Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight.
August 1999.
I'm waking up in an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar room in an unfamiliar house. A warm voluptuous body surrounds me. The two of us are wrapped beneath satiny pink sheets, suffocated by the scent of lust left behind from the night before. I try to kick my legs to free them from the confines of curves and thighs, but my stirring only causes the bed to shift, and I'm suddenly looking into bright blue eyes.
"Hi," the latest notch on my bedpost whispers with a soft smile. I blink to focus through ill-lit room. The only source of light is peeking in through the blinds, but it is just enough to put a face to the voice. She is pretty enough. Reddish-brown hair and creamy skin, lips thin and a natural shade of red. She reminds me of a pin-up, but not one you would see as a featured centerfold in Playboy or Maxim. This girl was classy, taken straight from a spread in Vogue.
"Hi," I respond. My voice is raspy from last night's chain smoking and alcohol abuse. I struggle to clear it and it takes even more effort to return her smile. She reaches her manicured hand up to brush the unruly bronze hair out of my eyes, but I recoil back. I can make out a distinct line of confusion forming between her brows, but I offer no explanation or apology.
I slip from the sheets and find my jeans and t-shirt through the darkness. The small table next to her bed houses a massive stack of textbooks. English, Chemistry, Calculus - all have titles unrecognizable to me. I take a purposeful glance back toward the girl and what I see makes my stomach watery with disgust. Her face is mature. She's a college student, probably second or third year, age twenty or twenty-one. She gives me another smile, but I turn my head. She doesn't realize she's just committed a felony. I'm not in college, nor am I eighteen.
Gentle steps lead me to window where I take a careful glance outside, trying to determine my whereabouts. The street is still relatively dark. The streetlights have shut their nocturnal eyes, relying on the rising sun to add brightness to the world until nightfall. I slip my hand in my pocket for my cell phone, knowing I need to call my sister and have her pick me up.
"Am I still in Forks?" I ask, my back still turned. My phone was already in hand and dialing Alice's number, giving her and Jasper their routine wakeup call.
"Port Angeles."
I murmur in acknowledgement, thankful and relieved I hadn't managed to make my way out to Seattle. Alice wouldn't be pleased if I made us late on the first day of school.
"What's your name?" The woman suddenly asks, sitting up and flicking a side lamp on. She took no measures to shield her perfect body from my adolescent view. I look down at the pink between her shapely legs and slowly draw my gaze up toward her breasts. Small and rounded, the protruding nipples are red and swollen from my selfishness and haste. I hesitate before continuing on to her face, plagued by nagging thoughts.
Did I make it worth her while last night? Did she even enjoy herself?
I shake my head to clear it, knowing at least one of those questions has a negative answer. "My name is Edward." I find my red Converse and jam them onto my feet, forgoing tying the laces in favor of getting out of this room as quickly as possible.
"Edward," she repeats, musing as my name rolls off of her tongue. "I'm Ame--"
"I have to go," I cut her off sharply. I don't want a name to put to her face; that would make our exchange too personal. I don't want to remember this woman's name when I embark on my next conquest tonight. It would only assist in eating me alive with guilt.
About half an hour later, I slide into the backseat of Alice's flashy yellow Porsche without a word. Jasper, riding shotgun, turns around to give me a greeting nod. I lower my head when Alice glares at me through the rear view mirror.
"I had an outfit picket out for you," her eyes roam my wrinkled clothes and unwashed hair in obvious disapproval. I fidget, knowing full well I should have at least showered, but I couldn't ask a woman I barely knew to let me use her shower. "It's the first day. Don't you want to make a good impression?"
Scowling out the window in silence, I think about what lies ahead of me for my third consecutive year at Forks High School. The junior year was supposedly one of the most important in terms of applying to colleges. I already knew what was expected of me, and that was to apply one of the ivys and enjoy a four-year stint there before joining Carlisle's firm as a structural engineer. My future was already planned out, which was just as well because I didn't have the slightest idea what I wanted to do. I was hoping that this passing summer would've given me some perspective, but it only served to further confuse me.
The summer had been eventful, to say the least. Alice turned sixteen in late May and got her driver's license the following week. Carlisle called from the JFK airport, not to offer congratulations but to order that she and Esme make the rounds to the dealerships and pick out a car. The snakelike salesman took full advantage of the fact that Alice was an impressionable teenager and that Esme was barely coherent, throwing in unnecessary warranties and upgrades on the brand-new vehicle. The effects of prescription drugs in her system, I don't think Esme even knew what she was co-signing. She was still reeling from Carlisle's confession.
Just before Christmas Carlisle received news from one of his twenty-something interns that she was pregnant with his child. Alice and I knew all along that he was seeing other women, and I have to believe that Esme did too, as she'd been taking Prozac and Xanax like candy for years, but it was always the elephant in the room. Carlisle saw his mistresses on business trips and no one spoke of his extracurriculars when he was home. When he was home to stay for a month and a half this past April, he chose to break the news to Esme. Upon hearing that her husband had fathered another woman's child, she deteriorated into a zombie. It was the ultimate form of betrayal as Alice and I had both been adopted due to Esme's inability to concieve a child.
Now as I said, we were all aware that Carlisle was cheating, but knowing there would soon be a child as proof of his adultery just made it all the more obvious to me that I didn't want to follow in his footsteps. I don't want to be anything like him, but I don't know who I want to be either.
"We're here!" Alice disrupts my thoughts as she pulls into a parking space, easily managing to squeeze her compact car between the painted lines. I stifle an eye roll when Jasper practically flies out of the car so he can open the door for her. Jasper Hale was an okay guy; tall and lanky with blond hair, he'd stolen Alice's heart freshman year. He and I got along pretty well, although there was always an unspoken animosity polluting the air between us because I knew Alice fell asleep in his bed and woke up in his arms every morning, but I couldn't blame her for wanting to escape the depressing atmosphere that was our house.
Mr. and Mrs. Hale welcomed Alice with open arms, as they should have. Alice was pure joy. Petite and thin, her spiky black bob reflected her feisty personality. I was secretly jealous of her relationship with the Hales; I would take warm arms over a warm body any day. She often accompanied Mrs. Hale and Jasper's sister Rosalie on shopping trips. Mr. Hale even invited her along to vintage car shows and Mariners games. Alice had a family in the Hales, leaving me to fend for myself with our adoptive parents. Carlisle wasn't home enough to begin to assume the role of a father, and Esme wasn't very motherly. Constantly detached, she was lonely even when surrounded by a room full of people.
So I drowned myself in alcohol, burned myself with cigarettes, and willingly slept with anyone willing to sleep with me just to feel a sense of belonging. I spent my nights in random girls bedrooms just to avoid my own, and not once did Esme's numb and tired eyes ever take note that my bed hadn't been slept in.
I step out of the sports car and see girls whose pillows my head has grazed. Girls like Jessica Stanley and Lauren Mallory, girls who don't possess an understanding of the word 'subtle. They wink as I pass by and lick their lips, but I stare straight ahead, bored with what they have to offer.
I make my way from English to Trigonometry, from Advanced Drafting and American History to lunch. My body goes through the motions like a robot, my joints resisting like rusted metal hinges, battery dying with each step. I take careless notes and chew on the tip of my pen, highlighting random sections of syllabuses and working out random beats on the title floor with the toes of my Converse. I see Jasper in three of my classes, Rosalie in two, and Alice in one. I'm thankful when they sit next to me, even though I don't say much to any of them. Jasper talks to me about the homecoming football game. Rosalie discusses the routine she has choreographed for halftime as cheerleading captain, and Alice describes in great detail her spirited outfit for said game.
By the time I reach my last class of the day, Biology, I am weary. Assigned seating leads me to the back of the room, in the very last seat at the very last table. Five minutes into an informative lecture about the allotment of hallway passes per semester, the door swings open. The brass knob bounces against the wall with a dull ring. I wonder if Mr. Banner will make an example out of the tardy student and punish them with an after-school detention or if he will try and establish himself as a "cool teacher" and let the kid off with a warning because it's the first day. I tear my eyes away from the design I'm constructing on the tabletop, curious as to what his decision will be.
There is an unfamiliar face at the front of the room. A girl I've never seen before is hunched over Mr. Banner's desk, speaking in a hushed tone and pointing at a folded piece of paper. He states rather loudly that there is only one available seat left and directs her to it with his index finger.
Hidden behind a veil of chocolate curls, the girl makes her way down the aisle to the seat directly in front of me. She keeps her eyes steady on the floor and clutches her notebook to her chest, branding it to her heart. I retract my extended legs so she won't trip over them when she reaches her seat, and she briefly makes eye contact with me in silent thanks. My breath hitches. Her eyes are piercing, almost identical in color to her hair. Her chair scrapes when she pulls it out, sounding excruciatingly similar to fingernails on a chalkboard. Several students hiss to voice their annoyance, and her head noticeably lowers with embarrassment. My own cocks to the side in intrigue.
Loose ringlets flutter like leaves as she sits, sending a sweet aroma floating my way. Mr. Banner talks about his goals for the school year, but I don't listen. I study her. Her skin is pale like Alice's, natural and innocent looking. Long legs are clad in loose denim; worn sneakers are on her feet. Through her thin white t-shirt, I can make out a slender body enhanced by womanly curves and the outline of a black bra. The visible lace strap on her shoulder begs to be touched. I lick my lips and unconsciously lean forward in my seat.
I want to know her name.
