"You have turned me into this, just wish that it was bulletproof."
-"Bullet Proof... I Wish I Was" by Radiohead
"Bella. Bella. Bella."
The smashed up paper balls flick the back of her head, one after the other. One misses and lands on her lunch tray and she can no longer pretend she can't hear them. It's clear they're not going to stop regardless.
She turns her head to the lunch table behind her.
Mike Newton leans forward over his lunch tray, grinning. The rest of his table, and a few others, are watching.
"Are you going tonight?"
Bella stiffens and turns back to her unfinished food without a word.
"Oh please, that would be so fucked up if she did," She hears Jessica mock whisper behind her. It's not so quiet that she can pretend that she didn't mean for her to hear every word.
"It's like if you invited Ted Bundy to a swimsuit contest."
The entire table crows at that, loudly and with all pretense gone that Bella wasn't meant to hear every word.
She swallows down the hot lump in her throat and grips the sharp edge of her plastic knife tightly in her fist until it snaps.
They used to be friends.
Her old friends, people she's never even talked to, even the teachers— everyone acts like she's the most despicable thing that's ever walked the earth or they just look through her as if she doesn't even exist.
"Bitch."
Something hard slams into the back of her shoulder and she stumbles forward, dropping her books. They scatter in the crowded hallway, one sliding all the way to the water fountain. Someone kicks it.
She picks them up, one by one, face burning.
She doesn't say one single word to defend herself. Just pulls her sleeve down over her wrist and wipes the dirty footprints off the cover.
Nobody helps her.
It's barely 4th period when the bell rings and she's already in the bathroom, trying to control her breathing.
The stalls are heavily vandalized with graffiti.
She lets her vision go out of focus, the sight of her name written a thousand times blurring away.
Tyler Crowley is leaning against her locker. She is immediately wary, trying to sidestep him to she can switch out her books but he is in the way.
"Hey, Bella," he says, perfectly pleasantly.
"You're in front of my locker," she mumbles, gesturing behind him.
"Oh, sorry."
He gets out of her way quickly, sweeping his arms to show the way is clear.
She stares at him, a voice in the back of her head whispering that he is up to something. She steps forward anyway, enters her combination, and switches out her books. She shuts it closed and Tyler is still there, waiting for her.
She stares.
He shuffles from foot to foot, suddenly nervous.
"You know… we never really got a chance to talk after— you know, after what happened."
She swallows down the lump in her throat.
"We never really talked before that."
"Yeah. But still," Tyler says with a sheepish grin, sweeping his hand over his hair. "I wanted to ask you something."
She waits, eyes sweeping around him, expecting a trap. Nothing jumps out. It doesn't make her feel any better.
"I was wondering… would you like to go to the Winter Formal with me?"
She blinks.
"I mean— if you're not going with anyone else already. Has somebody already asked you?"
She blinks rapidly and shakes her head, too stunned to do anything but tell the truth. She can't even remember the last time someone willingly talked to her.
Tyler smiles.
"Well, that's perfect then. I'll pick you up?"
Tyler smiles and turns on his heel, leaving her speechless behind him.
English is a blur.
Mr. Mason hands back their essays on Romeo and Juliet, placing her paper face down on her desk. She reads it and turns it back over (red pen underlining the D- along with the words "see me").
(you failed at that too)
(what a joke)
They're continuing the film from last week. Once Mr. Mason flips the light switch, she puts her face down on her desk and closes her eyes, pressing her cheek on the cool sheet of the failed essay she has no memory of writing.
Mr. Mason walks around a few times, smacking a ruler on the desk of any student who looks close to dozing off. He leaves her alone.
The bell rings. She snaps awake and quickly gathers her things. She needs to get to Trig before the hallways get crowded, by the simple math of more bodies equals more people to launch vitriol her way.
She sees a crowd by the end of the hallway and her heart sinks.
They're crowding around her locker.
One the boys in the crowd sees her and very obviously waves everyone away. They scatter, leaving Bella clear access.
Is it even worth it?
(She needs to run away. She needs to sleep. She needs to move somewhere where no one knows her name.)
She needs her books.
Her locker is the same as it always is, faded blue paint with a dent on the left bottom corner. She takes a deep sigh of relief and flips it open.
She hears it before she feels it— a loud pop, then something cold splattering across her face.
The smell of paint hits her.
Flecks of red are all over her face, her sweater, her hair, her books. She can taste it in her mouth. It drips everywhere and all over everything in her locker. Everything inside is ruined— her books, old assignments, homework. The paint coats everything. The remnants of the popped balloon wave like a sad flag, rigged to explode with a piece of string the moment she opened the door.
That's not what makes her heart seize in her throat.
There are words written in Sharpie across the inside of her locker.
She stares, and stares, and stares. She can't move. Can't speak. She thinks people might be laughing but she can't hear anything but the distant ringing in her ears.
"I wasn't sure what your combination was."
A voice breaks through the haze.
She turns her head slowly, her hands dead weight by her side.
Tyler leans his head so close that she can feel the hot breath of his every word against her ear.
"You stuck-up bitch. You think anyone is gonna want you after what you did? You think anyone can stand to be around you?"
Tyler leans closer, eyes narrowed. All Bella can do is stare, her voice completely gone.
"We don't care what they say. We know you did it. So now… now you look like what you are."
He slips the Sharpie into his pocket and spins on his heels towards Mr. Varner's classroom without another glance.
The bell rings again, and Bella stands in the hallway alone. Dripping silently onto the linoleum floor. Reading those three words over and over.
PYRO BABY KILLER
She doesn't quite remember getting to the bathroom, only that she finds herself scrubbing frantically at her face, trying to get the paint off.
The thought that she was only hiding in this bathroom less than an hour ago makes a hysterical giggle bubble up her throat but when she looks in the mirror, Bella sees her reflection heaving, gasping for air with tears coming out of her eyes. It doesn't quite make sense.
She scrubs harder at the roots of her hair, where the paint is being particularly stubborn.
(now you look like what you are)
Can she argue it, really?
Charlie, Renee, and Nessie. And her, alone. With the essential question that would forever plague her because there was no way of ever finding an answer.
(What did they feel last?)
(The monster's fangs?)
(Or your flames?)
It takes her a while to recognize the haze for what it is and when the panic attack is finally abated, she leans over the sink, scrubbing her face clean with her fingernails.
Lather. Rinse. Lather. Rinse. Repeat.
(Out, damned spot!)
The red goes down, swallowed by the sink.
(Out, I say!)
She can do this. Most of the paint hit her sweater. She pulls it over her head, turns it inside out, and pulls it back on. She can do this. She can do this.
She gets every little spot of paint off until her face is red from all the scrubbing and all that remains are those globs glued on to her hairline that will come off only under the steam of a long, hot shower. Her jacket is unsalvageable. She throws it in the trash on her way out.
She sits by the door to Trig where no one will see her, rocking back and forth, back and forth, keeping the panic at bay. Her body hums with the unbearable grief and fury, all fighting for the chance to make their way outside of her head.
Turn around. Go home, like you should've done in the first place.
Or.
Go inside and prove to Tyler that you are exactly what he thinks you are—
(pyro baby killer)
No. No. No.
She didn't do it. She didn't do it. She didn't do it.
God, is she losing her mind?
(Nessie, help me)
They have no clue. They have no idea what she lost for them. They think they know what a monster is? She has faced them, fought them, and won. They call her monster? Killer?
They have no idea what the word is.
(Blood claim is the one thing on which our species can reach a mutual understanding, Bells. Something strikes you and draws blood, you have the God-given right to strike back.)
She reaches into her backpack and grabs the thickest book she owns.
This is something she knows, above all.
She is her father's daughter.
"Wonderful job, Edward."
Mr. Mason hands over his essay face-up on the table. At the desk across from him, Mike Stanley's eyes bug out of his skull when he sees Edward's grade and he quickly flips his own paper over.
Edward sighs.
His phone buzzes in his pocket.
Mr. Mason doesn't allow phones but he's distracted handing essays out and Edward could really care less regardless, so he pulls it out. There are about twenty unread messages, all about a paragraph long.
He sighs again. And scrolls to the very last one.
—the thing is she hides her feelings very well but I CAN FEEL that she's struggling but I try to talk to her about it and she doesn't want to talk about it, maybe it's with me, maybe if it comes from you she'll be more approachable it's been a year and she still completely and unnecessarily blames herself but I can't do anything if she doesn't want to talk about it so I need you to—
"Phones away," Mr. Mason snaps.
His phone is already in his pocket, his thumb smoothly typing out a response to Jasper's frantic messages.
I'll keep an eye out. Now calm down.
He sighs again, settling himself in for the film that they've been watching for the past three days. Mr. Mason likes to pause the movie and quiz people with machine gun speed when he thinks they're dozing off. They're not even halfway through.
His phone vibrates again.
He sneaks a peek at Mr. Mason, who is grading essays, and pulls it out.
something bad coming
From Alice.
He frowns.
Then distantly, Edward hears the sound of 30 people yelling.
The entire class sits up, wide awake.
He doesn't have to be a mind-reader to know what's going on— they can all hear the sounds coming through the drywall in the classroom next door.
Bella Swan, town pariah, has snapped.
He sees the class erupt into chaos like a car crash through Jessica Stanley's eyes.
Oh god, someone pull her off him—
She's going to kill him—
Call the cops—
Holy shit—
What the fuck is going on in here—
Red paint, red balloon, god she's pissed about it, we're all gonna be in so much fucking trouble—
The thoughts fly into Edward's head, one after the other.
He hears nothing from Bella Swan. This is nothing new.
Students jump from their seats screaming. Short and balding Mr. Varner struggles to pull Bella off of Tyler Crowley— she's exerting so much force in beating his face to a bloody pulp with a textbook that the teacher grabbing at her doesn't even seem to resister.
Mr. Varner pants from exertion. One burly student steps forward and comes to his aid. Mr. Varner grabs one shoulder, the boy the other, and they both give one massive tug back.
Bella falls backwards hard. She catches her face on the side of a desk and goes out cold.
Tyler Crowley lies on the floor, bloody and unconscious.
He jumps up from his seat. No one notices because everyone else is on their feet and making their way towards the door.
"Everyone, get back to your seats!"
No one pays Mr. Mason any attention. Elbows bruise as they dig into his sides, his classmates clamoring to be the first out the door. They rush out, spilling into the hallway just as Mr. Varner's 5th period Trig class runs out of the door, some with tears streaming down their face like they just witnessed a car crash. Others are gossiping frantically, pulling out cell phones and finding their friends in the crowd. Other classrooms are emptying out into the hallway, chaos adding to chaos.
Edward walks as fast as he normally can in the opposite direction.
He finds Jasper just as he is stepping out of his History class at the end of the hall. He closes his fingers tightly over Jasper's arm, pulling him away from the crowd.
Even from the end of the hallway, Tyler Crowley's blood sets his throat burning.
"Don't breathe," he says into his ear, too low for anyone to hear.
Jasper immediately obeys, despite his obvious confusion. His golden eyes widen at the sight of the crowded hallway and both he and Edward are on the other side of the exit doors before anyone even looks up.
He and Jasper stand outside by the dumpsters, where some of the students like to sneak out and smoke. It has a grove of overgrown hedges right next to it so it's mostly hidden from prying eyes.
They stand together, deeply inhaling the crisp, cool wind with the occasional whiff of rotting garbage, both trying to pretend that Edward isn't listening with all his might to see if Jasper will try and make a break for it. Even being away from the scent wasn't enough with him. Not yet.
"What the hell was that?" Jasper asks, when he deems it safe enough to breathe again.
Edward's entire body relaxes.
He listens.
"It seems like Tyler Crowley played a particularly nasty prank on Bella Swan."
"So what, she attacked him?"
"Looks like it."
Jasper falls silent, and Edward hopes he doesn't notice the quick message he types out to Alice inside the pocket of his hoodie.
safe
"You should go home."
Jasper looks up at that, and Edward can tell he's trying his best not to feel resentful but it's hard when Edward knows exactly what he is thinking anyway.
"But Alice—"
"Will be fine. I promise."
Jasper leans against the graffiti laden wall, shoulders drooping.
"She hasn't said a word to me all morning. Not since the news."
Edward purses his lips.
They had watched the news this morning, expecting some sort of one-year announcement. The "In Memoriam" wake was being hosted tonight by the Forks Police Department over at Forks Elementary School, where Renee Swan taught and which Nessie Swan attended. But they had not anticipated seeing actual footage of that night replay on the screen, with clips of the house burning down to its foundation. Alice had fallen silent and walked out of the room.
"She'll be okay. You know how she is. She's just not used to failing."
Jasper nods his head, resigned. Edward can't help but agree with Jasper's internal monologue— his words are about as useless as they were one year ago.
Thank you.
The words drift up to his mind, quiet and tinged with humiliation. Edward nods his head at the ground, knowing that any other kind of acknowledgement will only make Jasper feel worse.
They stand together a little while longer, in their companionable and moody silence.
They both look up when the red and blue lights start flashing across the parking lot.
He pauses on his way back inside the school, Jasper already long gone behind him with a promise to head straight home and hunt.
He detours sharply from his way towards the front office.
A quick scan around the parking lot shows that the lot is deserted. Students are still caught up in the chaos inside.
For reasons he doesn't want to look at too closely, he slashes the four tires of Tyler Crowley's dark blue SUV with a quick sweep of his fingernails.
A/N: I rewrote the first 3 chapters as of May 2020 because I hated them.
I feel like I improved as a writer since I started this story and I wanted the first chapters to reflect that.
If you have already started reading, don't worry! The only thing that is different is that there is more detail in the first few chapters and a few stylistic things.
Thank you for reading and please, please, please, please review!