This story takes place during the summer of 2006, between Eclipse and Breaking Dawn. It is an origin story of Rachel and Paul's off-page relationship. I have taken some creative liberties but commit to keeping the story as canon as possible.
Please be kind.
Rachel
I hate Kiss from a Rose. That song by Seal that makes absolutely no sense if you actually listen to the lyrics.
Twice in my life, that song has wedged itself into my memory. The first time was in a random bedroom, at a frat party where atop of a pile of coats, I had sex for the first time. It was neither good nor bad. It just was. He was okay. I knew him well enough. Well enough to ask him for abortion money six weeks later when I learned that our spontaneous, whisky-scented lapse of judgment resulted in an unwanted pregnancy.
The second time I heard that cursed song; legs up in stirrups, staring at the ceiling of the abortion clinic where a poster of hummingbirds was haphazardly adhered above me with green painter's tape. I am never having sex again.
And now. Like a sign from Satan, himself. In my red Mazda sedan, as I pass the wooden sign that reads The Quileute Tribe welcomes you to La Push.
My dark omen.
'There used to be a graying tower alone on the sea.'
'You became the light on the dark side of me.'
Yeah… No, thank you. I twist the dial on my dash. Silence.
Three weeks. I just have to survive three weeks with my father and my baby brother, Jacob. This was not the plan. I was supposed to be traveling with my teammates this summer, playing Lacrosse at a semi-pro level. That was half of the whole reason I got to go to university in the first place. Sports scholarship; the rest was covered by an academic scholarship that I practically killed myself to get.
Lacrosse was my ticket out but I tore my ACL and despite surgery, plenty of rest and physiotherapy, I didn't make the cut. I was too hesitant in my movements. Something my coach called a mental block. I am all healed up but my mind doesn't believe me and refuses to let my body move the way it used to.
In three weeks my new job begins in Seattle. Data Entry Clerk. Not a glamorous job but if I also get a weekend job at a cafe, I might make enough money to afford to rent a place of my very own. Roommates and I have never gotten along. Despite being a twin, I don't quite like sharing spaces. Ironic, considering I've shared a space with someone from conception.
I don't go to the house, first. Even though my father is expecting me. I can't. I'm not ready. The thing about that house is that it holds my mother's memory. It's painful to be there without her. She died in a car accident when I was only 13; a tender age when a girl so badly needs her mother.
Instead, I go First Beach where I can breathe the salty air and feel grounded. There is something about the push and pull of the tide that makes me feel safe and at home no matter where I am. I only lasted one semester at Pullman before I transferred to Seattle for school. I needed the ocean to keep me company. Being so far from it felt wrong. It's funny how far I ran to get away from home and yet I was drawn to the one thing that reminds me of home the most. The ocean.
It's late in the day. Despite the setting sun, I am not alone on the beach. A few teenage boys are dragging along their surfboards, hoping to ride the last waves of the evening before it gets too dark to see anything.
I recognize one of them. The baby brother of Leah Clearwater, Seth. Not so little anymore. Rather huge, in fact. How old is he? Only 14 or something. Actually, all of the boys he is with are rather tall. Tall and muscular. Did we get a Crossfit gym in town? I recognize some of the boys he is with. I try to place the others. Each look so familiar. Of course, they're friends of Jacob. I used to babysit them; Embry Call and Quil Ateara and… I have no idea who the other one is but he must recognize me because he cannot stop staring. He remains still on the beach while his friends continue on without him.
Seth, Embry, and Quil stop when they realize their friend is no longer with them. Each of them turn one-by-one, looking back to their friend and then to me. Out of nowhere, they all start laughing. Laughing? Not just laughing. Howling. A rush of embarrassment washes over me like a wave. I look down at my body; long denim skirt, loose thick-knit brown cardigan over a white t-shirt and brand new sneakers. Is it my hair? I touch my black wavy locks. Nothing feels out of place. Is there something on my face? I run my fingers over the ridge of my nose, down my chapped lips, and over my chin. I still don't understand.
The three boys continue to howl while their friend remains slack-jawed and frozen, standing behind them.
"Something funny, Clearwater!?" I shout down the beach to the boys when my embarrassment at being laughed at turns into irritation.
"Rachel fucking Black!" Embry Call cackles, "Jacob is going to shit a brick!"
What? Jacob knows I'm coming home today. He most certainly won't be shitting bricks. Well, this has been a nice welcome home. I roll my eyes at the immature res boys, turn my back to them, and begin to walk towards my red sedan.
I only make it a quarter of the way before an unusually hot palm wraps around my wrist. Startled, I turn around to see the slack-jawed boy staring down at me. Now that he is up close, I am overwhelmed by his height and monstrous build. In the presence of his broad shoulders and thick biceps, I feel incredibly insignificant by the boy who's large hand wraps around my dainty wrist so completely that his thumb overlaps his knuckles. Yet, the urgency in his eyes makes me feel like the most significant person in the universe.
"Yes?" I say timidly to the boy towering me.
"I Uh-" he appears to be lost for words which causes another outburst of cackles from his friends, far behind him. His eyes snap towards them.
I don't get it. What is funny? Why are they laughing at me?
The boy's face crumples into a scowl and his nostrils flare. The grip around my wrist tightens and for some reason his hand quakes.
"Ow," I attempt to pull my wrist back from his iron grip.
"Fuck!" he quickly withdraws his hand from my wrist and takes a large step backwards, "uh.. Um, I'm Paul," he fumbles over his words.
I rub my wrist and glance past him at the three boys who are absolutely losing their shit in sand. My mouth is suddenly dry and my face is hot. I focus on the boy in front of me, "Paul?" I swallow, "you got a last name, Paul?"
"I uh. Um. Uh-," Paul struggles and for a moment I think that perhaps he has forgotten it, "Lahote," he finally says and exhales in relief.
"Okay, Paul Lahote," I reply, "why don't you go over there and tell your friends it's not polite to laugh at people for no good reason. Run along, now," I say sharply, roll my eyes and turn my back to Paul and continue my journey back to the car.
I have definitely not missed how immature and crass these res boys are around here. This is exactly the reason why I never dated in high school.
I push my hand deep into the pocket of my denim skirt and pull out my car keys. When I glance back towards the beach to scowl at the boys one last time, I am shocked to see they have disappeared. Their surfboards lay flat in the sand with scraps of mysterious black fabric that gently sways in the breeze. That's strange. Where could they have gone? My attention is suddenly directed to the trees which line the perimeter of the beach. The large pines sway from side to side as they would during a violent storm. But that's impossible. The sea breeze today is not strong enough to shake the forest in such a violent manner.
I forgot how strange things can be around here, sometimes.
Eventually, I find my way home. The sun has already set and every light in the Black house is on. I am greeted by my father, Billy, who is overjoyed that I have returned home even for just three weeks. He's gotten older; more gray hair, more wrinkles. He's started using his wheelchair in the house to get around instead of the walker which I can now see has become a coatrack of sorts.
"Jesus Christ, Jacob!" I am in complete and utter shock to see my baby brother towering me at an unnatural height. "Have they put something in the water? How tall are you?" I ask. Just like Seth Clearwater and the boys on the beach, Jacob is huge and monstrously built. I wonder where, around here of all places, he bought the shorts and hoodie he is wearing in his size.
"Nevermind," Jacob grumbles, sitting down at the kitchen table.
Well someone is in a pissy mood.
"He's 6'7" now," my father replies for him, "and only 16. He might have a few more inches left to grow."
"And when did you cut off all your hair?" I barely recognize my kid brother.
"A while ago," he mutters, vaguely.
I'm still not over how big he is, "are you going to join basketball in the fall?" I ask out of genuine curiosity.
Jacob rolls his big brown eyes at me, "no, I won't, and before you ask, the weather up here is fine. Thank you," he snaps at me.
"Well, I can see teenage angst is in full swing, over here," I reply to which my father chuckles. "Why are you home on a Friday night, anyways? Shouldn't you be out with your friends?"
"I was supposed to be out… But Dad wanted me to be here to greet you. Which I have. Hi," he mumbles.
I stare at my moody brother but then turn my attention to Dad when he clears his throat.
"Are you hungry, Girly?" Dad asks, "I can order a pizza."
Girly. Dad's nickname for me. Rebecca's hair curled so he called her Curly and me Girly.
"Oh. No, that's fine. I think I'm just going to go upstairs, shower and get settled into my room," I nod, picking up my luggage.
"Oh. Well… uh, see… I wasn't sure if you were actually coming this time," Dad says. "Jacob took over your bedroom when you and your sister moved out and well… we never got around to putting together a guest room in Jacob's old bedroom," he says.
"Oh?" I glance into the livingroom at the sunken-in old couch.
"There's an air mattress in the attic," Dad says. "Jacob, maybe you can go dig it out for your sister."
"Oh. Don't worry. I can do it," I reply before Jacob can grumble, mumble or say something else pissy. I'm sure he's already sour at me enough for keeping him in on a Friday night when he could be out raising hell with his friends.
I leave the men in the kitchen and drag my luggage to the top of the stairs. The house smells the same as it always has; maple sugar and pine. It looks the same too. Apart from the bedroom down the hall which used to be mine.
I pull on the cord above my head and lower the ladder down which leads to the attic. The rickety ladder creaks loudly as I climb each rung, reminding me of the 15lbs I've gained since I was cut from lacrosse. When I flip the light switch on, the single bulb in the middle of the dusty loft flickers and then immediately blows out. Of course. I grope around in my pocket for my keys where I locate the tiny flashlight keychain I got in a swag bag during Frosh Week at university, in freshman year.
I point the flashlight at the mess of boxes and try not to trip over anything or think of the spiders and mice that likely call the dank loft home. I come across camping gear and old fishing equipment and crouch down, pointing the light between two folded up tents. There it is. I pull the dirty box towards me. Yuck. I'll have to take this outside and shake it out. God knows what's living in here.
When I stand again, my head hits the singular light bulb and it flickers to life, lighting up the attic. That's when I see the noticeable indentation in the ceiling where water has leaked in and drenched a collection of random boxes. No… Not just random boxes. Mom's boxes.
My stomach sinks. I drop the heavy air mattress on the particle board floor, activating a notable cloud of dust and hurry over to the soggy boxes. I hold my breath to keep from gagging at the smell of mold and mildew. Ruined. It's all ruined. I reach inside a box I pull out the straw sunhat which Mom used to wear every summer in the garden and at the beach. It practically disintegrates in my hands. I dig further into the disgusting boxes and locate artifact after artifact that she was real. All ruined. Her feathered earrings; destroyed. Her deer hide jacket; rotted. A dreamcatcher we had made together; beyond repair.
I fall back on my heels. My heart caves in on itself in complete and utter deviation. This is my fault. This is all my fault. Dad told me years ago to come and collect what I wanted of Mom's stuff. And now… Just like her — ashes in the ocean — there's nothing left. Gone. Because of me… Again. Mom was only driving that night because of me. And now, all that is left of her is ruined because of me. Again. Tears slide down my cheeks.
I fucked up, Mom. How do I fix this?
"Girly?!" Dad calls up to me from floor below
"Uh," I inhale, attempting to compose my voice, "yeah?!"
"Did you find that air mattress? I can send Jacob up there to help," he replies.
"Uh, no! I found it! No need. I'm coming down," I say quickly. The last thing I need is my baby brother coming up here and seeing this mess. What I did. Dad will be devastated. They're both going to hate me.
I desperately pull one of the tents over the boxes in an attempt to protect what perhaps is still intact within the pile. I can go through it tomorrow. See if anything can be salvaged.
"I went ahead and ordered that pizza, anyways. Once you get yourself all set up, come on down. Okay, Girly?!"
"Um… Yeah, sure, Dad."
I should have come home sooner. I'm so sorry, Mom.