She wakes up scared of getting old

She don't feel no shame

She knows so many pretty boys

And they are all the same

They said, "Oh hey there girl, tell me what do you do?"

She said. "Um, nothing, but I'm damn sure it's more than you."

-Jet

BPOV

I woke up the next morning with that lovely fuzzy feeling on my tongue that told me I had neglected to brush my teeth before heading off to bed the night before. Apparently my little jaunt around London had sufficiently distracted me enough to forgo my normally fastidious oral hygiene routine.

I could hear Alice talking as I stumbled out into the hallway, feet dragging and eyes half open. The hard wood was cold, and as I looked down I realized I only had one sock on. I also realized that I didn't remember getting ready for bed last night, which explained why my Thundercats shirt was inside out and my Batman boxers were on backwards.

The light was getting brighter as I got closer to the kitchen and I let out some sort of strange groaning noise, my brain and eyes obviously objecting to the strain it was putting on my already impaired vision. I squinted and half covered my eyes with my hand, placing the other on the wall as I rounded the corner to the kitchen.

"The closest I get to cooking is popping the top on some Campbell's soup. I wouldn't even know what to do with a roast," Alice said. I wasn't sure why she was talking to herself about her inability to cook but my addled brain, stupid fucker that it was, raised my hand and pointed at myself, clearly trying to indicate that I knew what to do with a roast. I added a few "uuuggghs" and "aaaghs," to complete my eloquent statement and walked over to the fridge.

Alice cocked her eyebrow at me, silently indicating that while she understood that I wished to communicate with her, hand gestures and zombie moans would not do the trick.

"Roast," I croaked out. "I can cook a roast." I opened the refrigerator door and grabbed the carton of orange juice from the door. I unscrewed the cap and put the carton to my lips, taking long pulls of the delicious nectar. Belatedly, I realized that this was perhaps gross, and when I chanced a glance at Alice from the corner of my eye, the slightly aghast look now in residence upon her features informed me that I was correct in my assumption.

"Bella," she said exasperatedly, sounding very much like my mother, "I will overlook the heinous act you just committed by drinking straight from the carton if you are telling me the truth about being able to cook."

I lowered the carton, licking the drops of juice from my lips and attempting to look suitably abashed by my own behavior, but failing miserably because I just wasn't awake enough to feel emotion besides the general one of "what the fuck?" that I always had upon rejoining the land of the living first thing in the morning.

"Yes. I can cook," I said, rather proud of myself for actually forming a full sentence, albeit a rather short and uncomplicated one. I grabbed a glass and poured some juice, hoping Alice would notice my attempt at being a nice person and had just taken a huge gulp when I decided I no longer wanted to be a nice person for Alice.

"Well Masen, you're in luck. My "scary new friend," as you referred to her, happens to know how to cook. She has generously offered to help and says you should expect her in about a half hour and that Jasper and I should head over in a couple of hours. Have fun. Love you, brother!"

I spewed juice all over the fridge. That's how fucking surprised I was.

"Alice…" I said, still facing the fridge. "Please, PLEASE tell me I did not just hear what I think I did." I turned slowly, juice dripping down my chin and onto my shirt. Alice was standing on the other side of the counter, her gray eyes huge and oh-so-innocent as she smiled at me. And for the first time, I noticed she was holding a phone.

"Now, Bella…" she started hesitantly. I laughed disbelievingly, not really understanding what I'd just heard.

"No, no," I said, "don't start that 'Now, Bella' stuff with me, girlie. Did you honestly just volunteer me to cook? More importantly, did you honestly just volunteer me to cook with your BROTHER?" I shook my head and grabbed some paper towels from where they were sitting on the counter, wanting to busy myself with cleaning the juice off the fridge so she couldn't see how shaken up I was.

I couldn't be in the same room with this guy without wanting to simultaneously beat the crap out of him and throw him on the couch, rip his clothes off what I was sure was a delicious body and screw him six ways from Sunday. He infuriated me and excited me all at the same time. And it was terrifying.

"Bella," she said, sounding highly surprised, "do you not like him?" I let out a very unladylike snort, not really believing Alice was that dense. When I responded, I stayed facing the fridge in case my notoriously glass face gave away the fact that what I was saying was only half right.

"Alice, I knocked his ass out last night. And then threatened to do it again. So no, I don't like your brother." I put the juice back in the fridge, noticing that there seemed to be actual food in here and wondering when and how that happened. There were eggs in a bowl, a loaf of bread, some cheese…general food-type items. I would have to unpack my cookbooks later and see what I could do with this.

"But Bella, he wants to cook dinner for Jasper and I," she sighed dramatically, a huge pause splitting the sentence in just the right place for perfect pathetic-ness, "to make it up to us for knocking him out last night." I turned around. Well, crap. She had those big gray eyes of hers all glittery with tears and opened up all wide like fricking Bambi. Damnit, damnit, damnit.

I sighed, once again foiled by this devilish little pixie of a woman. You couldn't say "no" to that face. It was like killing a kitten.

A sadistic, manipulative, little kitten.

I almost did it anyway, though. Until I remembered a leeettle conversation I had with myself last night after I'd finished stalking his sexy ass. I believe it went something like "I wanted to figure out more about Masen, and as much as being in the same room with him was going to pose problems, I knew the best way to get information out of him was to spend time with him. So I'd play the part. I'd be friendly. And I would get my answers."

Oh yes, that was ringing a bell.

"You know," I started. The tears disappeared and that sadistic kitten perked right the fuck up, hearing me about to give in. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt to give him another chance. I mean, if he's willing to ease up on you two then I guess I can help out," I said, drawing it out to make it seem like I was really having to convince myself. Now who's manipulative?

"Oh, Bella!" She cried, clapping her hands together and squealing. I put my finger to my ear and wiggled it around, attempting to get my hearing back. "Go, go! Get dressed!" She pushed me in the direction of my room and pointed imperiously.

I got dressed, grabbing whatever was on top of the stacks of t-shirts and jeans and throwing on whichever shoes were closest. I looked in the mirror, noting that the top shirt was my Communist Party shirt. It was red, with the yellow Chinese star in the top left and the Hammer and Sickle next to it with double bars stretching horizontally across the shirt. It featured a lovely illustration of Lenin, Marx, Stalin, Castro and Mao-all holding those stereotypical red plastic Solo cups from every party, whether in the movies or real life, with Stalin and Lenin sporting party hats. Marx even had a lampshade on his head and was throwing up the horns. Communist party, see?

My jeans...well, they were clean, that's all I could say for them. They were meant to fit like guys jeans, and they had when I bought them...when I was fifteen. Let's just say I had gotten a bit more, uh, womanly since then. My ass filled them out now in a way no mans ever would, the denim stretched across it tightly, causing them to ride lower than originally intended. Slung so low on my hips, there was a small gap between the shirt and the pants when I moved, affording just the tiniest glimpse of some of my ink.

With my high top's laced, but not tied cause I just couldn't be bothered, I grabbed my white leather Elvis Presley bag I'd bought on my trip to Graceland. It was had this great picture of him with puckered, kissy lips on it, done in black and white. It was big enough to hold a notebook, which is good because I was taking mine with me. I had luckily thought ahead when planning my trip and had converted a few of my favorite recipes to metric and written them in my handy dandy notebook (yeah, I made that reference). I slung the bag over my shoulder as I walked to the kitchen. Alice was no where to be seen, but there was a piece of paper on the island.

Bella-

I'm in the shower so I have plenty of time to get ready for dinner! Here's some money for groceries-make sure Masen pays you back! Here's the address for the local grocer and here's Masen's. Call me when you're ready for us!

-Scarlett

(ha fucking ha)

I smiled at the signature, not at all ashamed to have been found out. Grabbing my duct tape wallet, I tucked the slip of paper into it, along with the cash, slipped it into my back pocket and headed out the door.