A/N: Thanks, Biebs. I forgot you still occasionally read fanfic and that I sent you these chapters as well.
Twilight AF
Chapter 3
The next morning it's so bright outside I'm almost convinced the sun is shining. Until, that is, I make my way to the window.
"Son of a bitch!" I blurt. There's snow everywhere. Snow, ice slicks, and ten inch icicles hanging from the fur needles and eaves that look like they could pierce your skull.
I like snow, but I suspect the novelty is beginning to wear off. Not to mention with my level of dexterity it will make walking on the ice-covered drive deadly. No doubt, I'll slip over in the school parking lot, crack my head open and have my blood spill all over sex hair's Armani sneakers.
Then I'll probably puke over him. I hate the sight of blood almost as much as my mother.
Charlie's gone again by the time I drag my depressed, quasi-horny ass down stairs. I'm beginning to think he's leaving early to avoid me because no one loves their job that much.
I throw down a bowl of Apple Jacks and chug half a liter of juice straight from the carton while I attempt to deny the fact that I'm anticipating school a lot more than I really should be. I contemplate lying to myself, but the brutal fact is I'm excited about seeing that beautiful, creepy, sociopathic bastard. I tell myself it's because I need to get to the bottom of his weirdness, but that's bullshit as well. The guy's stupidly hot and I'm a red-blooded female despite my anemia.
By the time I make it to John boy, I've had several near mishaps, but since these things tend to come in threes, I figure I'm out of danger. The drive to school is unexpectedly smooth. Surely John Boy should be slip-sliding all over the road and threatening to throw my ass over a ravine? Maybe it did, but I was so distracted by sex hair, my subconscious was forced to take the reins. Whatever it was, I arrive at Forks Women's Prison in one piece.
I hop out, my hand still gripping the door handle discreetly lest I go ass over tit, and stealthily scope the lot for Ivan Hotinova. That's when something grabs my attention. I quickly realize the reason John Boy didn't cause the Apocalypse on Main Street was because he's been fitted with tire chains. By my father evidently, before he left early for work to avoid me.
Well, shit...
My throat gets all choked because one thing I am not accustomed to in this world is parental concern. Tears threatened to run over. I force them back stubbornly knowing sex hair is probably scrutinizing me and arming himself with passive aggressive insults for Bio.
From behind me I hear the sound of tires screeching, and am moderately satisfied to know other people have parents like Renee who'd never bother to do shit like putting lifesaving mechanical devises on their cars.
I smirk to myself, but it quickly fades. The sound is steadily getting louder, and louder. So loud, I spin in its direction on pure reflex.
"Oh, fuck..." I mutter, because wouldn't this be just my luck? I knew I shouldn't have visualized getting my blood all over sex hair this morning, but I never expected my mother's theories, re The Secret, were true.
They say time slows down when you're about to violently die, but that's all bullshit. Instead I see a million things at once; trees, more trees, the front school building, Jessica's over animated expression at the idea of witnessing my demise, office admin lady and her crimped, bright orange eighties perm, clutching her pearls, and sex hair. Sex hair several cars deep staring at me with abject horror apparently. It seems so odd that he could give a shit about me enough to warrant such an expression that for a moment it distracts me when I really should be bracing for impact.
By this time the van has come into my line of sight, spinning out of control and straight into my trajectory. I'm about to be pinned between two cars. It'll be gruesome. Blood will probably spew from my mouth, innards and exposed bone could be present, and all I can think in lieu of my imminent death is how much I hate the idea of sex hair seeing me like that.
What the fucking hell is wrong with me?
The truck hits me, and everything blurs. Strange, I had no idea cars feel like marble. Weird, whatever. I fall over backward, cracking my head on the ice-slicked concrete beneath me. The van's on top of me I realize, which means my organs are probably splattered around me, but I don't feel anything. Shock. Adrenalin maybe, I conclude. All I can hope for is it's quick and sex hair is queasy enough to run inside and hide from it, but nope, the van's not finished with me just yet.
"For fuck's sake!" a voice mutters that does decidedly not come from me. Unless I sound like I gargle milk and honey before bed, anyway. What's a thousand times worse is I know this voice. I contemplated masturbating to it last night, but the rain stopped and bummed me out.
It belongs to only one person.
I turn to him, just as his hands spring out against the van that seems to have some kind of vendetta against me by this point. The motion of it reverses, before it proceeds to spin on its wheels, contemplating falling on us, while I stare at the hand prints left indented on the side. Two very distinct hand prints.
"Jesus fucking Christ!" he snaps this time. At me, like it's my fault some dumbass is trying to kill me with their car.
I open my mouth to tell him to screw off—completely on impulse—when he suddenly swings my body around and beneath his. He's cold, and his muscles are unusually hard, but before I can consider it further, shattered glass falls over me, and the grinding sound of twisting metal threatens to blow out my ear drums.
This is when time really does slow down. Maybe five seconds passes, while I stare at him for what feels like an hour. He stares back, his weirdly glowing eyes piercing mine like he's trying to get inside my head or something.
He opens his mouth to hurl more abuse at me, judging by his expression, but is immediately drowned out by screaming and other such carry on. People are yelling my name, some girl's having hysterics, others are crying, while the office admin lady starts saying Hail Mary's. It quickly becomes background noise though, because he's ensnared me in his web and I can't look away for the life of me.
"Are you okay?" he asks, and it's not what I expect him to say, nor am I expecting the open concern behind his voice.
I open my mouth, but no sound emerges, so I try again, and again, but nothing. For several too long seconds I gulp at him silently like a gold fish when speech suddenly returns to me.
"What the fuck!?" I try to pull myself up when I realize he's literally lying on top of me. "Get-get off me!" I burst stammering, shoving against him, but the guy is completely immoveable, not to mention buff as fuck! I mean, he's lean, but damn those muscle are hard!
"Stop moving. You hit your head!" he argues back.
"You...you...how...what? How? Who—who the hell are you?" I demand when my thoughts unscramble and my mind returns to some form of coherency. "Ow!" Okay, maybe I did hit my head because it's suddenly throbbing, but it's not exactly the center of my concern right now. Did this creepy bastard just do a superman and throw the van off me?
His expression almost warms and then he chuckles. It sounds so weird in light of the situation that I can only stare back at him.
"I'm dreaming. I never woke up this morning. I-I...this isn't real," I attempt to convince myself while I also attempt to ignore how that much more beautiful the weirdo becomes when he laughs. "How-how did you stop the van?" I eventually ask.
"It hit the back of your truck, luckily," he answers without hesitation.
"You left your hand prints on it—see!" I turn to point toward the offending dent in emphasis.
He frowns like he did the day before and glances around the small space between us as if he's suddenly plotting. "I would have broken them if that were the case," he murmurs speaking more or less to himself.
I shake my head. None of this shit makes sense, and just thinking about it is starting to make my mind fog. And spin. "Why...why are you so...beautiful?" I'm pretty sure this is when I pass out, and thank fucking god for that.
I come to a few minutes later. People are screaming about Tyler now. Apparently he's the asshole who tried to kill me. I'm still trapped between two cars with sex hair. I try to move again, but he's continuing to use his body to keep me pressed to the ice-covered concrete. It's not a terrible feeling, but my ass is turning numb.
"My clothes are getting wet!" I complain. "Want me to end up with pneumonia?"
"Just shut up for a moment and stay still," he says quietly, and then he sighs to himself like he's babysitting a preschooler.
"Get me off this damn ground!" I insist, contemplating throwing a hissy. "I'm freezing my tits off and you're just as cold—and how the hell did you get over to me so fast?"
"I was standing next to you?" he replies, sighing a second time.
"No you... Were you?" I ask dubiously. I mean it is possible I suppose if he ran. Really fast. "You were standing next to your cree—your family members!" I quickly correct myself, but as hyper aware of him as I was when I pulled into school, I'm pretty sure I would have noticed if he came over toward me.
"Bella," he emphasizes my name in a way that makes me pause for a moment. I hate to admit I like it, but I suspect he knows exactly what he's doing by using that slurpy tone. "I was standing beside you. I pulled you out of the way."
"No," I insist stubbornly, "you—"
He huffs brashly, cutting me off midsentence, before he mutters out what sounds like fuck my life. "Can you just shut up for a moment? You're giving me a headache."
"Fine!" I snap petulantly.
"Fine!" he echoes, deliberately imitating me.
I contemplate kneeing him the balls, but he's so heavily I don't have room to pull it off. Plus, the sounds of sirens are getting closer, distracting me.
Somehow the paramedics manage to get into the small space and get me onto a stretcher. Sex hair helps, so does two teachers and the admin office lady. They shove a brace on my neck. People gasp when they see me; some idiot girl faints. I close my eyes and pretend to be unconscious.
Sex hair sex talks one of the EMTs into letting him sit up front while I'm strapped in the back. The EMT is weirded out by him, and it gives me a momentarily reprieve from mortification knowing normal people think he's as equally creepy.
Before the ambulance pulls away, a police cruiser pulls up and my father gets out yelling my name like a mad man. I'm forced to stop playing dead to calm him down.
"I'm fine, Dad!" I sigh, much the same way sex hair did in response to me.
He eyes me for a moment or two then decides to start pestering the paramedic. I close my eyes again and block out the image of sex hair's hand prints in the side of the van, or the way his weirdly, luminescent eyes were centimeters from mine.
Or the fact that his creepy foster relatives are all standing off in the distance, glaring at me in various degrees of murderous intent. The only one who doesn't look hostile is buzzcut. She looks like she's about to start laughing.
My father escorts the ambulance to the hospital like it's some kind of medical emergency. I decide that he's endearing, knowing my mother would more than likely bitch about having to cancel her nail appointment if this happened back in Arizona.
What I do not find endearing is sex hair. While I'm wheeled out like I'm a damn heart transplant recipient, he casually exits the ambulance like a smug asshole whose father owns the company.
I'm sent to the ER where a nurse takes my blood pressure and temperature. I contemplate asking her to remove the neck brace, but she looks like one of those no nonsense types who'd slap you around if you argued. Still, when she leaves the room, I strip the thing off me and fling it under the neighboring bed.
The kid who tried to run me over is wheeled in next. He's got a bloody bandage wrapped around his head. I immediately look away and try not to gag. This is despite the fact that he's staring at me.
"Bella, I'm so sorry!" he pleads with me, but it's not his fault his parents didn't fit his van with snow chains, I guess.
"S'ok," I reply, squeezing my eyes shut. I can smell the blood. The nurses are changing the bandages.
Oh god...
"I thought I was going to hit you!" he continues on while I pretend to lose consciousness again. It's either that or puking. "Bella...? ...Bella?—Bella?!"
"What?—I'm fine!" I snap because what is it with people in this town unable to get a clue? Are social cues nonexistent here?
"How'd you move so fast? You were right there, and then you..." He doesn't say it, but it's obvious he's just as confused.
So I wasn't the only one who witnessed it...
"Apparently Jasper rescued me."
"Who?" His voice turns vacant.
"I don't know!" I blurt, becoming annoyed. It's too fantastical to think about right now, the smell of blood is churning my stomach, and every little noise in this damn place is grating on my final nerve.
I get my head x-rayed. No concussion. I demanded to leave, but the nurse looks dubious.
"The doctor will have to examine you before you leave," she gives me a generic answer before I'm sent back to the ER in a wheelchair this time.
The kid who tried to kill me—Tyler he informs me of his name when he realizes I can't recall it—continues to harass me with his incessant apologies, and refuses to listen to reason. I fake a fainting spell sitting up. It doesn't work out how I intended. I end up bent in half with my forehead on my knees. I give up, pull myself out of the wheelchair and onto the bed where I execute take two.
"Is she sleeping?" sex hair says in his milk and honey voice, and I don't give a shit what anyone says, no kid in high school sounds like that!
I crack an eye open and sneak a peek at him. He catches me and smirks. I scowl, but he only appears to find it more amusing.
"Hey, Edward, I'm really—"
"It's fine," he cuts Tyler short casually before sitting himself on the edge of his bed, facing me.
"What's the 411?"
"Are you speaking to me?" I ask flatly.
"Yes." He plays dumb.
"I'm fine. Why are you allowed to wander around like you own the world?" I bitch.
He grins this time and winks. He actually winks, rendering me mute for a second or two. "It's all about who you know, but don't worry, I'm here to spring you."
"What?" I demand, sitting myself up on the bed just as Zeus, God of Olympus wanders casually into the room. "Holy mother of..." All words leave me in a moment of upheaval, and I stare at him, my mouth agape. He's Robert Redford if Robert Redford was god! He's insanely hot, looks way too young to be a doctor and has gold—
My back straightens so rapidly I'm sure I must appear to have some kind of episode, but what the fuck is going on?
I thought they were fostered? Why are his eyes the same color? Why does he have the same creepy born-in-Chernobyl complexion?
I start to sway before my gaze snaps and anchors to sex hairs. I flash him a triumphant look; though, I have no damn idea what for. I've caught him in something though because he suddenly looks guilty. And alarmed.
"So, Miss Swan," Dr. Sex God says with the same weirdly unnerving, gargles-scotch-and-melted-butter voice. Albeit, his voice is pleasant, and not moody and sociopathic, "how are you feeling?"
"F-f-fine..." I stammer in a daze continuing to ogle him.
He doesn't reply and I watch him snap my x-ray to the light board and check it out. "Everything looks good. Are you feeling okay? Edward said you hit your head."
Edward? Shit! I forgot his name.
"I did." I quickly recover, but my fluster is coming off as attitude. "Edward came charging in and shoved me to the ground. Hence my head injury." I side eye him; he pretends he doesn't notice.
Dr. Redford moves back toward me and starts running his long, cool fingers over my scalp. I try not to moan. It can't be helped; he's hotter than his foster kid, and looks a shit ton younger than my newest stepfather. His fingers reach the bump on my head. I spasm, but it's not in pain.
"Tender?"
"Tender..." I echo like a lunatic.
They're aliens. They have to be, but why has no one else noticed their weirdness? What's wrong with this damn town?
Sex hair chuckles. I catch his gaze and realize the beautiful sociopathic bastard is enjoying my predicament, and there's something very patronizing behind his tone.
"Loser" I mouth, holding my hand into the "L" sign again in a way his sex god foster daddy won't notice.
His eyebrows instantly fly northward, but Dr. McGod's voice diverts my attention away.
"Your father's in the waiting room. You're free to go home, but come back if you start to feel dizzy."
"I'd rather go back to school!" I state for reasons unknown.
"That's not advisable."
I huff. "Is he allowed to?" I motion my head toward sex hair.
"Someone has to spread the good news to Newton that you survived," he replies, the smug laughter centered behind his eyes this time.
"Who?" I demand, until I recall; then I'm seething. "Asshole!" I grumble beneath my breath before jumping down off the bed and having a moment of wooziness.
Dr. Sex catches me, making my near fainting spell infinitely worse. "Are you sure you're okay?"
His muscles are just as cool and firm. Okay, so is going to the gym some kind of family bonding session in their family?
"Fine," I breathe. Weird or not, this guy is a god.
He releases his grip on me, pushes back his white coat and sinks his hands into his pockets. He smiles at me then, turning my thoughts even blanker. "It sounds like you were very lucky."
"Lucky," I echo dryly. "Lucky sex hair was standing right next to me." Wait, did I just say sex hair? Out loud?
Shit!
If Dr. Heavenly heard me he doesn't make it known. His smile only deepens, making me feel even more off balance. "Yes, well..." He turns his attention to Tyler, and that's the cue that our conversation is now over.
I'm not going anywhere, though.
I fix my gaze on sex hair. He ignores me. "Hello!?"
"Yeah?" He feigns oblivion.
"Outside," I direct him.
"Isn't you father waiting for you?" he says in a droll voice. He's getting his back up, but does the beautiful freak really think I've forgotten what happened an hour ago?
"Let's talk for a sec." It's not a question. I take a step toward him and he immediately takes a step back maintaining the distance between us.
He glares at me for a moment, kind of like he did on my first day at school, but I'm immune to that shit by now, then he appears to cave. Expelling an over exaggerated breath, he turns and heads for the exit so fast I'm practically running to keep up. Then as soon as we hit the first secluded hallway he rounds on me. "What do you want?" he asks openly annoyed, his weird glowing eyes hard.
"What do you think, Einstein?" I reply sarcastically. This guy might be preposterously handsome but it's annoying how clueless he thinks I am.
"I saved your life. The end," he says like a real asshole.
"You threw a car off me, Clark Kent!" I burst, failing to keep my voice hushed, because his mind games are getting under my skin.
"Did I?" he challenges me.
"Don't be dick. I'm not insane or on drugs. I saw what I saw and you know it, so fess up!"
"And what happened again?" he deliberately taunts me.
"You got to me in a half a second, shoved your hands into the van and caused it to spin around, and then stopped it with your body—without getting a scratch!" I say through clenched teeth despite how ridiculous it sounds to my own ears as I relay it.
He stares at me like he might laugh, but at the same time, there's something very defensive behind his expression. "You think I lifted a van off you?" He goes with a shrink angle, trying to gaslight me, and that really pisses me off.
"Yep!" I hold my ground.
"Who's going to believe you?"
"No one obviously." My voice matches his in sarcasm. "I still need to know though."
"Why?"
"Why?" I repeat incredulously. "Are you kidding me?"
He tsks to himself and rolls his eyes. "Can't you just thank me and get over it."
"Thank you, Clark," I say dryly.
"You're not going to let it go, are you?"
"Would you?" I turn it back to him.
"Yes."
"Liar."
He huffs again. "Whatever," he mutters to himself. "Enjoy your disappointment." He glares at me. I glare back, until I start noticing that the evil bastard's beauty surpasses all realms of rationality when he's angry, and my mind's steadily turning blank. It only serves to aggravate me more.
"If you hate me so much, why'd you even bother?" I put to him, only half out of anger this time.
"I don't know," he kind of mumbles to himself, and then he's gone; rounding the corner so fast before I can blink.
I can only stare after him, before I scoff to myself in complete and utter disbelief.
I have to be dreaming.
. . .
My father and seventy-five gawkers from Forks High School are all assembled in the waiting room. Charlie rushes over to me like he's my body guard.
"I'm fine," I assure him before he can bombarded me with a million questions.
"What did the doctor say?" he presses regardless, but I'm not at all averse to bringing up Dr. Sex God.
"Dr. ...Erm, Edwards?" I look up at him and raise my eyebrows in question.
"Cullen?" Charlie guesses.
"Cullen..." Huh—Okay, yeah, well I saw him, and he said I'm fine and can go home."
"Hmm," Charlie rubs his chin in appraisal.
Closet perv is present, and is about to make a move on me. I grab my father's hand and hurry him toward the glass, double-doored exit. "Let's go!"
Charlie obliges me, and leads me out. I wave to Angela, and pretend I don't notice Mike, despite the fact he choruses out my name repeatedly. Judging by Jessica's expression, she's pissed off I'm not dead.
I'm pretty sure I go into shock on the way home, but that's when it all hits me. Sex hair is batman.
When we arrive, Charlie helps me into the house like I'm a decrepit and then glances away from me sheepishly. "You should probably call your mother?" he suggests with an awkward clearing of his throat.
"I'm not calling her," I immediately insist. "She doesn't care."
"I'm sure she does," he makes an attempt at sincerity, but even he doesn't believe that.
"And I'm sure Jasper was standing next to me," I mutter sarcastically.
"Who?"
"Edward. I mean Edward." Shit, why do I keep forgetting his name?
The real question is why the hell did I have a sex dream about him that night?