three
october
O hushed October morning mild,
Begin the hours of this day slow.
Make the day seem to us less brief.
- - - Robert Frost "October"
o.o.o
Edward Cullen comes back to Forks High on October 1st with a frankly flamboyant amount of fanfare. Bella is less than impressed to discover that he is the driver on that shiny silver Volvo that grounded her to the curb on the first day of school - he does it again today, zipping into the school parking lot and climbing out of his car, this time with his eyes already locked on her from over a hundred feet away.
She stares back, waiting for a fissure of fear to race up her spine, her mind flashing back to The Incident with vivid recall. It never comes. She never feels afraid even when - logically - she knew that she should. He'd wanted to kill her, that much was an undeniable fact. Where was her sense of self-preservation? Why wasn't she reacting the way prey should to predator?
She couldn't answer any of that adequately and she didn't have a ready-made response to Edward Cullen's heavy gaze studying her with an air of anticipation. And so she turns away to continue walking toward the school, reading and walking, just as she had every morning for a month. For her, Edward returning to school didn't mean anything.
Except to the rest of the student body, it did matter a great deal. She hadn't realized just how fascinating the Cullens and the Hales were - or more like, she just couldn't muster enough interest to care. Honestly, aside from the whole vampire thing, they were pretty boring. They generally flew under the radar, getting good grades but not great grades, not enough to steal the top spots in the junior and senior classes; none of them were involved in the Forks athletic teams, even though the coaches obviously wished differently in Emmett's case; they didn't participate in the admittedly few clubs sponsored by the school; and they didn't really talk to anyone aside from themselves and the teachers. They didn't even show up for Picture Day. Which, she supposed, was part of the idea. Draw the least amount of attention as possible. Don't be remembered.
She wonders where hoisting a fellow student up by the throat fell on that scale - and then dismisses the thought for its inanity. Obviously, judging by the reactions of the Cullens and Hales on that day, The Incident was an extremely unusual occurrence. Something about her made Edward snap.
Would that happen again now that he'd returned?
And where did he go, anyway?
In Trigonometry, she sits at the desk in the back adjacent to Rosalie, who is once again watching her carefully. Waiting to see when I'll freak out about Edward, Bella guesses. Deliberately, Bella cracks open the spine of her textbook and readies her pen for Mr. Varner's lecture. A silent message: nothing has changed.
Of course, by the time Physics rolls around, Bella fiercely misses Rosalie's subtlety because Emmett Cullen apparently has no clue how to sustain any sort of cool about the odd situation they're all in. Bella levels him with a droll look when he loudly says, "Boy, have I missed Edward," and avidly awaits her reaction, as if she was supposed to flinch or something just hearing the name. Emmett visibly deflates.
She shakes her head and mutters, "What is he, Beetlejuice? Might as well say it three times."
Emmett's barely-muffled chortles are swiftly cut off with the unmistakable sound of Rosalie's hand rapping the back of his head. "Rosie," he whines.
"She has a point," Rosalie says and Bella knows she says it just loud enough for her to hear. "Quit drawing attention to us."
The reprieve Bella has from the subject of Edward Cullen is all too short; lunch comes too quickly after English and is punctuated by Jessica's excited chatter surrounding the newly-resolved mystery that is the Cullens and the Hales. Even though she's doing her best to tune out the gossip, reading 'Salem's Lot with enough concentration that she only eats half of her orange, Bella can't help but absorb details. That's just how her mind works, taking in any and all information like a sponge.
Evidently, with Edward Cullen's return, the majority of the female population at Forks High had begun mooning over him, which inevitably led to Jessica overhearing certain details of which the freshmen class was not privy. Mainly, that Edward Cullen was the only single Cullen - his pixie sister, Alice, was dating Jasper Hale and Emmett was with Rosalie, which Bella had kind of figured out already. Being the single man in a group of incredibly attractive people made Edward some kind of beacon of hope and competition in the school, even though his apparent family situation was a bit of a scandal.
"They're all adopted," Jessica reveals, hushed with wide eyes flitting to the other side of the cafeteria, as if the subject she spoke of was some great mystery. "And together. Like together-together. Dating and living in the same house! Can you imagine?"
"And Edward is all alone," Lauren adds, leaning forward on her elbows with a nasty smile. "Or is he? I mean, it's all so scandalous, so who knows what the parents are into. With the good doctor always tied up at the hospital and the couples always together, what do Edward and the mother get up to-"
"Oh, Lauren! That's horrible!" Angela says, fluttering her hands as the rest of the group, Jessica include, nod in agreement.
Lauren curls her lip. "Oh, please. Like it's that hard to imagine. They're just plain weird and-"
"That's enough," Bella cuts in, snapping her book closed without bothering with the bookmark. She stands from the table, shouldering her bag, and then turning narrowed mossy-green eyes onto the foul girl who'd stoked her ire. "So what if they're all adopted and dating? It's not like they're actually related so don't go stopping the presses over it. And I'll have you know that Esme Cullen is a lovely woman who does not deserve your vile speculation, Lauren Mallory. You would be better suited to keep your mouth shut about things you know nothing about."
Bella's chin juts out, defiant and challenging. She waits for Lauren's back to get up, but it never happens. If anything, Lauren looks suitably cowed, probably because Bella doesn't ever join in with the lunch table rabble and certainly not with such vitriol. Good. She's glad that all it took to shut Lauren down. Still, she stands and waits for her age-mates to unthaw from their shock of her impromptu reprimand. Jessica is too sheepish at having brought up the subject to do it and Angela is too gentle, so the duty falls to Mike, who shoots Lauren a frown.
"Bella's right," he says. "That was pretty messed up to say."
"I-I didn't mean it," Lauren huffs, curling away from Bella's derisive snort. "Really. I was just messing around."
"Maybe you shouldn't be telling that to me," Bella says pointedly, nodding to the Cullen and Hale table, before turning on her heel. "I'll see you guys later."
Before she leaves the cafeteria, though, she looks back at the table she'd just indicated - and catches the eyes of Edward Cullen, who is looking at her like he's never seen before. Did he hear that whole conversation? Probably. She stares back for a moment, then departs to the empty Nutrition classroom, which will not fill with students for at least another twenty minutes, giving Bella enough time to delve right back into Stephen King's warped vampire tale.
She wonders - how similar are King's vampires to the ones that she has discovered?
"I always liked Carrie more," a voice chirps suddenly, startling Bella only for a moment before she realizes that Alice Cullen had just sat down at the desk next to hers and was now grinning vivaciously. Bella takes in Alice's geometric print romper and vibrant fuchsia lip stick, the layering of bracelets around her deceptively frail wrist. Alice looks young. As young as Bella, even. "Of course, Rosalie likes to argue that Christine is better, but her opinion is totally biased. She has a thing about cars, you know? But Esme is the real surprise - she likes the Dark Tower series."
Esme?
The question must be writ plainly on her face because Alice's smile dims, grows more sincere. "I wanted to thank you for what you said in the cafeteria," she says. "There aren't many humans who would defend monsters."
Bella turns away, finds the last sentence she read, and then murmurs, "Are you monsters?"
Alice doesn't answer. Bella didn't really expect her to and she's relieved that Alice seems intent on giving her some space now that she's said her piece.
Bella is just a bit sick of hearing about the Cullens for the day; she's astounded that one family can take up so much air. So when her last class comes around, she's rather eager for the refuge of the Ceramics classroom in the art building, where it's generally quiet as everyone struggles to shape clay into something resembling a bowl or a vase or even a mask. Ceramics is a small class of fourteen and the teacher, Mr. Jarvis, seems content to let them work at their own paces after he gives a weekly demonstration. She finds an oddly unexpected peace in this last class, having only taken it to even her art credit out and figuring that working a kiln was easier than singing in public, which Bella did not do even though she could carry a tune. Better yet, it's even more peaceful for the decided lack of Cullens or Hales.
Or so she thought.
It hadn't occurred to her that the reason Edward Cullen was in the same vicinity as herself on the first day of school was because he also had a class in the art building - or more specifically, he was also in the last period Ceramics class that Mr. Jarvis instructed. Upon sighting him talking to the lackadaisical instructor, Bella stumbles in surprise at the door, almost dropping her book.
No way, she thinks in muted exasperation. Is there no escaping these vampires?
Apparently not, as Edward Cullen seems to think he should set up beside Bella's throwing wheel, seemingly unbothered by the wary eye she casts in his direction as he sets up his station with water, sponge, and quarter-pound of porcelain after tying a vinyl apron over his lanky frame. He's unfairly graceful about all of it, long legs easily working pedals that Bella has to stretch to reach. She sets her jaw and looks away, resolute in her decision to ignore him for as long as possible. She has the sense that he had something to say, otherwise he wouldn't voluntarily put himself in such close proximity; even now, in the corner of her eye, she notes how dark his eyes are and how little his chest moves, as if he's measuring his breathing.
The vampires usually have light eyes ranging across the entire gold spectrum - she's only seen black eyes on them twice and each time she had been bleeding. Except Edward's eyes had been black before her nosebleed, just like they were black now when she wasn't even bleeding, menstrual or otherwise. She made him thirsty.
Why would he do this to himself? Wouldn't it be easier to just pretend she doesn't exist? She highly doubted that he wasn't aware they would share this class and she doesn't understand his motivation. Still, she's not frightened of him like any rational person would be. If he can bide his time for whatever agenda he has, so can she.
Bella wets her hands, cupping them around the cool kaolin, pressing her thumb deep into the middle of the lump before gently putting pressure on the pedal that spun the throwing wheel. She's been at this for a month and has some idea of how to balance control of her limbs with the shaping of the clay, but it's clumsy yet. She tries to mimic the ease at which Mr. Jarvis performs his demos, starting all over again when the side of her bowl collapses. She'd made it too thin.
Sighing, Bella scrapes the clay back into a lump, ready to try again - and that is when Edward Cullen decides it's the perfect time to open his lush mouth.
"I'm sorry for being rude the other day," he intones with velveteen softness, looking at her from beneath his lashes, eyes still black as the night.
"Rude?" Bella parrots, sitting back to better hold in the disbelieving laugh threatening to bubble over. "Well, okay, if that's the word you want to go with, fine. You were pretty rude last time we saw each other."
Edward's heavy brow furrows briefly in obvious confusion - as if he didn't know what to do with her blasé reaction or the mocking tone she'd taken - but then his expression smoothes and he forges on, following some mental script he'd concocted. "I'm hoping you'll forgive me," he continues, tacking on a small manufactured smile.
"Forgive?"
"I…" he hesitates, brow furrowing again. "I behaved terribly and I hope for your forgiveness."
Bella reaches for the wet cloth hanging over the side of her water bucket, cleaning her hands as she breathes out through her nose to a count of ten. It's obvious that this thing he'd initiated isn't going to plan; she's thrown him off somehow and he's stumbling badly enough that it's almost pitiful. Almost.
"Edward, right?"
"Yes," he confirms, grasping at this new change with an air of relief. "Edward Cullen. I'm pleased to meet you properly."
"Sure…" says Bella, drawing the word out before biting her lip. His eyes are drawn to the movement for a second before his attention returns upward. "Edward Cullen. Look, I think we might be having a bit of miscommunication right now. I mean, aside from the semantics of word choice and the fact that rude doesn't even begin to cover attempting to choke the life out of me or having serious issues talking yourself out of literally drinking my blood, we have a bigger issue to deal with here."
Edward sits back abruptly, blinking twice in surprise. "I see…And what would that issue be, exactly?"
"You're terrible at apologies," she says bluntly. "Just…so bad at them."
"Excuse me?"
Bella gestures at him broadly with a roll of her wrist, bemused by the expression on his face - he's completely out of him element, something that must be surely foreign to him judging by the fish-out-of-water wideness of his eyes. "The entire presentation was underwhelming. You're sorry for being rude? You want me to forgive you? That's entirely too vague. What, exactly, am I forgiving you for? And why should I forgive you?"
"You're absolutely right, I-"
"And," she cuts in with an arched brow. "What about your motivations? Are you only apologizing because I know your secret, or are you genuinely sorry?"
Edward seems at a loss, the black of his eyes lightening to a deep whiskey brown.
Bella's lips twitch, but she restrains her smile as she cleans up her station efficiently, shouldering her bag just as the bell rings and Mr. Jarvis grunts a dismissal.
We're even, now, she decides, taking victory where it is well-deserved.
o.o.o
o.o.o
As has become her routine - every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday - Bella's route home veers sharply toward the tiny town square that is just off the highway. Forks is blink-and-miss it small, but it does boast a single shopping center surrounded on three sides with a grocery store, post office, day care, gas station, and barber shop; on the other side of the highway, closer to Forks General Hospital, is where the police station and the building used for City Hall are located. For everything else, most people drive down to Port Angeles, which is larger and altogether more useful.
However, Bella doesn't drive. She has a learner's permit from over the summer, which she had done at Charlie's insistence, but without a car, it's a bit useless. She's fine walking, anyway, even in the rain. There is something refreshing about filling her lungs with the damp, clean air of a drizzling day - both mentally and physically.
Today had been another day of testing her patience with the Cullen vampires. And she means that quite literally - it was the Cullens, not the Hales, who had watched her with such curiosity. She'd felt like a zoo exhibit and that irked. Bella didn't exist to be their entertainment; and in fact, if it hadn't been for her own little talent, she might not exist at all. But even with Emmett and Alice being so openly friendly, it's Edward Cullen's amazement that is really getting to her.
He looks at her like a mystery he just can't solve.
And Bella doesn't think she's that mysterious. So what's his deal? She must be missing something.
Shaking the rain from her hair, Bella ducks into the grocery store and heads straight toward the butcher section toward the back. The butcher and she had an arrangement now, after she had successfully convinced him that she really could cook with ingredients that he usually threw out - and because they weren't sold traditionally, Bella got an excellent discount that more than made up for the cumbersome need to visit the store three times a week. She's glad that Charlie had been content to let her have free reign of the kitchen and that he really liked the dishes she made; Renee had always opted for vegetables when Bella cooked.
Bella steps up to the counter, calling out her order as she grabs a hand basket. The butcher has her pay at the counter and passes off the brown paper bag with the receipt stapled to it; she thanks him with a small smile, chats about his children for a moment, and then trots off to other sections of the grocery for additional ingredients. Shopping takes her mind off of the issue with certain students at school, but it also makes her thirsty, throat dry enough to burn.
She grabs a bottle of water in the check-out line.
It's almost enough to quench her sudden thirst.
o.o.o
o.o.o
A week later and Edward Cullen is valiantly continuing in his effort to - Bella supposes - mend attempted-murder fences? Make her forget that he snarled and thought mine and then cried out in pain when she thwarted him with her mind? Be her friend? She has no earthly clue, but she doesn't shut him down again. She's interested in seeing where the big, bad vampire is going with all of this, if anywhere.
"Why did you come to Forks?" he asks as they sit side-by-side at their throwing wheels, no nearer or farer than he needs to be, but also not leaning away even though his eyes are still darker than they probably should be.
Bella shrugs a solitary shoulder. "My Mom remarried."
"And you don't like the guy."
"What?" Bella looks up, wrinkling her nose at him. "No, Phil is great, he's good for Renee. Stable. She needs that. But he travels, too, and it would have hurt her to be away from him. So I left instead."
"Selfless," Edward says, catching her eye. "Sacrificing your own happiness."
"Did I ever indicate that I wasn't happy here?"
He falters.
"You make a lot of assumptions," she tells him plainly.
And again, he looks frustrated. "Usually, I don't have to assume. You're difficult to read," he mutters, gaze flitting over her clay-encrusted hands.
Bella laughs at the irony. Touching him had given her a nosebleed because his mind was so much more than she could handle and she was lucky to even get a clear sense of his intentions that day - but she's difficult to read? That's great. "So are you," she says, wiping mirthful tears from her face with the back of her wrist.
When she looks up, Edward is smiling at her - a soft expression that does wonders to warm the cool bourbon of his eyes. "You're a pretty odd fifteen year old," he declares.
"And you're just pretty odd," she returns.
Do either of them mean it?
o.o.o
o.o.o
"Bella. Hey. Earth to Bella." Fingers snap near her ear and she jerks upright, straightening from the unconscious lean she'd taken while reading the book that caught her fancy for the day, The Count of Monte Cristo. She eyes the pink polish on the snapping fingers, then looks at Jessica in askance. Jessica at least has the grace to look a bit sheepish. "Sorry. Did you hear what I said?"
Bella shakes her head, raising her brows.
Jessica's cheeks bloom in a smiling blush. "I said, Edward Cullen is staring at you," she repeats, nodding her head significantly in the direction of the Cullen-Hale table with a saccharine giggle.
Bella follows her gaze, pursing her lips together. Edward Cullen is staring at her, absently shredding a blueberry bagel between the tips of his long fingers, expression thoughtful and absent of the modicum of frustration that had been so familiar on his features for the last two weeks since his return. He looks contemplative.
"I wonder if he's thinking about asking you to the dance!" Jessica covers her mouth with her hand, muffling her happy chitter. It's all so exciting for her, this high school experience. "Wouldn't that be amazing? A junior asking a freshman!"
Angela adjusts her glasses, looking away from her own book; she's adopted Bella's habit of reading during lunch, although her book choices aren't nearly as eclectic. "Except Bella is a senior, technically."
"Oh, that's right," Jessica breathes.
Mike scowls, glaring at Edward over his shoulder. "Well, if you ask me, it would be weird. He's, like, what? Seventeen?"
I imagine he's older than that, Bella thinks wryly. But she's uncomfortable by Mike's attitude toward Edward - not because Edward didn't deserve it, but because it showcased Mike's interest in her and it was unexpected enough that she's startled by his vehemence. And also because Edward readily returns Mike's glare, lips curling away from his teeth in a silent snarl that seems a bit dramatic for the situation, especially when Rosalie rolls her eyes and kicks Edward's shin beneath the table.
Bella clears her throat, pulling her cardigan around her fingers. "I think I missed something," she says, deliberately drawing attention to herself. "What dance?"
"Bella!" Jessica exclaims.
Lauren sneers. "The Halloween Dance, obviously."
"It's a big deal in Forks," Angela says helpfully. "It welcomes all ages until ten, but high school students get to stay until midnight. Always very fun, with food and games and a costume contest…"
"We're so totally going to win this year or at least one of us will," Jessica announces confidently. "My mom is going to drive us to Port Angeles next weekend so we can shop for costumes. You should come too, Bella."
Bella's first inclination is to reject the offer as easily as possible, but she checks that knee-jerk reaction with a snap of her teeth. But then she thinks about Charlie. She knows that he worries about her - worries that she's too different from other kids her age, that she's missing out on experiences. Charlie would probably be over the moon if she went and did something teenage for a change. What would one dance hurt? She could still bring a book in case it was dead-boring.
So she agrees and makes plans to go to Port Angeles with Jessica, Lauren, and Angela the weekend before Halloween. And as a result of that, she's drawn into a brainstorming conversation about potential costumes, far outside of her element. All of her suggestions are related to books, which Jessica emphatically says is not in the Halloween spirit.
"Think, you know, Charlie's Angels," she suggests.
Bella blanches.
Maybe this was a mistake.
Or maybe Jessica could be in charge of costumes and Bella could just show up. She wonders if that's a viable option.
Probably not.
o.o.o
o.o.o
"Bad day?" Bella asks from the kitchen as Charlie slams the door behind him. She doesn't take her eyes off the cutting board, or slow her slicing scallions, cabbage, and carrots into thin strips, but she does tilt her head, listening to Charlie sigh and scrub his hands over his face vigorously. She frowns, sensing tension that he's trying to expel. "Dad?"
Charlie grunts in response, hanging his gun holster on its hook near the front door. "Small town drama," he says as he sits at the table. "Got a call on domestic violence that got out of hand. The husband tried to turn on me and after I got him restrained, I had to drive his fool ass down to the ER. Dislocated shoulder."
"But you're alright?"
"Your old man is tough, Bells. Don't have to worry about me," he says reassuringly. Then he sniffs, catching the strong whiff of garlic and onions caramelizing on the stove. "What're you making?"
"It's Korean," she replies simply. For Charlie, it's best if she doesn't explicitly announce what it is that she's cooking, as he's more than satisfied to just know the country of origin. As it was, haejangguk was a complicated dish, especially the variance she was doing with pork and pigs blood. Honestly, the less Charlie knew, the better.
While she cooks and he decompresses, she tells him that she's decided to attend the Halloween dance. She was right to think that he would be delighted that she was showing interest; he pulls out his wallet, slaps forty dollars on the table, smiling widely beneath his grey-peppered mustache, and won't hear a word of protest that, really, Dad, I don't need that much. Charlie does grill her on the arrangements of the trip to Port Angeles, though, relaxing when he hears that Jessica's mother was chaperoning.
The phone rings right as she adds the more interesting ingredients to the soup boiling in the pot. It's Billy, calling to ask if he and Jacob could borrow their television for the night to catch the game; Charlie, already having plans of watching the game himself, invites them over right away. "Do we have enough of this stuff to share?"
Bella nods, stirring the pot. She'd made enough to have leftovers and there was certainly enough to feed two extra mouths.
Charlie ambles off to change out of his uniform and set up the television trays in the living room. Bella stays in the kitchen to babysit the stove, removing the lid when the simmering soup begins to stick to the bottom of the pot, and idly fills in her homework for Italian, English, and Trigonometry. Soon enough, before her homework is complete, the roar of that old beast passing as a truck rumbles in the driveway, signaling the arrival of their guests. Between Jacob and Charlie, Billy is wheeled into the house in short order, greeting Bella with familiarity and answering all her questions about Rachel and Rebecca.
When Charlie and Billy disappear into the living room, drawn to the television by the sound of a buzzer, Jacob is recruited to ferry bowls back and forth. He's a bit shy around her, the way that all pubescent boys are around girls, but warms up quickly, growing comfortable enough to pester her about her homework. She lets him look over her math equations, bemused by his wide eyes and his declaration, "I'm so glad the Res school isn't making us learn this crap!"
"It's not so bad," she says, gathering her papers and turning to search for two other bowls so that she and Jake could eat, too. She's absolutely famished.
"Not so bad," he mocks, snorting. "Sure, sure…Hey, did your Dad change his aftershave?"
Spoons clank against tin bowls as Bella starts at the odd question. She turns to Jake, brows arched high. "What? No, of course not. Charlie's been using the same brand since before I was born. Why?"
Jake shrugs, his long hair falling over his face until he pushes it back with a huff, fiddling with a rubber band around his wrist. "Dunno," he says. "Just heard some of the guys in Sam's gang, you know Jared and Paul? They were saying that Charlie kind of stunk last weekend when he was fishing with Harry and Dad. I bet they were just messing around though. They're kind of jerks."
"Sounds like it," she mutters, but declines to say anything else. She knows that some people in La Push don't really appreciate Charlie's presence on the Reservation just as surely as she knows that it's a touchy subject for Charlie, who laments that he could be doing more good for his jurisdiction if there wasn't such a divide between the Tribal Council and the Forks Police Department.
Bella advises Jacob Black to keep quiet about what Sam Uley's gang seems to think about her father. She wouldn't want trouble to stir up unnecessarily.
o.o.o
o.o.o
Dear Great Uncle Aro,
I have decided to attend a dance hosted by my school on Halloween night. I know. It seems awfully uncharacteristic. I almost regret committing to the event, but one of my schoolmates has seized upon my participation and I do not think that I can get out of it, anymore. I find that I am having a difficult time thinking of an appropriate costume. The last time I dressed up for Halloween, I was nine and wore a fairy costume with enough glitter that I was still sparkling by Christmas. I definitely want to avoid repeating that experience.
In other news, school is going well and the books you sent me last year - what did you call it, a All Hallows Eve collection? - are being put to good use. However, since you swayed my mind in regard to Poe, I feel it is my duty to return the favor. Please, do give Stephen King another chance. His short stories are marvelous.
Also, I am in need of more advice, though the topic might be better suited to Aunt Sulpicia. There is a boy in my school who seems rather insistent on getting to know me and I am not sure what to do. We got off to a rough start, but I find him intriguing - nearly as interesting as he seems to find me, at the very least. He doesn't seem put off at my attitude or my preoccupations. I am in unfamiliar territory. What should do you think I should do?
The previous book you sent me was used very well. Thank you, again.
All my love,
Your Great-Grandniece Isabella
o.o.o
o.o.o
On the morning of her ill-advised trip to Port Angeles, Bella stands between her closet and her window, eyeing the brisk wind blowing autumn leaves across the front yard of the house. She always forgets how quickly Washington embraces the chill of early autumn; just the day before, the clouds had insulated balmy warmth reminiscent of the summer, but today, the sun peaking through cloudcover promises a cold warmth.
With that in mind, Bella dresses in opaque cocoa tights and a short-sleeved navy shift dress with a blood orange-and-chartreuse floral print, layering for protection against the wind with an oversized chunky tan cardigan, bunched cream-colored socks, and brown Docs. After balming her lips, she gives the wind outside a second glance, then loosely braids her hair over her shoulder. The book for the day is The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, which she places in her customary bag.
Downstairs, Charlie has delayed leaving for his weekend fishing trip to give her more money and a kiss on the cheek. "Be careful," he says as she pours coffee into a thermos for each of them.
"I will. I promise." She rustles through her bag, plucking a folded piece of paper from between two books, and hands it to Charlie. "Would you sign this?"
He unfolds and reads the permission form, mustache twitching. "Depends," he says slowly. "What do you plan on piercing? Show me."
Expecting this, Bella brushes hair away from her ear, pinching the firm cartilage at the top between thumb and forefinger. "One on each side," she explains seriously. She wants to convey that she's thought about this decision, that she isn't just doing it to rebel. Charlie always appreciates that kind of thoughtfulness.
"At least you ask," he says gruffly as he scribbles his name in the correct field on the form. "Can't tell you how many times kids go down to Port Angeles and do something stupid only to have their parents call and demand I arrest someone up there."
"Thanks, Dad."
"Don't mention it, kid," he says on his way out the door.
Not too long after, a sedan driven by Jessica's mother pulls into the driveway to pick her up. Jessica is a lot like her mother, both exuberant and bubbly and ready to lead the charge for a day of shopping. The drive to Port Angeles is punctuated by impromptu radio karaoke of the Top 40 chart and by Lauren's lingering stink eye. Thankfully, Angela is a physical buffer in the backseat and later in the store, helping Bella fend off the nastier of Lauren's remarks that Jessica and her mother are too oblivious to catch. Half of an entire Saturday is chased away in the dressing room of Port Angeles' lone costume shop and, when that renders only costume jewelry, a set of angle wings, and two wigs, the rest of the afternoon after lunch is swallowed up in department stores.
Bella isn't a shopper. For her, clothes are about comfort first and style second, which means that all of her shopping trips are typically annual and done in under two hours. She didn't think it was possible - even when shopping with Renee - for whole day to be dedicated to retail. It's almost amazing. She doesn't know where Jessica and her mother get the energy because even Lauren is beginning to lag and Angela has been shuffling from bench to bench for the past hour. Bella is still standing only by the virtue that she hadn't run off to the dressing room every time something caught her eye. Of the four of them, she has the least picked out, which suits her fine. She's sure she can do something with a black dress and a stylized choker; maybe she'll go Goth, as that seemed to be the option of minimal effort.
As they check out from the store, Bella pulls Mrs. Stanley aside and explains that she wanted to go off to find the piercing shop while she was in town. "I haven't had much luck," she says, shaking the bag from the costume store for emphasis. "But while I'm here, I can at least get this done. I could meet you for dinner at that Italian place when I'm done. It won't take long at all."
Mrs. Stanley agrees - only after taking a surprisingly serious moment to make sure Bella knew how to get to the parlor and to the restaurant and to stay on the main thoroughfare. Bella adjusts her estimation of the woman accordingly, then heads off on her way, following the map she'd memorized the night before. She passes a New Age bookstore and several restaurants, edging ever closer to the non-commercial section of Port Angeles.
The tattoo parlor she looked up online is set on a cross between a main and side street overlooking the port, close enough to the warehouses that it probably didn't attract many walk-in clients. The heavily-tattooed woman behind the counter looks set to wave Bella off until she brandishes the permission form that Charlie had signed; after that, she seems more than happy to walk Bella through the selection they have in stock for the kind of piercing that Bella wants. Not being the indecisive sort, Bella selects a titanium ball stud for each ear and is in short order the recipient of her second piercings. She examines them in the mirror - much to the delight of the piercing technician - and immediately decides that she loves them.
It was well worth the trip to Port Angeles just to get the piercings, even if the shopping trip was kind of a dud.
Still, it had taken longer than she thought to find the parlor and get the piercing done. The sun is already beginning to set and a quick look at her phone reveals that she was nearing the time she agreed to meet everyone back at the Italian restaurant. Not ideal. Playing in smart, she retraces her steps back in the same direction she came from, refusing any inclination to try a short cut.
Of course, she couldn't have imagined that staying on the main thoroughfare would attract the same sort of attention as bumbling through alleyways would. A set of four drunk men who had been across the street from the tattoo parlor begin to follow her as soon as she sets off; a knot of dread forms in her stomach, but she keeps her pace steady, straining her ears when the noise produced by the men drops off suddenly.
Bella glances back. They're gone.
Good.
She turns on the next cross street, passing a closed department store and coffee shop-
Rough hands pull her into the darkened alley, cutting off her scream with a swift slap to the cheek, hard enough that she tastes blood in her mouth. The skin contact was brief - but not brief enough that she didn't detect the intentions of at least one of these men. Bella struggles against the stern grip drawing her elbows together behind her back, pulling her shoulders together tight enough that pain lances from the joints.
The men laugh when she kicks out. Her struggling seems to be making it easier for them to overpower her, not harder, and she's outnumbered four to one. They pull her deeper into the alley, uncaring of her kicking legs; one pulls off her shoe when she hits at him, slapping her again in response; when she tries screaming again, a gasoline-scented hand covers her mouth, both muffling her protests and delivering a sickening flashback of another girl that the group of four had done this to.
And Bella was next.
She keeps fighting, even though its futile, and her spirit begins to die when her dress is lifted high enough to bunch over her chest, when hands paw at her bra, when fingers stretch and rip at her tights. There's so much skin contact that it's instant sensory overload. Her nose begins to bleed. Too many minds, too much information, and she can't push back. She's drowning under the onslaught. Helpless.
Bella flinches when cool air hits her thighs - but maybe if she really concentrates, maybe if she tries hard enough, she can lash out mentally. She just needs to calm down. She just needs to disconnect from her body. She closes her eyes, blocking out the feeling of thick fingers pulling and twisting at her skin, blocking out the scrape of nails over her inner thighs.
It's so difficult - she can't just separate mind from body - impossible - and her head is aching so much now, her nose bleeding in a steady rivet of iron, drip drip dripping down her lips, down her chin -
All it takes is a touch -
Desperate, Bella gathers all of her mental strength built up by years of learning, supported by eons of knowledge, and then she lashes out - an uncoordinated, sloppy attack that has to stretch too far, that has too touch too many minds at the same time, that all it really does is buy her a few seconds.
But a few seconds was all she needed.
Tires screech to a cold stop at the mouth of the alley, headlights glaring so brightly on the scene that she can't see who has come to rescue her. She doesn't need to see it, though. She knows that snarl.
Edward.
The men are ripped away from her, flung against brick and metal and broken glass in an instant. Bella falls against the ground, pulling her legs up to her chest to protect herself as Edward's body becomes an immobile, growling, barely-contained barrier between her and the rest of the world. She sobs in relief at the sight of his tousled hair, at the strong shape of his shoulders.
Edward didn't come alone. As soon as her eyes adjust from the sudden glare of the headlights, she easily spots the hulking shape of Emmett Cullen, the fierce height of Rosalie Hale, and two still forms standing guard between the alley and the Volvo that are undoubtedly Alice and Jasper. With the way Edward is half-crouched in front of her, she can barely see the what's really happening - but she catches enough to realize that while Edward had done the initial rescue, Rosalie and Emmett were relishing in the beat-down.
"Rose, reign it in," Jasper drawls soothingly.
Rosalie snarls in his direction - a reflex - and then steps back from two unconscious forms. She shakes off Emmett's arm, turning to Bella with blazing black eyes, then narrows her gaze at Edward. "Let me through," she orders.
Edward's response is a feral, sub-vocal growl that shakes Bella's bones.
"I'm going to check her whether you like it or not," Rosalie spits. "Don't make me move you myself."
Their standoff is short-lived. Alice breaks off from Jasper, blurring to Edward's side to push on his shoulder. "Let us do it," she says to him. "Bella will be too embarrassed to let you see."
That seems to get through to him because Edward stops the animal noise radiating from his chest in an instant. He stands with vampire speed, allowing Rosalie closer without giving up too much distance; if he wanted to, he could probably reach out to touch Bella without moving an inch. Inexplicably, his nearness has done wonders to calm her down; she's stopped crying and her lungs don't feel as tight, although her head continues to ache. No more bloody nose. She can think again.
"I'm fine," she tells Rosalie and Alice. "They didn't…"
Relief colors Rosalie's perfect features, but Alice doesn't seem surprised. Between the two of them, they help Bella stand and straighten her hair and clothes; her tights are not salvageable, so Alice finishes ripping them off while Rosalie holds her steady. The blonde's eyes are still dark, but this time the gaze is haunted instead of angry. Rosalie - citing a degree in nursing which is so random - does the quickest physical of Bella's young life.
"No bruises, right?" Alice confirms, balling up the tights with anxious hands
Rosalie shakes her head. "Physically unharmed. Mentally…"
"I'm fine," Bella repeats firmly, wiping at her nose.
"She really is," Jasper says from several feet away, tone tinged in awe. "Christ, but how the hell-?"
Edward growls again, but it's not directed at Jasper - it's meant for one the men stacked like unwanted toys in the middle of the alley. He darts closer to Bella, effectively pushing his sisters away just by putting himself between her and the world again. Unwittingly, her hand raises to touch the middle of his back. She doesn't know why. To soothe the beast? To thank him, silently?
It brings his attention to her and she aches at the agony in his eyes. "I'm okay," she tells him.
Edward reaches up, rubbing his thumb beneath her nose, wiping away blood that she had missed. He says nothing, but he doesn't really need to - his chaotic mind is warring with itself, anger and relief, worry and unmitigated rage, all wrapped beneath a singular want that is too vague for her to really grasp. He licks the blood off his thumb, closing his eyes. She watches silently, part of her waiting for him to snap again and wondering if she has it in her to deal with another deliberate lash of her mind.
He opens his eyes - guarded warm topaz that does not leave her face, even as he kneels before her and assists her in putting her shoe back on. The intensity of his gaze goes a long way to mending what had almost been broken. And when he bows his head, it almost feels as though he does so in supplication.
"We can't stay here," Emmett says, breaking through the moment with an unrelenting tone. "Got to do something with them."
"I know what I want to do with them," Rosalie hisses. Emmett winces.
"Bella should eat something," Alice says. "Don't humans go into shock after these ordeals?"
"She should be gettin' warm," Jasper agrees.
"You take care of Bella and I will take care of them," Rosalie suggests darkly.
Bella is speaking before the thought is even fully formed. "No. No, I want to be there."
Five vampire eyes lock onto her, but it is Edward that finally speaks. "You shouldn't have to see any more," he argues. "Rosalie and Emmett will make arrangements for them and-"
"I'm not a doll, Edward," Bella counters firmly. "I think I can handle watching them be dropped off at the police station without suffering from a mental breakdown."
He works his jaw, clenching and unclenching, still knelt before her with his pale hands on her shoelaces. He looks so fit to argue - to protect - that her heart clenches. She just knows he's trying to protect her, but that's not what she needs right now. She needs to see justice, to see the law carried out. Otherwise, she might never feel at peace. She'd been rescued - but she has to see with her own eyes that these men were hand-delivered to the human justice system.
Visibly swallowing his argument, Edward nods. And while his siblings blur around, loading the men into the backseat of the Volvo, he shrugs off his beige leather jacket and drapes it over her shoulders. It hangs off of her, overlarge and cold from his body - rather his lack of body heat - but the weight is welcome. She feels protected from the world, especially when he slips around her to guide her into the passenger seat by the small of her back.
Edward slips into the drivers seat. He doesn't comment on the way she sits with her back to the window so that she'll be able to keep an eye on the men. Instead he says, "They'll meet us at the station."
Bella doesn't leave the Volvo as the men are unloaded from the back. She sits in the direct warmth of the heaters that Edward had centered on her and listens as he and Alice discuss the logistics of the rest of the night. It's decided in short order that Alice would find Mrs. Stanley, explain that she'd run into Bella and insisted on them having dinner together, thus allowing Bella to be driven home by vampires rather than a soccer mom. And while that was happening, Emmett and Jasper would procure her a dinner - rare steak as per Alice's instruction - that she would eat on the road. Rosalie and Edward would stay with her, though she's almost certain it has less to do with her comfort and more to do with the mutual assurance that neither would go after the men if they stayed in each other's pockets.
While all of this happens, after she has devoured two steaks more blue than rare, Bella closes her eyes and pushes the events of the last hour deep into the recesses of her mind - hopefully far enough so that she could forget it ever happened or at least pretend it happened to someone else.
It almost works.
o.o.o
o.o.o
She doesn't have nightmares, exactly, but when she falls asleep on Sunday night, it's out of exhaustion because she definitely didn't sleep on Saturday.
She looks like hell on Monday.
And Tuesday.
And Wednesday.
o.o.o
o.o.o
Thursday is easier. She wakes up feeling almost rested, her sheets not twisted around her body like they had been for several nights before. And when she gets to school, none of the vampires that rescued her look as if they're waiting for her to shatter into a million pieces.
She's fine.
But she doesn't return his jacket.
o.o.o
o.o.o
Dearest Isabella,
My, what a pleasure it is to read a letter filled with such useful tidings! A dance and a boy. You are acting your age! As to your first query, a Halloween costume, have you thought at all about dressing as a vampire? I am told that this is a classic choice that never goes out of style; this is confirmed by several reliable sources.
Again with Stephen King? Every year like clockwork, I am encouraged to read these horror-themed books. But, I suppose that you have a point. I shall return the favor and give Mr. King the benefit of the doubt.
I am gratified that you are using all the gifts that you have received. Tell me, darling, how often do you wear the earrings Sulpicia sent to you? I encourage you to use them as often as possible, for she meant them to be worn everyday, not reserved for special occasions. Along this same vein, Suplicia has never expressed more excitement than to hear of this development between you and a boy. I myself am far less enthused, but you will have to forgive an old man for being protective of his family. I suppose your father will have to decide whether or not you are too young to date - but dearest Isabella, please do take care to treat your heart carefully. Those in our family have a tendency to love only once.
Although, please spare me the indignity of asking my wife's inquires regarding the attributes of this young man who has caught your eye. Sulpicia expects a detailed letter from you very soon.
My eternal heart,
Aro
o.o.o
o.o.o
Bella takes Great Uncle Aro's advice and goes to the Halloween Dance as a vampire, dressed in inky black with ruby-red lips and Dracula in her hands after she peruses the gymnasium and finds it decidedly less exciting than she'd been led to believe. Too much garish black-and-orange decorations. Too many screaming, sugar-hyped kids. Too much cleavage.
Instead of lingering in the crowd, she shows her face to the freshmen class and then locates a suitable corner of the gym where the strobe lights don't flash quite so bright. That's where he finds her, sidling up to her dressed like an uncanny resemblance of James Dean, smirk and all. He tilts his head, scanning the title of her book and remarking, "Dracula? Is that supposed to mean something?"
"Do you think it means something?" she shoots back.
Edward seems to take in her costume, his expression twisting between abject horror and mirth. "You have a morbid sense of humor," he decides. "The book wasn't enough?"
"Me? Please," Bella scoffs indelicately. "Honestly, my great-uncle is really the twisted one. Huge fan of Poe."
Edward smiles, relaxed in evidence of her good humor. He holds out his hand. "Would you care to dance? I'm led to believe that it is the expected behavior at these events."
"I don't dance," she laughs. "Sorry, but no thanks."
He doesn't seem put off by her rejection. "That's fine. Would you care to take a walk instead?"
Bella bites her lip. She has the sense that if she says yes, then she's setting a precedent - setting a new tone for their relationship. Did they have a relationship? Not really. But at the same time, she knew he was trying to start something and while it baffled her that a vampire - let alone a vampire who'd been driven so mad by bloodlust that he'd almost killed her - would want to date…She was still undeniably drawn to him. And Edward Cullen was persistent.
"A walk sounds nice," she says, putting her book into the slim little black bag she had for the night. Edward offers her his arm and she is struck by the gesture that is so out of place in this setting of gyrating hips and funnel cakes with orange sprinkles. She waits until they are outside and then asks, "How old are you?"
"Seventeen," he answers promptly.
"And how long have you been seventeen?"
He hesitates for a split second. "I was turned during the height of Spanish Influenza in 1918. Does that frighten you?"
"No. Should it?"
"I suppose not," he concedes, eyes fond as he smiles down at her. "Although, I continue to underestimate you. Nothing seems to frighten you for too long."
As far as compliments go, this one feels weighted by meaning that she has missed. They are both being careful to keep their skin from touching, a sort of tacit agreement that had been reached without discussion. But they would have to talk about it eventually, right? Obviously, they were on a precipice and they seemed to only be going one way - deeper into the blue, into building this thing between them, into overcoming the giant divide between mortal and immortal.
She had so many questions, but it wasn't the right time to ask. Bella didn't want to spoil the moment. They walk on in silence, skirting the parking lot and then circling the track-and-field twice as the hour grows later and the silver moon breaks through the cloud barrier. And though he has none of his own body heat, her arm hooked through his generates enough heat to chase the October chill away.
Then, suddenly, Edward stops cold, eyes suddenly sharp as they rove the forest lining the school. He cocks his head to the side and she looks at him inquisitively. He shakes his head, jaw tight. "It was nothing. I just thought I heard someone say your name."
Bella frowns, pressing closer to his side. "Then why don't you look convinced?"
Edward drops his voice to below a whisper, brow furrowed, nose skimming her temple. "It sounded like a vampire…and it sounded like she knew you."
o.o.o
o.o.o
That is October.
A/N: Okay, come on. You guys used the Google, didn't you? Because literally everyone guessed right - the common ingredient is blood - and I seriously didn't think many people would get it right? I guess because I'm American and the entire concept of cooking with blood is like, WAY out there, but I digress. You guys totally Googled. You Googlers.
Whew. This chapter was. Ah. Hard to write. As in, it took longer than I thought it would? Good grief. At least it was canon, so it was going to come sooner or later.
As always, be brutally honest. I can take it.
~cupcakeriot