Three years sure do fly by quickly! I'm so sorry to those of you who were interested in this story, and I hope you still stick around. These ideas haven't left me in these years, and a lot is fully mapped out, but I had reached a point in this chapter where I really struggled to round it off. That and life in general just made this a very long process - again, I'm very sorry! But things are definitely calming down, life-wise, and I hope to be able to write a lot more than usual.
Enjoy this update!
There was a game frequently played at the Academy. It would span anywhere from a few days to weeks, even months - once, it infamously continued for 7 months; although this was during one of Headmistress Bradbury's long sicknesses and would explain how the girls dragged it out for quite so long.
The girls would compete to break as many Academy rules as possible, in the most outlandish way they could manage. The key was to avoid detection, particularly by Headmistress Bradbury.
A ridiculously complicated point system developed over time, but in essence, the bigger the rule broken the more points rewarded - bonus points were awarded for the braver you were about it. Years ago, when Abigail was merely 7, a girl with curly, flaming red hair set alight each curtain in the house across the street all at once. The blaze was seen for miles around and the house was ultimately demolished in the weeks to come, with the family being forcibly relocated. It was dangerous and risky so therefore worthy of many points and the girls were sure to celebrate. Abigail remembers her sisters dancing around the gardens, backlit by the fires across the street and whirling around and out of sight within the thick smoke that settled over the grounds.
The firestarter was never caught by officials, but she did ultimately lose the game once Headmistress Bradbury doled out some of her more severe punishments.
Abigail first joined the game when she was 10. She stole an antique, ornate vase of azure and glinting gold, mounted proudly on one of the many fine oak pedestals in the hallway. She'd buried it under the tulip patch in the dead of night, her sisters watching from the porches, fighting back giggles behind their manicured hands. Headmistress Bradbury knew immediately who it was, the dirt wedged under Abigail's short fingernails giving her away completely. But she said nothing, only retrieving the vase and having one of the attendants scrub the dirt out of its delicate crevices.
By the time Abigail was 12, the eldest girls kept a detailed scoreboard on the backdoor of their wardrobe - points being meticulously tallied and girls stuck off with a harsh screech of white chalk the moment Headmistress Bradbury beckoned them into her office.
Abigail was called in when she was still 10; having become braver after her first victory and pushing the boundaries further and further. While she was struck off the scoreboard for it, Headmistress Bradbury didn't reprimand her. Only gentle smiles and teasing laughs were given; it was the first time she insisted Abigail call her Clarilla.
Abigail was banned from the game when she was 16. It was never explicitly said, but her name was forever crossed out. Discussion of the leader board would come to an abrupt halt and laughter departed when she entered a room, traded instead for wary eyes and conspiratorial whispers. It had become achingly clear that Clarilla would never treat Abigail the same as the others. She would never be reprimanded or victim to a harsh word. Only more gentle smiles and soft touches - the love of a mother longing for a daughter; for someone to carry forth her legacy.
As she was beckoned forward by Rosalie Hales's clipped tone, Abigail felt she was unwittingly playing that same game again now. 10 years old with red staining her cheeks; Rosalie playing the role of headmistress and Abigail scrambling to think what she may have been caught for. Only no one was keeping score or cheering her forth from the background.
Rosalie Hale was magnificent. The kind of divine beauty that ancient artists would have slaved away carving out of solid marble; being displayed in ornate halls for all to gaze upon in wonder. She fixed Abigail with a half-bored half-stern expression, deep pools of amber peering out from beneath long black lashes. Rosalie's painted lips teetered on a sneer; as she crossed her slim arms under her chest, her hip popped to the side in that intimidating way all quintessential mean girls do.
Rosalie's clothing appeared just as luxurious as her glossy blond hair; an ash grey blazer, looking as though it was tailor-made for her, was fitted over a deep purple silk blouse. With a heavy pendant of intricate design hung heavy on her clavicle. She stood a head taller than Abigail, in her knee-high black heeled boots, and made a point to angle her head upwards so as to sneer down the length of her nose at her at an even severer degree.
"Honestly," Rosalie drawled, "it feels as though we've met already, what with all the staring you do."
Abigail felt her cheeks flush further with heat, the tips of her ears burning. She tried to keep her voice even and calm as she responded, forcing a false bravado even as her stomach lurched uncomfortably.
"Well, I suppose that's a testament to what a spectacle you make of yourself." The assuredness of Abigail's own words came as a surprise to even herself – so measured and sure, head tilting to the challenge Rosalie set. Not missing the way Rosalie's eyes narrowed in a twitch as a bitter smirk graced her porcelain face.
"No need to be coy," Rosalie said dismissively, "you're just like all the others, looking for the chance to gawk at me." the smirk had grown to a mocking smile, flashing rows of perfect teeth, and demonstrating the mirth she relished in Abigail's humiliation.
"I can't say I blame you,..." Rosalie looked over Abigail with a flutter of long lashes, casting swift judgment over the old cream turtle neck she had tucked into her black mini skirt. Her scuffed black patent pumps won her no favours. Whatever Rosalie had intended to say was left hanging in the air, exchanged instead for a cruel smirk as she flicked her gleaming hair over one shoulder, settling her eyes fixedly back on Abigail - her judgement passed.
Abigail bristled at the unspoken insult, her temper flaring. She refused to be made small under Rosalie's arrogance, no matter how much it rattled her - the imposing smog of danger growing thicker with every second.
"I don't gawk," Abigail said hotly,
Rosalie's smirk widened, "oh, I think you do."
"Your family simply attracts attention." Abigail finished indignantly, over pronunciation to punctuate her final words and thoughtlessly, recklessly bringing focus to her suspicion - temper getting the best of her after having been further irritated by Rosalie's interruption.
Rosalie's face hardened, "attention has followed you around like a moth to a flame," she spat venomously, "don't play innocent, you tripped that buffoon in the hallway on your very first day." the smirk had returned, but her eyes had taken on an angry glint, one which warned Abigail not to push further.
"Not to mention your treatment of the welcome parade." Rosalie barred her teeth for a moment, the memory of Alice's sad eyes and dejected sniffles resurfacing. "You've not exactly made the best first impression" she spat.
A bolt of remorse shot through Abigail. Rosalie's true intent had been revealed; Alice's melancholy was what had brought her here, cornering Abigail like a rabbit in a trap.
Abigail still felt confused over the conversation with Alice. It couldn't have been anything more than a grab for information, an interrogation under the guise of friendship. But her whimpers had seemed true enough. She'd scurried off, tail between her legs and now here was Rosalie taking the first chance to defend and attack in retribution for her sister's melancholy. Doubt creeped into the back of Abigail's mind, stretching out and invading the space until it was impossible to ignore - if it had truly been a ploy, why would Rosalie now be so abrupt in her attempt? The last thing she's expected was to be reprimanded for her treatment of Alice. Compassion and care was not something the Cullen's radiated but Rosalie's venomous defence now, and the comfort they demonstrated in the cafeteria yesterday, proved her wrong.
The memory of Alice's sad eyes, brighter than Rosalie's but no less striking, fixed Abigail in place. Her voice had been gentle yet full of melody, dancing around Abigail as though leaves floating through a breeze, effortless and beautiful. The remorse engulfed her, the facade of courage splintering as her eyebrows furrowed and she glanced away.
The hallways should be empty, the end-of-day bell having rung out what felt like an age ago, but many still lingered in the drab hallways, standing in clusters, and staring unabashedly with wide eyes at the warring duo.
Her reputation was abysmal, firmly stuck in the few short weeks she'd been here as depressing, cruel and weird. The gawks from down the hall were hard to ignore now Abigail had seen them, ashamedly she felt her confidence wain as she longed for something to pull around herself. Abigail gathered herself, straightened her back and turned disinterested back to Rosalie.
"Somehow I don't feel that this conversation is helping." Abigail muttered resentfully.
Rosalie looked away from Abigail for the first time, having had her eyes trained like a hawk ready to strike its prey should one wrong move be made. She glanced fleetingly over the hallway, finding the same as Abigail as faint disgust contorted her beautiful face. She took no more kindly to the unmistakable eavesdroppers than Abigail does.
"Well," she remarked turning back, "I suppose that's because of what a spectacle I am" she finished with a raised brow and flash of a pointed grin. The huff of laughter escaped before Abigail could stop it, despite how her stomach churned uncomfortably at Rosalie's quick retorts.
The girls stared at each other for a moment, silence settling oddly comfortably between them. Abigail found herself strangely invigorated by the conversation, the battle of wits reminding her starkly of the Academy. Of the quick retorts and bubbling laughter of her sisters and the words spat both in mirth and cruelty.
She could imagine Rosalie there, standing among the halls, an imposing figure whose beauty would intimidate yet draw crowds. She seemed so alike another, from this small time Abigail had known her. So alike an old friend; beautiful but cruel, loved yet hated, clever but dangerous.
Dangerous.
The thought pulled Abigail from her reminiscing and back to the moment at hand. She took a deep breath, trying to calm the racing of her heart and mind that was making her lightheaded.
She could feel Rosalie's eyes on her, studying her with a shrewdness that made Abigail squirm. "What is it that you want?" she asked finally, the firmness of her own voice surprising her, expecting a waver to be present, "Why are you here, Rosalie?"
She could feel Rosalie's eyes on her, probing for any weakness she might have. But Abigail refused to be defeated so easily. "I want what is best for my family, -" she said finally, meeting Abigail's gaze squarely.
Another long pause. Abigail felt the threat as well as she had heard it. It was clogging her veins as though tangible, weighing her arms down painfully and dragging her downward shrinking ever smaller in Rosalie's entrancing stare.
"- and I don't appreciate the hurt you caused my sister." She finished with a sneer; jaw set with anger.
Abigail had come to Forks to hide. To run from the danger and threats of the Academy, and as such had no intention of starting a war with the Cullen's no matter her suspicions of them. She simply wanted to feel safe. To feel in control. But it was evident that Rosalie, and likely the rest of the Cullen's by extension, saw her as a threat to their own safety. Once again Abigail was stuck with remorse, she'd fled to escape that feeling and yet she now plays the role of the predator.
Abigail forced the words from her constricted throat, "I'm sorry. For the way I treated Alice." hating the show of weakness that the apology conveyed, but oh so desperately wanting the tension to dissipate. For the danger to disperse and for them both to leave the hallway in one piece.
A roll of amber eyes indicated that her efforts where in vain – Rosalie clearly had little care for her apology and even less desire in accepting one. "Enough." Rosalie's voice was cold, cutting. "- if you came here to cause trouble then you've done a great job so far. But I'm warning you, Abigail, if you hurt Alice again, I'll make sure that you regret it."
Abigail swallowed hard, her heart racing. She knew that Rosalie was capable of making good on her threat and she had little idea how to defend herself from the other girl's wrath, especially while still in the dark about what these beings were. Embarrassment gripped her harshly at the apologies rejection, humiliation lapping at her stomach in waves.
Silence elapsed between them once more. Rosalie had said all she'd come for, making clear her anger and defence for her family. Abigail was unwilling to say more on the matter, already stewing in shame at having handed over an apology with such desperation. She may feel remorse for the pixie's sadness, but that made her previous treatment of her no less justified in her eyes - she was merely feeling out the enemy.
"Although, I was glad," Rosalie remarked, smirking at the memory, "To see that buffoon limp out of here after you tripped him." Her head tilted at her accusingly. Abigail chose not to speak up, not feeling comfortable enough to wager on what exactly Rosalie saw. Had she noticed, how he began falling after Abigail had passed him? Had she seen the flush of her cheeks or the glint in her eye, as she looked down at his groaning body? What had she told the others, in the parking lot after the incident?
It was clear enough that the Cullen's were suspicious of her without her making it worse. She needed time, desperately so, to figure them out before they could escalate this further. Abigail felt cornered; on the back foot before the fight had really begun. First Alice feeling out information, and the unexpected shame of dismissing her and now Rosalie - striking, intimidating Rosalie unabashedly warning her away from her family in the middle of a school corridor. She was certain, now more than ever, that they were something other and she needed to figure them out - before they got to her first.
"What did you trip him for?" Rosalie's voice had a gleeful edge to it, she exuded confidence in every way. Abigail couldn't decide between honesty - that the boys' insinuations had riled her, enough to harm him and admitting to somewhat defending Rosalie. Or lie, play the fool and act as though it was an accident. The gleaming smirk and amused eyes of Rosalie forced her into an answer before she could fully decide.
"I don't know." Abigail shrugged, trying to keep the desperation out of her voice. "He bumped into me and tripped."
"You liar." Rosalie's voice lilted and she stepped closer, crowding Abigail against the wall. "You tripped him. He has a concussion you know, apparently, it's lucky he didn't fracture his skull, -" the amusement had left her tone, insinuating accusation taking its place "- I'm curious, how could a little thing like you have shoved him that hard and yet no one noticed. Other than me of course." her grin had returned by the final utterance.
It was too much. These few weeks had been too much. From the crumbling Academy, the erosion of every friendship she had ever treasured to the striking loneliness and the constant whispers echoing around the halls. Even now they stare, unabashed at her – muttering behind their hands, eager for the fight. The Cullen's, whatever they were, are the last straw. Abigail could feel her resolve cracking, as though physically splintering her very being, her eyes stinging in betrayal and lips forming a sneer to mask their trembling.
"He was a smarmy pig. A concussion might do him well, perhaps knock some manners into him" she snapped quickly, stepping forward and peeling her back away from the wall in one sharp movement; pulling herself nose-to-nose with Rosalie. She was sick and tired of being made to be small. It wasn't in her nature, only a preservation tactic she'd been forced to acquire in the previous few weeks. And Abigail would be damned if she let the Cullen's think of her as a weak target.
Rosalie's face softened, her features easing into something resembling appreciation. Abigail could feel the tears of anger welling up in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She wouldn't give her the satisfaction. Rosalie's painted lips parted; all previous mirth absent from the rather serious set of her features. But before Rosalie could even begin speaking, there was a loud crash from down the hall and the scrambling feet of the remaining students as they swiftly pressed themselves against the walls, out of the path of the large figure barrelling towards them.
He raised a large hand above his head, waving down the dull corridor towards the statuesque blonde in front of Abigail. Though it was unnecessary, Rosalie's entire attention was focused solely on the man striding forward, from the very moment he opened the door. Her features held a peaceful glow, all previous mirth replaced with genuine affection and amusement for the somewhat bumbling man who had now reached them. He swung a heavy arm over Rosalie's shoulders, leaning over to press a chaste kiss against her forehead.
"Where've you been babe? Edward and Jasper have gone ahead, but me and Alice have stuck around for you." he grinned as though proud of the announcement, clearly having anticipated the gentle grin and loving pat he'd receive in return. Rosalie turned back to Abigail, her expression hardening only slightly, and gestured a manicured hand towards her, "I was just formally introducing myself to Abigail. Thanking her for her assistance the other day." she spoke coyly.
That damned smirk was back.
Abigail was still stood close to Rosalie, evidence of their near altercation before the interruption. Her parted lips released a quiet breath in disbelief of the turn of events, practically suffering from emotional whiplash as she stood before them both. Emmet, Abigail inwardly praised herself for having researched the family members individually, stood before her with a beamingly kind smile across his strong features - seemingly oblivious to what had taken place, although aware of the incident with the smarmy pig.
"oh yeah! -" he laughed with a boom, head thrown back slightly "- gotta say he definitely deserved it, probably better you got him instead of me" He grinned at her, the insinuation of a greater injury being his result clear in his conspiring tone. Perhaps the shock of his openness was too clear across Abigail's face, for Emmet boomed out another laugh as Rosalie tutted and swatted at him.
"We'd best get back anyway, you know what Esme's like, she'll start panicking soon." Emmet had begun to turn down the corridor, Rosalie snuggly under his arm while Abigail continued to stand struck motionless by the turn of events.
"I'll see you around Abigail, it's been a pleasure!" Rosalie called over her shoulder, a mocking lilt of amusement clear in her tone as she raised her hand in goodbye.
The pair strode towards the doors, affection radiating of their very beings as they kept hold of each other the whole way. The few students still milling around the corridor began to disperse, a handful of wayward glances thrown in Abigail's direction as she stood staring after the jovial pair. She was unclear about the outcome of the conversation, but uncertain if Emmet's appearance was a blessing in disguise – interrupting just as she could feel her anger bubbling within. The swift change in the suffocating atmosphere that had built between her and Rosalie had dissipated with such swiftness at Emmet's arrival, that she was uncertain of what to do with herself now. With the bubbling feeling still gnawing at her stomach or the burning still present in her throat. She blinked her wide eyes in astonishment and began her own walk towards the doors, unsteady feet carrying her slowly - unconsciously trying to avoid running into the Cullen's in the parking lot.
She knew Rosalie wasn't quite human, none of the Cullen's were. It was painfully obvious, not only from their unnerving, chilling beauty but their stiff behaviour - moving at all times as though rehearsed. It seemed too late now to hide her suspicions; they were clearly cautious enough of her as it was - but Abigail was sure it would be the death of her if they felt truly threatened.
Would they make it quick? she pondered, as she stepped into the chilling breeze. Or would they toy with her, extracting how she figured it out, how much she figured out one agonising method at a time? Her car sat waiting for her, solitary at the far side of the parking lot, an abysmal reflection of her reception at Forks. She craved her run-down cabin, her misty widows and dripping tap. She knew a long night was ahead of her - filled with the rough aged pages of many books and tired eyes await.
She wasn't sure what they were yet, but she had her hunches, none of which she enjoyed the reality of.