..:.. Chapter 12 - We Blow ..:..

Young - high school, continuation of last high school chapter.

"I haven't seen Alice in a while," Mom says. She pulls out of the grocery store we've just raided. We only shop once a month. Different trips to different stores to get the best sales. It takes up the entire day.

I don't think she's ever noticed how many steps there are to grocery shopping. It's exhausting. After making all the calculations and you're sure you're picking the best price for the most value, you put it in the cart. You do that five hundred times. Then, you wait in a lengthy line, and when it's your turn to drop it all on the conveyor belt, ring up every item, you're a hawk to make sure all the sales were rung up correctly. Then you put everything back in the cart in bags to transport to the car. And lastly, you drag your ass along with each bag into the house to sort.

Fuck grocery shopping.

Mom looks over at me when I don't answer. "You have a bad attitude."

I do.

I've had a bad attitude for a very long time. I can't control it. I've noticed since that odd interaction with Edward in class the other day. He stares now. Everywhere I go, and he's near, he stops, dead in his tracks, and stares at me. Pete laughs his ass off. Edward, never.

Monday morning I'll have his head if he does it again.

"She has new friends now. Cheerleading squad, remember?" I say flatly about Alice.

"So, why don't you make friends with them?"

I roll my eyes. She doesn't get it. No group traverses from one to the other in high school.

"I don't cheer."

She shrugs. "Maybe you should."

I peel my eyes away from the window to glare at her. It takes a moment. We crack a grin at that idea. Then she's laughing at the impossible. Give me a mountain of books and a bed and I'm happy as a clam. She reads the trashy magazines.

"I'll catch up with her next weekend. Besides, who would you drag along to these excessive events you enjoy doing every month?"

She smiles. "Daughter of the year." Yeah, we share the same sarcasm gene.

I could be out with Vick and Bree, but Mom doesn't really have friends in this town, so I stay sometimes. People talk. Dad made buddies with the Cullen clan, and suddenly, you're a disgrace to the neighborhood. Not like we're not used to it. It's been years now, and it's not like Dad can walk away from it unscathed.

Who do you go to when even cops are knocking on Dad's door to get a deal or two every now and then? Dad adds this turbo to a getaway car here, adds bulletproof paneling to another car there. In return, we get looks.

With Mom's extra looks on top of that, you've got a perfect formula for trouble… and sneers from other wives. It's why I dress the way I do. It's why I hide. Like mother, like daughter. Why add to the fire?

I get scared stares from mean girls at school. I like it. I get no shit problems coming my way because of this gig Dad never talks about.

Especially after that one time in eighth grade. 'Don't mess with Bella,' is what everyone says.

Inside, I'm scared, hating confrontation. I want people to like me. But that ship has sailed.

No friends now. Like I care.

Mom and I go on city runs all the time to get away. Dad encourages it. Anything to get us away from home for long periods of time. We shop, have lunch, get pedicures to pass the time, and visit her mom still living there with her younger sister. It's an all women's event when we stay a couple of days; baking, facials, and gossiping about everything and nothing at the warm kitchen table. We don't miss out on much here in town.

I already have my eyes on colleges in the city I'll be applying to. I can feel it in my bones—freedom.

Why haven't we moved? I've asked, but just once. Mom tried to look busy. Dad fumbled to say something along the lines of 'broke as fuck.' So, we're stuck. That's that.

We turn into the driveway getting our muscles ready to grab all the bags and make twenty trips. The trunk open, Mom in the kitchen already with a load inside, probably sitting on the toilet peeing already. She always does this, strategically taking her time so I'll do most of it.

I huff. My hands at my hips staring at the plastic (sans paper) bags in a mountain.

I reach for one, and so does another set of hands.

I start, looking up.

My words get stuck in my throat.

I look around me, and the uncles are piling out of a Bentley on the Cullen lot. Edward Senior glances our way with a nod. He's in a suit. His dirty blonde locks combed back, his hands at the lapels of his jacket buttoning it up. He sent his evil son over to lend a helping hand.

Edward pulls a handful of bags, more than I could ever carry. He looks at me.

My eyes narrow.

He walks away toward my front door. I have no choice but to follow.

What do you say? "Don't touch my lettuce with your filthy hands?" I don't. I stare at his shoulders instead. His t-shirt, old and yellow with some advertisement in black letters, a hole at the seam, fitted just right. His back muscles tense with the effort. Moving. Just like they do when he's…

I cringe. Bella, you're disgusting.

I don't get to say any words. He drops the bundle on the kitchen floor and charges past me. Not before his arm bumps into mine.

"Preparing for the apocalypse? Shit," he says when I reach the trunk again. He grabs more bags.

I roll my eyes. "It's called a poor man's coupon game. You wouldn't recognize it."

I look up and he's gone, ignoring me. I sigh and make my way inside, just in time to witness Mom stepping out of the bathroom, jumping out of her skin seeing a man in the house.

"Ma'am," he says and walks out to get more. I look at her and roll my eyes. She tentatively takes a step into the kitchen.

Back at the trunk, I try to gauge his expression. He hasn't been inside my house in ages. He doesn't seem too phased by it. He's definitely not bringing up the classroom incident either.

I carry in the last of the bags. He's leaving the kitchen and is suddenly grabbing the bundles from my hands as I'm halfway through the door. Our hands meet, skin to skin. Blood flowing. Oils mixing. Epidermis mingling. Molecules wiggling.

Damn. Biology.

On his way to bend down for that transfer, he gets close, and I watch the ridges of his lips and wonder why that part looks smoother and just the right pink to his complexion.

Mom has this glass of water in her hand, and she's reaching to pass it over like he's done hard labor for hours under the sun. I'm chopped liver. Dry lips and throat, watching.

And why are we standing here? Or me? I don't know what Mom is saying, but she's blabbering loud from the pantry, putting stuff away, and he's watching me over the brim of the ice-cold glass he has to his lips. The bottom glistening, slightly dripping wet down to his forearm with a bit on his t-shirt.

That's me. I'm the glass. Right between my legs. I'm horrified. Taken. Shaken. Deceiving body taking over. My lips part.

He swallows that last gulp and says not a word as he sets it down in the sink like a gentleman. Those devious eyes on me say otherwise.

Mom and I watch him close the door behind him, leaving us breathless. Well, me.

Just me.

"He, um. He just…" I let out, pointing a thumb. It's all I can muster when Mom looks at me. I aim straight for the bathroom… to clean up.

The rest of the night I'm a zombie. Speechless. Shameful. Embarrassed at my reaction. We sort everything and clean up. We cook. Dad will be home soon.

But that shouting. I can hear it from the kitchen. Mom looks out the windows over the sink. She sighs, shaking her head. "Damn animals. Poor kids have to live in that… mess."

I say nothing. I'm wondering what they're yelling at Edward about this time.

"Is he a good kid in school?" she asks. "He looks so much like his father, it's uncanny. It scared the crap out of me. I thought he was in here."

I humph. "Trust me, he's weird. He's the troublemaker," I say about the former. Then, I kick myself. Why did I say that? Because… in one point five seconds I know what she'll say…

"Stay away from him, okay? He's not going down the right path. I can tell." She looks at me from washing dishes. "You hear me?" She says it like she's dying inside, hoping I'll listen. Well, if only she knew we're silent enemies.

I shrug. "He's the oddball. Everyone's afraid of him."

"You, too?" she asks.

Am I? I'm afraid whatever is brewing in our tense stares will blow one day. Something tragic will happen. Yes, I'm afraid. Maybe he'll kill me, maybe I'll kill him. I don't know.

"Pfft. Please." I tie the garbage bag and swing open the kitchen door. The yard is desolate and pitch dark. Just the glow of the Cullen house lights up the way to the trash cans. I reach them and witness the shouting in high definition.

"Give the boy a chance. He can get the job done," one of them says. His grandfather. Always soft spoken. He used to sit in his chair, in his robe, staring at the TV when I was younger. I'm sure it's still the same.

"Look at him! He doesn't have one responsible bone in his body. He takes and takes, living in this house, never giving anything back!"

"He will if he gets this job, Senior. He's good. But, how will he ever learn?"

I hear a ruckus. Maybe a chair crashing.

"Anthony, please!" Edward's mother.

I listen as Senior forbids Edward from going anywhere near McCarthy, whoever that is.

Senior is what they've always called Edward's father. Everyone except his wife who calls him Anthony. I've heard Edward himself call him Senior; not Dad, or Pops, or anything affectionate toward a parent.

Edward's mother goes off yelling at her husband. Conversation over. Not a peep from Jasper or Emmett.

The back door swings open from their side. I suddenly think I should hide.

The subject sees me. He's balling his fists and letting go. He's breathing like he'll kill a man. Anger gripping him. I'm standing here frozen, unblinking.

He comes closer. Each step he takes from the porch makes me quake. He climbs the fence as if it were twigs stuck in the ground.

Sparks go flying.

Flames ignite.

I stand back and watch this happen.

We blow.

He catches my arm and curls it around his neck. He kisses me. I hang on heavily. Jello knees and static nerves up my arms. He crashes in, and I do nothing but accept, so quickly, like I've been waiting for this.

Where is this hunger coming from? I'm gripping his hair, moving to his neck, down to his shirt. He's gripping everywhere. He pulls at my hair, we pull apart. He's watching me. Fluttered lids on my part.

Nothing is happening above, but below my belly tenses. He delves deep into my waistband, the one thing I would never let him do in school. He feels now what he does to me. What he did to me in my kitchen. Like he knew. The unthinkable. His fingers sliding. My chest heaving. He bites my lip, and we start this frenzy again. My head is cradled in the crook of his elbow. I've fallen there.

I've fallen.

I'll stay away from him, Mom. I won't press into his chest, taste his lips, and let him do all of this. Not ever. He's vile and dangerous.

I let out a strangled sound, and he lets go, like if the sound woke him. Us two, arms at our sides, nothing to say.

I turn and walk into the house.

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