Chapter 3 How Many Miles to Babylon?

A/N: I do not own any of these characters.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

BPOV

I really won't miss you, stupid kitchen table. I thought as I banged my shin on it for what may be the last of twelve hundred times. That's gonna hurt tomorrow. Damn it … I'm going to be all purple in my uniform come Monday.

Why fight it? Let the rumors begin now. Yes, I was sold into slave prostitution and beaten before my rich relatives saved me from a certain death and brought me to the extraordinary school that is Fremont. Yes, I had a severe drug dependency but often couldn't pay for my stash, thus causing thugs to come 'teach me a lesson' before my rich, beloved relatives saved me from a certain death and sent me to the astounding school that is Fremont. Yes, I was a self-mutilator before my rich, beloved, savior relatives rescued me from a certain death and shipped me off to the phenomenal school that is Fremont.

Or maybe I'll wear knee socks.

But really, I was prepared to be fodder for the masses. Just as long as Jasper was by my side it would all be worth it.

Don't get me wrong, Charlie had been pretty great. If he could stay in Forks, he would. I could see in his eyes how much he hated to leave, especially indefinitely like this, but he'd stalled the government for as long as possible. Funnily enough, it really isn't me my small town father would miss the most. Silly old man loves Forks. Even though as Sheriff he really didn't have much crime to fight, it's the five block long Main Street, suffocated by trees feel he loves. Give Charlie a beer, a fishing pole and a flat screen with sports channel access and he'd die a happy man. Too bad he's far too smart to just sit on his ass, flitting between leisurely comforts for the rest of his life.

"Go make the world better, Charlie. I don't fault you."

And, with that, he'd left for his flight out of Fairchild this morning.

Now it was just me and the table, and god, my awaiting luggage that needed to be packed. I just couldn't seem to pry myself away from the kitchen.

Where I'm headed I won't have any sort of kitchen at my disposal, which means I'm done cooking for about three years - possibly more depending on college particulars. I'm guessing Fremont Park doesn't offer a culinary arts course, or "session" as they call them. It's like I have to learn a whole other fucking language. Enough already. They aren't churning out house help down there, maids, butlers or anything less than socialite princesses and country club pricks.

The truth is that I feel like I'm about to walk into the hell-bent sin pits of Babylon. If Washington were Mesopotamia, Seattle is its Babylonia, which makes Fremont Park Seattle's own personal "holy city." And here I am about to willingly enter the gateway of the gods - in all their rich and entitled splendor.

Truthfully, I really can't claim to be poor. Or sin free. My mother inherited the same as Jasper's mom, my aunt. They were sisters and the daughters of exceptionally wealthy parents who signed over everything to them – minus a hearty retirement - shortly after I was born. Gran and Pop hit the wide-open road in a glamorous motor home, and never looked back. I hear from them occasionally, but less and less since mom's been gone. Because of them though, now, being mom's primary living relative, I'm rolling. I have no idea how much there is. Like I could be bothered to read the paperwork or listen to lawyers yammer on when my mom had just decided to up and die. Right.

But there's money there somewhere. Though, not even money can save me from where I'm headed. Because money was nothing - while somehow remaining everything - to those in on the boarding school conspiracy.

And with that thought, I knew I just had to get away from the house. Jasper called to say he wouldn't arrive until just after one - what an absolute speed demon - and it was only just now noon. So, I hopped in my truck to head to the Thrift Mart. I bet Jas hasn't had a good meal in a while. Really I just needed to delay the inevitable for an afternoon.

Less than an hour later I had chicken, cheese and broccoli enchiladas broiling in the oven and a salad on the counter. I hadn't touched my suitcases, but I knew Jasper wouldn't give a shit. I mean come on - I made food.

"Bellllllaaa." Jasper boomed, letting himself in the front door.

"Um, yeah Jas, this house is small - I'm seriously about five feet from you," I snickered from the kitchen.

"Well, hello there smart ass." Jasper leaned against the kitchen door frame.

"Don't smart ass me, I made you lunch," I retorted, plastering on my most winning smile.

"Ahh, G – you make my life complete." Jasper didn't wait one more second to engulf me in a tight hug and place a quick kiss on the hair at my crown. We both took our portions and perched on our respective niches; Jasper at the table, me the counter.

"How was the drive? How's Alice? Why the hell do I have to live with Rosalie?"

Mouth full and eyes apologetic, Jasper just ducked his head and continued to shovel food in record time.

"Come on Jas, I could just stay in your room. I'm small. You'd never notice me." Bat the eyelashes, emphasize the sad pout.

"Yeah, I might not notice, but Mike sure as hell would and then he'd want to 'run you over.' You really don't want that." Jasper challenged as he stood and made his way to the counter for seconds. He's like a food Hoover.

"Oh, your roommate is harmless. I'd like to see him try to get near me with his bulldozer." I paused, "Wait … eck … gross mental image." I shuddered at the rather vivid thought. Enough with the keen imagination already. Vomit.

"Don't pretend to be virtuous, Bells. Remember, my eyes have seen things. I've walked in on you with Jake."

"Dip shit, how many times do I have to tell you – IT WASN'T WHAT IT LOOKED LIKE! Jake never did get the hint. I think I ended up embarrassing him enough finally when I shouted 'stop touching me' too loudly and quite repeatedly in public. He can't even look at me now, which pretty much means we aren't really speaking anymore."

"When did this happen?" Jasper asked, giving me his you've been holding out on me expression.

"Last week sometime - he doesn't even know I'm leaving," I admitted. "Serves him right. We could have been friends but he had to dick it up."

"Literally."

"Fuck off, Jasper. Don't make me repeat myself. In fact, let's let this one die. Never say Jake's name to me or anyone else EVER again. Promise?" Jasper looked incredulous, never wanting to give up what he considered to be good shit on me. "God, Jasper, promise me!"

"Fine."

"Say it!"

"I promise."

"Alright, you clean the dishes, I'll pack up and we can get out of Forks before dark."

An hour later, everything I cared about –books, music and memories – was crammed into the trunk and overflowed into the back seat of Red; what mattered most reclining in the driver's seat.

My little house of three years was locked up tight, my truck sat sad and lonely in the driveway. This sweet, miniscule, tree infested, rain covered town, my protective dad and his side arm, my gastronomic haven – everything that made me whole again was just as fleeting as life in Phoenix with mom. But pulling away, I'd never seen Forks look so much like home, and now it was too late. I was already gone.

Leaving the city limits, it hit me how Forks and Fremont were more than just a world apart. I was now committed to the change, to selling my soul. It was absolutely like trading Bethlehem for Babylon.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A/N: Okay, so I hope you could follow along with me in this chapter. As always, let me know if you have any questions. I'd love to know what you think so far! Thanks for reading!