Disclaimer: These are not Stephanie's vampires.
Chapter Two
Isabella Swan
"James! I told you she would come!" Victoria yells over the music when she sees me coming her way. I'm trying to avoid as many sweaty, drunk bodies as possible as I move closer to the kitchen where a keg and assortment of drinks are set up. Victoria and James seem to be in the middle of refilling their drinks.
He glances up at me, pulling a face. "Fuck. I knew I shouldn't have made that bet," he says to nobody in particular.
Victoria simply holds her hand and James digs up a crumpled ten from his pocket. I cross my arms, rolling my eyes. "Really? You're betting on me now?"
"And you haven't let me down," Victoria grins.
"You've let me down," James tells me, throwing his arm over Victoria's bare shoulders.
"Really? I seem to remember passing a certain philosophy exam for you last year."
James raises his brows, sipping what I assume is beer. "I was your first customer," he says. "I'm half the reason your business is so good. You have to be nice to me."
I snort. "Yes, thank you for giving my number to all your idiot friends." James may have been my first customer but, really, he only knew about me through Victoria; if anyone was responsible for my weekly dealings with the less-than-gifted students at UDub, it was her.
"That's not very nice," he says.
Victoria giggles. "Are you sure you guys aren't related?"
This was a running joke, given how often James and I bickered, even though we were both proud only children. I considered James a friend no matter how much he got on my nerves.
"Oh, Bella! I wanted to introduce you to someone!" Victoria says, stealing James' red cup.
"No," I whine, shaking my head. God, I should have known she had something like this up her sleeve. "I know you mean well, but please, no."
"You don't even know who he is!"
"And I don't want to," I respond, stilling as I hear a throat clear behind me. I suppress a groan, just knowing that whoever Victoria wanted to fix me up with was standing right behind me, likely having heard that last exchange.
Victoria raises her brows twice at me and smiles brightly. "Paul, this is Bella. Bella, this is-"
"Wait. Paul? Like Pauly D?"
James snorts his beer, choking on it, and Victoria bites her lips to stop the laughter. "I've never been to Jersey Shore," Paul says from behind me. "And I happen to like Paul better than Pauly. I mean, I don't want a cracker, you know?"
I quirk a brow at him as I turn around, taking in his massive build and deeply tanned skin – and I recognized him as one of the Huskies' linebackers. He was handsome in an obvious way but I felt no attraction to him.
To be honest, I hadn't ever felt attracted to anyone. For one reason or another, every guy I'd ever seen fell short in one way or another. I couldn't help but feel like I was comparing the men in reality to ones that simply don't exist outside of my dreamscape.
I sigh, forcing a smile to bloom on my face, and nod at him. "Hey. Look, I'm sorry that Victoria-"
"Don't bring me into this!" she says from behind me.
"- made you waste your time like this," I continue, rolling my eyes at the interruption. "But I'm not interested in dating right now."
Paul shrugs with good nature. "That's fine. Me either. But," he whispers, looking around at the drunken people around us. "It's nice to meet at least one sober person at this party. It wouldn't hurt to hang out, would it?"
I'm careful not to look him directly in the eyes as I shrug. "Sure, why not?"
And that is how Paul and I spend the next hour; chatting with a progressively drunk Victoria and James and watching as the rest of the party separates into hook-ups and throw ups. Though Paul politely keeps his distance and acts like a complete gentleman, the feel of his eyes on me sends my stomach into a fit of apprehension and I trust him less and less as the night passes into early morning.
By the time people are passing out on the beat up couches in the living room, it's almost two and I'm fighting yawns. I stand, stretching. "Well, Paul, it's late and I've got to go…"
Paul jumps up. "Let me walk you back to your dorm," he says. "It's late and I wouldn't feel right letting you walk home alone."
I squint a little at him but have no real reason to turn him down; it's actually a little comforting to have someone watching over me, even if his offer only makes warning signals go off in my head. I nod. "Sure."
Paul is the ideal escort. He walks closer to the street, putting me in the middle of the sidewalk, and keeps us on the brighter roads. The walk is silent until we reach the dorms where he stops, putting his hands in his pockets. "Which one are you?"
I gesture to my building. "Thanks for walking me back-"
I'm not sure how I missed it, but Paul suddenly throws the full weight of his body against mine, pressing me back into one of the larger trees that are around my building. He's attached his lips to mine, his beefy hand tight on my neck and I realize, again, how much larger he is than me; I'm a twig compared to his strength.
That realization doesn't stop me from screaming into his forceful kiss or clawing at his hands, his face. I try to bring my knee up to his groin, thinking if I can just get him off me for a second, I can get away. When my knee fails to connect, I resort to biting at the lips kissing me, digging my nails into the hands holding me in place; I bite down hard enough to taste blood in my mouth.
"You bitch," Paul sneers, pulling away, spitting onto the grass. His hand is still harsh on my neck and I just know I'll have bruises when I wake up. Paul opens his mouth to say something else but he's cut off.
A deep, rumbling growl fills the cool air – it's downright animalistic and so close that chills run up my spine. Paul's face turns ashen as he looks around and I take the slight slack of his hand on my throat as an opportunity to get the hell out of dodge, ducking under his arm and running as fast as I can. The growling seems to grow louder and I hear Paul yell out but I don't turn around.
Serves him right to be eaten by some wild animal.
I slam the door of the dorm closed, panting, leaning my hands on my knees. The lobby is, thankfully, empty – nobody to witness my freak-out. I work on calming myself on the elevator, taking the entire six-floor ride to quiet my breathing. Before I get to my room, I detour to the bathroom, splashing water on my face and rinsing Paul's blood off my mouth.
My face is visibly more pale than usual and my eyes are wide, unblinking. As a child, Mom always told me how I had Elizabeth Taylor's eyes – the deep, dark blue color of my eyes were almost violet in certain lights. I wasn't sure if it was the color or me that threw people, though, because for as long as I can remember, people have always reacted strangely to direct eye contact from me.
Some stuttered.
Some suddenly seemed mindless.
Some just agreed with whatever I said.
I didn't understand it and, honestly, it freaked me out. Now, it was just habit to avoid direct contact, no matter who I was talking to – even myself.
I avert my eyes to my hair, pushing the long, almost black strands out of my face, exposing the widow's peak hairline I got from Mom. I liked my hair most in the sunlight, where little tints of red were obvious, just like hers. In the harsh lights of the dorm bathroom, I looked like a washed out black-and-white photograph; pale skin, dark hair, bold brows, dark eyes with only a little hint of pink on the cheekbones and too-full, nearly puffy lips.
My figure was no better – gray in the sense that it was easy to look over. I'm a little too tall, a little too willowy – waifish like Twiggy or Audrey Hepburn, Mom used to tell me. And while I liked that my metabolism obviously had no issues digesting large quantities of food, I would have liked to see more than a handful of flesh on my chest or a little padding on my hips, so that my hipbones weren't so obvious under tightly stretched skin.
I scowl, turning off the cold tap water and shaking drops of water from my hands. My lips look swollen and abused for the first time in my life and I hate that scum like Paul was my first kiss. I stomp to my room, digging my key out of my pocket, thinking that I should have just taken the risk and walked myself home.
And thank God for that wild animal running around campus, saving girls like me.
I open the door, sighing, wanting nothing more than to take a hit from my white and yellow swirled pipe and go to sleep, when the crisp chill of fresh, outside air hits my face.
My window, open again.
Even though I know – I remember – locking it.
The curtains are fluttering around the open window, even though I have perfect recall of pulling them tight around the glass.
My spine tingles, my back straight, as I slowly examine my room from the doorway. There are no hidden corners, as the door opens directly into the ten by ten space and the mirror on the wall beside the window shows the perfect view of the corner shadowed by the open door.
My room is empty.
But the window is open.
Nothing appears to be missing, but I still don't flick the lights on; instead, I slowly back out the few steps I'd taken inside and close the door quietly, making sure to lock it again.
I go back down to the lobby, rooting around behind the desk until I find the correct form and, in under five minutes, I put the Request for New Room form in the correct bin. I'm careful as I step out of my dormitory, my jaw tight – it was just too weird for the window to be open twice on the same day and I was positive I'd locked it both times. I knew, for sure, I wouldn't be sleeping at the dorms until I got a new room, though, and I definitely wouldn't be going back to get my things until daylight.
Thankfully, Dad only lives a few blocks south of campus and I arrive at my old home just before three, getting the key from the little frog beside the planter of dead ferns.
The television washes the walls in flickering blue lights and Dad's trusty recliner creaks when I close and lock the door behind me, dropping the spare key into the bowl beside the door nook.
"Bella?" Dad calls groggily from the living room.
I sigh. I wish he wouldn't sleep down here but Dad had a hard time sleeping in the bed he shared with Mom now that she's gone. He preferred the crick in his neck to those particular memories.
"Hey, Dad," I say, slipping into the room and flopping down on the worn couch, pulling my knees up to my chest.
Dad had maintained his Seal physicality for as long as he could after the accident, but a few years of not being able to properly work out had taken a toll on him; he now looked older than I can ever remember him being and his muscles, while retaining their mass, had softened. There was near-constant stubble on his cheeks and his hair was thinning, not that anyone could tell since he always had on some baseball hat – partially because he just liked them and partially to hide the nasty scar on the left side of his skull that came as an unwelcome reminder to the accident that cost his leg. He raises a dark, bushy brow at me, scrubbing his face with the palm of his hand. "What are you doing here, kiddo?"
I shrug, yawning.
The last thing I wanted to do was tell Dad about the window or what happened with Paul; he might be stuck in a wheelchair, but Dad did have extensive military training and more than a few guns that he knew how to use.
"Just wanted to get away for a while," I lie.
Dad should have been a detective, because he grunts in a sarcastic way, reading the lie as it falls from my mouth. "On a Thursday? Right, Bella."
"I missed my old bed," I try again.
That wasn't a lie, either. The nightmares had started when I was sixteen, right when I started college; I half-believed that I only got bad sleep because of the lumpy beds in the dorms.
Dad grunts again, not bothering to call me out, and looks at the infomercial playing on the television. "Can you believe people buy that useless crap?"
I laugh a bit. "I do. People are always buying stuff they don't need."
Like someone to take their tests for them.
Not that I was complaining.
I yawn again and Dad smiles gently at me. "See you in the morning, kid."
I stand, leaning down to his recliner to hug him. "I'll make French toast," I promise, kissing his cheek.
"You better!"
My childhood room is a few feet bigger than my dorm room, with two bookshelves pushed against the short, far wall and my twin mattress taking up nearly half of the room. It's still painted the periwinkle purple color I picked out with Mom when I was six but the comforter had been replaced with a plain black version. I'm careful to avoid stubbing my toe on my dresser, just like I did every time I came into the room as a teenager. I could never bear to part with the hunk of wood because Mom had picked it out and painted it for me right before her diagnosis.
While Dad was still part of the Navy and I was about seven, Mom was diagnosed with a rare ovarian cancer; she didn't tell anyone about it until it was too late to save her. She passed before I turned eight. And then, Dad was an ex-Seal and working in construction and then he got hurt.
Sometimes, I wonder if I'm not like Mom in that way – not telling the right people something important until it's too late to do anything about it.
I hadn't told anyone about the nightmares.
And, as I settle into a very sober, non-high sleep, I just know the nightmare is going to be more intense than usual.
Because sleeping without a high?
I hadn't done that for three years.
And that thing that happened with Paul?
It's shaken me up enough to rattle me in my dreams.
A/N: Another fast update. Gah, what a creeper that Paul is! I could throttle him myself. Thank God there's a wild animal on campus!
Reviews!
vampyregirl86 – Sheldon and the very hot Dr. Reid on Criminal Minds lol
dinotopian – She's kind of pure lol In a literal sense, of course.
Edward's spouse – Glad you liked it!
Cbmorefie – Thank you!
B – I pulled a little bit of vampire lore from Anne Rice and the Sookieverse and Google so…there will be a mix-match of a lot of different qualities.
LunaDiSangue85 – Yep. You nailed Edward lol He is going to be a little bit of a stalker.
james3142 – I'm thrilled you understand Bella's point of view! Lol She should charge more!
Maysnrs – You've got that right. Who needs hot sauce? Just give me Possesiveward!
scareDcat – She is pretty ingenious, huh? Lol
debslmac - :D
princessnerra – I wonder what the first meeting will be like, too lol
brittany86 – This Bella really is one of a kind. I tried to make her as…unique as possible!
Cullen freak8888 – No, no don't feel bad! I'm in the same boat! Lucky to get time to write and post!
Tiffyboocullenjonas – Glad you loved it!
Jmcfall – After my own heart! Chocolate is addictive!
Mystik Angel 85 – Bella does remember something, but that's all I'm saying!
ch0c0lat3 – I'm thrilled you enjoy it so much!
Welcome2MyWorldxoxo – Ta da! More!
mamacat20 – Ohh, good question. A tracker? Edward? Hmmmm…
BMSCullen – Oh yes! This Bella doesn't take anyone's shit! Lol
Maggiejoma – I'm glad you got it! I wanted this Bella to be very modern and strong and relatable like that! :D
Valentine Rain – Ah, his physical age? He looks to be about 24.
Headinthecloudsss – Ohh, you're going to be another predictor, aren't you? Lol
Michangelina – Glad you friggin' love it! Lol
sujari6 – Mmmm yes to the demons, no to the vampire-ish trait that is eidetic memory. Close, but no cigar lol
Lilypad10 – Lots of questions that I can't answer at the moment lol Stay tuned!
Kaygou – Yeah, I thought Victoria and James could use a break lol
Twilight Rocker 12 – Homemade icecream? I'm so jealous! Lol And nope, Bella isn't a supernatural anything. That I know of, of course lol
And super special shout out to the first review of the last chapter, Krystalwinds1990 – I wouldn't be so sure about who is watching Bella! ;)
Alright, I'm off to shower, eat dinner and study!
As always, be brutally honest. I can take it.
~cupcakeriot