Now I've got a confession
When I was young I wanted attention
And I promised myself that I'd do anything
Anything at all for them to notice me
Well, I assume that's what they'd say if I had actually died. What I got instead was feeling like I'd been flung by my wrists into the massive smithy furnace, immolated and burned alive one scrawny limb at a time. Carlisle hid me in his house outside of town while I transformed, screaming and writhing in unabating agony. The way it had felt when he carried me, like I weighed no more than a sack of flour, and the speed with which he moved gave me the most bizarre sensation. I hung on to those feelings while I was being consumed by the inferno inside my body, praying to whatever God that existed that when this was over I would be just like Carlisle.
For a long time, that was the only wish I was granted. When I was finally able to open my eyes and register the completely odd absence of pain, I was more than thrilled with what I saw. I had a body all of those snobby elite trollops would literally commit murder for, virtually impenetrable diamond skin. Everything was heightened, the dial cranked way above 10 - agility so fast I was a blur, the strength of 100-plus men, and a brand new noggin for processing it all. Carlisle had grabbed me, plucked me from the pit of Hell I had been inhabiting for 20 years, and set me squarely within the confines of the pearly gates. Actually, scratch that - it was better than Heaven.
Never again did I have to scrabble and scrape for scraps. Never lend out my body like a worn rag just for a literal bite to eat. Definitely not endure the violent delights of men when I rejected their pittance of an offer or their steely boots when I fought back. I was strong enough to not only fight back but literally break them in half, and I fucking loved it. The genie's wished stopped at one; Carlisle forced us to move on the moment I was awake, toward Virginia, when all I wanted was sweet revenge. Wish number two.
I didn't even know I had a wish number three for a long time. It wasn't until after we had created Esme, Rosalie, and Emmett and been joined by Jasper and Alice that I realized there was a third thing I wanted. More than speed, and strength, and vengeance. I wanted love, like the kind I remembered my parents having. Those looks that passed between them, like they lived in a world full of secrets only they could decipher. The way my dad kissed my mom, like she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever saw. How he'd casually touch her arm, or her hair, and she'd sigh like he'd relieved a great burden. I wanted that. Fairytale shit.
I wasn't always a stuck-up shrew. But when you're abused and debased and more haggard than Merle, you learn to not care, let things slide off your shoulders like they're greased in Astroglide. The world isn't drenched in pocketfuls of sunshine or woven from the fabric of Austen romances. It's an awful, mean bitch, and you have to take what you can when you can take it, or the world is going to take it from you.
Just like I was taking Goshen Mountain over the Catskills right now. Life's all about sacrifice.
I knew her trip with Emmett meant a lot to Rose; living in New York City, time outside was hard to come by when not under the cover of stars and moonlight. My family may have went out when it was overcast, but I had a reputation to maintain. Our house in Montauk let us just live a little, go outdoors when the sun was out for more than a few hours at a time. It also meant they could bone like animals, but please - I was a lady. I would never insinuate something so barbaric, at least to her face.
Rosalie and Corin were the only friends I had who were also vampires, but Rose was more than a friend. She was family. If taking one for the team meant a few more hours trapped indoors, then I would happily take the hit. It helped to know she would, and had, done the same for me.
A usually pleasurable experience, we hunted more hurriedly than usual so she could be back on time to shower and pack. The wildlife here was alright, with plenty of deer and the occasional bear, but there had been a time when we lived in Washington and there were more mountain lions than you could shake a stick at. The Catskills had more of the 'big game' like lions and bears, along with bobcats, but they were more sparse here so close to civilization.
I always wanted to string these moments along, draw them out like a bad M. Night Shyamalan movie. Hunting meant no cell phone service, no paparazzo, no mask to affix to my face for the public. I could just be Bella Cullen, the perpetually-sarcastic, sometimes-witty vampire. Turn off Isabella Swan-Cullen, the aloof, hard-partying socialite daughter adopted by Dr. Carlisle Cullen, the Big Apple's pre-eminent plastic surgeon, and his philanthropic wife Esme.
It helped, to be sure, that I did genuinely love just about everything else that came with being a socialite. The money, the parties, the jewels and clothes and fast, expensive cars. Partly because it felt like I was being just a little bit vampire, showing off from within my cage. But also, it was everything I never had before but seen paraded inches from my face, day in and day out. I'd always craved being noteworthy, even if it meant being notorious. As long as I was someone worth something - a picture, a comment, a price tag too high to pay. Not a little gutter rat begging for someone's desiccated leftovers.
We usually split up when we hunted, not wanting to traipse all over each other, so I was left sitting at the Mercedes waiting for Rose when I had finished sooner than she expected. When she appeared, looking like the goddess Athena victorious, I smiled at her. "What's cookin', good lookin'?"
Rose rolled her eyes, walking to the car and holding the driver door open like an overblown valet. I laughed, a tinkling chime of bells, then stepped inside as she shot around and climbed in passenger seat. It was just one of those things that we knew about each other, something that was unspoken but still acknowledged. I loved to drive, and she loved to be chauffeured around. Just one thing among many that made us click. Carlisle really did very well when he saved Rosalie.
I threw the car in reverse, sending the tires screaming and gravel flying. Reflexively I yanked the E-brake, sending us arcing in a graceful drift to face the opposite direction before I put the pedal to the floor. We raced down the back roads leading to I87, harmonizing perfectly with Beyoncé and Britney the whole way.