A/N: I love you guys for your reactions oxoxo

..::.. Chapter 33 - Blush Dress ..::..

Young - High school, Continued ...

It almost feels as if we're back to that nonexistent relationship; the one where we orbit one another in a silent quarrel. I'm a spectator, watching his every move outside my windows.

At school, he watches me from afar, never getting close. Every time I do see him, I envision him hitting Alice or going berserk when we argue. I'm overwhelmed again with dread, horror, and disappointment. Maybe all these months, watching him irate wasn't something I should've allowed. I should've stopped him long ago.

If he doesn't hesitate with her, why would he with me?

I rarely see him, but I feel him.

I take the bus to Dad's shop to cover the reception shift and I know I'm followed. I get home from school, and it's the same feeling.

The moment I'm through the door the phone rings. It's usually Pete asking if I got home okay. I begrudgingly answer, or I don't, and hang up.

I go out. Vick and Bree are loud and place shots in front of me. "Bitch, stop being bitter and chug it. Now!" Vick yells over the music. Bree in stitches.

I roll my eyes. I give it a go. Why not? Down it goes. Six shots later I'm swaying on a couch, a frown on my face, watching the girls jump around to the music. They pull me in. The room spins. I look around and know that VIP isn't for everyone. Employees see my face and they give everything for free. I might as well have 'Cullen' carved on my forehead.

Who knew school associates could be so nice just to get the perks. They're so, so nice. No more 'Don't mess with Bella'. It's all smiles and compliments. Then Vick invites them all. The whole VIP section full of dumb school kids, most not school kids as the invites extend beyond us.

"Anything for Bella," as the club owner says upon arrival.

So, I do get anything … except peace.

I'm in a haze when I feel a breath on my face. He smells of beer and bad intentions. I can't keep my eyes from fluttering closed once in a while. He says things, the kind that would make any ditsy chic fall into his sweaty arms.

Well, not me. This party is solo. I've invited myself and no one else. It's brooding regret, sadness, and menstrual cramps. I tell him that.

"Sexy, isn't it?" I add. He's dark eyes and hair, and all wrong. He grins, with an underlining of confusion. But I guess he's nice. "Just me, this couch, only this piece," I motion around me. "That's it. Room for one." My finger up. He scratches his head and crosses his arms, but remains on his side with his grin still intact.

I mean, why would he go for me? There are girls all around. Dresses shorter than my patience, and me; jeans and this large jacket I wear just for him. That makes me pissed. I pull it off and slap it on the floor between this guy and me.

He watches.

"Listen," I say leaning in. "It's not worth it, all right? Just go. You'll regret trying. Like, save yourself, and all that bullshit." I slur. I crawl back to my spot. I didn't really lean in, I guess, more like squished myself against his arm to yell in his ear.

He cringed.

I warned him. I cross my arms, too, and wait it out. Like clockwork, some chump I don't know who works for the club grabs him by his elbow. Like every single time it happens the guy protests and struggles, confused, asking what he did wrong. Then he's thrown right out the back doors.

It doesn't fail.

Dark eyes are wide now looking back at me from over his shoulder, and he doesn't know. He just doesn't know a thing about me and this … mess. He's just a guy trying, giving it a shot, putting himself out there. Now he's like a trash bag out back, thrown out.

Vick looks and dies laughing. She's impressed now. She didn't know it would be like this. She loves it, maybe even jealous of it. That eye she gives me. I see it. I keep her front and center and watch closely.

I look beyond her, and Pete is making his way to us from below, by the dance floor. This is the first time he appears in situations like this. Bree kind of goes putty, or pees a little. I don't know. But it's obvious, and she purposely pulls back and gives him this dirty glare while nonchalantly leaning on a railing. Because the railing might flop over? It needs her support? I don't know.

Then, I really see Pete through her eyes; tall and all black clothes, boots on his feet and this sharpness to his shoulders. I guess I see it, her fixation. He's no guy like the ones here trying. He doesn't need to try. He's a man and one who's seen a lot of dark shit in his life.

He glances my way like he's checking inventory of my every limb, to see if I'm in one piece. I stare him down. He turns to leave when his eyes catch Bree's from above him. They travel from her ripped stockings to her red lips.

And shit. He gives her a look like she's exactly that. He walks away to do … God knows what.

The poor girl takes it in, looks away like she just might throw up her entire drink.

I yell. She looks at me. "Wanna join me on this pity wagon?" I ask. I pat the couch. She comes over and places her head on my lap. Such a moment for a club scene.

"He wants someone who doesn't play around," is what she says to me. Like I asked.

I scoff.

"Someone not like him?" I laugh.

She shakes her head. "He's really not like that. It's because I've been doing it to him. It was this one time, with his cousin. I was so fucked up." She cries silently. "He's not the bad one. I am."

Really? I sigh and pat her bum. "Then shape up, Don Juana. Don't be like me. Find your happy ending."

What a fun bunch we are.

Slowly, like a time lapse, she does shape up. A week goes by, and her stockings have fewer holes, her makeup is less … well, less. She sits silently at lunch in a dress and a delicate locket around her neck. I wonder if she keeps his photo in there. Boots still adorn her feet; a girl's got to be herself. But she's soft now. Mauve lips and nails looking like a fifties pin-up doll. She comes in on a Monday with a color I've never seen her wear—her natural hair. It's long and goes down to her waist. I never did notice how long she's kept it when it's not in a messy bun. She looks … brand new.

I don't say a thing. Vick just chews on her lunch and gives her a good once over. "What the fuck is up with you? Are your ovaries acting up again?" she asks curiously.

"Hey," I protest. I shake my head at Vick. She rolls her eyes as she sucks her teeth. Bree is the color of her new blush dress.

Well, at least someone is trying to change around here. We could all use a bit of maturity. I look at Edward across the way, watching, head back, leaning it against the wall where he sits. His gaze never leaves me.

Maturity. How true the word. I need to shape up, too. I don't know what I've become under his spell, but whatever it is, it isn't good.

Bree finds new, quiet peace, and a newfound interest in a book I lend. Pete lends his eyes, flickering her way. They linger more each day. I'd nudge her to tell her, but she seems to be on that good part of the book.

I let this express itself, and I let myself find new interests that aren't tied to Edward, just like Bree found hers in a book. I must find my blush dress, too.

….