A/N: Hey! Back again with another chapter!
I've had no reviews yet, which is a bit disappointing, but I'm hoping some will start coming in after this chapter. Please, even if its just to say that you're liking my story so far, or not, you can leave any thoughts you have on what's happened so far.
This chapter is long. I hadn't intended for it to be this long when I was writing it, but I didn't feel like it was right to end it at any point before the last sentence that it has. I have been eager to post this one so I'll end this Author's Note by saying that this chapter will introduce the Cullens and Bella's life outside of her home, and it follows on directly from where the last chapter ended, with Bella heading off to school.
Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight and all connected to it. I only own this story line and any characters not included in her original saga!
I'll Always Find Peace In The Meadow
Chapter Three: 'Don't come back' (Bella POV)
Monday 10 April 2017
School. Why do we need to go to school? It is somewhere we are forced to spend our days mingling with people we don't even like - in my case anyway. Why can't we all just take online lessons, where we don't have to spend hours in each others company? I'd much rather speak to people in an online chat room when we have to do a group project, instead of being stuck working with people who openly dislike me. It seems so unfair.
High school is the worst. All anyone is bothered about is who is dating who, and did Jessica - the school slut - sleep with the science geek at that party last weekend. It's ridiculous! None of them even care about their educations, which is the whole point of the horrendous place. But, if they were enrolled in an online school, I bet they'd be more enthusiastic about learning. They wouldn't be so caught up in the high school gossip.
School, for me, is a chore. I used to love it, but for the past few years, it's been a hindrance. Something that contributes to the ultimate crap my life is. Honestly, I don't even see the point in putting myself through it. But then I think of college, my ticket out of here, and that's all I need to suck it up and endure the days in hell.
I enter the treacherous building, after locking up my bike at the floor-mounted bike racks. I walk swiftly to my locker, with my head down and my hands gripping the straps of my bag. This is my usual posture when I walk the halls of Forks High. I'm more invisible this way, even though no one bothers to interact with me unless they have to.
When I reach my locker, I see the remnants of Friday's joke. On a frequent basis, someone, or a group of people, will play pranks on me. Usually the damage is done to my belongings; holes cut into my clothes during gym class, garbage tipped on my usual lunch table, twigs shoved in between the spikes of my bike wheels, and something written or stuck to my locker.
Last Friday morning when I arrived, I was welcomed with the word 'FREAK' written on my locker in black paint. This isn't the first time this, or something similar, has happened. And it won't be the last. The word is patchy now, the evidence of a janitors hard work ruining the boldness of the word. It is still visible and readable, just chipped in places. It'll probably be gone in a day or two, and then it won't be long before the next thing happens to me.
I'm used to it. I'm used to the constant pranks and jokes made on my behalf. At first, when it all began, I loathed it. As soon as anything was done to me, I'd run as fast as my legs would carry me, in the opposite direction to any other living soul. If I was singled out in the cafeteria, for example, I'd cry and flee to the toilets.
It was after a few months that I realised my reactions were spurring them all on. It was encouraging them. After I realised this, I did my best to keep my emotions under control, and give no reaction to their behaviour. It was hard at first, but now it's a piece of cake. It's as easy as breathing. I don't even flinch anymore, just roll my eyes and ignore it. I was hoping my indifference would eventually mean the pranks would stop, but they haven't.
I don't go a week without something happening to me here. I must look like an easy target to people - at home and at school.
I grab the books I need from my locker - only using my good arm - before closing it and making my way through the halls to my first class of the day. English is my favourite class, because of my love for books and poetry. My English teacher, Miss. Wilkins, is one of the only pleasant parts about school. There aren't many! She shares my love of literature, which I guess is pretty obvious due to her job. I'd like to teach people about something I love one day, like she does.
I go and sit at the back; my place in every lesson is at the back of the classroom. I feel more invisible if I'm at the back. I feel safe, because no one can surprise me with a paper ball to the back of the head, or a poke to my back with a ruler or a really sharp pencil. It's happened before, and I've learnt my lesson.
I sit quietly as the class waits for Miss. Wilkins to arrive. Everyone talks around me. I zone out, doodling in a spare notebook I carry to each class. It's the best way to pass the time as we wait for the teacher. Something that's needed to know about Forks High School, the teachers are never on time to a lesson. Ever! Every one of them is late, unless they are staying in the same classroom that they just taught in.
I look up eagerly when I hear heels approaching, assuming Miss. Wilkins is about to enter the room. Instead, the Devil-Duo enters. Jessica Stanley - I mentioned her earlier; the school slut - and Lauren McCarthy. They are practically sewn at the hip. You rarely see one without the other. They've been this way since the 5th Grade, when Jessica moved to town.
They think they're golden girls, perfect in every way. But no, they aren't. They only think they are because they are in Rosalie's click. Rosalie Hale, a Junior here, is the school's most popular girl. She's the Mayor's daughter, which makes her the most desired girl in school. Everyone wants to be her friend, or at the very least, be acknowledged by her. Every girl wants to be her, and every guy wants to be with her. It's that simple.
Sadly for the guys, she's taken. She's been dating Emmett McCarthy, Lauren's older brother, since they were born. It seems that way, at least. His parents are both on the council, and have been close friends with the Mayor and his wife since their childhood. I'm sure if Lauren was two years older, she would have been coupled with Rosalie's older brother, Jasper.
Jasper Hale is a Senior here. He's only got a couple of months left at Forks High, and isn't dating anyone at the moment. That seems like a green light for every girl in school to throw themselves at him. It's kind of sad really. It's like they have no self respect. No dignity. All they care about is being 'the Mayor's son's first official girlfriend'. I get that he's attractive; with his ash blonde hair that uncontrollably falls in front of his piercing icy blue eyes. And he's classed as a bit of a bad boy outside of school - wearing his leather jacket and riding his motorcycle. What girl wouldn't want a piece of him?
... I can think of one.
Rosalie's click, as I call it, is the "it" group. Jasper, Rosalie, Emmett, Lauren, Jessica and Emmett's best friend - Tyler Crowley - are the people to be seen with. It's like something out of crappy high school movie. All six of them sit at the center table in the cafeteria at lunchtime, so everyone can see them. They spend the whole lunch laughing and talking really loudly, which is all done to get the attention of the "peasants" around them.
They sound like a real piece of work, right? I seriously cannot believe I used to be a part of that group. It sickens me sometimes. You see, I wasn't always this negative towards them. I was blinded by their superiority once upon a time, just like the rest of these losers. I wanted to be in their click, to be seen socialising with the "top dogs" of the school. But I grew smart. I learnt that they aren't all they are made out to be. Unfortunately, I had to learn it the hard way.
Anyway, back to the Devil-Duo... They somehow managed to get matching class schedules, which so happens to be almost identical to mine, unfortunately. I'm in every class with Lauren and Jessica except my sixth: sociology. They sit front and center of each class, on purpose no doubt. They have their reasons for choosing that spot, just as I have my reasons for choosing to sit at the back. As long as they are as far away from me as possible, I couldn't give two shits to be perfectly honest.
Miss. Wilkins finally enters the room, and the lesson begins. It's a shame I love this class so much, because it flies by. I feel like as soon as my butt has hit the chair, the bell rings and I've got to leave again. It's so frustrating.
After a lovely, but quick, fifty minutes of English, I leave to go to my next class - Algebra II. I'm shit at maths; all kinds of maths. I hate it. No matter how hard I try, it just doesn't seem to sink in. My teacher, Mr. Montgomery, has suggested a tutor, but I've adamantly refused every time. That would mean another student spending extra time with me, and I can't think of one person that would want to do that. So, I suffer in solitude, struggling through my course. I'll probably fail and have to retake the class. I was lucky last semester; I just passed the mid-term, though I don't know how. Mr. Montgomery was shocked too, but he tried to hide it from me. He's warned me that it's only going to get tougher - he wasn't lying.
The rest of the morning goes on as usual. I sit at the back of each class, and I'm ignored, only speaking to the teacher when answering a question. Other then that, I stay silent.
The lunch bell rings after French, and I don't rush to pack up my things and leave. This is the worst part of my day. I find it worse than gym class, and that's saying something. I slowly walk to the cafeteria, keeping my head down. I enter and go to the back of the growing line, most likely doing so unnoticed. I keep my eyes to the floor, but can't help listening to the two senior girls in front of me.
"Did you see him on the field earlier? Damn, does that boy have stamina," Girl Number One gushes to her friend.
"I know. I bet he's great in bed," Girl Number Two replies, giggling.
"Mmmm. I bet he can keep going for hours and hours," Number One says, her voice full of awe, before she bursts into giggles too. I roll my eyes, wishing I had a mute button for their unceasing giggles.
I quickly glance up, just in time to watch them both look over at the center table. Of course, they are talking about one of the guys from that table, and it most definitely won't be Emmett. No one would dare speak about him in such a way, for fear of facing Rosalie Hale's wrath. They are probably speaking about Jasper, who is currently sat rocking on the two rear legs of his chair.
He's doing his normal appraisal of the room. His lunch time ritual is to sit in silence for a majority of the half an hour we have for lunch, and people watch. He's like a king admiring his kingdom, looking out over all his loyal followers.
When his eyes scan over the lunch line, and he notices the two girls in front of me ogling him, he smirks. Then he winks. Jasper is a player. He loves the attention he gets from the girls at this school. You can just tell. He has an arrogant and cocky persona. You can see it in the way he judges the entire student body, and the way he eyes all the female student bodies... if you know what I mean.
Both the girls giggle again, and begin talking rapidly, thrilled that he paid them that tiny bit of attention. I keep my eyes on him, watching on in disgust to see if he does it to anyone else. His gaze falls on me, once he's pulled his eyes away from Girl Number One - who happens to have a low cut top on, with her cleavage on show for all to see - and he stops smirking. He sits forward and speaks to the other occupants at his table. I see his lips moving.
Just as I'm about to look away, bored with watching him, all three girls at his table - Rosalie, Lauren and Jessica - turn to look at me. I twist my head away quickly, blushing.
Jasper has hated me ever since I knocked back his attempts to seduce me. I was a fairly scrawny teenager, with the chest of an eleven year old boy and a straight-framed body from head to toe, up until the summer before I turned 15, which was almost two years ago. That summer, puberty decided to make up for its delay and by the time school was starting up again, I had boobs, an ass, and curvy hips to go with it. It didn't help me in the social department. In fact, the change to my body made my school life worse; girls became more catty and the guys obnoxiously rude.
Jasper had always been indifferent toward me during my frienship with his sister and their friends, and equally so even once the rest had turned on me. But after that autum, when he seemed to be on a personal mission to win my affections and all I did was say 'no', he became less indifferent and more hateful. Now, he never misses an opportunity to stir shit up for me.
I keep my eyes down for the rest of my wait in the line, and sigh in relief when I can finally walk away with my food. I leave the room as quickly as I can. I think I'll eat in the library today, instead of sitting alone at my usual corner table beside the trashcans. The table is good for me because no one else wants to sit at it, which means I can be alone. But today, I just don't feel like it.
The school librarian, Mrs. Jensen, doesn't mind me eating in here. It's not usually allowed, but she makes an exception for me. I come here quite a few times a week for my lunch. It's peaceful, and away from everyone else.
The school library isn't very big. It's a small room, with a browny-grey coloured carpet and pale yellow painted walls. There are no windows. Three sets of light wood tables and chairs are lined up against the right wall. Two white, round tables are in the center of the room, each circled with four black round seats. Mrs. Jensen's dark wood desk is in the far right corner. Tall bookshelves, made of wood identical to that of Mrs. Jensen's desk, fill the rest of the room on the left side. A large one covers the whole left wall, with horizontal rows of them in front of it. And the remainder of the back wall, next to Mrs. Jensen's desk, is covered by rows of bookshelves, too.
I say a quick "hello" to her, and then make my way to my usual spot; the far left corner of the room. I sit on the floor and lean up against the back wall in between the long wall-length bookshelf, and the one parallel to it. I'm hidden away here, only able to be seen if someone browses these particular shelves, which isn't very often at lunch time.
I eat my lunch silently, basking in the peace. Once I've finished my sandwich and apple, I open my bottle of water and grab a book from the shelf to my right. It's a romance; a Nicholas Sparks book, to be more specific. I'm a sucker for a good romance novel, his especially. I have my own copies of almost all of his books at home, but I use the school ones at lunch. He's one of my favourite romance writers. The first few months of Freshman year, I managed to convince Mrs. Jensen to make this corner the designated 'Romance Section'.
I only get to read six pages before I have to pack up and leave. With a sigh, I walk out of the library, throwing a "goodbye" to Mrs. Jensen on my way out. As always, I keep my head down and walk to my next class.
Just down the corridor from my classroom, I accidently knock into someone. We collide on my left side, our arms coming into contact. I let a little yelp of pain out when my bruised arm is jolted, but I do well to hide it, I think. I stop and turn to apologise, lifting my eyes to see who it is.
"I'm s-" As soon as I see who I collided with, my apology falls away.
"Watch where you're fucking going!" Rosalie Hale snarls at me.
"It was an accident. I'm sorry," I say, managing to get my apology out this time.
"Maybe if you were looking forward instead of at those God awful shoes, you wouldn't have walked right into me," she criticizes, her voice strong and authoritative.
"I said I was sorry. It was an accident." My hands fist the hem of my shirt, twisting in the material. Confrontations always make me anxious. And usually jibes at my footwear only ever amuse me, but for some reason her little dig at my Converse just now does the opposite. It angers me.
I clench and relax my hands, repeating the action once more before letting go and raising my chin slightly. I narrow my eyes, and watch, my anxiety building when Rosalie's cold blue eyes narrow back at me in response. I keep my fear hidden behind a mask of confidence. "What was your excuse?" I ask.
"Excuse me?" she asks incredulously, stepping towards me. I want to cower in fear, like I do at home, but here I have a little more flexibility in the way I handle these hostile situations. I can dish out my own comebacks without the fear of punishment.
"You heard me. I admit, I wasn't looking where I was going. But surely if you noticed that, then you'd have seen me?" People gasp and I chance a quick look around to see that a small crowd has formed. My heart is pumping a mile a minute, adrenaline coursing my veins. I fist my hands in the material of my shirt again, to hide their trembling.
"I was looking where I was going. And I did see you," she replies, gritting her teeth.
"So, isn't it you who walked into me?" I ask, adding a small smirk to my face, though inside I'm rocking back and forth in fear, telling myself to flee now why I have the chance. Another chorus of gasps comes from around us.
Rosalie walks towards me slowly, her tall frame towering over me. The fact that she's around the same height as my mother doesn't really help my nerves. I have to fight every instinct that has been beaten into me the past few years thats telling me to run and protect myself. I stand my ground though, holding my head up high.
"I shouldn't have to step aside for the likes of you," she sneers, looking down her nose at me. She leans closer, and whispers so only I can hear. "Don't forget, Bella, these are my halls. I own this school. You're just one tiny little ant in a large colony. A colony that I lead. I have so much influence in this school, that I could bring you down with a mere snap of my fingers. I could make your sad, lonely existence even more of a misery than what it already is. Watch yourself! You're still stuck with me for another year, so don't push it."
She pulls away slowly, a menacing smile on her stupidly perfect face. I can't hide my gulp of fear after hearing her threats. I don't say anything further, as I briskly turn and walk away, leaving a cluster of teenagers - teenagers that are all now laughing at my retreating form.
I make it to my desk as quickly as possible, hiding behind my hair. Everyone is in class a couple of minutes later, and as usual, we are left waiting for the teacher - Mr. Phillips. I keep my eyes down, and pick at the chipped wood on the table top.
A large clothing catalog is dumped on my table, narrowly missing my hand. It looks heavy, and makes a loud THWACK sound as it lands. I slowly look up, and am met with the absolutely delightful sight of Lauren and Jessica stood in front of me. Can you sense my sarcasm?
"We thought you may want this. You know, so you can find a pair of nicer shoes to look at all day than, um, those," Lauren says, looking at my shoes under the table in disgust. I sigh and stare at the both of them indifferently, not offering a reply.
Don't react, I tell myself. Don't encourage them.
"Yeah, I don't know if you'll be able to afford any of these," Jessica adds, stroking the catalog with one hand lovingly. "Probably not. But I'm sure you could start up a charity for people to help fund a new wardrobe for you." She follows that up with a large, fake smile.
Do not react, Bella.
Lauren gasps, eyes alight as she turns toward Jessica, grabbing her arm. "OMG! Jess, that's actually a really good idea. All she'd have to do is use the 'My daddy's dead. Help me!' excuse and she'd get a shit load of money. The sympathy card works every time."
Her words cause an instant anger to burn inside of me. All I see is red, and before I know it, I'm pushing the catalog off of the table with as much strength as I can muster. It falls, but Lauren doesn't notice this because she's still looking in Jessica's direction, still goading me. It lands with a satisfying THUMP on the floor.
Oops. I reacted.
"OOOOWW!" Lauren cries out loudly. "YOU BITCH! YOU COULD'VE BROKE MY TOE," she screams, grabbing her foot while hopping on the spot. I'd probably laugh at the sight if I wasn't so pissed off.
I stay silent, breathing heavily as I try to take back what little control I have left of my anger. "You're a fucking psycho! Do you know that?" Jessica asks rhetorically, shaking her head at me. "C'mon, Lauren," she says, wrapping her arm around her best friend to help her walk back to their seats. Neither of them pick up the catalog.
The astonished chatter of my other classmates is still loud as the devil-duo walk away. I hear the odd word or phrase: "freak", "needs help", "fucking lunatic".
Yep. That's me.
I sigh, lowering my head again, choosing to ignore it all. I shake my head to make my hair fall around my face. My eyes sting with held back tears. I can handle a lot from these people, but comments about my dad affect me more than anything.
I know, as soon as I step out of that class, that everyone has heard about my interaction with Rosalie in the halls earlier. Every movement I make is judged. Every word I speak is scrutinized. Hateful words are spat at me in the halls as I walk to Sociology, and I know it'll only get worse once word gets round about my "violent act" against Lauren.
On my way to Gym class, an hour later, I'm proven right.
Gym is a nightmare. From the moment it begins, to the second I exit the changing rooms afterwards. I change in the corner of the room, trying my best to hide my bruised arm. I must look like I'm trying to crawl into the walls, with my left side practically pressed up against it as I change my top.
Luckily, we don't just have one option of kit for gym. I don't have to come up with an excuse to sit out, or ditch class completely, to avoid wearing a t-shirt that will reveal my bruised arm. The kit comes with an alternative: a sweatshirt. I am overly warm the whole class, but I have to wear it.
Today, it seems luck isn't in my favour. We just so happen to be playing dodgeball. It is torture. Not just because it hurts to throw the ball, but because Lauren (who's foot is perfectly fine, by the way) and Jessica make it their personal mission to hit me with every ball they throw. And they seem to rally others into their master plan, too. Either that, or others just liked the idea of targeting me. By the end of the class, my body aches everywhere. My chest feels like my mom has used me as a punching bag from the endless force of the balls hitting me, and my arm is immovable. Thank goodness this is the last mandatory year of Gym.
The pain is so bad that I have to push my bike to work instead of ride it. Angela let's me lock it up in the alleyway behind the bookstore. After almost an hour of shelving the new stock of books that came in over the weekend, my arm feels like a dead weight. I think Angela can sense I'm ready to go home, because she let's me go fifteen minutes early. For that, I'm thankful.
I walk at a slower pace than usual, thanks to my spare time. All I want to do once I'm home is fall into my bed and sleep the night away, but I can't. I have work to do. Once I'm home, I do all the chores I have to, which is clean the kitchen more thoroughly than my quick once over after dinner each night, and then I start making our dinner. My arm throbs, so I choose to make something quick and easy.
My heart rate picks up when I hear Renee's car pull into our driveway.
Please let tonight be peaceful!
~I*A*F*P*I*T*M~
Sunday 16 April 2017
A heart… A man walking a rabbit… A witch on a broomstick.
I've been cloud-watching for the last half an hour or so. It's amazing what the mind can identify from a visible mass of condensed water vapour, floating in the sky. I'll admit, what I pick out isn't very creative, but I'm too relaxed to really care.
I close my eyes as the wonderful, relieving breeze blows across my body. For an April day, it's too hot. In Forks, this isn't normal, especially for this time of year. It rains most of the year here, and it's never this hot before mid-June at least. For someone who hasn't lived here their whole life, this is most likely chilly. For someone who is used to hot weather on a regular basis, this is probably a tad on the cold side. But to me, this is like a lovely Summer's day.
I'm led on my back in my meadow, on a blanket I brought with me. The sun is heating my pale skin. A lot of my skin is on show today, which isn't a common thing for me. I don't know if it's obvious, but my choice of clothing for school is a little on the grungy side.
I'll be honest, most days I dress in clothes that you wouldn't catch most teenage girls dead in: baggy flannel plaid shirts and sweatshirts, dark colours and absolutely no accessories - besides my two necklaces that I almost never take off. And I am never without a pair of high tops.
However, when I'm sure that I won't be seen by any other living soul, other than my mother, I don't mind dressing more suitable to my gender and age. I'm in a pair of white shorts, and a burgundy cropped t-shirt that's twisted at the front. The bruise on my arm is on show, a risk I'm taking because I feel pretty sure that I won't be seen by anyone today. I'll just take the long way home instead of cutting through the town center.
I have a beige cardigan with me, but I took it off as soon as I arrived in my meadow, just as I did with my white Converse high tops. See? Beige and white... I do wear bright coloured clothes. I'm not a complete emo, like everyone in this town thinks I am.
I keep my eyes closed and enjoy the peace, thinking back on the last week. I didn't gain anymore bruises inflicted by my mother, which is a positive I guess. Though I'm not surprised about that; there's normally a cool off period after every physical punishment I receive. It's not long, but it's relieving for me. This doesn't mean that I can let my guard down, however. I still have to do all my chores perfectly, and keep out of my mother's way.
She's been a bit distracted this week; she hasn't scrutinized every little thing I do. Something about a new boss at work taking over on Monday. Thank you, new boss!
So all in all, my life with Renee for the past week has been good - or as good as it can get when I have to walk on eggshells around my own mother.
Unfortunately, I can't say the same for my life outside of my prison-sorry, I mean house. After the events at school on Monday, the catalog incident with Lauren mainly, my week at school has been a little bit of a nightmare. My classmates seemed determined to make me remember my angry outburst for the rest of the week.
Every day, when I opened my locker, a bunch of loose catalog pages would fall out. Thursday morning there were too many for me to pick up, so I left them on the ground and went to English. The other days, I spent time picking them up to put them in the trash, much to everyone's amusement. I just kept my head down and carried on with my days as if nothing happened.
In addition to this, Lauren limped whenever I was near her, casting me evil glares as she went. And people have taken to calling me out on my, and I quote, "psychotic behaviour".
I don't care though. I've learnt not to take it all to heart. I'm just glad I have this place. My meadow is the only place in the whole world that makes me feel safe and happy. No one can judge me here. No one can hit me here. And to my knowledge, no one even comes here. It's mine.
Work for this week has been alright, too. I'm glad I wasn't called in today, however. I needed this Sunday off. I needed this time here, in my meadow. I haven't managed to get away long enough to come here and relax at any point this week. I didn't want a repeat of last Saturday, when I lost track of time and was late home meaning my mother had to cook, so I didn't take the chance of coming here yesterday.
Soon, I won't have to worry about being late home again. I am so close to being able to drive. I won't need my stupid bike anymore, so I won't have to leave my meadow until about twenty minutes before I need to be home. I can't wait!
I worry, though. I don't have the money to get a car, and my mom definitely won't help me out with that. My dad had promised me his 1964 blue Chevy pick-up truck that's still in our garage. He promised that he'd teach me how to drive it and show me all the ins and outs of his third love - my mom and me being in joint first and second place. He sure did love that truck! I can only hope that my mother lets my dad keep half of his promise to me. He couldn't be the one to show me how to drive, but I can still have his truck, just as he promised.
I clear my throat to try and rid it of the lump that slowly begins appearing as I think of my father. I open my eyes and blink away the tears, only just realising that I'm gripping my locket in my right hand like it's a life line. I slowly open my hand and see that the heart shape has imprinted onto my palm.
It is a rounded heart shape locket, with an ornate clasp that opens out to reveal four pictures. The locket part is made of solid brass, and the chain and clasp are made of gold plated brass. Inside, I have a photo of my dad in his police uniform, a photo of my grandparents (Grandad ChaCha and Nana Swan), a photo of my dad in his arm chair with my five year old self sat on his knee, and a photo of me, my dad and Renee taken a year before he passed. We are all happy and smiling in that photo; we are a family.
I was given the locket necklace by my grandmother shortly after my father died. She told me that my dad bought it her for Mother's Day when he was twelve years old, and she wanted me to have it now. Unfortunately, Nana Swan passed away seven months after my dad did. My mom didn't like the fact that Nana Swan gave me something so special. I wouldn't know this if I hadn't overheard them both arguing about it a week after I was given it.
Thinking of my mother makes me feel anxious, and I reach out blindly to pick up my phone. I sigh when I read the time. I need to get home and finish off my Sunday chores. I've already done some laundry and started the cleaning I need to do today. I need to finish some of it still though, as well as make dinner and do some homework.
I reluctantly get up, packing away my phone, book, journal and blanket. I slip my shoes and cardigan on, hiding my bruise - it's better to be safe than sorry. I begin walking along the trail, moving away from my meadow. I always feel empty when I leave it. I hate that I can't just live in it, or better yet, live in the gorgeous house at the other side of this trail.
As I get closer to the opening, I start to dread my ride home. Riding my bike has not been easy with the state of my arm. It is still tender, but it's no longer as dark. The bruise is still very noticeable, but it's a horrible yellow-brown now, with green edges. My arm looks mouldy, to put it bluntly.
I step out of the trail and as I always do, look up at the glorious house. However, when I do so this time, what I see causes my heart to plummet to the ground. Two expensive looking cars are parking up outside of the garage. I stand frozen, watching as four people exit the cars; three from one, and one from the other.
What the fuck?
I continue watching them from the tree line as they stand in front of the house and look up at it. Shit! I don't know what to do. I know what I should do.
I should hop on my bike and slip away stealthily, but I am rooted into place. All my mind can focus on is the fact that these people are going to move in. They are going to stop me from visiting my meadow. They are going to ruin my life.
Hang on a sec… I'm just jumping to conclusions here. These people may not be moving in. They could be friends with the owner - if there is one - and just be here for a holiday. Yeah! That's it. I'm sure they are only here temporarily.
The low rumble of an engine catches my attention. I look down the road that leads in, and all hope of these people being a temporary obstacle is crushed. A humungous moving van is driving closer and closer. How the hell did that monster of a van even turn onto this road? I can feel my heart picking up speed and my breathing slowly turning into pants.
Shit! They're moving in.
Fuck my life! Why? Why do this to me, Lord? Please explain!
I'm not religious by any means, but if I was, the events of the past five years would've abolished any beliefs I had - all starting with the death of my dad. Since then, it's been one bad thing after another. Since then, life has just been this complete shit storm that won't pass. I feel like I'm the Titanic; I hit the iceberg and now I'm just sinking and sinking into the ocean. But unlike the Titanic, I don't land on an ocean bed. I just continue to sink, further and further, the ocean an infinite mass of doom. There's no end to my suffering.
"Young lady, can we help you?" I startle at a woman's voice and quickly turn to look at the four newcomers, all of whom are now staring at me. Shit! I've been spotted.
There are two men and two women. They look to be a family. I can't see them in too much detail from their position way over by the garage, but I can see that they seem to be parents and two teenagers, both possibly around my age.
I don't know what to do. I contemplate turning on my heel and running back to my meadow, to my sanctuary, but I don't. I stay still and shake my head slowly in response to her question. The older woman begins walking towards me, the other three people following closely behind. Shit!
"Are you lost?" the lady asks. They are all getting closer and my only thought now is to get away. I begin stepping sideways, gradually nearing my bike, while shaking my head at her question again.
"Well then, this is private property and you are trespassing," she says, her tone slightly hostile. Double shit! I freeze, mouth gaping. My heart is pounding in my chest. I try to say something, but no words leave my mouth.
"Can you talk?" the other lady asks, her tone sarcastic. She's younger than the first woman that spoke. And, oh my... she's very small. I thought I was short at 5 foot 3, but she can't be even 5 foot. She's so tiny, like a little pixie.
An evil pixie, I correct myself mentally as I notice her hateful glare, aimed at me. Woah.
I look down at my shoes, a natural instinct of mine, scuffing them against the gravel. I don't dare look up at the people again, fearful of the glares I'm receiving. I turn and slowly walk to my bike, trying my best to put my bag on my back without showing any pain in my movements. Inside, however, I'm cursing all my pain receptors. Ow!
"Excuse me! My wife and daughter have both spoken to you and you have rudely ignored them. You'll do well to acknowledge their questions," one of the men demand. I stop mid-reach for the handlebars and turn to face the family. I'm guessing the older one spoke, given he said "wife and daughter". He is now stood a little in front of the rest of his family, like he's guarding them.
From who... me?
The man that just spoke has neat blonde hair, which neither of his children inherited. The other guy, the younger one, has a weird combination of hair colour. I can't even explain it. It's just a mess of reds and browns. Like a bronze, or copper. His mom, *at least I assume she's his mom, has darker hair - almost black - which is where the daughter must have gotten it from. Her jet black spiky pixie cut is just a tad darker than the older woman's colouring.
The blonde man clears his throat and begins tapping his foot. I snap out of my assessment of their hair colours, blushing all shades of red. I must've looked so stupid. Pull yourself together, Bella!
"I'm sorry," I say in a little voice. I sound like Lily from Pitch Perfect. You know... the one that beat boxes but can never be heard when speaking? Fan-fucking-tastic!
The older pair both raise an eyebrow, while the pixie tuts and spins on her heel, strutting over to the men parking and exiting the larger than large moving van. "I-I'm sorry. I didn't know anyone lived here. I-I'll leave now," I confess hurriedly, but louder this time.
"Good. And don't come back," warns the woman, who then grabs her husband's hand as they both walk away, in the same direction as their daughter. I don't bother making eye contact with the silent, copper haired dude. I just rush to get on my bike and get the hell out of here.
As I cycle away, I can't stop the tears from falling. "And don't come back"... That's what she said.
I can't come back here. And that means...
I can't come back to my meadow.
~I*A*F*P*I*T*M~
Monday 17 April 2017
The next morning, I wake with a start.
All night I had horrible dreams. In them, my meadow wasn't beautiful and full of life like it's supposed to be. Instead it was filled with lava. The trees were stripped of all their leaves. The trunks and branches were burnt and black, twisted in the most grotesque ways. The flowers that once stemmed from the ground floated around me, loose and shrivelled, crisp and blackened. Everything was ruined; my meadow was full of death and decay.
No matter how many times I woke, every time I tried to go back to sleep I'd picture the same thing. Over and over again.
It's all because of that family. They've stolen the one place that gives me comfort in life. They've taken the one thing that gives me sanity in this fucked up world. I hate them... which is harsh because I don't really know them. I don't use the word 'hate' lightly. Especially not in regards to another person. I don't even hate my mother, and Lord knows I have enough reasons to.
But, that family... I hate them.
Why did they have to move here? Who would want to move here anyway? It's a small town, surrounded by thousands of trees, and miles away from any major retailers. There's Main Street in the center of town that has locally owned businesses, shops and boutiques. But there's no large shopping center, or any fancy restaurants. There isn't even a fast food place.
Why would they want to live somewhere so small and insignificant. Why?
I sigh as I enter the kitchen, coming to a halt when I see my mother stood by the sink, drinking a coffee. I didn't bother to check our driveway to see if she was still here. She's dressed for work, in an outfit that looks like it costs more than the contents of my entire wardrobe as a whole.
"Good morning," she greets warmly, her smile catching me off guard.
"Eerm... g-good morning," I answer hesitantly. I don't think I can remember the last time she wished me a good morning. I can't even remember the last time she spoke to me in such a happy voice.
"How did you sleep?" she asks, looking at me expectantly. I shuffle over to the fridge, pulling out the orange juice.
"Like shit," I answer in a monotone voice. Yesterday's events, added to my virtually sleepless night has put me in a foul mood. I'm only answering truthfully.
"Excuse me?" Renee asks. I stop what I'm doing and turn to my mother. She has an eyebrow raised and her smile has disappeared. Crap!
"Um... I meant my night wasn't very good. I, um... I didn't sleep well," I answer quietly, lowering my eyes to the floor. She's silent for a few seconds, but then clears her throat. I raise my eyes to hers again, and see she still has an eyebrow arched, like she's waiting for something. "S-sorry?" I guess. I'm unsure of what she's waiting for, so it comes out as a question.
"I should think so," she says, sipping from her cup slowly. Um... okay? I'm so confused. A week ago she told me to stop apologising to her, and now it's what she expects? I turn back to my task, shaking my head as I pour some juice into a glass. I sigh quietly, too quietly for Renee to catch, before placing the glass on the breakfast table.
I keep my eyes averted from Renee as I pass her to get to the bowls and cereal. We both stay silent as I make myself a bowl, before sitting down at the table. I'm used to silence whenever we are in the same room. Renee doesn't like small talk much anymore. She prefers I do what I have to do, and leave her alone. This is the reason I'm shocked when she comes over to the the breakfast table and sits in the chair opposite me.
"What is wrong with you this morning?" she asks. I can feel her eyes piercing the top of my head, but I continue staring down at my bowl. "Isabella, do not ignore me," she demands.
I hold back my sigh as I slowly lift my head. She's looking at me with a raised eyebrow again. "Why are you in such a horrible mood?" she asks sharply. I can hear her high-heel clad foot tapping the floor underneath the table.
"I just didn't sleep well, that's all," I say, my voice small. I stir my cereal around the bowl with the spoon slowly.
"Well I'm sorry you didn't have a good night's sleep, but there's no need to take it out on me. What have I done to you to deserve this?"
Unthinking, I raise my right hand to touch the nasty bruising on the top of my left arm. I don't even consider my actions, I just do it. She watches the movement of my hand, and her eyes narrow slightly when she realises where it is going. Her gaze flashes back to mine and the once light look on her face has vanished, replaced with pure anger.
"That's not fair! You know I had a drink last weekend," she says, mock hurt in her voice.
That's it, Renee. Blame it on the alcohol, like you always do. It's her go-to excuse.
"And besides," she says as she pushes out from under the table in one fluent and forceful movement, "I've apologised for that."
No. You haven't.
She likes to think she apologises to me, but she doesn't. She has only ever apologised once; after the first time she hit me. It took her three hours to come to me and say sorry, but even then, I knew it was forced.
"You know... you can be such a selfish bitch sometimes, Isabella," she snarls, practically spitting the words at me. I flinch and look down involuntarily. It's my bodies response to her harsh behaviour towards me. I can't control it.
She stands from the table. Her actions are so strong that the untouched orange juice spills over the rim of the glass slightly. She begins pacing, and I know one of two things is about to happen. Either she'll begin ranting and cursing at me. Or, she'll physically attack me.
Luckily for me, she chooses the former.
"Why did you have to do this today?" she begins, calmer than I expected and I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing. Her voice is quiet, and she's slowly walking back and forth beside the table. She takes a deep breath in before continuing. "I was in such a good mood. My new boss is starting today. I was hoping to impress her so she wouldn't hate me like the last douche I had as a boss did. I was ready to face the day with a smile." Her voice slowly begins rising in volume. I can't help but lower my head further to the table. My fear is showing, but right now she's unpredictable and I don't care how I look.
Her voice suddenly changes all together. She turns sharply on her heel and points at me. Her next words are hissed at me. Hatred fuels her outburst. "But you... you had to ruin my good mood by reminding me of my mistake. My one mistake! God, Isabella! Nobody's perfect! I make mistakes just like everybody else!" She's shouting at me now. Almost screaming.
One? Did she just say one mistake? Is she delusional?
Even with the volume of her voice and the harsh tone she is directing at me, I think she's admitting to her mistake, as she put it, for once. But, as I should expect, I'm not so lucky. The blame is quickly pinned on me. Typical.
"Maybe I wouldn't make mistakes if you just behaved. Maybe then I wouldn't have to teach you a lesson. Ugh. I mean, is it so hard to listen to what I say? You have ears, don't you?! Use them to do what God gave you them for. Listen!" She over-pronounces the word, exaggerating every letter and syllable as she tugs on the lobe of her right ear. "Maybe then I wouldn't need to do this!"
She suddenly grabs the top of my left arm in her hand tightly. I cry out and try to pull it from her grasp, but she's too strong for me. She squeezes harder, before pulling me towards her. Our noses are almost touching, and even though I want to look away, I can't. Her acid filled eyes burn into mine. They've locked me into place, and I'm too afraid to turn away.
"You don't learn, Isabella. You never do. I don't know why I bother. I don't know why I put up with your shit. It's never ending. I should just leave this wretched town and the worthless people that live here. I should leave you," she whispers icily, staring deeply into my eyes the entire time. I gulp and try to hold back my tears. I'm worthless to her.
She finally let's go of my arm, and stands up straight, smoothing out her charcoal grey pencil skirt. "I'm going to work! Clean my cup before you leave. I want you back here straight after school. Call Angela and tell her you won't be going into work this afternoon. You are not to leave this house for the rest of the evening, once you return. That'll teach you to not repeat a stunt like the one you just pulled," she tells me, and with that she turns and marches out of the room.
I remain frozen in my seat for the next few minutes. Even when I hear the front door open and close, I still stay sat like a statue, in the exact position she left me in. It's only once I hear her car driving away that I move. I suck in a sharp intake of air and let the few tears that were threatening to fall do just that; fall. I cradle my left arm to my body, and inspect the damage. Fresh, red marks wrap around my arm, the shape of my mother's fingers easy to distinguish in the mess of colour. The darkness of the bruise will probably return after what just happened. I let myself cry it out for a couple of minutes, before I pull myself together.
Why did I do that? Why didn't I just pretend to be in high spirits until she left? What is wrong with me?
No! Nothing is wrong with me, I tell myself. I can't think like that. She cannot expect me to be all happy and smiling whenever she is. She puts me in bad moods all the time. She can't pretend to be happy for my sake, so why should I? I'm only returning the favour.
But life would be so much easier if I kept my emotions hidden. Then she wouldn't be encouraged to continue her attacks, just like the kids at school. Then she wouldn't have a reason to hit and punish me.
No! She'll always find a reason, I think to myself. It's true!
She. Will. Always. Find. A. Reason.
There's always something I've done wrong. There's always something that she believes requires a punishment.
I've lost my appetite now, so I dump the contents of my bowl in the waste bin and make my way back up stairs. After making both mine and Renee's beds, I throw myself through the shower, not bothering to wash my hair. Once I've finished my morning routine, I go to my bedroom to finish getting ready. I brush through my hair before scraping it up into a ponytail - painfully, might I add.
It's hot again today, which is just fantastic seeing as I'll have to keep my arm covered all day. I sulk as I search my closet for something to wear. I end up picking out a white baggy t-shirt and an oversized, boyfriend style, red plaid shirt to go over the top. I leave the shirt unbuttoned and I put on a black jean skirt, tucking the t-shirt into it. There. At least my legs will be cool. Without a second thought about it, I grab my black Converse high tops - my favourite pair of shoes - from the bottom of my closet and put them on. Checking I have everything, I go down stairs, lock everything up and leave.
Are you shitting me? Seriously? Somehow my rear bicycle tyre is flat. Does the universe have it out for me today? I don't have time to blow it up. With another sigh - which, so far, must be my hundredth today - I begin speed walking to school.
I make it to school a few minutes before the first bell, barely having enough time to get to my locker. Knowing my luck today, Miss. Wilkins will be right on time and I'll get in trouble for being late. I slip into my English class as the bell rings, and thankfully she's not here yet.
Unfortunately I have to pass every other student in my class, which is full.
Why do I choose to sit at the back again?
Several of them try to trip me up on my way to my desk, but surprisingly, I manage to dodge them all. With a sigh of relief, or exhaustion - I don't know which - I sit in my seat. People turn to stare at me, or more like glare at me - mainly the ones that attempted to hurt me. I feel like childishly sticking my tongue out at them, but that wouldn't get me very far.
I keep my head down for the whole of the lesson. I don't even bother putting my hand up to answer a question like I usually do. I just keep quiet and write notes when I need to. As soon as the bell rings I am off of my chair and out the door. Normally, I hang back until the class is empty, but I don't want to stay and be scrutinized by these people any longer.
Unfortunately, moving out to the halls isn't any better. I soon realise it is actually much, much worse. We always have five minutes between each class; primarily so we can get any books we may need from our lockers. However, most people use this time to meet up with friends and talk. I couldn't do that even if I had any friends, because my Algebra classroom is virtually across the other side of the school.
A minute or two into my walk to Algebra, I can hear voices behind me. Obviously there are voices all around me, but these ones are close and I can hear every word.
"What's her name?" I vaguely remember the female's voice from somewhere. It's one I've heard recently, but not one that I hear often.
"Who?" I know the responding voice's owner, however. Jessica freaking Stanley.
"Her. With the sneakers on," says the familiar, but not so familiar voice again. Okay, so they're talking about me. Gee! They're just shoes. She says 'sneakers' like it's a forbidden word. Like she's saying the most unacceptable and inexcusable thing. A part of me is glad I wore my black pair today. They're my most used pair, and it's obvious from their state. I smirk at the ridiculousness of the girls behind me.
"Oh. That's Bella." Lauren answers her this time, saying my name with a sneer. I'm beginning to wonder if they know I can hear them.
"Yeah. You don't need to worry about her. She's the town freak," Rosalie says, her disgust for me obvious in her voice.
I forgot until just now - ever since I started hanging back and waiting until the last minute to walk to my next class - that in between English and Algebra, Rosalie, Lauren and Jessica all walk the same way as me. Lauren and Jessica are in my Algebra class, and Rosalie is in the classroom two doors down. Shit! I should've stayed back like I usually do.
"Freak? Why do you say that?" the mystery girl asks. Who is she?
"Just look at her. Isn't it obvious?" Lauren asks, like the answers are all presented on a flashing neon sign attached to the back of my head.
Their hatred for me, their notions that I am a freak, is nothing that I wasn't already aware of. I know they all think I'm a freak. It doesn't bother me, it just means that they stay away, and I like that. But what is going to bother me, and pretty quickly, is if they keep talking about me while I'm in earshot. At least have the common decency to talk about me while I'm unaware, or say it to my face.
"Well, for one, she is such a loner. I mean, like, she has no friends," Jessica says. I tick that one off in my head. I knew my lack of companionship would be mentioned.
"None at all?" Mystery Girl asks in disbelief.
"None whatsoever," Lauren declares.
"That's just sad," the girl says. I roll my eyes. What? 'Cause I like my own company, it's sad? I don't think so. I happen to like being on my own.
"She's sad," Rosalie adds. She giggles and soon she is joined by Jessica and Lauren. I hear the unknown girl laugh along, too. I can feel myself getting a little angry. This is getting ridiculous. They have to know I can hear them.
"Oh! And you want to know something else about Little Miss Freakshow?" Lauren asks after sobering momentarily from her giggling fit. She pauses for affect before saying, "She hardly ever speaks." And then she starts giggling all over again.
"Yeah. She only talks when answering questions in class," Jessica adds. I hold back my sigh of frustration, not wanting to clue them in to the fact that I'm starting to get more and more annoyed.
"Is she a bit of a know-it-all?" the unknown-to-me girl asks.
"Oh yeah. Definitely. She's a total loser," Lauren quips.
"I've heard she spends some lunches on her own, in the library," Jessica tells them, whispering the word 'library' like it's a top secret place. My anger dissipates for a moment as my amusement breaks through. Oh my God. You can tell she's never read a book for fun before. The girl probably wouldn't know where the library was, or how to even open a book.
My anger soon returns, however, as they carry on speaking. "Wow. You're right. Sheis an absolute freak," says the girl I don't know the name of. How dare she! She doesn't even know me. Why does she think she has the right to judge me? All four of them giggle. That shit is getting on my last nerve.
"And have you noticed her clothing habits?" Jessica asks rhetorically. Well, it was obvious they were going to mention that one. If there's one thing these girls hate about me, it's my fashion sense. Or lack thereof in their opinions.
"The bitch has no taste when it comes to fashion. She buys everything she wears from the local charity shop," Lauren says. Her shudder is audible. I roll my eyes again. That is so not true...
Okay, so maybe I like to buy some of what I wear from 'Tanner's Charity Shop'. Well, maybe 'most of what I wear' would be closer to the truth. It's a wonderful little shop owned by Bree Tanner's family. She's one of the quieter girls in the sophomore class. It's mostly a clothing store, and all their stock is second hand.
I just find that second hand clothes have more character than brand new ones. They have their own story. They've lived a life already, and have the opportunity to live another. I'm not a consistent bargain hunter; I also buy new items of clothing. It's just a large part of my wardrobe is made up of second hand items. This skirt and shirt are both from that store.
"It's sick. I cannot even set foot in that building. Who would want to wear something that's been on someone else's body? It's revolting," Jessica voices. She makes a gagging noise and this time I can't stop the clenching of my fists. I try hiding them with my long sleeves.
"Seriously? Ugh. How gross!" the girl with no name says.
"I know right? And what's with all the baggy and dark outfits? She does realise it's Spring, right?" Rosalie questions rhetorically, her tinkling laugh following her words. I'm about to speed up and get away from these awful human beings, having heard enough, when the unnamed girl says something I don't expect.
"She wasn't wearing dark clothes yesterday." Her comment is casual. Innocent. Yet her words cause a cold stillness in my veins that stops me from walking away. The meaning of her words doesn't completely register right away, but after a few seconds it's like something clicks within my mind. That's why I recognise her voice! She's the younger girl from yesterday: the one that's moved into the house. She's part of the family that have prevented me from visiting my meadow anymore.
The evil pixie!
"What?"
"You know her?"
"Huh?"
Rosalie, Lauren and Jessica all express their shock and curiosity at once.
Oh no! Please, no! I cannot have them, or anyone, find out about my meadow. "Well, when me and my family arrived yesterday-" Pixie Girl begins to answer, but I cut in. I've finally heard enough. The threat of my safe haven being revealed tips me over the edge.
I stop and spin, turning to face the four gossiping pains in my ass. They all stop walking and take a stumbling step back, startled at my sudden movement. I must look a little scary; with clenched fists, flaring nostrils and heavy breaths.
"For future reference," I start through gritted teeth, "if you have something to say about me, then you can say it to my face." I speak as quietly as I possibly can, hoping only these four will hear. "And," I continue, turning my gaze solely to the Pixie, "if you or any other new student wants to know something about me, all you have to do is ask," I say, before turning around so my back is to them all. I feel satisfaction at the memory of their stunned faces.
I stomp off, but only make it a few feet before they recover from their shock and fight back. "Oh my God. It spoke!" Jessica says snidely. I carry on walking, acting as if I didn't hear her.
"What were you going to say, Alice? Before you were rudely interrupted... When you and your family arrived yesterday..." Rosalie asks, loud enough for me, and anyone close by to hear. Alice must be the Pixie's real name. My heart begins pounding wildly in my chest as I come to an immediate stop. I keep my back facing them all. I notice some other people have stopped to see what is happening.
No! Please don't be happening. Please be a dream. I chant this over and over in my head as I wait for Alice to reply. My eyes are clenched shut. I don't know what to do. It's obvious any attempts I try and make to stop this will be shut down by Rosalie. I think back to her threats last week, and that's all the incentive I need to keep quiet.
"When we arrived yesterday afternoon, she came out of the trees outside our house, and then just stood there, watching us. It was so strange. My mom asked her what she was doing there, but she never spoke. Not until my dad demanded she answer our questions. She was so rude. She just ignored us, and looked at us like we were the ones trespassing. I was already suspecting she was a weirdo, but I didn't know how much of one she actually was."
By the end of Alice's story, Rosalie, Lauren, Jessica and anyone nearby who heard is laughing hysterically. I slowly turn on the spot to face them again. Tears have gathered in my eyes, and my fists are clenching and unclenching repeatedly.
I want to lower my head and walk away, but I also want to say something. I want to defend myself. People are pointing and laughing; some are so worked up that they can't even get a breath out.
Jessica speaks through her cackles, loud enough for the audience to hear her. "Aww, poor Bella. She only has the forest wildlife as friends."
"Good one, Jess," Lauren snorts, slapping her thigh. "Bella, have you just started to speak again, now that you've come out of hibernation?"
Alice high fives Lauren, which only results in the laughing around me to increase. I can't believe this. I've gotten used to keeping my cool around them. I've mastered the skill of wearing a poker face when a joke about me is made. But this is personal. This is a strike that's hit the center of my heart.
I do what I haven't done in a very long time; I let a tear run down my face. It's only a single tear, but it's noticed. The pointing gets more aggressive, as does the laughing. I slowly begin backing up. I start to flee; something else I haven't done here in a long time.
I can't see where I'm going, I only know that I need to get away. I don't get very far before my back hits into something solid. I quickly turn to see what it is, but my feet don't cooperate with the rest of me and I start to fall.
I'm saved, my fall broken, by a circle of arms around my shoulders. The person catches my left arm to stop my fall, pressing into my bruising and I unintentionally wince out loud. I'm helped to my feet and finally look up at the person that helped me.
I'd recognise that hair anywhere. It's the young man from the house yesterday; Alice's brother, I'm guessing. As soon as this realisation hits me, I feel defensive and try to pull away, muttering a "thank you." He keeps a hand on my elbow, even though I'm stood steadily now. He stays silent and continues to stare at me.
The laughter around us quietens noticeably, but I don't know why.
I didn't get a good look at him yesterday. I was trying to get out of there as quickly as possible. Especially after being met with such hostility. All I could think about was leaving. Isn't that what I should be doing now? But I can't. He's still staring at me, and all I can do is stare back. His forest green eyes have me locked in a trance. They are very green, and remind me so much of my meadow.
I pull my eyes away from his, with much difficulty, to scan the rest of his face. His bronze hair I immediately recognised is messy, but in a it's-meant-to-look-like-this kind of way. His cheekbones are high, and his lips are full - the bottom more so than the top.
Oh my God... am I seriously looking at his lips right now? I glance back up at his eyes. Eyes are a safe facial feature to look at, right? Shit! Not when they remind me so much of the place he and his family took from me.
He continues to stare and I start to feel a little uncomfortable. My blush seeps into my cheeks and then his eyes widen almost imperceptibly. "Hey, aren't you the girl from the forest yesterday?" he asks. The laughter surrounding us grows loud again, and my anger flares once more.
I yank my arm from his hand, and try to ignore the horrific pain that shoots up it. "Yes, I am! Now just drop it, okay?" I shout, before stomping off in my previously intended direction.
"Hey! Wait!" I hear him shouting at my retreating form, but I ignore his calls and carry on escaping.
The laughter follows me down the corridor.
A/N: So there you go... Edward and his wonderful family have joined the party. I probably should have said this sooner, but if you're looking for a story with the usual loveable gang, then this isn't the one for you. I've made it completely my own, character personalities and all. I hope that isn't too disappointing for the few readers that I have so far.
Was this chapter too long? I was worried about that. Let me know so I am aware for future reference.
Next chapter will be Edward's first POV - another chapter I am super excited to get uploaded. Bring on next Monday! Please let me know how you feel about the weekly update scheduele I've got going on at the moment. Behind the scenes, I am writing weeks ahead of what you guys are reading. Once it's complete I will increase my updates to two a week, maybe more, depending on how long this story ends up being.
Please leave me a review! I am incredibly eager (and also a bit nervous) to know what you guys think about this story so far! I'd really aprreicate some feedback.
Thanks for reading! See you in a week!