A/N:
Thanks for the fav's and the review! Too bad I can't answer the review since it's from a guest. I'm quite happy with this chappy, hope you are too.
I'm not sure when'll update again. I'll try as soon as possible of course!
Tomorrow is Rpatz's 28th birthday! Yay!
Let's get to reading! Have fun!
It's an unbeta'ed chapter; all mistakes are mine.
Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight, Stephenie Meyer does.
Chapter 1
BPOV
"Edward, I just can't, okay?" My left fist is supporting my head, my elbow digging into the wooden table. It feels like my head is made of concrete, and my neck failed trying to keep it upright.
As opposed to my position, Edward is sitting up straight, ready to get into action when allowed.
"Being able to is very different from not daring to," Edward – my supposedly best friend says.
We've practically been friends since we were in diapers, but I could strangle him right now. He just won't give up.
"Did your mom never learn you that no means no? Edward, I won't let you read my story. It's practically me on a piece of paper! Do you have any idea what a big advantage I'm giving you in our future disagreements?! You'll just dig this shit up, using it as leverage against me."
During my speech I'd found the strength to lift my own head – kudos to me – and even stand on both my legs, emphasizing my point. My physical condition is great, but making unnecessary movements just for the sake of doing so? Didn't think so.
"You know I'd never do that!" Edward exclaimed, wearing his signature crooked grin.
"How'd you even get the guts to say something like that! If I remember correctly, and you know I'm always correct," I lifted my eyebrows as saying 'dare to tell me differently' before continuing, "when you pleaded me to tell you the awkward dream I had last week, you'd told me that you'd never tell someone. Guess what you did yesterday when I didn't want to give you the last chocolate bar?" I literally saw it down on him. His pupils broke the contact with mine before settling on the floorboards.
"That's right! I'm pretty sure your exact words were: "Gimme that bar or would you like me to tell Connor about how you dreamed about sucking on his earlobe, huh?"
God, now I've allowed the images of that dream to enter my mind once again. Thanks so much, dickhead.
His head slowly moved up again, his right hand reaching for the bronze mess on top of his head. He fisted his hair, before scratching his scalp. His nose scrunched up in a disgusted manner, I knew he hated when I was right.
"You know how I get without my chocolate," was his simple answer.
"You had three bars already! Not one, not two, no, three!" I wasn't actually mad; my writing was just a sensitive subject to me. Letting him read the thing I'd spent for over a year on creating was practically giving my heart to him on a silver platter, without the nastiness of the blood then. The ways he could misuse that were infinite. In theory I knew I could trust him, but he has no verbal filter. He'd just blurt it out without even realizing himself. And then who was the fucked one, huh?
"Hey! Easy there! I'm a growing boy alright?" That he is right about. With his current length of 6'3", he is still growing. He outgrew me about 2 years ago, and I am unfortunately stuck with my 5'4".
Hey, I'm still standing. Let's not work out on a Saturday evening, alright?
I took my seat next to the desk again.
My laptop was sitting on the desk, Edward and I on either side of it. It was closed. Was I afraid to turn my back on him, afraid that he'd just check it without my permission?
I knew he was capable of that; his curiosity often gets the best of him. God bless whoever thought of the idea to put passwords on laptops. Luckily, my password was a combination of numbers and letters he'd never even understand the meaning of if I slipped it into his hand on a piece of paper.
He scooted his chair closer to me and leaned with his elbows on his knees; head bowed. He grabbed my left hand in both of his chanting my name over and over.
"Thanks for telling me my name, but if you think that sweet talking is gonna help you in this situation you're damn wrong," I pulled my hand roughly from his and stood from the chair.
"Oh come on, Bella, don't be like that."
"You just can't take fucking no for an answer!" Now I was fuming, we both knew I had a soft spot for his smooth talking, and he wasn't afraid to take advantage of that.
"Was that my mom? I think dinner's ready. You should leave," I prayed he'd believe my lie but he knew me better than that.
Damn parents for making us share a damn playground.
"Seriously? Since when do you stoop that low, Bella? I'm just baffled. You know I'm just trying to be your rock here right? I'm trying to get you to do something, just because I know you otherwise won't! You've dreamed about becoming a fucking author for God knows how long, but you realize that involves people actually reading your work right?"
It was my turn to suck up the image of the floorboards.
"Was that my phone? I think my mom wants me home for dinner. I'll see you later. Bye."
He shook his phone in the air to point out he was lying too. With that he left my room, slamming my door. It shook on its hinges.
Before I could even sit down in my chair again, or lie on my yet-to-be-made bed, the door opened again. I threw myself down on my bed anyway and grabbed a magazine from the little pile on the floor. 'Rihanna back to being a party-animal?' The cover said. Do I look like I give a shit if Rihanna likes to party or not? Didn't think so.
"Who shove a stick up his ass?" That'd be the heavy and booming voice of my brother Emmett.
"He probably likes it rough," I answered without looking up from my magazine. I exfoliated a page, tilting my head to find the right angle to view a photo of a very drunk Ke$ha, wearing God knows what at God knows where.
In just a matter of seconds, Emmett made it from the door to my bed, throwing the magazine away and landing next to me. How he could be so fast with his amount of muscle is still a question to me, but how he could make so little noise while doing so is a whole other matter.
"Dude! I was reading that!" I exclaimed, throwing my arms in the air.
"Come on, little sis. Stop with the PMS-ing talk. Now come here and give your big brother a big smooch." He grabbed my chin before I could even tell him to fuck off about the PMS thing, placing a big fat – and not to mention wet – kiss on my cheek.
"Ew! Em! Why'd you do that? And I'm not fucking PMS-ing! If you want to cuddle, Rose's house is on the next block." I'd stood up to use my sleeve to swipe his saliva from my cheek.
If I didn't know better, I'd think a dead bear was lying on my bed.
His eyes were closed, his hands resting above his head.
Aw, you should've known better, big brother. Such a pity.
With a thump I threw myself on top of him, landing on his stomach and unintentionally kneeing him in the balls.
I swear I didn't mean to! I'm not saying I'm very sorry either, but it wasn't a planned action.
"Fuck, Bella!" He held his hands over his crotch, as if he's trying to protect them from another act on the family jewels.
I'd landed on my ass on that fuck-hard wooden floor, but I couldn't be bothered since I was laughing my ass of.
Ha! Word joke!
I so need more cool friends.
He stood from my bed, forgetting all about his beloved family jewels, grabbing me around the waist and throwing me on the bed, not without falling on top of me either.
Please don't. I'm begging you.
And he starts to tickle me.
Maybe I should've said it out loud? The begging part?
Fuck my life.
"Em! Stop! Moooooom! Emmett is trying to rape me!" I yelled at the top of my lungs. I swear, the neighbors could've heard it.
"Am not!" Emmett yelled, not giving up on tickling me.
I held my breath, trying my hardest not to respond. That'd make it less fun.
In theory, it should've worked, right?
Why did I even try to link one of my theories to Emmett? After seventeen fucking years, I still don't know how to handle my brother properly. Again, such a pity.
"Kids!" My mom screamed from downstairs, "dinner's ready! Emmett, stop trying to rape Bella! Bella, quit hurting Emmett in vile and cunning ways!"
Let's just say mom knows her kids very well.
Emmett had stilled when mom said something, so I took the opportunity to crawl out from underneath him, straighten my clothes and ruffle my hair a bit before making my way downstairs.
I heard a soft 'the fuck?' before heavy footsteps followed me down the stairs.
Like he used to do when I was little, at the landing of the staircase, he grabbed me around the waist and threw me over his shoulder, my face looking at the small of his back.
Why is it even called the small of your back? Nothing about Emmett is small. Okay, that came out wrong. I meant his body, you know, his limbs and all. Shit, I'm just digging myself deeper and deeper. Let's just pretend this didn't happen.
He finally put me down when we reached the dining room. The dining room was added to our house only three years prior to this day, together with a den and a patio. The room was decorated with navy colored curtains, hanging in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows. Golden ropes held them to the sides during the day. Those robes have been the provocation for a lot of arguments at the Swan Residence. My dad loathed them, Emmett loathed them, I loathed them, but my mom, she loved them. Still does. And since my dad gave my mom permission to decorate the dining room all on her own – mistake of the decade – he had no reason to intervene whatsoever.
Those fucking ugly things are the bane of my existence.
Exaggerating much?
No, not at all.
Great, I'm having internal discussions with myself now too. Way to go, Bella.
On to the rest of the dining room; same dark wooden floorboards as the living room and upstairs, a black table with white luxurious chairs. The chairs have little golden touches; the legs are silver with golden ribbons around them. It hurts my eyes to even enter the damn room, and I'm not even talking about eating in it. Every single time I chew and observe my surroundings, I swear I throw up in my mouth a little.
Mom and dad are sitting on the opposite of each other, just like me and Emmett.
"Hmm, smells good mom!" Yes, that was Emmett. I swear he's becoming a food critic when he grows up. Or not, he'd even give a greasy hot dog from a stand on the corner of a street a ten out of ten while he give some 'foie gras' an average five out of ten. Why not a more inadequate mark? "What? It's edible!" He'd exclaim. Believe me, I know my brother.
We get seated and help ourselves from the plates on the table. Emmett loads his plate full and shoves forks full of chicken and I believe some potato as well into that bottomless pit. Some might refer to that bottomless pit as 'Emmett'.
I take a modest bite from the roasted chicken, and it tastes delicious.
"So, Bella," Dad starts.
"Uh, oh, this will be good," Emmett whispers through his mouthful. I made sure to kick him in the shin for that comment.
"Fuck!" Yep, that was Emmett clutching his leg from a kick that just came out of nowhere!
"Emmett, language," that would be mom.
He huffs before going back to his food.
I face dad and observe his facial expressions. No scrunched up face, or blazing eyes, there's even a tiny smile playing on his lips.
I guess I can sit back and relax then.
Figuratively speaking of course, I just take a bite of my baked potatoes.
"How's the writing coming along?"
"It's fine," I answer my dad. My dad has shown a lot of interest in my writing. Luckily, he isn't so damn insistent on reading something of mine as my dear friend Edward is.
"Yes, Bella, Edward mentioned when he left that he's gonna be a pre-reader for you! How amazing! I'm sure Edward will love your work, and he could even correct some mistakes because he's so good at his English!"
He fucking WHAT?!
A/N:
Thanks for reading, please tell me what you think.
~Nathalie
