft facial features, and shorter height (for a male). For her being 5'8" and thin hadn't been seen as overly strange, but for her "son" it was an entirely different matter. I did at least like my grey-blue eyes, even if they were a bit deep set.
As much as I was thankful that I had not inherited my less than dearly departed father's taller, more masculine build it certainly didn't help that I was the shortest and weakest "boy" in my class. Facts that many had seen as an opportunity to take advantage of in their harassment.
Now walking down the hall to my first period class, American History, I felt the oppressive dread start to weigh down further. At least walking to school I was generally alone and could concentrate on my music. The surrounding trees made for a great backdrop to the songs.
My music was what anchored me. I'd been obsessed with listening to whatever I could get my hands on for as long as I could remember. It felt as though it was constantly playing in my head. The songs always shifting and changing between each other. It was almost that I thought more in music than I did in words at times, if that even makes any sense. There were countless different places to go in my mind and countless different emotions that I could feel through music, removed from the real world. It, and nearby hiking trails, were my two refuges from everything else in this god-forsaken hellhole.
Get into the car.
We'll be the Passenger.
We'll ride through the city tonight.
We'll see the city's ripped backsides.
I had long since given up on attempting to convince anyone to refer to me as "Violet May" (my chosen, real name) or even just "Violet". I'd given up even faster on asking to be gendered correctly. If I were lucky my fellow townsfolk would stick to calling me a man and by the name I'd been stuck with since birth in a derisive tone and leave it at that. Most days I wasn't all that lucky.
It hurt. It always hurt. It didn't matter whether it was the relatively simpler use of masculine pronouns or the far more unpleasant physical injuries. They all seemed to build up into a constantly growing weight on my chest. Occasionally I wondered if heart disease ran in my family, and if I'd have a heart attack from the stress before whatever was going to happen to me when I turned 18. At least then I wouldn't have to worry about paying for college or rent.
My mother expressly forbade me, under pain of immediate disownment, from wearing any sort of makeup or affirming clothing. As a result, my presentation was about as far away from what I dreamed of it being as it could get. The only reason I even got away with my hair being as long as it was, was that short hair reminded her of my father.
At least he was still good for something.
I swore that some of my teachers made an effort to draw out my birth name a bit longer than necessary, as if to emphasize it. It added to the weight, but I'd at least gotten better at keeping on a mask of indifference. I knew better than to try any sort of vocal modulation during class, so I always stuck with the soft baritone that puberty had given me when called on. Although not the tone I wished for, it was warm enough that I was less ashamed of it than I was the rest of my body.
I sing a la la la la lalalala.
La la la la lalalala.
La la la la lalalala.
La la la.
As if cued the song ended just before the bell rang to start first period. I soon settled into a familiar apathy and tuned out as best I could without the aid of music. First period went by and I was only called on once, to which I responded with the flattest tone and bare minimum information. Mr. Samuelson made some sarcastic comment deriding my answer, despite it being correct, to a few snickers from my classmates.
I sunk back into my apathetic haze and wondered what the weather would be like walking home. Hopefully it wouldn't rain as I'd forgotten an umbrella until halfway to school. My mother had forgotten to buy coffee and we'd run out, but she depended upon it about as much as me so at least it wouldn't be a problem for too long. Hopefully the caffeine headaches would wait a little longer to kick in.
The next few periods went by surprisingly well with none of the teachers trying to call on me for answers. Even better was that there wasn't any group work, so I was able to continue pretending that none of my classmates existed. They tended to ignore me regardless of the kind of work we were given, but less attention was always preferable.
This brief respite lasted until 4th period Gym class.
If my less than stellar experience with small-town life were not a surprise, then it should come as even less of a surprise that Gym class was in its own league of hellish misery. I changed as quickly as possible and did my best to practice my breathing exercises to curb the building anxiety. It was a foregone conclusion that whatever our failed athlete of a teacher Mrs. Riley (how anyone could stand to marry that miserable wretch was a mystery to all) had planned it would be painful. I stood near the back of the growing crowd of students trying to breathe in and out, quietly and deeply. It wasn't working all that well, but I was at least trying.
"Today we will be playing dodgeball-"
Yup. As I said. Painful.
"-but we'll be ending 15 minutes early in order for you to hear a presentation on an exciting travel opportunity for students".
Huh. Well, that was unexpected.
It could have been a presentation on how to boil water and I'd still be excited simply for the fact that it ended gym class early. I just first had to try and make it though the other 30 minutes without being injured.
Continuing with the theme of being unsurprised this was far too much to hope for.
Shortly after class started, I noticed Nick McArthur (esteemed defensive lineman of the varsity football team) giving me a look that could only be described as both a scowl and a smirk. If it were not directed at me, I might have been impressed with just how unpleasant it managed to make his already unfortunate features. He certainly didn't make the team for his charming, good looks.
None of them did, really. It was a stereotype that at least the quarterback of a high school varsity football team had to be handsome, but good lord no one on that team was. I suspected that potentially small-town inbreeding was instead the stereotype closer to reality in this case.
The next 28 minutes were a masterclass, on my part, in avoiding serious injury. Nick, along with a few of his similarly less-than intellectually gifted friends, were having a grand time trying to see how much damage a dodgeball could do to the human body. Specifically, my human body. I'd managed to get myself out twice by intercepting lighter throws from other students not aimed at me but was eventually tagged back in both times.
Just as I thought I might make it to see whatever amazing presentation was cutting this class short I felt what seemed like a granite rock colliding with the side of my head. It wasn't a rock, but I still fell over seeing dots in my vision. Maybe I hit my head on the floor too, but who knows. I think Mrs. Riley said something about "trying to play a little less rough" to whoever had thrown it, but it was hard to hear over the ringing in my ears.
Against all odds I made it over to the side of the gymnasium and sat down on the bench. Mrs. Riley gave me a disinterested look and told me to go to the nurse's office. I should have probably asked for an escort, but I was still too dazed to think coherently. Without changing out of my gym clothes (I could at least count on none of my classmates knowing my gym locker code) I walked (or stumbled, depending on how you look at it) out through the doors into one of the main school hallways.
As I started to make my way down the hall towards the nurse's office, I noticed a few figures pass right by me on the way into the gym. I wouldn't have paid them any mind had one of them not stopped to look directly at me. He was as pale as he was beautiful standing about an inch taller than me. Blonde hair and red eyes made me think of albinism, but what really got my attention was the intensity of his stare.
He looked at me as though I were somehow both a work of high-class abstract art, and the most delicious piece of meat he had ever come across. The unsettling sensation this look gave me cleared my head a little, but the incessant throbbing of a possible (probable) concussion still dominated my thoughts. "Uh…h-hello there." I muttered clumsily.
No response.
Hell, I wasn't sure if he was even breathing. By now his colleagues (or whoever they were) had stopped to look back at us with interest. They gave me curious glances as well but seemed to defer to the one right next to me. I cleared my throat and gave a marginally more confident "Can I help you with something?". After a pause he gave a smile that didn't reach his eyes and replied "No thank you, I was just wondering if you could direct us to your gymnasium? We're here from the Lansing Travel Agency to give a presentation to senior students."
"Oh. It's behind me through those doors." I pointed the maybe 25 feet behind me I'd already walked (or stumbled). "The 4th period class is just about to end early for you, and the rest of the seniors will be coming in later at 6th period". Where on earth the confidence was coming from to speak this clearly for this long was beyond me.
"Thank you. Will you be attending today?" He gave with a voice both smooth and cold.
"Uh w-well, I mean", back with the stuttering, "I'm a-actually on my way to the n-nurse's office right now."
"How unfortunate. Well, we'll be sure to pass along materials for you to look over later. You seem like a wonderful candidate for this program. What is your name young man?"
I winced a bit at the misgendering. Even strangers didn't care enough to try, although the more apathetic side of me dismissed it as a side-effect of my dull presentation. It still hurt. "Uh, V-violet May, and thank you. I'll look o-over them later."
What hurt more was when I then gritted my teeth and gave him my birth name with more stuttering. I felt humiliated, but no one else in this school would acknowledge the name Violet May if he tried to give the materials to them. I also wasn't thinking clearly enough to decide if I wanted to avoid getting them. And anyway, what's the worst that could happen?
With one last look he continued walking past me to join the others. Entirely confused by the whole interaction I swiftly made my way down the hall. It wasn't until I got settled in the office with an ice pack (given to me by the school nurse without a second glance from her) that I thought of how bizarre the whole thing really was.
I clearly had a bruise across half of my face, he didn't even know my name initially, I didn't know or ask for his name, and I could have sworn I had felt eyes burning a hole though the back of my head when I made my way down the hall. Absentmindedly I began humming as I tried to get over the headache and whatever it was that had just happened. At least music wasn't this confusing.
I sing a la la la la lalalala.
La la la la lalalala.
La la la la lalalala.
La la la.