I do not own anything Twilight related. That is Stephanie Meyer ownership. I do however own Araminta Cullen.
Chapter Two
Isabella Swan is curious—very curious about the Cullen family.
Apparently, Edward couldn't handle the sweet aroma of Isabella Swan, so he ran off to the Denali Coven like a little boy scared of the dark.
I really don't understand his point of view on this matter.
If her scent was so pure, so radiant, why didn't he suck her dry?
He should actually try and enjoy something.
And they say I'm pessimistic. Puh-lease.
Yummy, it makes me thirsty just thinking about pure, juicy blood. I have come across two of my singers and I enjoyed every drop of that blood.
Except Edward is just too gallant to hurt Carlisle. He doesn't want to be a monster, so he did what he thought was right—runaway.
Our father is my role model. Carlisle is the most understanding and compassionate vampire in existence. If we slip or get in trouble, we fear the look on dad's face.
It's too heartbreaking.
It could make the coldest vampires dead, unbeaten heart break into a million pieces.
He'll come back, Alice said. After feeding…a lot.
Edward leaving did hurt someone's feelings, Esme's.
She dry sobbed for hours.
Alice and Rosalie comforted her while Jasper manipulated her emotions and Emmett tried to cheer her up with doing immature acts of amusement. Carlisle did husband-y things—whatever that is. And I watched—from the sidelines—unable to do anything for Esme.
Comforting people is what I am the worst at that.
My voice is naturally quiet and cold.
I can of course adjust my voice but I always speak the I-don't-want to-talk-to-you-so-leave-me-alone tone.
I couldn't even pat her on the shoulder or give her a comforting hug.
Blinking, I stared down at the sleeping Swan girl.
She was hugging tight to her pillow and mumbling incoherently in her sleep. Her darkish brown hair sprawled all over her head while her facial expression was raveled in a cute pout. Isabella rolled over, awakening me from my stare and chaotic thoughts.
My intention was to come here and kill her. To end it for once and all.
She can and she will cause damage to this family.
I don't have to be Alice to know. She told me Isabella's near future is unclear: either Edward kills her out of bloodlust or something unthought-of happens.
Something Alice daren't speak to me about. Something that will really piss me off.
I just can't do it. I can't hurt this young woman. I've caused enough damage to this family. Killing Isabella would solve nothing, only add complications.
I wouldn't be able to watch the faces of my parents when I told them my sin of killing an innocent girl. I would probably be disowned. Edward would tear me to pieces and literally watch me burn to the ground.
That's what she is—a sweet, innocent woman.
My life was taken away from me at a young age. My life was all planned out for me.
I was to be wedded by the towns' young doctor because after all my father—I sneered the word—was an influential man in the town. It was to be expected of Christopher and me to be married since I was betrothed to him after I was born.
He was twenty-two by the time I died at fourteen, which our wedding was going to place the day after my "death". (The age difference was normal back in the early centuries.)
We were going to live in his parent's family manor. We were going to have brown-haired and brown-eyed children to fill up the rooms.
I was going to be a loyal wife, a lover, a mother, and I would grow old knowing I lived a happy and natural life. Even if I was not in love with my intended suitor.
And I wouldn't dare take away the precious and time-filled life of this girl. She has the opportunity to plan out her own life—to graduate school, turn eighteen, go to college, party, get drunk, fall in and out love (In this time of age the women deliberately throw themselves at men for sexual intercourse—the shame these days.), turn twenty-one, have a career, get married, have kids, stress about bills, have a mortgage, grow old to watch her children and their children, and die.
It would all be ruined by a slip of my hand.
Her life would be destroyed.
She was very curious about us. I knew. I silently watched from across the cafeteria when she would stare at us in question-filled eyes. It didn't take a mind reader to know she was wondering where my big brother is at. I wouldn't be surprised if she found us out.
Edward would do anything to protect us, so he wouldn't tell her. Alice is if-y. She's unpredictable. I don't know whether she will roll with Isabella knowing or forewarn us.
Her scent is appealing—it makes me thirsty. I think I'll go hunting after I leave here.
I am immune to the smell of human blood and hers is burning my throat. Now, I understand why Edward left. He could have slipped and drank her blood. Her blood smells like freesia and her strawberry shampoo increases the smell of appeal.
I looked around her purple-colored room. It was average; I guess. I ran swiftly and quietly to her bookshelf.
The Tragedy of Romeo and Juliet, Robert Frost, the Odyssey, The Tragedy of Antigone, Wuthering Heights, The Great Gatsby
Hmm. She has good taste in the classics.
My favorite is no doubt The Tragedy of Antigone. The woman in question, Antigone, does her brother justice. Her two older brothers go into war over their city, Thebes. When one brother is the honored brother and the other is anointed a traitor, the treacherous brother is ordered by the kings—his uncle—for him to be unburied. In Greece, if a soul is unburied; the soul will not make it to the underworld. Being the stubborn daughter of Oedipus, Antigone buried her brother knowing she will be killed. But Antigone believed she buried her brother by God's law. Even though she did her deed and chaos corrupted, she hanged herself in her rock chamber and her fiancé wept over body, fought his father—the king—and then proceeded to kill himself.
I skidded to the window, looked over my shoulder to look at Isabella one last time and climbed out the window. Hanging on the side of the house, I scooted the window all the way down and jumped to the ground silently. Gracefully running away from the Chief's house, I reached the woods.
Smelling the forests fresh trees and woodsy smell, I smelt for anything distinctive of my liking.
Slowly the deer stopped at some leafs to eat. I ran up to it and tentatively placed my hand on the animal. The deer fell to the ground and moaned in agony. Unable to watch the slow death I caused the animal, I sunk my teeth in its neck.
The rest of my family doesn't find the blood of a deer appetizing. As weird as this may sound, this particular herbivore is my favorite to drink. I don't know why. Maybe it's because they don't deliberately eat other animals but have a plant diet. Deer are vegetarians just like me.
(I even kill plants with my hand—plants shrivel up and die. It's a hard thing, hiding my hand from plants. I don't want to have a killing spree in this green world of Forks.)
The tastes of deer blood it so tasty, so appetizing. It's like ice cream for a human. Apparently it's delicious and filling, that's how the blood of a deer tastes for me.
Throwing the deer down gently, I looked down at my clothes while I placing my gloves back on my hands. Not a drop of blood. Good. I don't need a bitching from Alice.
Speaking of the devil, Alice's overly sweet smell overloaded my nostrils as she skidded behind me. I turned to look at her.
"Couldn't do it?" she questioned, narrowing her eyes in judgment.
"Don't look at me like that with those judging eyes!" I hissed, snarling at her.
"Why did you go to Isabella Swan's house? Huh?" she inquired further, pausing dramatically to place a finger to her chin in a thoughtful manner. "Wait. I know. To kill her."
I restrained from rolling my eyes.
"Is this all you want?" I asked coldly. She glared.
"Fine, I admit it. I went there to kill her. I just couldn't do it."
She smiled grimly with a hint of triumph. "I'm sorry I accused you of attempting murder."
"Don't sweat it," I replied coldly.
It hurt to hear her accusing me of murder. I've changed.
She smiled sadly and glided over to me. Taking my newly gloved hand, we ran together to the house in silence.
Alice is, well…Alice. A force to be reckon with. She's a free spirit with an aura of oddness. She is so full of life…And I am so full of death. We're the exact opposites. She's happy, I am gloomy.
Mary Alice Brandon Cullen-Whitlock: happy, joyful, unique, friendly, loving, funny, open, caring, gentle, perky, modest (sometimes), overly confident, cheerful, lively, understanding, trusting, hopeful, and optimistic.
Araminta Grace Cullen: angry, depressed, cold, bitter, anti-social, uncaring, sarcastic, mean, lofty, proud, reserved, cynical, mysterious, cunning, wise, haughty, loner of some sorts, and guarded.
"Hello, girls. Where have you been?" Esme greeted when we walked through the door. She kissed Alice's cheek and she barely touched my face with her hand.
I subtly flinched.
It hurts that my family doesn't even show the slightest of affection towards me. The only part of my body that causes harm is my bloody hand—not my face, mouth, legs, belly, eyes, or anything.
The only way my whole body gets affected is when I get overemotional. It pushes out a defense aura of death.
To stay clear of that pain I could cause my family, I distant myself from people or should I say vampires.
I guess my hating to be touch persona is my own fault. But if they do show affection, are they scared I'll hurt them unintentionally?
Why do I have to be different in my vampire life too?
A sense of calm took over my body, cleansing my guilt, anger, bitterness, disgust, sadness, and worry.
Jasper gave me an odd look before greeting Alice with a kiss. They stared at each other like a blind man seeing the sun, a newborn seeing his or her mom for the first time, or lovers sharing a naughty glance. It's too sickening to look at, so I glided up the stairs to my bedroom.
My bedroom is dark and gloomy. The black and grey walls are covered with most of my art work. I have a black, tall bookshelf by the door filled with all my favorite books. The ebony grandfather clock stood close to my walk in closet full of clothes Alice bought that I like to wear. With no bed, a drawing desk resided in its place with coloring pencils, marker, paint, and etc. The French sliding doors was opened letting in cool air.
I walked out onto my small deck, shut my door, and looked out at the view.
Drawing is the greatest joy and passion I have in this world. I can't hurt it in anyway. I can actually feel alive for once. I don't have to worry about killing someone or accidentally touching someone. I can give my painting my all and not feel unsure around my surroundings. My drawings reflect to anything I found extraordinary. I can actually touch something.
And that is my biggest wish in the world—to be able to touch someone.
When I was with the Volturi, Renata was a guard member. She's a physical shield, meaning she projects an aura around her body, which protects her from negativity—powers that physically harm the body aura—to cause people to go another way in confusion. I could touch her, but only for a limited time before she would grow weak and collapse into her worst fears that every victim I cause. Lucky me, I get a front row seat to watch their worst fears or memories.
She is a strong shield, and I am her weakness.
I cause everyone weakness.
I'll never find love. It sounds petty and pathetic but it's true.
My family can depend on their spouses anytime and love them unconditionally/for all eternity.
I want that.
Every young girl wishes for her prince charming to sweep her off her feet.
I wish for that, too.
I wish for a tall, handsome guy with dark hair and dark eyes—well, golden eyes. He would have a power that repels all powers or something like that. With one glance, we'll fall in love and spend the rest of eternity together. He would be understanding, loving, and considerate. The ideal guy.
Pshh. Like that will ever happen. That's like saying I am a preppy wannabe cheerleader.
If I ever find love, which I won't, I will go shopping with Alice at the Mall of America and I will let her buy me anything she wants for me to wear and I will wear it for a decade. And we have different styles—way different.
"YEEP!"
A loud shriek echoed the house.
Everyone—excluding Edward (for obvious reasons) and Carlisle (whose at the hospital)—flew down the stairs to see Alice jumping up and down like a kid in a candy store. She looked so happy it gave me—the ancient Queen of Darkness—a jolt of excitement.
"Thank you! Thank you, Minty!" Alice squealed, still jumping up and down. All heads swiveled fast to look at me. I shrugged.
"Why are you thanking me?" I asked quietly.
Alice ran to me and hugged me tightly. I hesitantly hugged her back.
God, this is freaking uncomfortable.
She let go of me and gave me a beaming smile.
"Because you agreed to let me take you shopping if you found a mate!" she said shrilly beaming at the idea.
My other siblings—just Emmett and Rosalie—found this so funny. They we're holding onto each other for balance while laughing.
If I was human, my face would have been beet red with embarrassment.
"Oh, honey, that is a good goal. It's been too long without having a partner in your life," Esme smiled encouragingly. "Yes. And you can come to me if you need any sex advice," she added as an afterthought to my utter humiliation and Emmett's gleeful laughter.
Kill. Me. Now.
I wanted to raise my hand to my mother for even suggesting that.
"Yes, Ara, I'll give you some dirty details," Emmett guffawed. "I'll even give you some costumes me and Rose use. Do you like maid outfits?"
"Emmett, shut up before I make you shut up for hours," I hissed threateningly, which caused Emmett to reduce to small giggles and Rosalie to explode into hard laughs.
Jasper calmed down my embarrassment.
"You with a mate!" Rose smiled amusedly.
"Thank you, Jasper, for not laughing. Thank you, Alice, for you enthusiasm," I muttered emotionlessly before running out the door in super speed mode.
"Emmett McCarthy Cullen, you are grounded! No X-Box for a month! How dare you laugh at your sister in a vulnerable position?!" I heard Esme yell.
I didn't stop running. I kept on running and running and running.
I finally stopped at the border line against La Push.
I dropped to the ground and wept with no tears.
I cried bitterly and sadly.
Not even my family understands. And they never will.
They don't understand the struggle of not touching someone.
I'm not even able to hold their hand with the fear of hurting a loved one. I don't even allow myself to get emotional because I can do some real damage. I'm not able to show any affection at all.
They don't know what it's like.
And that reduced me into hard heart-wrenching sobs.
Poor Araminta. I know this was a little heartbreaking but I swear it won't be like this every chapter. I just wanted to express her views on not being able to be touched and explore some more into her power.
Katherine
