Trigger warning: mentions of domestic violence, robbery.
One
When Bella finally decided to move back to her old childhood home, it was not the restless nights she was looking forward to.
Forks has that kind of effect on her. Had she been 13 she would gladly stay up all night and go on watching telenovelas, shaken with both laughter and fear at the thought of her mother's face in the morning, finding the whole ice cream box empty.
Now she is just exhausted and angry at her own betraying body and mind.
One tick. In. Out. Another. In. Out.
She watches the concentric circles, the ripples of the hot liquid deforming the reflection of her tired, red rimmed eyes. Each tick of the clock makes her angrier.
One swallow. The warmth slowly spreads from her neck to stomach. She waits for that feeling, of falling into blissful unconsciousness, but she hates lavender tea, if anything the bitter taste makes her more lucid than calm and sleepy.
She goes through the same motions as she does every late night. Why did she have so much coffee? Why did she come back to the same godforsaken town that she ran away from? It's not like there was anybody waiting there for her. There hasn't been someone for years. She feels that ever present churning in her stomach and heaviness in her heart, that all the fears of her younger self came true. She had to be particularly reminded of it on the bus ride home, hearing, against her own will, a teenager chatting away on her phone. About all her plans for college and such, how she was going to shoot as many extracurricular activities as possible to make her resume as appealing as a shiny new medal.
Needless to say, seeing bright features and guarantees of happiness everywhere around her didn't exactly rub her the right way when she felt like she had anything but control over her life at the moment.
She turns her wrist around in the kitchen light coming from above the stove, watching the glints of light reflected on the walls. Diamonds truly never grow old. If there was one good thing New York brought her, it was an extensive collection of jewelry worth money that could easily allow her to retreat from the rest of the world for some time.
She is abruptly pulled from her musings of fake smiles and champagne, the humming blocking in her throat when there is a loud clattering right outside her back door.
She freezes, fear installing in her bones and joints. Quickly, her sense makes her move and go look for something, anything she could protect herself with in the kitchen drawers. She doesn't have a gun, she hates them. And who the hell needs a gun in Forks anyway?
She tries not to think of who might know she moved back home and wouldn't hesitate to make a visit.
"There is no way he can be here" she tries to remind herself "there is no way he could be anywhere but one place."
Once she finally pulls a sharp knife out, Bella realizes there is, again, deathly quiet outside. She wishes the sound earlier was just some dumb cat trying to provoke Frou-Frou, but she knows what she heard was much too loud to be a catfight. She knows it wasn't all in her head, and with a terrifying realization figures out that whoever is on the other side of that door is, just as well, listening, waiting to pounce.
A quick blip and then all the lights are out, now only the glim of an automatic flashlight. It lands right beside her form, one step away from getting caught, quite literary, like a deer in headlights.
The doorknob rattles frantically, shaking the flimsy old pine tree door of its rattles. In a blinding panic, she hides under the kitchen table, gripping the knife tightly between her shaky hands.
She stifles a gasp as the door finally opens, sturdy black combat boots clicking against her linoleum. The figure stops inside the living room for a moment and then starts shuffling through the drawers and bookcase, throwing away what doesn't seem of use, slowly and meticulously, as if they aren't robbing someone's house.
Bella tries to calm her heartbeat. She would stay there, as quietly as possible, until they've got what they wanted and left. Yes, she can do that. Even if it would be an eternity until they would find the money, if they would be looking with the same goddamn slowness.
By the time they, who she finally realized is a he once she got a glimpse while his back was turned, comes back, her heart is still beating in that rage that only the possibility of death, or other much worse things, can bring, but she does feel that relief that maybe,just maybe, she can get outscathed out of this. She doesn't even care about the money or jewelry, at least for the moment, she just wants to get out alive. She is surprised when she sees his empty hands. There is no way he couldn't have found her money, she isn't creative enough to have different hiding places from most people.
Sweet relief fills her when she sees the stranger's back moving quickly towards her door.
The feeling is short lived, because she gasps when she sees Frou-Frou entering her door, right between the man's boots.
That's all it takes for him to turn back and realize he is not alone in the little home, but by the time she realizes her stupid mistakes it's too late, because those legs are quickly moving towards the table, making the floor feel as if the entire earth is shaking.
Bella lets out a combination between a scream and sob as he pushes away the table forcefully, the fear she has been holding inside for the past hour finally shattering the deathly quiet.
She pushes herself away from the moving legs as fast as possible but only ends up trapped in one of the kitchen corners, like a mouse trying to find a way out through concrete.
"Who the hell are you?"