BPOV
It's been a long day. A total shit day, honestly.
Rose said that if I don't have a least three stories in by next week I'd be fired, even though I haven't been paid yet. Emmett tried to be sympathetic, but I know he was secretly pleased that Rose gave me a reason to get out of the house. I'm pretty sure I've been cock blocking him for about a month at this point.
I put on my best work clothes, which really aren't that impressive but still. For a minute, I felt like I could actually do this. I looked at myself in the mirror this morning and thought, Damn, Bella, you're a working professional. Well, that was eight hours and countless miles ago. I don't feel so professional anymore.
My day in a nutshell: Los Angeles public transportation, one broken heel, endless hours of standing in the sun outside of fancy restaurants, a drunken pass from a dirty homeless person.
It's nearly dark now. LA in the dark isn't exactly the best place to be. Anyone who's anyone is inside some fancy building, drinking and forgetting that they're in LA. I'm limping due to the missing heel, I feel a migraine growing, and I'm two minutes away from walking to the closest bus stop when I run into the paparazzi.
They're walking around in circles, all in black jackets with DLSRs hanging from their necks. Some of them chat with each other, some of them smoke. But they're here for a reason. They're waiting for someone.
I park myself at the side of the restaurant, carefully noting the name and the location. It's definitely in the binder.
I stay about five feet from the paparazzi and try to look unimportant. It's not very hard.
Thirty minutes later, the car pulls up. It's sleek and black, with windows tinted so thick there's no chance of seeing inside. The paparazzi jump into action, lining either side of the car. I can hardly see.
I hear the click of the door open. A man around Emmett's size walks out, bulky and strong. He pushes some of the paparazzi out of the way with one sweeping hand gesture. I lean to the side to get a better view, half of my body in the bushes and the other half on the sidewalk.
And then they start to scream.
"Edward Cullen!"
"Cullen!"
"Are we going to see you at the premiere, Edward?"
"Edward, look over here!"
"Any new women in your life, Edward?"
"To the left! Edward, to the left!"
My heartbeat jumps. Jackpot. I try to push around the paparazzi but they're large and boisterous. I glimpse a woman in a blue dress, but only for a moment. The large man and the woman move quickly to the door. I know he's there, too. Somehow, I can feel it.
But I never see him.
They're in the restaurant too fast. Another minute passes and even the paparazzi start to disperse. I have no photo, no story. So Edward Cullen went to a restaurant. Does that count? I'm hot with frustration. I can't stop the tears that grow in my eyes.
I'm a failure. I can't even do this stupid shit. I can't do anything.
I sink to the bushes, damp grass soaking through my sad excuse for a pencil skirt. It's so quiet here now with all the paparazzi gone. No cars pass on this side street. The only sound is the roar of the highway in the distance. I close my eyes and for just a moment allow myself some peace.
And then Rosalie calls.
I sigh and answer.
"Get anything today?" she asks. No 'hello.' Of course.
"No."
"You didn't see anyone? You're walking around LA, Bella. You're bound to seem someone."
"I saw Edward Cullen's bodyguard walk into a restaurant."
"Wait, was he there?"
"I don't know. I didn't see."
"Did you get a photo?"
"No."
She sighs.
"Alright, just get the name of the restaurant. I'll work with it."
"Okay."
"Bye."
I throw my phone back into my purse with a groan. That's it, then. Back to Emmett's couch.
I stand awkwardly on my single heel, stumbling down the sidewalk. Naturally, my other heel catches on a crack in the curb and then I'm falling, falling, falling straight into a puddle of sewer water.
At first, I don't register it. My eyes close. And then I start crying. And then I start cursing. And then I can't stop.
"Are you okay?" someone calls. I jump back, splashing further into the puddle. A shadowy figure emerges from the alley, tall and dark and menacing.
"Stay away from me." My voice sounds so weak and I hate it.
He steps closer. My muscles tighten. I can't run faster than him. I know I can't. My chin trembles.
"I'm not going to hurt you. I just w-want to help." He holds his hands up in surrender. Under the streetlight, I can see his hair is copper red. His skin is pale.
"I don't need help." My heart is thundering in my chest. I don't know where to turn. I reach for my purse but it's a few feet away from me, lying in the middle of the road.
He kneels down on the sidewalk, reaching his hand forward. It trembles. His eyes are green, so green so green, and why do they make me feel sadder?
I take it, more for him than for me. I don't know why. It feels right.
"It's Cullen!" I hear the scream.
And then more screams and screams and screams and then he's gone.
The flashbulbs pop in my face and the questions start.