blood moon

by originella

After an assault by her boyfriend, James, it is the last straw for Bella, who makes a stand against society by moving from Phoenix, AZ to Forks, WA to live with her father. Closed off from the idea of love, seventeen-year-old Bella won't entertain the very idea, even from Edward Cullen, a fellow junior, who thinks similarly. However, their feelings cannot be denied forever...

1. From Now On

Chapter One: From Now On

Fairy tales and the supernatural just couldn't be real—if they were, James would be Prince Charming, or the supernatural would've taken him away by now for his brutality. My mother didn't know—not right away, at least; I mean, she couldn't have. She always told me from day one that if anyone ever hurt me, to tell her about it, and if she ever got wind of it, she would have done something about it. Had she known every sordid detail, beginning when the relationship first began when I was a fifteen-year-old freshman at my Arizona high school, she would have done something. She would have stopped it; she would have committed murder rather than to see me constantly hurting from it all.

I remembered trudging home that day in the rain; we'd gone to a party on Friday night and James had picked me up from my house and taken me there around four hours after school had gotten out for the day. I was in a new dress I'd saved up for, and somehow my mom approved of it; it was a long-sleeved, knee-length, scoop-necked sweater dress that covered everything, and I even managed to get her to let me wear my knee-high black leather boots. They were intended to be a Christmas present, but since I'd made an 'A' on my trigonometry midterm, my mother agreed that I could have them earlier. I nearly slipped on the heels themselves as I walked down that street, slick with rain, making my way down the block and towards the house my mother and I shared with my stepfather, Phil, a minor-league baseball player.

I mechanically reached for my keys, and it was then that I found that, not only was I completely sopping wet, but my hands were shaking from the double coldness of the metal key. I was now unaware of where my tears ended and where the rain began, and as I walked up the four stairs and towards my front door, I pulled open the screen and attempted to ignore the likely notion that my mascara was smeared down my face. I stuck the key into the lock and stepped inside, nearly slipping on the wooden floor in the lobby as I did so, and found I was tempted to kick off these godforsaken boots, which James said made me looked like a high-priced call girl, and, therefore, ripe for the picking.

"Bella? Is that you, sweetheart?" my mother called; I could hear her in the kitchen, preparing Phil's favorite brownies. He was supposed to be home this weekend, but as I had no idea what time it was, I didn't know if he was back yet. "I would've thought you'd have been home later, honey. James said the party was likely to last a while, and that you would probably crash over at his place..." As she spoke, in her own mindset—lost in making a batch of brownies for her hardworking husband—I hastily locked the back door behind me and walked as carefully into the kitchen as I could. "I know you and James will be safe, honey—I really trust the two of you completely, and I know that—" She had stepped into the entryway of the kitchen, and had stopped dead—mid-stir in the brownie batter—and looked at me with a combination of shock and fear. She nearly dropped the bowl, and hastily placed it on the small table in the breakfast nook and ran for me then, shying back like a frightened cat when she placed her hands upon my arms in a gesture of comfort. "Bella?"

"Yes?"

She peered into my face then, trying to catch a hidden meaning behind my eyes, before she immediately sprang into action. She got me out of my wet clothes and walked me to my bedroom, ordering me into my robe to keep warm, while she bundled my clothes out of there and took them away. She caught me outside my room then, and offered me a glass of water, which I accepted, drinking it slowly. "Bella..."

"Yes, Mom?"

"What happened?" she asked me quietly, carefully walking me over to the couch in the living room, a few feet away from the lobby by the front door. "You're home nearly three hours before your eleven-thirty curfew, honey, and you're dripping wet. James came in his car—didn't he drive you home?"

"No." I shook my head. "He didn't."

"Did you two have a fight, sweetheart?"

"It...it was a misunderstanding," I said quietly, shivering then, and my mother got to her feet again, walking into the main bathroom and returning with a towel, which she used to towel-dry my hair, before wrapping me in the couch's afghan.

"Okay...fight, misunderstanding—I don't care to know the difference right now, Bella. Just tell me what happened. Please," she said, and I locked eyes with hers—chocolate-brown meeting pale blue—and sighed.

I sighed. "I don't know how to say this..." I whispered, the water glass shaking in my hand. "I mean...I don't..."

"Okay, Bella," my mother said, heaving a sigh and growing impatient. "James picked you up here for the party around seven. Things seemed fine then. Were they okay on the drive over to the party?"

I nodded. "For the most part..."

"What does that mean?" she asked.

I bit my lip. "Well...you've been friends with James's dad, Laurent, for a while..."

"Since we moved in, yes," my mother replies steadily. "He's the principal at the local high school, and he helped get me my teaching gig at the elementary school..."

"Well, you...encouraged me to accept James's invitation for a date..."

"Well, honey, you were freshmen in high school, and I knew his father. I also knew James, from the time he was a child, and he's a perfect gentleman. I didn't see a problem with you going out with, or associating with, their family..."

"It's a mask," I whispered.

"What?" my mother asked.

"James's personality... It's a mask," I said, barely raising my voice. I looked around then, almost as if James would be standing by the front door, or one of the windows, with a shotgun, like he'd promised, after our first misunderstanding, on Halloween night, during our freshman year of high school, and again, and again, and again... "It's all a mask, Mom..."

"Honey? What are you talking about?"

I reach out then, placing my water onto the coffee table and across from the couch, before I take ahold of the chord upon my robe and pull it. Beneath, I am wearing a pair of shorts and a tank top, and once I remove it, I hear my mother's gasp immediately. I'd stayed off swimming and other activities, for the most part, that would permit me to show my skin for years, which was considered odd in Phoenix, Arizona. Thankfully, James's family had a pool, and the other half of the time, I was able to lie about the bruises by blaming my klutzy behavior. This was no klutzy behavior—this was the savagery that was my boyfriend, that had plagued me from Halloween of my freshman year of high school, until tonight, when James had escalated further off the charts than I ever thought possible.

"I didn't fall," I said quietly to her then, my voice shaking, despite the fact that I'd rehearsed telling her the truth for years. "James beats me."

"Bella!" she cried out. "Why didn't you say something?"

"He threatened me," I replied, crying openly now, the tears clouding my vision. "He said he would take his dad's shotgun and kill us all—you, me, and Phil—and then he would set the house on fire and make it look like an accident. His mom is a criminal law attorney—he knows all about how to stage a crime scene and cover up evidence..."

"Honey..." my mother whispered, and it is now that I finally choose to allow my eyes to meet hers at long last. "...why are you telling me all this tonight?"

I sighed then, my shoulders deflating. "Because tonight, James did something worse. He did the ultimate, Mom, something that nobody should ever take by force..."

"Bella—"

I let out a sob then before I could call it back. "James raped me, Mom."

. . .

It has started innocently enough—James's courtship of me; simple, even, and even though we'd known each other since the age of five, in the school sense, at least, things were different by the time we'd turned fourteen. Eighth grade was in full-swing, and James always counted our first date as the eighth-grade spring fling, although we would not start dating, in the official sense, for another four months. It was the night of my fifteenth birthday, nearly a week after freshman year began, where James asked me out.

I never really had a lot of friends growing up, other than James, but when high school began, James was automatically popular due to his dad being principal. I know what you're thinking—nobody messes with the principal's only son, right? Well, you'd be right; however, Principal Parker was the best principal in the tri-state area. He'd gotten a pool installed on campus, and we had the best sports team, marching band and orchestra, and drama department around. In every which way, Principal Parker was amazing—he also talked about body positivity during every school assembly, but he never droned on about it, and was very hip.

Once James made it known to the school that I was one of his closest friends, I fell in with the in-crowd pretty much immediately. James made the football team and wrestling team almost without even trying the summer before, and was well-liked by all our peers. Within a week of starting high school, he and I were looked up upon by most of the student body, and it was enough that I had an amazing birthday party at James's parent's house. My mother didn't seem to mind—I think she was just thankful she wouldn't have to clean up any cake that had been smeared into the carpet, which had happened the year before.

Most of the party was happening around James's pool; James's father had hired a D.J., plus there was a catering table—the menu of which James and I had picked together. James's house had a projection room, and the films being shown in there were The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring, Bridget Jones's Diary, and Spider-Man, and Principal Parker had placed a temporary sand pit at the base of the yard for a volleyball net. The generous edge of the pool served as a dance floor, and rainbow-colored spotlights darted around the area and danced on the surface of the pool. When James claimed me for the dance, I thought nothing of it, leaving the jealous cluster of girls behind me and setting my punch aside.

"Happy Birthday," James said, spinning me around briefly before pulling me lengthwise against him, a smile in his eyes. His customary blond hair was pulled back in a ponytail; he'd been growing it out since the summer, and I thought of it as his own personal taste of teenage rebellion, although his father didn't seem to mind. "I had to get you away from those girls—they were hogging the birthday girl."

I lowered my eyes, my dark brown hair falling forward and gracing my cheeks. "Wouldn't think why—everyone's here for you. I'm an afterthought..."

James tightened his grip on me so suddenly that my eyes flew to his. "Don't ever say that, Bella," he ordered, his dark eyes flaring, "ever. I mean it."

Quickly, I nodded. "Sorry. It's just... I mean, you're more popular than I am..."

He shrugged. "Comes with the territory of being the principal's kid, I guess," he replied, his tone nonchalant. "Listen, I wanted to ask you something...in private..."

"Sure," I replied, quickly looking around for my mom, but noticing that she was in deep conversation with my new stepfather, Phil, and James's parents, Laurent and Roxanne. "I mean, if I'm being honest..."

"What?" James asked as we walked away, turning and looking over his shoulder at my mother, who, while talking to Laurent and Roxanne, was gazing adoringly up at Phil. "Don't you like him?" he asked casually. "Your new stepdad?"

I shrugged as we reached the sandpit, where the people playing attempted to get us to join them, but James helpfully waved them off—me and volleyball don't mix. "I don't know. I mean, he's a nice guy and all, but..."

"He's not your father?" James guessed.

I shook my head. "No, it's not that. He's just... I don't know; he's six years younger than my mother and it just makes me a little uncomfortable..."

James nodded. "I can't really say I understand, because I really don't," he replied, as he moved to sit along the rock wall at the edge of his parents' property. "I mean, it's not like my parents have divorced or are going to get one..."

I sat next to James. "Yeah, I know. It seems like a lot of the people we know have their parents together...really makes me stick out a bit more..."

"I don't know if I ever asked you this... Why did you parents get divorced?"

I pursed my lips. "They got married really young—my mom had me when she was nineteen," I confide in him quietly. "She was going on a spontaneous trip around the Olympic Peninsula with some friends, and met my dad in La Push."

"That's in Washington, right? The state, not D.C., right?"

I nodded. "Yeah, Washington State. They met on First Beach, which is in La Push, a small Native American reservation close by Forks and..."

"And?"

"And she liked him," I say, shrugging my shoulders. "They seemed to really hit it off, but she had to finish the trip, so she left. But she missed him, so she went back, and then when he asked her to marry him, things just seemed to fall into place..."

"And then your mom got pregnant?"

I nodded. "Yeah. Let's just say I wasn't a wholly planned affair, but she was happy. My dad's parents were in their forties when he was born—he was a surprise—so I think my dad was probably shocked that they managed to have me at all..."

"When did they divorce?"

"In March. Next March will be fifteen years since the divorce. My mom just felt trapped, and she missed the sun, being from California and all..."

"Do you ever miss you dad?"

"Of course; I mean, he's my dad. I love my dad. He's like me—quiet. We look a lot alike, too—our hair is the same color, and our eyes."

"He's the police chief, right?"

"Yeah, in Forks."

"Bella..."

I turned to look at James then; in the setting sun, he looked almost handsome, but I knew it was a trick of the light. One thing that James and I had in common was the fact that neither of us were attractive, and I think that's what made me an easy target. "Yeah?"

"I'm not very good at this..." He hesitated for a moment, appearing vulnerable before me, and I think that's what allowed me to be drawn to him. "Would you want to do something sometime? I mean, outside of school..."

"James, we always do stuff outside school..."

"No, I mean, like a date..." He sighed. "Bella, I'm asking you out. No, I'm not. I'm asking you to be my girlfriend."

"Your girlfriend?" I asked, my voice squeaking. "James..."

"What? I have feelings for you, Bella. Don't you have feelings for me?"

I lowered my eyes; of course I had feelings for him. He'd made my life change within school overnight by declaring me cool to the cool crowd, and now, I actually looked forward to school as something more than good grades or literature recommendations. Despite the fact that I was a remora to James's shark, I was no longer cool by association; I was full-fledged cool, and James wanted everyone to know it. And, to top it all off, he wanted me at his side at his girlfriend, and not just a geeky friend.

"Yeah," I said at last. "Yeah. I have feelings for you, James."

He reached out then, fasting his hand in mine, and causing me to raise my eyes to his. "Then be my girlfriend, Bella. Please."

My heart skipped a beat. "Are you sure this is what you want?"

"I am," he replied. He closed the distance between us then and kissed me. "I am sure, Bella. I want you to be my girlfriend."

"Okay," I replied, smiling. "Does this make you my boyfriend?"

James squeezed my hand. "It does."

I kept right on smiling. "Okay," I said again.

. . .

My mother remained with me on the couch for another two hours until Phil got home, and when he did, throwing down his ever-present baseball-themed duffel bag down in the lobby, she kissed my forehead and immediately got to her feet. Once she got to him, she quickly apologized to him, stating that there would be no welcome home brownies that night, and I thought I caught a flicker of disappointment in Phil's eyes. However, as soon as my mother launched into the reason why, his eyes darted from hers to mine and back again, rapid fire, and, quite soon, his face turned red.

"Who does that little bastard think he is?!" Phil demanded then, immediately stepping into the living room and sitting on the coffee table in front of me. "Are you okay, Bella? Can I get you anything, or do anything?"

I shook my head. "No, thank you," I replied.

Phil squeezed my shoulder briefly, not wanting to push, before getting to his feet. He walked like he was on a mission to the kitchen, and my mother followed him. Phil was obviously doing something in the next room, but when my mother asked what it was, he shushed her. Finally, I heard him speaking again and when I did, I let out a little cry of fear.

"I need a detective—preferably female—at my address immediately," Phil said into our landline, which was located in the kitchen, and both our bedrooms. "It's my stepdaughter, Bella—her boyfriend got a little out of hand at a party tonight," he went on, and I could hear the underlying contempt in his voice. "That's fine. Yes. Thank you very much," he said, and I could hear him replacing the receiver.

"Phil, honey, Bella didn't say that she wanted to press charges—"

"Renée, this is non-negotiable."

"But Phil—"

"Honey, don't you want to see James punished?" he demanded.

My mother sighed, relenting. "Okay. But I won't have Bella pushed. If the detective goes too far with her questioning, that's it—she's gone."

"Agreed," Phil replied, walking after her and back into the living room; this time, my mother held a trash bag in one hand.

"It's your clothes, from tonight," my mother said to my questioning look. "I'm sure the police will want them for...erm...evidence."

I lowered my eyes, feeling my cheeks heating. "I'll bet you're right."

Phil takes the armchair closest to the door, and my mother comes to sit beside me again; we keep waiting in silence for several minutes, until the inevitable knock on the front door causes me to jump in place. My mother quickly takes my hand as Phil gets to his feet, trudging to the door and opening it wide. He lets in the female detective, before he walks into the kitchen to give us some privacy, which I was secretly grateful for.

"Hello, I'm Detective Monroe," said the woman eloquently, crossing the room and shaking my mother's hand. "And you must be Bella."

I must be, I think to myself, but nevertheless put out my hand. "Yeah, I'm Bella. How are you this evening, Detective Monroe?" I ask.

"Can't complain," she replied, taking the chair my mother had dragged from the dining room table and perching in it, "but I'm altogether aware that these are not common circumstances for either of you. I'm very sorry to be meeting you in this situation."

"Thank you," my mother put in.

"And you're Bella's mother?" Detective Monroe asked.

"Renée," my mother said quickly. "I'm Renée Dwyer."

"Nice to meet you, Renée," Detective Monroe said, pulling a notepad from her back pocket and clicking her pen open. "Can you tell me what happened tonight, Bella?"

I sighed. "James and I were at Chelsea Meadows's party," I say quietly. "Chelsea lives in Arcadia—her parents own their own brain surgery practice out there... She's the head cheerleader," I go on, knowing that these facts can't possibly help, but also hoping that the detective will become so disinterested with me that she'll leave.

"Okay," the detective says, and smiles. "Why don't you tell me how long you and James have known each other?"

"We met when we were five," I reply. "His dad is our high school principal, and he helped get my mom her teaching job at the elementary school."

"And how long did it take before you became a couple?"

"Freshman year," I reply, nibbling on my lower lip, feeling James's hands on me in my subconscious, and tears forming in my eyes at the fact that I never knew if his touch would be loving or dangerous. "It was about a week into the school year—six days," I say quietly, and keep a grip upon my mother, letting her know not to send Detective Monroe away—I needed to say these words that had been bottled up for so long. We became boyfriend and girlfriend on the night of my fifteenth birthday."

Detective Monroe nodded. "Was James always violent?"

My eyes locked to hers—how could she possibly know a thing like that? "W-what?" I asked, my voice shaking.

She smiled sadly. "This is a repetitive pattern in young romances, unfortunately," she told the both of us gently. "The bloom of young love becomes so intoxicating that we find ourselves making excuses for our partners, effectively allowing the abuse to continue. It's not your fault, Bella—in many cases, teens believe that nobody will believe them, or their abusers make threats towards them, effectively keeping them silent, and then compensating by doing their victims a favor or buying them gifts." She hesitates for a moment, not wanting to push me, but also wanting to get to the bottom of this. "Did James threaten you?"

"Yes."

"More than once?"

"Yes."

"How would he threaten you, Bella?"

"His dad has a gun collection," I said quietly, the tears flowing freely now. "James managed to figure out the password for the safe and the glass cases that they're kept in... He said that he would get the biggest gun of his dad's, and then he would kill my mom and stepfather while I watched, and then he would kill me. And then he would set my house on fire in an attempt to destroy all the evidence..."

Detective Monroe shook her head, her dark eyes full of concern as she jotted down my response as quickly as possible, so as not to lose it. "When did this all start?"

"About seven weeks into the relationship," I reply.

"Quick math," Detective Monroe notes.

I sighed. Getting to my feet, I went into my bedroom and, as quickly as possible before my mother ordered her out of the house, I dig beneath my mattress for the brown, leather-bound journal that I'd hidden there. Quickly, I left my bedroom and returned to the living room, and held up my hand to my mother's tirade against Detective Monroe, whereupon I presented the journal to her. "There's everything you need, with the exception of tonight, which I'll tell you about right now."

Detective Monroe looked shocked, flipping through the book quickly, which started on that Halloween night and ended just three days ago. "Oh, my god..." She whispered, her voice filled with amazement. "This goes back over two years," she said quietly.

I nodded. "Everything you need, except tonight, is in there. I'm ready," I told her, and her eyes lock to mine. "I'm ready to tell you everything."

. . .

"One word from his mother, and James will get probation!" I cry out to my mother, nearly blinded by my tears just three weeks later, when James was being held without bail and visitors at the local jail. "He's been found guilty in the court of public opinion, Mom, but the minute I step foot back at school, Principal Parker will find every which way to give me detention, and everyone will want to lynch me before the week is out!"

"Okay, Bella, I'm hearing you," my mother said, her voice patient. "But what do you want me to do here? I mean, do you really want to move to Jacksonville with me and Phil?" she asked, and I felt a glimmer of hope at the notion of it, especially because Phil had gotten a contract with the minor-league team, the Suns.

I sighed then, knowing that it was the first place James would look once he was out of prison, for it was all over the local news that Phil had made the team. "No, I can't," I replied, leaning up against the wall of my bedroom. "I mean... What about dad?"

"What about your dad?"

"Could I go and live with him?" I asked, testing the waters. "It's such a small town, and Dad's the chief of police, so I'd be completely safe..."

My mother sighed. "Are you sure that's what you want, honey?"

I nodded. "Yeah. I mean, small means safe, doesn't it? I'd miss you and Phil, but you'd be safer without me around, and I'd be safer with Dad..."

My mother nodded. "Okay. If that's what you want, I'll call your dad right now. I'm sure he'd jump at the opportunity to have you there."

I close the distance between us then and throw my arms around her. We were the same height, my mom and I, and now it seemed like we were finally of equal standing, due to the fact that we were, effectively, saying goodbye. "Thanks, Mom."

"No problem, honey."

. . .

I spent the next three days packing my belongings and preparing myself for a move that would take me four states away. My mother drove me to the airport, while Phil had already jetted off to Jacksonville to get things settled over there; I heard he had already managed to find a house for him and my mother—one with plenty of space for me, if I changed my mind. My mother and I made small talk on the drive, and when we arrived at the airport, I forced myself not to cry as we said goodbye again.

The two flights—one from Phoenix Sky Harbor International Airport to SeaTac, and then from SeaTac in a small plane to Port Angeles—would keep me mentally occupied for hours to come, but I was far too ridged to sleep on the plane. Mom had given Dad the details of what had befallen me at Chelsea Meadows's party, and, needless to say, Dad was beyond pissed off at the prospect of it all. However, he was on strict instructions not to say anything directly to me, unless I brought it up, and he begrudgingly consented.

I nearly slipped from the small plane and into the domain of the airport due to the rainfall as I attempted to put on my coat, but, thankfully, my dad was there to steady me. We managed to find my luggage without incident, and we took the hour-plus drive back to Forks in virtual silence—that's what made us both comfortable, anyway. I was shocked when my father said he had re-decorated my room, as well as the fact that he'd bought me a car from his best friend, Billy Black, who was now the head of the La Push Native American community.

"You remember his twins, right? His daughters, Rebecca and Rachel?"

I shook my head. "Sorry, no."

"They've moved on now, but Jacob's still around—Billy's youngest," my father carefully told me as we drove. "He's about sixteen now—he did most of the work on your car."

"So, what kind of car is it?" I asked carefully.

"A red Chevy—not new or anything. Billy bought it used back in 1984."

I pursed my lips; that was small town for you.

My father helped me in getting my big suitcase up the stairs and into the house, then up the second flight of stairs and into my bedroom. I had my duffel on over my shoulder, plus my carry-on bag, which I gripped in my hand. Stepping into my bedroom, I noticed that the main difference was the fact that my babyhood crib was gone, and in its place was a large, black-iron bed with purple bedding. I thanked my father, who informed me that the salesgirl had picked it out, and I was pleased with it. He placed my suitcase beside the bed, and allowed me to get settled in, in what would be my new home.

I guess a plus-side of all this was that my father didn't hover.

. . .

My first day at Forks High School seemed easy enough; Dad had already taken me on a drive through town to show me where everything was—grocery store, gas station, high school—and I found it would be an uneventful time. But I craved uneventful, given the damage I'd suffered at James's hands almost four weeks ago. With this blessing, he'd given me some cash for the weeks ahead, and I'd planned to go grocery shopping after school. I figured with getting to know the town of Forks, my schoolwork, and cooking, I could actually attempt to put what happened to me behind me, for a while.

I went to the front office on my first morning as a junior at the local high school, getting a slip of paper that my new teachers would need to sign. I thanked the secretary and left the office, going to my first classes, although not without an over enthusiastic welcome from a greasy-looking boy named Eric Yorkie, who wanted my opinion on the school paper. Thankfully, he understood my small-talk, and yet still managed to interpret it just enough to get a quote from me.

I was annoyed to be doing gym so quickly, yet handed over some cash to buy a uniform, but was not looking forward to volleyball. I quickly met Mike Newton and Jessica Stanley, who were both enthusiastic, yet kind, and I agreed to sit with them at lunch. It felt freeing as I changed with Jessica in the locker room just before lunch, to actually have someone to talk to. I didn't contribute much, but that was fine, as Jessica was telling me all the ins-and-outs of the high school, and telling me of her other girlfriends, Angela Weber and Lauren Mallory.

Jessica pulled me towards the lunchroom as soon as we'd finished getting ready, and were permitted to leave by Coach Clapp. Her dark, curly hair bounced up and down as she ran, and it made me smile a little. Finally, at the entrance to the lunchroom, Jessica let me go and darted up to a girl with cornsilk-like hair, while a girl with brown hair with honey-streaks approached me, her eyes kind.

"Jessica texted us," she said, her voice gentle. "You must be Isabella Swan."

"Nice to meet you," I said, shaking her hand. "And it's Bella."

"Angela...Weber," she said, smiling at me. "Come on. We'd better get lunch before everyone else decides they want it first."

We made our way through the lunch line; I found out from Angela that Jessica was speaking to Lauren Mallory, but I found myself pleased to be speaking to someone who did not ask prying questions about my personal life. I got lunch and sat in between Jessica and Angela, listening to the rapid-fire conversation between Jessica and Lauren, pleased that, for the moment, I would not have to contribute. With my past, I didn't think I could handle an interrogation session, and I knew that it would be likely for James to come up somehow.

Bored with the presence of beige on my lunch tray—as well as that was the only color that would apply to Jessica and Lauren's conversation—I raised my eyes upwards to the entrance of the lunchroom, and had to bite down hard on my lip to prevent it from falling open dramatically. I watched then as five beautiful beings entered the lunchroom—the first two were obviously a couple; the girl looked like she belonged on Vanity Fair pronto, and was a blonde bombshell; her boyfriend was taller than she was, and was completely ripped. The second couple was a girl who was close to Jessica's height, and her black hair was cut into a pixie; her boyfriend looked as if he was in pain, which Jessica was now whispering about. The final person was the most beautiful man I'd ever seen—bronze hair, dark eyes, pale skin...

"Who are they?" I asked, when I thought I'd be able to speak coherently again.

"All of them?" Jessica asked, stopping her conversation with Lauren, who was now attempting to eat her Cobb salad.

I shake my head. "No. Him," I say, nodding to the guy who isn't gliding along with an equally-gorgeous female counterpart. "Who is he?"

"That's Edward," Jessica said, rolling her eyes as she tossed her hair, looking away as they all sat at the table furthest away from everyone else. "He's totally gorgeous, of course, but don't waste your time. Apparently, none of the girls here are good-looking enough for him."

I shrug then. "Doesn't matter, anyway," I reply, deliberately looking away from Edward at the precise moment dark eyes bored into mine. "It's not like I'm here to date. I need to get a degree and get my life in order. That's it. Love is not in the cards for me."