I do not own anything Twilight-related.
Once again, this story does contain intense and violent scenes. Let me know what you think please.
Chapter 2 - A Lack of Color
I've never ventured very far outside of Forks. Both of my parents were raised here, and their parents were raised here and so on. The Swans are a pretty static bunch. My father has been the Chief of Police for almost fifteen years, my mother has worked part-time at a bookstore for as long as I can remember. We have dinner every night together at six, brunch on Sundays. Nothing exciting ever happened here. Everyday was basically the same cold, rainy, miserable monotony.
"Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep."
I groan, slamming my hand over my alarm clock to end the incessant beeping. I can hear the rain pelting against the window. Another Friday in Forks.
"Bella, honey. You awake?" My mother's voice comes through the door.
"Yeah," I croak, clearing my throat.
I hear her feet pad off, heading downstairs to start the coffeemaker and begin making my dad's breakfast.
It must be 7:03.
I throw the covers off the bed, grimacing as the cold hits me. I quickly pull on my terrycloth brown robe, hugging my arms around myself in an attempt to retain some body heat. After a quick trip to the bathroom to brush my teeth, I hurry back to my room, locking the door behind me. I discard the robe, then the thin pair of sleep shorts and t-shirt I always wear to bed. I hesitantly stand in front of my full-length mirror, completely nude. It's time for my daily body assessment.
I stare at myself, looking at the bruises that riddle my body. Some darker than others, some not even fully formed yet. The newest one is a circular handprint, encasing my upper-arm. Nothing had been there just hours earlier, but I knew enough to know that sometimes it takes a while for the evidence to show.
Jacob had two personality settings: Prince Charming, the one the outside world knew. Then there was "Jake". That's what I called the personality only I see, the one no one would believe me existed. Jacob was the most wonderful man I'd ever met, Jake was the scariest.
"Bella, you coming?" Jessica's voice called to me from across the school parking lot.
I looked over at her, surrounded by the rest of our friends. She looked so happy, so beautiful, so untouched. I envied her more than she would ever know.
"Where are you guys going?" I asked, even though I already knew I wouldn't be joining.
"Mike's parents are out of town, we're all heading over to have a few drinks," She beamed. "You know, start the weekend early."
I smiled sadly at her. I would give anything to drop my backpack and run towards her car, go drinking at Mike's and act like the seventeen year old girl I knew was in me somewhere.
"I can't," I started. "Jacob will be here to pick me up any second. I told him I'd help him with his English assignment."
"Invite him!" She yelled back, like it was really that simple.
I shrugged, giving her my patented "Not gonna happen, but thanks" look that I'm sure she was all but use to at this point. She just nodded, understanding, and disappeared into her car. I turned my attention towards the road. Jacob showed up in his Rabbit everyday at 2:45 p.m., in the same spot right by the willow tree. I was out here by 2:35 p.m. everyday. I knew the consequences of being late.
I heard his car before I saw it. That quiet, but distinct rumbling sound that sent shivers down my spine every time I heard it. I could see him, behind the driver's wheel. I couldn't read his expression, didn't know who was doing the driving: Jacob or Jake. I opened the door, letting myself in.
"Hey gorgeous," He said cheerfully, kissing my cheek.
The crushing weight that had been on my shoulders all afternoon lifted.
It was Jacob.
"Hey you." I smiled back, snuggling into him.
When it was good, it was so good. It was worth every hit, the unconditional love I felt from him when he was himself. He was warm, so warm. He could make me feel like I was the most special girl in the entire world.
"You hungry?" He asked, pulling away from the curb.
"Starving," I replied.
It was a good day. I could relax, I could breath. There would be no new bruises tomorrow morning.
We pulled into a small diner close to the Reservation. We never ate at places in town, where we might run into someone I knew. I always insisted to Jacob that we eat here because I loved the food, but in reality I was afraid of running into someone and it somehow provoking him. It wouldn't be the first time.
"You just wanna split a burger?" He asked, wrapping his arm around my shoulder as we slid into the booth.
"That sounds wonderful," I said, so happy at the calm that was between us, even if just for a few hours.
While we waited on our food, Jacob pulled out his copy of 'Hamlet', along with some notes he had taken during class. We sprawled them out over the table, his erratic handwriting hard for me to read.
"Mr. Walters wants us to write some bullshit analysis on symbolism or something," He started. "Who understands this stuff anyway? It's hundreds of years old, why are we still reading it?"
I inwardly groaned. I love Shakespeare, could read him all day. Jacob's whining was that of someone who didn't even put forth the least bit effort into understanding the genius before him. It was the predictable complaining of adolescent boys everywhere.
I didn't say this to him, of course.
"Well, it is a hard read and the language can be a little confusing," I sympathized. "It helps if you just break it down, scene-by-scene."
Thirty minutes and one burger later, I could sense Jacob's ever-growing frustration. He wasn't getting anything I was explaining to him and I was trying my hardest to not sound condescending or overly-knowledgeable in the slightest.
"This is so stupid," He growled, slamming his book shut. "None of this makes sense."
"Come on babe," I said, reassuringly. "It's not that hard. You just have to be patient. It'll click."
I could see him swallow hard, clearly annoyed with me. I knew I needed to back off, that his frustration coupled with my insistence would ultimately lead me down a very painful path. I took a long sip from my glass of water, hoping the silence would allow him to collect himself.
"Why do you do that?" He asked suddenly, his voice completely calm and even.
"What?" I asked, genuinely surprised.
"You always say small, backhanded comments like that," He said. "It's like you think you're so much smarter than I am."
I could feel the weight from earlier pressing back onto my shoulders. He was angry about his assignment, but I knew I would be the one who felt the brunt of his rage.
"That's not what I meant," I plead quietly, hoping to not draw any attention to us. "I don't think I'm smarter than you at all."
He laughed, but not in a way that was humorous, as he reopened his book. For a moment, I thought I was safe. That the situation had blown over and his anger was temporary. For a moment, I let myself relax.
"Fuck it," He said.
He shoved all of the papers back into his book bag, zipping it and throwing it over to the seats across from us.
"I don't even care anymore," He sucked down the rest of his Coke. "If Walters wants to flunk me for not getting some dumbass play from some old, dead guy, then let him."
Before I knew what was happening, the words just started flowing out of my mouth before I could stop myself.
"It's not some 'dumbass play', it's a classic. Just because you don't understand it doesn't make it stupid. You're not putting in any effort to get it, you're just hoping for an easy way out."
We both froze, unable to believe that I had just spoken those words. I don't know what had come over me in those few seconds, but it was as though something in me had snapped.
I felt his hand wrap around my forearm. It felt like a vice grip, closing tighter and tighter, until I thought he would break it in half. I bit back a cry, not wanting anyone to see what was going on.
"Lets go," He said.
We slid out of the booth. He paid the bill. He picked up his backpack. Somehow, though, his grip never left my arm. I was biting my lip so hard in pain, I was sure there was blood dripping down my chin.
We exited the diner, walking towards the car.
"Get in," He spat, shoving me against the car.
My hipbone slammed into the door handle, as the rain started falling from the sky. I clamored to get in as fast as I could, afraid to piss him off anymore. I barely got my seatbelt on before my head was pushed up against the window.
"Does that make you feel better, huh?" His face was so close to mine, I could feel his breath on my cheek. "Making me look like an idiot in front of all those people?"
"No," I sobbed.
He released my head, settling back into his seat. I thought maybe that was it, that was all there was. I looked over at him, his hands gripping the steering wheel so tight his knuckles were the palest shade of white. I rubbed my arm where his fingers had been just moments earlier, trying to rub away the intense throbbing.
"Jacob," I started.
Before I could finish, my head was slammed against the window so hard I thought I was going to black out. My eyes filled with darkness, and for a moment I thought, this was it. This was the end of my life. The blackness would surround me and I wouldn't find my way back this time.
I push my hair back, revealing a deep gash along the hairline and creeping down my forehead. It was bright red and purple, despite the fact that I had scrubbed all of the blood off last night in the shower. I brush my hair over my face, hoping it will cover any and all evidence.
I didn't die last night. Didn't take my last breath. Didn't feel myself exit my body.
So now came the aftermath. The damage control. I layer up: baggy jeans, t-shirt, hoodie. Anything that will cover up the hurt, anything that will take any and all sense of femininity away. The last thing I needed to deal with was attracting attention to myself. That would lead to questions and I can't handle the questions right now. Make-up does the rest of the work, covering up any lingering traces that my hair doesn't conceal.
I give myself a once-over in the mirror, satisfied with what I see, then make my way downstairs. In the kitchen, my father is sitting at the table, cup of coffee in one hand and newspaper in the other. My mother is poised next to the sink, staring out the kitchen window as she sips on her own cup of coffee. They both notice my entrance.
"Hey sweetie," Dad says, smiling up at me.
"Hey," I reply, slipping into the chair across from him.
"We didn't get to say goodnight yesterday, you just kind of came home and ran upstairs," Mom sets a plate of food down in front of me, ruffling my hair as she does.
"Mom," I groan, quickly fixing my hair before either of them can see the gash.
"What? I miss my baby," She replies.
"Sorry, I was just so tired. School has been really crazy, with mid-terms coming up," It's not a total lie. "I've been spending a lot of time studying and just really trying to focus."
Also, I thought you might get a bit suspicious if I came home and you saw blood pouring out of my head, I add silently.
"That's my girl," Dad says proudly. "Harvard and Yale are going to come calling any day now."
I laugh, not because I don't believe him (which I don't), but because I don't think I'll actually make it to graduation day. If I don't receive the final crippling blow by then, than the stress and constant state of terror I live in will do the job.
There's a honk outside, signaling the arrival of Jacob. He insists on not just picking me up from school everyday, but dropping me off. I think it's a bit unnecessary, it's way out of his way to do it but I know he just wants to spend as much time with me as he can.
I excuse myself from the table, waving goodbye to my parents. I walk outside, hearing the rumble of the Rabbit as I approach the car. I open the door to see a dozen red roses sitting on my seat.
Jacob's apology.
"Hey gorgeous," He smiles, as I sit, placing the roses in my lap.
I paste my own smile on. He never actually says the words "I'm sorry", but uses flowers or cards or gifts to do that for him.
"Hey you," I kiss his cheek.
"You look wonderful today," He always compliments me the day after.
He's always perfect the day after.
"Thanks," My smile genuine this time. "You don't look too shabby yourself."
He laughs, pulling onto the road and heading in the direction towards Forks High. He goes to school on the Reservation, but they don't start until an hour after "the pale faces", as he calls us. He places his hand on my knee and I close my eyes, enjoying the ten minute drive. The radio plays a Death Cab for Cutie song and for a moment, I feel like that seventeen year old I know is in me somewhere.
"This is fact not fiction, for the first time in years," I sing along.
"You know this song?" Jacob asks.
"Yeah, it's Death Cab," I respond.
"You and your emo music," He just laughs, pulling into the school lot.
He takes his usual spot by the willow tree, cutting the engine before turning to me. He just looks at me for a second, before running his fingers through my hair. I inhale sharply as he touches the gash. He looks pained for a moment, the way his face always looks when he realizes what he's done.
"I'll see you after school?"
It's a question instead of a statement, as if he's not sure I still want to be with him. As if I really have a choice. No one loves me like he does, no one understand me like he does. Nothing will ever come between us, except my own, inevitable death because he loves me too much.
"Of course, baby," I lean in to kiss him on the lips.
The walk to my locker is filled with whispers. At first I panic, thinking they're all whispering about me. That someone saw Jacob and I in the car, my head pressed against the window as the rain poured down. That thought is quickly erased when I hear the words "new students" as I approach my locker.
Angela's locker is right next to mine, which is usually the only time of day her and I actually get a good conversation in anymore. She's standing next to Mike Newton, clearly in the middle of a gossipy conversation.
"What's going on?" I ask, opening my locker.
"So apparently, there are some new students here today and naturally, everyone has to make a big deal out of it," Mike says, as though he isn't just as interested in the news as everyone else.
"Oh come on, Mike," Angela slaps his shoulder. "Don't act like you aren't just as curious as the rest of us."
"What's the story?" I turn towards the two of them, after managing to cram all of my books into my locker.
"Well, from what I gather, it's two boys and one girl," Angela says. "Last name is Cullen. Moved here from Chicago. Their dad is the new doctor at Forks Hospital, mother is some type of interior designer."
"Are you a stalker now?" I joke.
"What? I'm only repeating what I've heard," She says. "It's not like I've been planted outside of the bushes of their house, which happens to be the old Weston mansion out off Route 12."
Mike and I exchange glances.
"What?" She laughs.
The bell rings, signaling we have five minutes before first period starts. Mike and Angela go their separate ways as I hang back. I want to make one last trip to the bathroom to make sure my make-up is still doing its job. I wait until the halls are empty before heading in the direction of the bathroom. I'm always late to my first period class because of my daily morning trek to the bathroom for a final once-over, but I've always been a straight A student, so none of my teachers really bother me much about being late.
Forks High is an old building, the town not having much in the way of a budget to repair the slowly decaying structure. Most of us have been here long enough to know which drinking fountains don't work, which lunch tables are lopsided, which door handles are most likely to fall off in your hand.
The bathrooms are no different. Long gone are the signs that actually differentiate between "Men" and "Women", but we all know that Men go to the left, Women to the right. It's like a right of passage to every freshman to inadvertently walk into the wrong one. That's usually a mistake you only make the one time. I still remember my own, at the age of fourteen, walking into the Men's restroom by the gym. It was the first time I'd ever seen a penis. To say that I was traumatized is an understatement. Mom had to give me the sex talk immediately after school that day.
I walk up to the mirror, setting down my backpack on the counter. I grab the hair tie that's around my wrist, pulling my hair back into a loose ponytail. The gash along my hairline is practically glowing. I guess somewhere in between my house and school, the rain had washed off my pitiful attempted at using concealer to cover the bruise.
"Jesus," I whisper to myself, staring at myself in the mirror.
I wonder if everyone else sees what I see when they look at me. The dark circles under my eyes. The slightly swollen bottom lip, from my own biting of it. The hollowness of my cheeks, due to a lack of appetite from the constant stress. And then, most clearly, the shocking purple and red on the top right-hand side of my forehead.
I stare at it, willing it to go away. It looks like it's going to get bigger before it heals.
"Who are you?" I ask myself. "How did you let this happen?"
Suddenly I hear a throat clearing behind me. I spin around to come face to face with the intruder.
His hair is a pile of messy, bronze colored brilliance. His eyes, green, staring at me with a look of absolute confusion. He doesn't speak, just looks at me. I feel his eyes, starting at my feet, up my legs, up my torso and landing on the gash.
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. My hand slowly comes up over the wound, covering it as though it will make his memory of it completely disappear.
We stare at each other for what seems like hours, but is probably only seconds. And then he is gone, so quickly that it's as if he was never there to begin with.
I turn back to the mirror, pulling my hair out of the ponytail.
He didn't see anything, I tell myself. And even if he did, he would never even guess where it really came from.
I rub a new layer of concealer over my face, coloring over the gash as best I can. By the time I'm done, I almost look human.
I almost look like me.