Chapter Three - Porcelain


(A/N) Ok, so I know some of the songs I'm putting in here came out after 2004 but were just gonna pretend they fit into the timeline because they deliver a message that I like. Also I'm slipping in all kinds of references to various pop culture phenomena in this and I'm just waiting for you guys to catch on (AND COMMENT. COUGH.)

P.S. I finally started getting caught up on the third season of Santa Clarita Diet and you guys I. Am. Dying. It is so funny. Please watch it. Anyway, here's Wonderwall.

P.P.S. I still haven't decided who I'm going to pair her with yet (Jacob/Paul) so I'm not gonna have her interact with either of them until I figure it out. (your input is welcomed) (/end A/N)


I stumbled into the gym bathroom, stopping in front of the sink so fast I nearly crashed into the mirror. Adrenaline and anxiety coursed through my veins so powerfully they were making me sick - no, wait. I actually was going to puke. I flung open the door to the roomy handicap stall and threw up into the toilet before sliding down onto my ass, back against the cool tile.

I could feel my heart threatening to burst with how fast it was beating, my breathing heavy. I bent my knees up to my chest and dropped my head to rest on my hands, exhaling slowly for longer than I thought was possible, a feat I probably would've been proud of under other circumstances.

My mind was still spinning, reeling, twisting this way and that trying to make sense of what had just happened. But I could focus only on one thing: there's more than one of him. Yet even now, reason was trying to take root in the rocky soil that was my erratic mind. Of course there was only one of him, he was human after all. (Humans don't have red eyes that turn black around blood.) He was just a unique kind of evil person, fixated on me for a terrible mistake I made, too young to realize the consequences of my gift. I understand them know, all too well. (People I love tend to die.) It wasn't possible for others to be like him because there was no one like him. (Would they pull an injured girl through a car window? I wondered.)

At night, at night, at night I feel... A fragment of a lyric floated through my mind disjointed and out of tune. I leaned my head back against the tile, frowning. It seemed familiar, as if from a half-forgotten dream. What were the rest of the words? I decided it wasn't important.

As I reasoned through my mental breakdown, I could feel my heartbeat steadying and slowing, my breathing becoming less like I had just sprinted for my life (I had) and relaxing to more normal levels. Abruptly, I was exhausted. I closed my eyes.

Should I go to class? I wondered. I don't want to… I broke off my thoughts abruptly. Mama didn't raise a weak-ass bitch. She raised a strong-ass bitch. (Mama can't even bear to be on the same continent as you).

"Well, Mom," I said aloud, wincing as my voice broke as I said her name for the first time in over a week (she's dead to me). "I'm not going to be what you think I am."

With that, I rose, sliding my back up the wall. I left the stall and made my way over to the sink and, more importantly, the mirror. Gripping the slippery porcelain tightly, I stared at my reflection. Pale, but not quite as pale as those figures in the cafeteria doorway. My cheeks were flushed, jarring against the unusual pallor. I winced at the light sheen of sweat and aggressively whipped on the cold water to splash on my face, savoring the frigid sting. I closed my eyes again, face dripping into the sink, half-afraid to look up and see a red-eyed monster staring at me in the mirror. But there was nothing, just the drab gray, white, and slate blue bathroom. I splashed more water on my face and reached for a paper towel, gently dabbing away the excess moisture, leaving a faint layer of water to further cool my skin on my way to class.

I glanced at the wall clock. 12:54. I'd spent more time in here working through my panic attack than I'd thought. I wouldn't have time to eat anything (not that I was sure I could keep it down anyway) before class. I lingered in the bathroom a moment longer, until the warning bell chimed an uncharming squeal through the building, still not entirely brave enough to leave the sanctity of my self-imposed temporary isolation.

I could hear a faint babble of voices, like a small spring suddenly roaring into a river, approaching and decided I couldn't put it off any longer. With one last glance in the mirror at the unusually pale girl staring back at me, I squared my shoulders and began my walk to fifth period Spanish.

I kept up the facade of being unaffected, despite my stomach lurching as I walked by the cafeteria doors. Maintained cool indifference as I pulled my notebooks from my locker. Wondered at how just an hour ago my head was filled with bookshelf design and not of terrifyingly pale, weird-eyed isolates. I made it up the stairs with what I hoped was a dancer's elegance but I suspect was more like drunkard's lumber and turned right toward the languages "hallway". Short. Two classrooms since Forks High School (home of the Spartans) only offered Spanish and French. I took a deep breath before entering room 212, not liking the sudden tenseness in my stomach, the feeling of imminent danger. It's nothing. They're not like him. They're just… indoorsy? That's why they're all so pale.

I winced when I walked into the room. Señora Goff had rearranged the desks into groups of four. I was too late getting in - all the groups were full except one. There was one group only half full. The one with the bronze haired statue I'd run into and the enormous guy from my Lit class this morning. I froze, heart pounding. I frantically tried to make eye contact with any of my other classmates, willing them to be chivalrous and give up their seat to the new girl, terrified of the pale strange ones sitting in the back. None budged, but I did get several curious looks and friendly small-town smiles.

Señora Goff gestured to me from the half-empty group. "Siéntate, por favor señorita."

I nodded mutely, legs weak. Suddenly, I felt sick again. You're fine. They're fine. Normal. They can't be the same as… a flash of him seared into my mind. Bone-pale, jet-black hair, gleaming red eyes, that twisted, entitled smile. He might've been handsome if I didn't know for a fact he was a monster. The bronze haired boy recoiled and stared me down for a brief second before turning to whisper to the monstrously large boy next to him in a low, conspiratorial voice. My stomach churned unpleasantly as I dropped into the desk directly opposite the bronze haired statue. Carefully avoiding either of their creepy eyes, I placed my books on the unoccupied desk next to me, heart still pounding.

"Hola," a friendly, almost musical sounding voice intoned from across the desk. I glanced up, the huge boy was looking at me expectantly. It was he who had spoken.

"Hi." I tried to force as much finality into that word as possible.

"I'm Emmett, this ugly fellow next to me is Edward," the bronze haired statue raised a hand from his crossed arms in acknowledgement. I didn't respond and they continued to look at me expectantly.

"Lydia," I said, trying again to shut down this conversation, eyes desperately looking anywhere in the room that wasn't the two individuals sitting across from me. Anxiety bubbling through me, threatening to become a roar. I was mercifully spared from further interaction by Señora Goff starting class. Past participles or some such thing. I happily seized my notebook, eager to bury myself in vocab and verbs and conjugations, literally anything that would stop me from having to look at the two people directly across from me. I'm so happily ensconced in writing ornate, neat notes that I miss the first part of Señora Goff's announcement at the end of class.

"...groups for the rest of the year so get acquainted! You'll be each other's new best friends."

My face set into a mask of horror and I swallowed the bile raising in my throat.

Please God, no.

Edmund and Eagle or whatever their names were glanced at each other, a strange knowing look in their strange eyes.


By the time the final bell rang, I was itching to be free of the confines of this school. I busted out of my last class of the day, Psychology, as fast as I could without seeming crazy. I race-walked to my lockers, threw my notebooks into my bag, and continued my quest to escape this brick encased hellhole.

Mike stopped me during my speedwalk toward the doors. "Hey! Lydia! Still down for La Push this weekend?"

"Yeah, sure," I said distractedly, willing to commit to anything that got me away from this conversation and on the road to my house faster. My eyes were scanning the people around me again. "What time?"

"We're gonna meet at my family's shop at 10," he responded eagerly. I tried not to make a face. The last thing I wanted was to be stuck in the car with them. I hated confined spaces with lots of bodies.

"Um, I think I was going out to breakfast with my aunt and uncle at 9:30 so how about I just meet you guys at the beach around 11?" I said, now trying to figure out how I was going to get there without a car. I could borrow Aunt Julie's bike…

"That works!" Mike gave me an overly enthusiastic pat on the back and bounded off to Jessica and Emery? Energy? Epic? Eric? Eric! That was his name and I continued my beeline for the door. I burst out and into the fine mist, inhaling the damp air deeply. As I turned right and headed past the parking lot toward home I saw the two Es (Ebert and Exavier?) from my Spanish class lounging by a newer silver Volvo, chatting with the tall blondes I had seen with them at the cafeteria door, and as I watched a diminutive dark haired figure joined them. They all turned as if they could feel my gaze and watched me. My heart leapt into my throat and I swiveled forward again, desperate for the safety of home, my neat, yellow room, and solitude.

I stepped through the front door and dropped my backpack on the floor, noting with surprise my aunt wasn't immediately admonishing me to put it 'where it belongs' before I remembered she was working late tonight. I could hear my uncle groaning at the TV. Must be a sport of some sort.

As I approached the living room my uncle turned in his recliner. "Lydia! How was school?"

Terrifying, but I wasn't going to tell him that. "Fine and dandy. Nothing weird or unusual at all," I mumbled the last part to myself. "You're home early," I commented.

"Good, good. And yes, they let me go early today." Uncle Marcus said distractedly. In a matter of seconds his attention was back on the TV and I made my way to my bedroom. My stomach was still tied in knots from today's events. I gave an involuntary shudder. No matter how I tried to rationalize it, I knew deep down that the Cullens were just the same as, as… I was pulled from my thought process when I opened my door and was hit by a wall of cold air.

"What the fuck?" I shivered, pulling back on the jacket I was just shrugging off. I froze when I glanced up. The window was open. The window I distinctly remember slamming shut and locking this morning. Suddenly, I was afraid. I turned this way and that around my room looking for something out of place, something missing, maybe something new that didn't belong but I couldn't find anything. All that I felt was a bone-penetrating chill in this normally bright room. I crossed the room and pulled the window down for the second time and turned the lock again, this time peering out into the backyard and forest beyond, half-expecting a glimpse of pale skin and a flash of red. But there was nothing. So I pulled down the blinds and drew the curtains as tightly as I could, as if that would help.

Maybe Uncle Marcus opened it for some reason. I decided to ask and made my way back down the hallway. He was absorbed in the television - Premier League soccer, I now realized.

My uncle looked up at me and smiled.

"Hey, did you open my window when you got home?" I asked. He looked up at me and shook his head.

"Nope. Why?"

Suddenly, I was afraid again. Heart racing, I said "Oh, it's nothing. I m-must've just forgotten to shut it this morning."

He eyed me closely before nodding slowly. "Keep it shut please. We've had all kinds of animal attacks lately." He turned back toward the TV.

I was about to open my mouth to argue that an animal wasn't likely to attack me inside the house when I remembered my aunt asked me to start marinating the steaks. I started rifling through cupboards and the pantry to put together a basic marinade, throwing random ingredients and spices in a bowl until I like how it smelled and then I went to get the steaks out of the fridge. There was a folded piece of paper on top of the steaks. I reached for it, thinking my aunt had maybe decided to leave instructions for some reason. Instead of my aunt's neat, straight print it was a loopy, sprawling cursive.

My beautiful Lydia,

I miss you.

Suddenly, my mind was blank. Shut down against something it didn't want to comprehend. I slowly folded the note and turned and dropped in the trash. Then, thinking again, I grabbed it out of the trash, tore it into quarters, and dropped it into the recycling. I went to the sink and mechanically washed my hands, scrubbing and scrubbing and scrubbing, first with just my hands and then a cloth and then my nails and then with the nylon scrub pad. Pausing. Adding more soap. Scrubbing again. The water coming off my hands turned red. My hands stung where I'd scrubbed the skin off but I couldn't stop. I feel so violated. So unclean. But that feeling never left, no matter how much I washed. I was dimly aware of the squeak of the recliner which meant my uncle was getting up. The floorboards were creaking as he walked into the kitchen.

"Hey, Lyd, did you leave the water- oh my God, Lydia! Stop!" Then he was there pulling the scrub pad out of my hands and throwing it in the trash. He yanked my hands back under the water, washing off the blood that was already pooling over my shredded skin. He wrapped one arm around my shoulder and pulled me close to him.

"Jesus Christ.. Lydia, baby, what happened? What's going on?" He asked, letting go of my hands to hug me tightly. Like a dad, if I still had one of those.

"I need to clean them, dirty," I mumbled, only just now aware I had been crying. My hand twitched back toward the soap dispenser. He pulled my hand back and then pushed past me to the drawer of hand towels. I looked down into the stainless steel sink. Blood was mixing into the droplets of water, forming striped rivers of red flowing into the drain. Blood was already pooling on my skin again. Somewhere, deep within me, a horrified part of me wondered just how much damage I'd done. Mostly, though, I still felt unclean.

My uncle dropped several clean towels on the counter and then went to a cupboard and shoving things aside until he found the first aid kit and a box of gloves.

"I'm allergic to latex," I said, not really aware of anything but that fact seemed important. He glanced down at the box to check.

"They're vinyl, they're ok." He came over with a roll of gauze and gently wrapped my hands and fingers, applying pressure as lightly as he could.

"What are you doing?" I asked mechanically. I didn't feel in control. I wasn't here. He had come here and violated me and he hadn't even touched me. Deep inside me, I was screaming at how much control he had.

"Trying to stop the bleeding. I need to know how bad it is. I might need to take you to the doctor," he glanced up at me, there was some emotion in his dark eyes but I was too far away to decipher it.

"The steaks," I said abruptly. Suddenly, that seemed important. I tried to pull away from my uncle's hands but he tightened his grip.

"Don't worry about that, Lydia. I'll take care of dinner." There was that look again but this time I thought I could recognize that look. Wariness.

I looked back down at my hands. The gauze was soaked through, my uncle was frowning at it, his eyebrows creased.

"Ok," he murmured. "I'm gonna go get my jacket and wallet. Are you going to be ok right here for a minute?"

I nodded mutely. I wanted to keep scrubbing but then he might think I was crazy. Maybe I am crazy. He's making me crazy. Uncle Marcus was back quickly, with my jacket and his. He looked at my fingers again and winced, going over to the first aid kit and grabbing more gauze. He wrapped them carefully again, his long, dark hair falling in front of his shoulders, obscuring my view of his (wary) eyes. When he was finished I held my hands up. I couldn't see the blood through this fresh layer of gauze. My fingers were bound together, fully extended.

"Knife hands," I said to my uncle, giggling a bit. He stared at me like I'd just grown a second head.

"Let's go, Lydia."


The nurse in the emergency room was pretty. Long, dark hair, coppery skin, cheekbones that could cut glass. She greeted my uncle like he was an old friend and I had to remind myself that they probably were. She had a no-nonsense type of personality but she was kind enough. She introduced herself as Sue before getting right to work taking my vitals and then seating me on the gurney to start peeling back the gauze.

"I'm allergic to latex," I said again. She nodded, pulling on a set of gloves.

"Your uncle told me, we'll make sure to keep you safe." She begins to unwind the top layer, slightly bloodied. She 'tuts' under her breath when she gets to the second layer, now wholly soaked through. She stopped to survey me for a minute, her eyes searching for answer I'm unable to give before continuing to peel off the bloody bandages. She pulled my hands over a tray lined with an absorbent paper and containing a bowl of a bubbly liquid.

The bleeding has slowed, now, more of a slow seep than a constant stream. She directs me to soak my hands in the bubbly liquid until the doctor arrives. Sue stands up and beckons for my uncle to follow her out of the room. I can hear them speaking in low voices but can't catch what they're saying. A third voice joins in but I still can't make out what is being said. I hear the clipboard outside my room being rattled out of its holder and then a soft knock on the wall before the doctor enters. He's fairly young, light brown hair and blue eyes. He introduces himself as Dr. Ramsey.

He pulls on a pair of gloves and gently lifts one hand out of the liquid at a time to examine it.

"What happened?" He asks, turning my hand over and gently spreading my fingers to check the skin in between.

"I was washing them," I said honestly. "And I couldn't stop."

He looks up at me, sympathy in his eyes. "Ok. I'm gonna have you keep soaking them for a few more minutes while I place the order for an antibiotic cream and some other supplies to help your hands heal. It's probably gonna be difficult to write for a while so I'm going to give you a note to take to school so that you can get copies of someone else's notes or whatever the teacher decides." He stops speaking for a minute, seeming to search for what to say next.

He eventually continued. "Lydia, I'm also going to refer you to a psychiatrist in Port Angeles."

I stared at him. "I'm not crazy." I said, loudly.

"I didn't say you were crazy."

"You're sending me to a shrink."

"Lydia, I have to do everything I can to make sure you get all of the help you need and I cannot in good conscience send you away without first making sure you aren't going to hurt yourself again."

"I didn't want to hurt myself!"

"I understand," that stupid sympathetic look in his stupid blue eyes again. "But I believe the doctor in Port Angeles has a better skill set to help you learn to adjust to and live with the way your mind works, ok? Hang tight for a few minutes. I'll send Sue back to get you bandaged up and your supplies ready."

I watched him leave then immediately turned to my uncle. Before I can open my mouth, he said "Please don't fight me on this. Go for a month and we'll see how you do, ok? If you can't stand it, we'll stop the appointments."

I opened and closed my mouth several times, unable to find the words to argue with him. How could I possibly tell a psychiatrist or anyone about what happened to me? What haunts my life and my dreams and the darkest recesses of my mind? So I just nod and hope for the best. It's really all I can do in this moment.

Sue came back in with a tube of a cream and some supplies. She gently shows me how to rub the cream on, leaving some unabsorbed so it will soak in later, and then slip on the sterile gloves to keep the wounds clean. She beckons my uncle over and shows him how to enclose my hands in special plastic bags at night, every night until they scab over and then I should be ok.

"Come back if there are any problems," she told me. I do her the courtesy of pretending I didn't notice the meaningful look she shared with my uncle.

Soon, we're back in the car headed home. My uncle said nothing. I said nothing, just staring out the window at the trees flashing past. The sun was just starting to dip in the sky when we made it home. I trailed after my uncle as he strode to the front door, my eyes scanning everything around me.

I move automatically toward the living room and settle myself into the oversized brown leather couch. I could hear my uncle shuffling around the kitchen, getting dinner started. I reached for the remote and clicked on the TV. I shot a glance at the windows to the left of the entertainment center. Blinds up, curtains open. I stood up and walked over to them. Even over the din of the movie playing (Terminator?) I could hear wolves howling nearby. I shivered and pulled down the blinds and closed the curtains. But I still stood there, listening to the wolves. One in particular had a howl I liked. I frowned, wondering if that was normal. My uncle left the kitchen and came into the living room.

"I wouldn't worry about the wolves, if I were you." He said, misinterpreting my frown.

"Aunt Julie said there's been lots of animal attacks," I told him.

"I don't think it's the wolves," is all he says, a worried crease setting into his brow.

I sat on the couch staring at the television but mostly just listening to the howls until my aunt came home. They were close now. Probably just beyond the treeline behind our house. My uncle went to the window and peeked through the blinds, then went through the house and checked the locks on all the windows and doors. I want to tell him that it's no use, if the real monster wants to get in he can and he will. But that's not something he needs to know. My aunt bursts into the house, shutting the door with a loud thud behind her. My uncle went to the door and locked the knob, the deadbolt, and the hotel lock. I could hear him checking the windows in the front room.

"Oh, Lydia, my love." She said, wrapping me in a hug from behind. She didn't say anything else and I don't think I'd ever appreciated her more than in that moment. Just a long, loving, judgement-free hug. I placed both gloved hands on top of her arms and lean my head back onto her shoulder, savoring her warmth. Uncle Marcus came up and wrapped both of us up in his long arms. Finally, finally I felt something for the first time since seeing that carefully folded note on top of the steaks in the fridge.

In this moment, I felt safe. In this moment, I felt I could not be touched.

Briefly, through the haze of love in my mind I remembered a vibrant, blazing red-haired girl yelling into the air flowing through a car on a remote Idaho mountain road, yelling that we were invincible.

The wolf howl that I liked tore through the air again.