Disclaimer: SM owns Twilight. I own New Bella.
A/N: What are those 12 steps? Nevermind... I don't think it matters when the steps lead to Hell.
Chapter Two: Cleaning House
Day 366. Or 1 - for the new and improved Bella Swan. A rebirth of sorts. Which is fitting, I suppose, since it's also my birthday. Yeah, the fuck left me right before my birthday.
Needless to say, it was my party and I cried cuz I wanted to, or perhaps because I still hadn't stopped since I woke up and found him gone the morning before.
I reach up now and touch my cheeks, checking for the tears that have accompanied my mornings for the last year. Dry. Day 1 is starting off well. It's not that I expected to find any - I feel no sadness - but I guess that I'm just so used to them being there that I needed to know for sure that they had truly left me.
I sit up and stretch, and take a long look around my bedroom. I'm nauseated by what I see. Purple. Everywhere. My favorite color. Except it's not anymore. Yesterday - favorite. Today - making me fucking sick.
The abandoner liked the purple. He didn't complain about it, or ask me to change it. He actually liked it. That should have been a sign. What kind of self-respecting man likes purple and flowers and shit? None. That's what kind. Unless, of course, you're also the kind that likes dick. But he wasn't that, either. He didn't like dick, and he didn't have balls. So I guess that makes him a pussy loving, purple loving, flower loving pussy.
So. Much. Better. Off. Without him! The bitch. And to think I wasted all of those tears...
But I shall not dwell.
This is a new day. A new year. A new me.
The old Bella would have dwelled. New Bella? Moving on. Learning.
Lessons I've learned so far since I woke up on this, Day 1? I hate purple. And pussies.
Well... except my own. Pussy, that is, not purple... it's more of a pink. And I have quite a fondness for that bitch. We've become rather close in the last year. Maybe I'll even buy her a present for our birthday. Something special... something pretty that vibrates and sparkles, perhaps. Like diamonds, only better. For our special day. She deserves it. Or I do. In any case, we will thoroughly enjoy it.
I make a mental note to stock up on batteries again, and climb from my bed, dragging my newly-offensive purple flowered comforter behind me. I leave it in a heap on the living room floor and trudge to the kitchen to start some coffee, grabbing my pack of cigarettes from the so-named table on my way. I toss them onto the counter, and once the coffee's brewing, I move to the bathroom for my morning rituals.
I smile at my reflection as I pin my hair back to wash my face. No red, puffy eyes or nose. No swollen mouth. No longing. No pain. No evidence of anything more than a peaceful night's sleep. When was the last time I had one of those?
I know the answer to that, of course, and who shared it with me, but its stupid yellow toothbrush seems to be making a sudden effort to get noticed. To remind me that he isn't here anymore. The stupid yellow toothbrush that's still in its place next to mine. Because I couldn't bear to throw it away... just in case.
But it doesn't belong there now. Frankly, I'm not sure it ever did.
New Bella doesn't think so.
And she hates yellow. I. Hate. Yellow.
Did I stress that clearly enough?
I really hate yellow. I always have.
I grab it and toss it into the trashcan with disgust. A small thing... not a grand gesture, I suppose, but it feels good.
This is my new focus. Do what feels good. Do what feels good to me. I know in this room alone there is plenty more pleasure to be had.
I fill the trashcan with thump after thump of the abandoner's belongings: Shaving cream. Razor. Hair gel. Hair brush. Deodorant. Cologne. Face wash. Moisturizer.
Fucking pussy.
He spent more time in front of the mirror than I did.
Stupid primping fuck.
On a mission to remove all traces of him, I rip open the shower curtain and grab his shampoo and shower gel. Shampoos, with an 's'. Three different shampoos. Who the fuck needs three shampoos?
I toss them into the trash with the rest of his shit with a loud thud. I think that's everything.
But then I realize the only toothpaste I have is his favorite. His favorite that I always hated. But that I bought to make him happy. The only toothpaste that I bought. Even after he left.
How pathetic was I that I didn't even buy something different for myself? That I stopped buying what I liked?
I have a favorite too, damn it. And it's not this stupid gel shit that makes me gag.
I. Like. Paste! It's even in the fucking name... toothPASTE. Some things should not be fucked with!
I squirt some on my brush for the last time and toss the tube in the trashcan where it belongs. No more gel in my house! I'm taking this place back! And the sooner the better.
I finish up quickly and head back to the kitchen. The coffee smells like heaven and it's calling to me. So are the cigarettes sitting on the counter. I pull one from the pack and light it, relishing in that first drag of the day. Half satiated, I go to the refrigerator to grab my peppermint mocha creamer - but the half gallon of Vitamin D milk sitting beside it leers at me, threatening to ruin my morning buzz. Disgusting sludge. Yeah, guess who that's for?
I never stopped buying that, either. Week after week after week I bought it. And week after week after week I poured it out and bought another. Just in case. What a fucking idiot I was. I just bought this bottle two days ago. When I still had hope.
Well, that hope went down the drain, and that's just where this is going. I grab it and my cream and walk to the sink. I fix my cup of coffee and turn on the faucet, ridding my mouth of the taste of the disgusting gel while I watch the milk get washed away.
The sound of my cell ringing in the other room pulls me from my momentary trance and I turn off the faucet, stub out the now-dead cigarette in my hand, and go to answer it. I know who it is without looking at the screen. "Good morning, Alice."
"HAPPY BIRTHDAY!"
"Thank you. And please don't sing. I'm begging you."
"I'm not making any promises, because you know I probably will. Now tell me, was I the first birthday wish?"
I know she desperately wants to the answer to be yes. "Of course you were. And you'll probably be the only this year, so you get that honorary statistic as well."
The line is quiet for a moment, and then she speaks softly, "That's not true. I'm not the only friend you have."
"It's okay, Alice. I get it."
"Bella... it's just really hard for some people to know how to deal with that kind of sadness. They-"
"I'm fine, really. Or, I will be, when I get back to my coffee."
"Got enough for two?" I can hear the sadness in her simple question.
"Yes, you are welcome to join me if you really want to, but if you're just worried that I was sitting here crying into it, then don't be. I'm not doing that anymore."
"You're not?" She makes no effort to conceal her shock.
"No. I'm not," I announce definitively, as I walk back to the kitchen.
"What are you doing?" I've piqued her interest now.
"Cleaning house," I say with a smile, topping off my coffee and lighting another cigarette.
"Then I'm definitely coming, because you are not going to spend your birthday cleaning your already clean house." I can just see her with her hand on her hip.
"That's not quite what I meant, Alice, and I'm pretty sure you'd be thrilled if you understood."
"Thrilled? Really?"
"Yes. Really."
"Tell me, please, Bella... I'd really love to be thrilled," she begs.
"I'm de-Pauling the place."
"I'll be right over!" she screams, and the line goes dead.
Well, with hurricane Alice's help, this place will be spotless in no time. There won't be any crying at this party. But maybe some singing doesn't sound so bad after all, as long as it isn't Alice.
Happy Birthday to me...
…
You know what I want.
