Hi friends! Thank you for checking out this story. A few things before we dive in:
- This story takes place in a fictionalised version of Forks in the late 2010s. The town is further developed and has more residents and newly-developed suburbs, community services, and commercial businesses.
- There is no Bella.
- As for the Cullens: Carlisle's children are still school students (I imagine they moved to Forks at a later date than in the books); Jasper and Alice aren't dating; and Esme has a career.
- This story is currently rated T, but will progress to M as the story advances.
Please note that this story contains triggering content, including: violence; physical, verbal and emotional abuse; animal abuse; depictions of deceased animals; mentions of the death of a parent; and, later on, attempted sexual assault by a family member. Please take care of yourself and do not read on if these topics distress you.
I
Page 3. A cross-hatched sketch of a cluster of toadstools. "Spotted in the woods behind 47 Poppy Lane. It is recommended not to consume fungi found in the wild. Often used as a metaphor for rottenness and decay in art."
Chapter One
Ceramic Meditations
-o-
Westbrook's, a sliver of a store on Main Street, sat with rounded shoulders at the edge of the footpath like a sulking child. On either side of the little shop another building squatted, wide and sprawled out: on the left a florist's, and on the right a hardware store.
Westbrook's itself had all the charm one would expect from a place called Westbrook's. Intricate brickwork framed the large front window where the latest display of prize-winning literature rested that afternoon, lavishing in the orange glow of the setting sun. Strings of repurposed Christmas lights crept over the shelves and books, flashing only white, as was proper according to its owner. Coloured lights were tacky, supposedly.
Melissa Westbrook bit her cheek to keep herself from rolling her eyes. Eager to escape the stagnant hot air, she pushed open the door. A tiny bell above her head let out a soft ding as she stepped inside, escaping the summer heat.
Jinx, the shop cat, blinked up at her lazily. He was sprawled out on the front counter, sleek black fur catching the overhead lights. Yellow eyes flicked over Melissa, before his chin dropped back onto his stacked paws and he resumed napping.
"Melissa, is that you?"
"Yes."
Sliding behind the counter, she slipped off her white cap and backpack and hid them under the table. Sweat wrapped around her forehead like the clammy fingers of a troll. With the back of her hand, she swiped it away. Then she pressed against a nearby door labelled Staff Only, and entered the backroom.
Shelves upon shelves lined the walls, covered in cardboard boxes, all neatly labelled. Non-fiction, History. Non-fiction, Finance. Fiction, Classics. Off to the side, a small kitchenette pressed against the far wall, struggling to breathe in such a cramped space. The cupboards were almost all bare, save for three mugs (one of them chipped), a box of mint tea, and a canister of instant coffee she was certain had sat in there, unopened, since its original purchase. In the corner of the room was a small table with two chairs tucked in, the entire dining set currently covered in stacks of paper.
By the door, her father kneeled on a rolled-up tea towel in front of a collection of boxes. He sliced through packing tape with a knife. Melissa watched the blade. Winced when he retracted it. Click click click.
"New orders." He looked up and frowned at her. "Did you burn just walking from the house?"
"Yes," she said, maybe a little too quickly. She swallowed, glancing at her feet before forcing her eyes back to his face. Only liars don't make eye contact. "Yes. I, um, is it that bad?"
He stared at her for a handful of seconds, each tick of the clock, each beat of her heart impossibly loud. Then he grunted and looked down, pulling stacks of wrapped comic books from the box in front of him. His nose screwed up. He was nothing if not a book snob.
"You'll offend our customers by looking like that. Do you have any makeup?"
She shook her head. "No."
Again, a dissatisfied grunt. "You ought to ask Anna for some help with that."
"I, um, I will."
"Good," he said. "Watch the counter while I sort these?"
"Of course." She bobbed a nod, and slipped back out to the shop floor.
She waited until the heavy door swung shut before she threw herself onto the chair at the counter with a sigh. Her father always made her nervous. She wanted to make him proud, to please him. She didn't understand why it always seemed so impossible. She melted like a popsicle under the heat of his stare. A pathetic, skinny orange popsicle.
Well, that was just the way it was. She pushed it to the back of her mind and set about tidying up the front counter. Though she would never dare to complain aloud, her father always left things in an absolute state. Everywhere, he left invoices and copies of receipts and pastry crumbs. She stacked and swept and scrubbed. And the whole while, Jinx's beady yellow eyes were upon her, glowing with mild interest.
When she was done, she glanced over the shop with a satisfied smile. The counter was clean and tidy. The narrow aisles made from bookshelves pressed shoulder-to-shoulder were spotless, every book sitting neatly on its allotted spot on the shelf, coloured spines straight and facing outwards.
Ordered.
She blew a stray piece of orange hair from her eyes, and slumped into the chair by the front of the store. Then, she pulled a leather-bound book and a pencil from her bag, and flipped to the most recent page in her journal, written just earlier that day.
Technically, she wasn't supposed to be doing this here. It looked bad to customers and her father didn't approve of her expeditions out into the savage wilderness, as he called it, and keeping proof of such trips wasn't the smartest decision. Nature was a poor man's interest, apparently, but she enjoyed learning the lines of the outdoors: the swoop of the cap of a mushroom, the ribbed underside, the arched stem. The tip of her pencil scratched out a rhythm, etched in the texture, cross-hatched the shadows, traced-
Ding.
Her head snapped up. A hot burst of air swept over her freckled cheeks. Jinx hissed, jumped off the counter, and scampered off somewhere in the backroom.
There, crowding into the bookshop, were two of the most peculiar kids in school. Two of the Cullens.
"You're not closed, are you?"
The first to step over the threshold was Alice, who reminded Melissa of a fae with her short black hair, cheeky grin, and bright eyes. She didn't so much walk as she did skip, which was odd in itself for a teenage girl of her age. She dressed in too much lace, but in a way that made it clear the decision was on purpose.
Behind Alice, ducking his head of honey blonde curls to step through the door, was Jasper, who Melissa had the misfortune of sitting next to in maths. He was marginally more normal than his present sister, though Melissa suspected a lot of that had more to do with his insane charm for an eighteen-year-old. If she mentioned such a strange and suspicious thing to Rita, she would have swatted her and explained he was Southern, though it wouldn't have been much of an explanation. Melissa didn't know too much about Jasper. What she did know about him, she had learnt entirely against her will: he wrote his notes with the green ink from a multi-coloured pen, but only when she was watching; he chose to write in old-timey cursive, almost as if he knew Melissa was trying to copy his answers and wanted to make them illegible; and, strangest of all, he was allergic to the sun and always avoided it.
Jasper lifted his head as he stepped inside and caught her looking at him. He flashed a smirk Rita might have called a "dazzling Southern smile", whatever that meant.
"Melissa?"
"Huh?" She choked on a thought, and looked back at Alice.
"You're still open?"
"Uh, no, not yet. I mean, yes, we're open."
She grinned, flashing perfect white teeth. "Perfect! We're looking for a philosophy book for our brother. It's called… Oh, what was it called, Jazz?"
A philosophy book for their teenage brother. Also weird.
Melissa glanced between the two Cullens: Alice, with her eager face, and Jasper who looked like he was being forced to watch an execution.
"Meditations."
"Meditations! Do you have it?"
"Um, at the back." With a roll of her wrist, Melissa tried to imitate her father when she gestured to the far wall of the shop. Pointing was rude, and he would skin her if he found out she had pointed in front of the children of someone like Dr. Cullen.
"Great. I'll go take a look. Jasper, maybe you could stay and keep Melissa company? She must be awfully bored sitting here on a Thursday."
He flashed his sister a glare, which she did not see, already with her back turned as she rushed off to the philosophy section. Then, with a relaxed fluidity, muscles like water, he turned his head to look at her. He smiled, and Melissa swore his eyes twinkled under the yellow ceiling lights.
"Hi, Melissa."
She blushed, and hated herself for it. She didn't like Jasper - not really. He stood too straight, too proudly, with his hands laced behind his back and his chin tipped up, just slightly. He looked down at her, but he looked down at her from the kind of eyes, the kind of nose, the kind of face that old masters spent hours carving out of stone. She couldn't help the rush of heat racing to her cheeks, but she could try to hide it. She dipped her chin. Strands of hair brushed over her skin, hopefully concealing her disgustingly pink cheeks.
"Hi."
He nodded towards her. "What are you drawing?"
She glanced down at the sketched cluster of toadstools. Snapped the field notebook shut. "Nothing."
He was quiet. He rocked back and forth on his heels. Then, after a moment, "It's a good drawing."
"I guess."
"Do you like art?"
"You, um-" Melissa drew a deep breath, then lifted her head to look at him- "You don't have to do that. Really."
"Do what?"
"Do… that."
He frowned. "I don't understand what you mean."
"Act interested."
"I assure you, I am not acting."
"Sure." Melissa looked away.
Jasper did not try to engage her in conversation again.
Alice returned to the counter with a softcover book tucked under her arm. Melissa went through the motions of the sale, counting change, slipping the book into a paper bag, handing the receipt over with a polite smile. Thankfully, Alice did not try to engage her in small talk. Perhaps she heard how that had gone over with her brother earlier.
And then they were gone, slipping out the door like a pair of ghosts, leaving not a thing behind but a copy of a receipt. A receipt for a philosophy book, for a teenage boy. Strange. But then, most things were when it came to that family.
"Did I hear the Cullen children in here?"
She turned. Her father's head poked out of the backroom.
She nodded quickly. "Yes."
His hand slipped out through the crack in the door. "Receipt?"
She handed him the copy.
He read the document, then raised his gaze to her face. "No discount?"
"I, um-"
"You didn't give the Cullens a discount?" He screwed up the receipt and stepped out onto the shop floor. "Have you any idea what they'll say about me?"
"I didn't think."
"No," he said. "You didn't."
"I'm sorry."
"Oh, I know."
He pointed to the staff door.
Melissa swallowed. She stood and shuffled into the back room. Her father followed her, closing the door firmly behind him.
-o-
At least only one mug was broken, and at least it was the chipped one.
Melissa huffed a laugh. This was what they called counting your blessings.
"Everything alright, Melissa?"
She shifted her gaze. Dr. Carlisle Cullen stepped into the room, far too glamorous to be working in a country hospital. Despite all of his children being adopted, he seemed to share their pallor. He offered her a comforting smile, grabbed a rolling stool, and dragged it over to sit near her.
"Does it hurt?" He nodded towards her lap, where one freckled hand held a tea towel against the open wound on her forearm. The cloth originally had blue and white checkers, but now a large red stain ruined it.
"The nurse gave me some pain killers."
He nodded, and rolled his chair closer to her. He reached out with gloved hands. "May I?"
Melissa allowed him to peel the cloth, wet with blood, from her skin. She hadn't looked at the wound since it happened, but now she felt her pulse in her ears as she saw all the blood and open flesh.
"Fuck," she said. Then she slapped her hand over her mouth and looked at Dr. Cullen with wide eyes. "Shit. I mean, sorry."
A gentle smile. "That's quite alright." He turned her arm gingerly to assess the damage. His eyes still on the bleeding wound, he asked, "What happened?"
"I broke something."
He hummed. "You're going to need stitches. Have you had them before?"
"Yes."
"Why was that?"
"I hit my head when I was little," she said.
He looked up at her.
"I fell down the stairs," she added.
He didn't look away for a moment. Then, finally, with a short sigh, he rolled his chair across the room to retrieve medical supplies. He returned with a metal tray.
"You might want to look away for this part," he said, positioning her arm.
She forced her gaze away from her arm, away from his hands, towards the far wall just past his blond head. The room itself wasn't very interesting to look at, all clean lines and sterile surfaces. A morbid sort of curiosity demanded she looked back down to see what the doctor was doing, but then a sharp stinging seized her forearm and she thought better of it. Muscles locking, she hissed another swear through gritted teeth.
"I'm sorry." The clinking of something against the tray. Movement out of the corner of her eye. "I'm stitching it up now."
She nodded.
"How's school?"
"Fine," she said.
"Jasper tells me he sits next to you in maths."
"Yes. He's very polite."
"I recall you have a sister. How is she?"
"Anna's fine. She has a whole career online now, streaming."
"Streaming?"
"Like videos, but live."
"I see. And what does she do in these videos?"
Melissa started to shrug, but then remembered she probably shouldn't move. "Plays games or something. I don't know. I don't really ask."
"I'll have to watch her sometime." A moment of silence passed between them. Then, "And your father?"
Melissa tensed. "He's fine."
"Still has the bookstore?"
"Yes," she said. "He was wondering if you would like a gift card, actually."
"A gift card?"
"For the trouble," she said.
His hands stilled.
Uh oh.
"I mean, Jasper and Alice came by earlier," she rushed to say. "They were entitled to a discount, but I completely forgot, so I accidentally sort of overcharged them."
"I see." He continued to stitch her arm. "A gift card would be very generous."
Melissa pressed her lips together to keep herself from saying anything more. She messed up. She knew she messed up. She was almost certain he knew it too.
The snap of gloves. "All done."
Melissa looked down at her arm, wrapped up in white cotton bandages. For once, an entire patch of her arm was void of freckles, replaced instead with thick gauze.
Dr. Cullen reminded her to try not to get her stitches wet and told her when to come back to have the stitches removed. He handed her a leaflet on wound care.
"Is someone coming to take you home?"
"Anna's picking me up." Melissa scratched her nose.
"That's great," he said. Then he rolled her chair away to the other side of the room, where he messed around with something in the cupboard.
She stood, smoothing down her hair.
"Melissa," he said, his back still towards her, "you know, if someone is hurting you, you can tell me."
Her heart dropped straight out of her chest, through her torso, and fell by her feet. She pictured it there, by her unlaced sneaker, pumping on the white tiled floor, rolling around like a live thing.
"I know," she said, breathlessly.
"I would always want to hear it," he said, "if there was something going on at home. I would never want you to feel like it would be a burden to share it with me."
"Everything's fine."
"I know. Just, in case. I want you to know I'm a safe person for you." He turned his head to look at her, and smiled softly.
Melissa nodded and tried to smile back. She fled the room as soon as she could, her legs like raspberry jelly sloshing over the sterilised floor as she rushed to the reception.
Outside, Anna was waiting for her in her new car. Melissa didn't know much about cars, but this one was a glossy blue, fitted with extra airbags and a reverse camera, and Anna only needed to push a button to start the engine. And her sister bought it with her own money, which made it all the sweeter, or so she claimed.
Melissa popped open the car door and climbed into the passenger seat. Anna greeted her with a smile and outstretched arms. In one hand she clutched a chilled can of coke, and in the other a box of Chinese takeaway, if her nose was anything to go by.
"Dinner," she announced.
Melissa smiled weakly and collected the goodies, looking at her sister from the corner of her eye as she removed the handbrake
Despite being her sister, Anna Wesbtrook was barely recognisable to Melissa lately. She wondered sometimes where the star high school softball player had disappeared to, replaced with this absolute nerd who she loved all the same. With so many late nights fueled by sugar-dense caffeinated drinks, pizza orders, and days spent curled up with a stack of comic books, Anna had gained those curves so many men worshipped and adored. Her eyes were ruined with the blue glow of her phone screen, now tucked away carefully behind large-framed glasses, the lenses so thick Melissa had to bite her tongue to keep herself from lightly poking fun at her about them. Anna always hated it when she did that, but Melissa really thought she looked cute when she reached to push her glasses up her nose and the sleeve of her cardigan flopped over. Her older sister had become even more beautiful the last few years. There was no question about it.
But she had changed the way she smiled, and this bothered Melissa the most. More than her refusing to go swimming with her at the community pool or accompanying Melissa on a nature walk, which she had once loved. More than the late nights, her giggle floating through the house after midnight and keeping her awake, the smell of fast food they couldn't wash out of the carpet or walls. Her lips now curled into something too small and gentle. Not a smile, but a pose. What you did when someone took your picture on Photo Day. Performative.
Melissa sought out the parts she did recognise eagerly. She found them comforting; her sister's dark hair, her warm eyes. If Melissa's orange locks were fire, then her sister's hair was the charcoal left behind. They were the same. Or rather, they were the same enough of the time. The same in any way that mattered.
"So," she said, pulling away from the hospital, "what do you think?"
"About what?"
"Dr. Cullen. Everyone says he's a total babe."
Melissa looked at her. "You know it's not 2006, right?"
A hand flew from the steering wheel to swat her leg. A moment of quiet as Anna concentrated on merging lanes. Then, "Did Dad say anything?"
Melissa shook her head.
"No text?"
"Nothing," she said.
"Whatever happened today, it wasn't your fault."
She nodded, but didn't really believe it.
She needed to be better. She needed to be a good girl, like Anna. If she were like her sister, maybe her father would like her better. Maybe he wouldn't hit her. If she just didn't keep making so many mistakes, he would never have to hurt her. He cared about her in his own strange messed-up way. He just wanted her to be good.
"Mel, you know I'm going to get us out of that house, don't you?"
Outside, the trees and street lamps rushed past, long streaks of dark green and grey and black and yellow lines cutting through the dark. Silvery raindrops had started to pepper the window. Melissa's reflection peered back at her from the glass, her figure distorted, all the wrong proportions.
"Mel?"
"I know," she said.
But Anna couldn't do anything like that. Anna couldn't save the two of them from their father's love. Love wasn't something you were supposed to be saved from. It was something you were supposed to change for, something you were supposed to become better for.
Melissa just had to be better, that was all. And then everything would be okay.
Her sister smiled sadly, and turned her attention back to the road.
All too soon, the house appeared through the fog like a little goblin surfacing from the sewer. The moment of ease, of calm and safety, ended the second the car rolled to a stop outside of the Westbrook residence at 47 Poppy Lane.
Melissa couldn't be sure, but she swore she heard Anna hiss a swear under her breath as she put on the handbrake. But when she turned to look at her, she had one of those fake little smiles plastered to her lips and a dead look behind the eyes.
"We're home," she said.
Unfortunately, they were.
-o-