Twilight AF
Chapter 4
Like all good dreams it was shadowy and my vision was obscured. Sex hair was over me, his long, hard, cool body pressed against mine, between my legs. I caught glimpses of his insanely beautiful face every now and then, but for the most part it was just his voice groaning my name against my flesh in the darkness.
I wake up in a sweat and bolt upright in bed. "Holy shit", I utter, practically out of breath. I stay awake for what's left of the night in an effort to fall back asleep for Act II.
It doesn't happen, but every night after he visits my dreams. Sometimes I see his face, sometimes his body makes contact with more than just my skin; sometimes he gets his fingers into my knickers; sometimes I wake crying out his name into the night.
Sometimes my room smells like Windex.
Tyler Crowley obviously believes that almost killing me with his car means we're now somehow spiritually connected. He keeps following me everywhere, using his apologies as come-ons no matter how much I attempt to give him the slip. He now sits with me during lunch and competes with closet perv and the acne dude for my attention.
There has to be something in the water in this town. It's not like I'm drop dead gorgeous like Claudia, or anything. None of the boys bother her, but then that probably has more to do with the fact her middle aged boyfriend could snap their dicks in half by just looking at them.
Sex hair's left alone with the rest of his weirdo family at lunch breaks, not eating or moving. No one hangs off his every word, despite how much I try and divert attention toward him. No one saw him standing next to me either, color me shocked. It doesn't surprise me but it makes me feel vindicated nonetheless.
He's back to acting like a psychopath during Bio, angling his chair as far away from me as humanly possible. He often reacts like he did originally, as if he's caught the stomach flu. Along with covering his mouth with his palm, he often tenses and balls his fists like he wants to sucker punch me.
Idiot.
I pretend he's as invisible to me as I evidently am to him, but it really pisses me off. I want to grill him more about the parking lot, but that asshole won't even make eye contact with me!
Today's no different. I try a new approach.
"Hello, Clark," I say with feigned chirpiness as I take my stool beside him.
He scoffs unimpressed beneath his breath, turns his head toward me and nods before staring back out the window.
"Giving me the silent treatment is really pathetic, you know," I say for his ears only, before opening my book and returning to our stalemate.
It's really getting on my nerves though, but he's a stubborn fucker. He keeps it up for weeks, and I swear he knows how much it's bothering me.
Something else happens during this time too; his eyes steadily begin to darken.
Something's definitely up with this sketchy bastard.
Squinty eyes is the only one happy with sex hair's frosty demeanor toward me. He takes it as a green light to put the moves on me again. Several times he's tried chatting with me at the beginning of class, leaning against my lab table.
"Jessica still likes you, Mike!" I snap after day three when my patience well and truly severs.
"Huh...?" His face falls with disappointment, just as sex hair snorts softly to himself beside him. It's the first sound he's even made in a month and for a moment it stumps me.
"But..." squinty eyes begins, reminding me of his presence.
"Can you please go and talk to her? I'm not going to come onto some guy I know she likes—Jesus!"
It's got nothing to do with Jessica, but I'm happy to use her as my fallback. Not gonna lie, it's low-key satisfying to know her gross ass is about to get rejected. She's an A-grade bitch, and it's really not my fault this town is so boring even my lame ass arrival got the locals all worked up.
Mike's beach trip is still on. Angela's the one who keeps pestering me about going now, but I like her, so I keep humoring her in return. I'll probably still fake a virus the night before though.
There's a dance not long after. I only know this because last night Jessica called to passively aggressively guilt me into not going. And to make sure I hadn't asked Mike.
As if! The girl's delusions really do surpass my mother's. I'm thinking of rocking up anyway just to mess with her.
I hate dancing, but I'm really beginning to hate her frizzy-haired ass more. Still, I was forced to reassure her repeatedly that, no, I am not into Mike, and, no, I am not going to ask him. I suspect that's the reason why he's been leaching around mine and sex hair's lab table; he's hoping I will.
He still tries to escort me to class; if he can find me, that is. I've become a master at giving him the slip, but seriously, his overinvestment in me is almost as hard to get my head around as sex hair's superpowers, and he cannot take a damn hint for the life of him
He still hasn't left. In fact, he's gazing down at me as if he's calling my bluff, and at this point, even sex hair is glaring at him. "So, ah...yeah, she asked me to the spring dance," he tells the floor.
I only stare at him for a moment when what I really want to do is knee him in the groin and tell him to find a fucking clue. "Good. Go with her!" I reply in deliberate monotone.
He looks up and pouts, clearly unhappy with my response. "I told her I'd think about it," he feels the need to fill me in.
"And why in the world would you say that?" I ask drolly, but I really don't care, and I'm beginning to think nothing will get rid of this creeper.
"I was hoping...I was hoping you'd ask me..." His eyes return to the carpet while my mouth falls completely open.
"I already told you..." I strangle between clenched teeth when the asshole does a real number on me.
"You said you're into Edward, but it's obvious he's not into you."
Of course, sex hair immediately looks up and gazes at me, his expression going from surprised to smug in two seconds flat.
"I used you as an out, Clark!" I snap, but my face has burst into flames and it no doubt contradicts every word out of my mouth. I change tactics and turn to Mike simmering with both mortification and rage. "This is the last time I'm going to say this, Mike—I'm not into you, so quit bothering me!"
Sex hair snickers, Mike scowls at him, and then turns and walks back to his seat looking deliberately mopey, as if I'm supposed to pity him. Instead, I face-plant the desk top and groan out loud. "Why is my life so shit?" I bemoan, not giving a flying fuck that sex hair is beside me more than likely snickering at me as well.
The teacher arrives, and dragging my head from the table, I drop it to my hands instead. I use it as an opportunity to sneak a look at sex hair and realize he's staring at me.
I immediately remove my hands and straighten my back. "What?" I demand, more flustered than I am irritated, but he really is a beautiful assface who now thinks I'm crushing on him on the sly.
I mean, I probably am...
His eyes are jet black again. Contacts my ass.
He doesn't say anything. He only continues to stare. He has the same look of frustration he usually has on his face, but other than that he appears like he's caught in a trance.
"What the hell is your problem?" I whisper, because the teacher's started the lesson, and he has the hearing of a bat. If he hears me he'll fix his bug on eyes on me and stare me into the floor.
Sex hair remains mute, and suddenly the teacher is calling on him.
"The Krebs cycle," he answers without missing a beat, or severing his eyes from mine.
"You are so weird!" I accuse him, using it as an excuse to look away.
He only smirks to himself, and then proceeds to stare at me for the rest of class. I ignore him—not very convincingly, but my hands shake. I hate myself.
"Bella," he begins at the end of class as I'm shoving my books back into my backpack aggressively. I stop short. It's the same tone he uses in my dreams, just before he sticks his tongue—
"Oh, you're talking to me now, are you? I feel so flattered!" I say dryly, but it's all a front. My loins are on fire, but fuck, his voice, his face; his eyes that change color...
He's back to being amused by me. It's a fuckton better than his hostility, or his feigned bouts of gastro, but it still annoys me. "Not really."
"Well, what the hell do you want, Edward?" I demand, speaking his name normally for the first time in a while.
"I'm sorry," he says, staring down into my eyes as if he's about to serenade me, making my mind lag. "I'm being an asshole, but believe me, it's better this way."
"Can you stop playing damn mind games with me for once?" I burst immediately annoyed with him again. I'm more annoyed at myself though. I never believed I could so easily swoon at a pretty face, but here I am, my insides melting every time he turns his creepy eyes in my direction.
Whatever the hell is in Fork's water system, I've obviously been infected. Or maybe I've caught the latest strain of Corona. The one that causes neurological issues and makes you act like a bimbo.
"It's better if we're not friends," he elaborates straight-faced, and I snort.
"Who says I want to be friends? You're weird, your eyes are weird, your family is weird, and you're probably an alien who wants to do experimental shit on me." I'd still like to fuck him though, not gonna lie.
He comes very close to bursting into laughter, and it only makes me both flustered and mad!
"I'm not going to tell anyone about you, they'd probably lock me up if I did, so quit pushing all your regret on me!" I say with a huff, zipping up my back pack and throwing it over my shoulder.
"Regret," he echoes, appearing suddenly confused and maybe as ruffled as he has me most days. "Regret for what?"
"Isn't it obvious? Regret for outing yourself in front of me."
"For saving you...?"
"That too," I mutter.
He stares at me for a few seconds as his expression steadily morphs from surprised to agro. "You think I regret that?"
"Apparently," I smart-mouth in answer.
"You don't know anything." Okay, yeah he's pissed, and acting like a condescending asshole.
I scoff, trying to play it off as attitude. "Go blow yourself, Clark!" I turn and leave, and then almost trip over my feet at the entrance of the room. Naturally, I drop my backpack, the zip splits and my books spill out all over the place. I contemplating leaving them behind and making a run for it, but before I can make up my mind, sex hair is beside me, collecting them off the floor and holding them out to me.
"Thank you," I say drolly, snatching them hastily back.
"You're welcome," he imitates me again, a smirk ghosting across his face as he does.
"You're a dick," I accuse him darkly, my fucking voice catching, before I escape toward the gym and talk myself out of crying.
I've definitely come down with a virus.
Gym is shit. We've moved to basketball now. I fall over twice and skin my knee, Jessica laughs, so I, accidently apparently, throw the ball point-blank at her face. I miss, because I suck at sports, and hit Tyler instead. He uses it as an excuse and sits the rest of the class out in the bleachers with me, picking up where he left off.
I hide in the locker-room after the final bell signals, before hauling ass to John Boy when the coast is clear.
That's when I'm accosted by pimple guy, and at this point I contemplate sticking my fingers in my ears and bolting. What the fuck is wrong with this town? I'm not hot, the Russian supermodels are, and this shit is really weirding me out.
"Hey," I echo his greeting with enough fuck off innuendo in my voice that even Renee would get the hint, but of course, he doesn't. I unlock my car and throw my broken book bag inside.
"So, uh, will you go to the spring dance with me," he blurts out like his confidence was about to pit stop, while I come infinitely close to banging my head against the window of my truck.
"I asked someone else," I outright lie.
He eyes me suspiciously and then calls my bluff. "Who?"
"Clark."
"Who?" he echoes.
"Okay well, I gotta go. Bye, erm, Erwin!" I turn to face him squarely, and slumping his shoulders he skulks off toward some poor girl who's evidently his backup plan. She notices him coming and does a runner.
Can't say I blame her.
With an inward sigh, I move to jump inside John Boy when sex hair passes, chuckling openly at me.
"Blow off, Clark!"
He doesn't reply, he only presses his lips together fighting the obvious urge to outright laugh and heads towards his preppy little excuse for a car.
I slam the car door closed behind me so hard I'm worried I might have cracked the windshield, but that's unlikely in this monstrosity. After Tyler's shit driving that almost killed me, it barely got a ding, while his van was a complete right off.
John Boy will outlive this entire town. Except maybe for the alien supermodels from Chernobyl.
I turn over the engine, and it roars to life making me subtly cringe to myself as I hold my breath waiting for the backfire. It doesn't come, thank the gods for small mercies, and shifting into gear, I move to reverse out. That's when that creepy assface cuts me off, sliding his silver hatchback out in front of me. While the cars in front of him all move toward to exit, he doesn't. His car idles ahead of me, going nowhere while that asshole waits for his weirdo family members. I notice them off to the side, making their way leisurely toward the lot like they own the place.
Cars pile up behind me; some honk their horns in annoyance.
"It's not my fault, it's that weirdo foster guy's!" I yell through my open window.
Right behind me is Tyler in a station wagon that's probably his mothers. He waves. I pretend to sneeze.
Clark doesn't move, and past all patience I haul myself out of John Boy and stalk toward his car. I knock on his window, despite the fact he knows I'm there and is feigning oblivion. He slides it down.
"Hey, Bella."
"Move your damn car, asshole!"
"I'm waiting for my family," he replies innocently, and I realize the beautiful fucker is deliberately messing with me.
"In the middle of the road?" I put to him, arching a brow.
"Sorry. Forgot." He shrugs and breaks into a grin that jars me for a moment before I'm forced to snap myself out of it.
"Just move your fucking car and stop being a selfish dickface!" I say, before turning and colliding with a warm body.
Whoever it is catches me and wraps their hands around my upper arms. I look up to apologize only to realize it's Tyler. I think about screaming; I groan out loud instead.
"While we're trapped here, I thought I'd ask you something?" He grins as well, obviously thinking sex hair's assholery is some kind of serendipity.
I turn to scowl at the beautiful fucker, he's bobbing his head to some lame opera music on his car stereo system, back to feigning zero knowledge of my existence.
"Will you ask me to the spring dance?" Tyler continues on unawares.
"No!" I state matter-of-factly. "I already asked Clark." Yeah, that gets sex hair's attention, and in response to his open surprise, I wink. I'm pretty sure he blushes, and unable to contain it, I smirk to myself.
"Who?" Tyler asks in confusion, noticing my interaction with the weirdo in question.
"He's new." I turn my back to him. "So..." I conclude the conversation and turn back toward John Boy. "Move your ass, Edward!" I say over my shoulder, as Tyler shuffles off in the opposite direction, mumbling something about prom.
"Hey, Bella!" Buzzcut says cheerfully. She snuck up on me before I was aware of it making me almost jump ten feet out of my skin.
"Erm, hey," I mutter, dazed and shaken before I walk away with the sound of sex hair's laughter following me.
His laugh is exactly like him; sex on legs.
I contemplate ramming his lame ass car in revenge, but the fucker drives just as fast as he moves, and he's out of sight before I leave the school grounds.
. . .
I decide to make dinner, something arduous to keep me busy, and while I'm crashing around angrily in the kitchen, my phone rings. It's Jessica. She called to rub it in that squinty eyes accepted her dance offer. Then she slyly asks who I'm going with, and knowing I need to one-up her if I'm ever going to be able to bear her smug face again, I blurt out his name before I can stop myself.
"Edward?" she repeats in disbelief, but there's no hiding the begrudging tenor to her voice. I break into a broad grin, more than satisfied with myself, despite the fact that she's no doubt about to spread it throughout the town the instant she gets off the phone with me; ergo, giving sex hair more ammunition to torture me.
I'll deal with that when it comes, I tell myself hanging up on her midway through her continued exclamations.
I continue prepping dinner, and by the end of it I'm smiling to myself. This banter or whatever I have going on with sex hair, is turning me on. I fucking hate myself because there's no denying how much I like it. He's probably an alien, but if he lets me fuck him, I'm calling it even.
He doesn't want to be my friend? That's fine. I don't want to be his either. I can say that sincerely.
Charlie's pleased as punch that he doesn't have to throw a couple of frozen dinners in the microwave. We chat over dinner, and he asks me about the dance. Apparently his receptionist is pimple guy's mother, because that's how shit works in a town this small.
"I'm not going. I'm going to Seattle to buy new clothes," I lie on the spot, knowing there's no chance on this planet John Boy will make it to Seattle and back.
Charlie eyes me skeptically, because he's obviously thinking the same thing.
"Or maybe Olympia," I'm forced to backtrack.
"Well...okay," he says, appeased apparently.
I oblige him in more awkward small talk for the rest of dinner, and afterward, he pulls frozen jelly donuts from the freezer. I leave to go to the bathroom and don't return.
I dream of sex hair again. He bites me, all over, and I'm pretty sure I have a nocturnal orgasm. Whatever it is, it wakes me like it usually does, and I stare at my ceiling as my breath bates and the spark of sexual desire dims from me.
I really need to find out why my room smells like Windex.
. . .
Sex hair is always at school before me. Whatever the reason, I find the furthest parking spot from his, and haul myself out of John Boy. After locking up—which is ridiculous because who in their right mind would steal it?—I turn to head toward the front entrance when I nearly have heart failure.
Sex hair is leaning causally up against the back half of John Boy, smiling down at me in the midst of open amusement.
"Jesus!" I burst, pressing my hand over my heart to muffle it. "Can you please stop being so creepy!?"
"Rumor has it we're attending the spring dance together?" he says lightly, his lips twitching with a barely concealed smirk.
"I told you, you're my fallback," I remind him, rolling my eyes and continuing toward the school entrance.
With his smile unwavering, he follows beside me, both hands stuffed inside his pockets. He's slouching slightly as if to minimize the height distance between us, because he's taller than my father.
"So why'd you hold me up yesterday?" I ask, folding my arms tightly across my chest to hide the fact my hands are shaking.
"That was for Tyler. He needed to get something off his chest." He chuckles to himself, and I look up for the first time and meet his eyes.
They're gold again. I don't even bother bringing it to his attention this time. Instead I focus on his reply and scoff. "You're an asshole, you know that?"
"You swear an awful lot, you know that?" he imitates me again, and I scowl at him.
"So do you."
"Hmm, sometimes..." He shrugs one-armed, and fucking god, he's beautiful. This has to be some kind of cruel joke. How do people like him exist?
But then he's not a person; he's an alien.
"So, are you talking to me now, or pretending I don't exist?" I change tactics and stare at the ground to hide my internal fluster. My loins are burning again which could really get out of hand.
"Who says I'm pretending you don't exist?" he puts to me simply.
I scoff again for his benefit this time. "Because when you're not acting like batman and saving me from imminent death, you're outright ignoring me."
He pauses and scrutinizes me closely for a minute. I stare up at him watching him grow irritated again. He really is a testy beautiful fucker. "Batman? Stop being so absurd."
"Oh, I'm absurd, am I?" I follow his lead and imitate him, but I'm low-key pissed if truth be told. He's such a patronizing bastard, it's aggravating. "Why don't you go hang with you weirdo foster family and wait for me to cry over it." I hurry my step, but he quickly catches me. Not that I was under any misapprehension that he couldn't, or anything.
"Sorry, that was rude," he mumbles. "It's still true though."
I stop this time and fully face him. "Can you take your backhanded apologies and fuck off?"
He laughs, all light and smooth and sexy as sin. I almost close my eyes to properly take it in. This guy better have plans to fuck me sometime in the future. "I'm sorry. I wanted to ask you something."
"Get on with it then?" I cover badly with fake irritation.
"What if we ditch the dance and do something else?" he asks casually. So casually, I turn slowly to stare up at him in a state of shock.
Did this creepy alien asshole just ask me out on a date? "W-what?" I stammer like a dumbass.
"Do you want to go to Seattle, or something like that?" he asks, raising his perfectly groomed brows innocently.
"Are you stalking me?" I immediately demand.
"I'm sorry?" His expression smooths out in surprise—and guilt.
"I was just talking about going to Seattle," I elaborate when I realize how lame it sounds; something sex hair plays up.
"Wow, living in the Washington State and visiting Seattle. How unheard of," he speaks in deliberate monotone.
"You're such a patronizing blowhard!" On impulse I shove him; I have the same result as if I tried to shove John Boy. He doesn't budge and inch, but my physical contact surprises him, and he not so subtly increases the distance between us looking suddenly flustered.
Not to be outdone by him though, I quickly breach it, only for him to immediately move back as though we were magnets of opposite polls.
"What are you doing?" he asks after several minutes of this weird dance of ours, and while I think his primary emotion is confusion, he's coming off more as disturbed.
"Walking. What are you doing? Afraid you'll catch something from me?"
He rolls his eyes blatantly and snorts softly to himself but doesn't reply.
"Why are you bothering me, anyway? I thought you didn't want to be friends?" I remind him.
"I said we shouldn't be," he corrects me.
"Semantics. Gonna answer my question?"
"...What question?" he asks appearing to second-guess himself. It's moderately satisfying to know Mr. Perfect can be just as much of a dumbass as every other teenager on the planet.
"Why. Are. You. Bothering. Me?" I draw it out with just as much condescension as he uses on me.
He blinks rapidly and frowns. I suspect because he knows how even more outlandishly beautiful he is when he broods. "Oh...I'm tired of staying away from you."
I laugh. For want of a better reaction anyway, and in response he almost looks injured. "Wait, you're serious?"
"Apparently," he says dryly, imitating me again.
"You are so weird!"
"...Why...?" Looking ruffled, he hastily glances off into the distance.
"How would I know?" I shrug nonchalantly. I'm everything but nonchalant, though. "You're batman, not me."
"Batman..." he mutters, tsking to himself this time. "Forget I said anything..."
"You mad?"
"You're...maddening," he replies more or less to himself. "Anyway, see you in class," he grumbles before quickening his step and walking away.
"Later, Clark," I call after him, chuckling to myself as he holds his hand up above the back of his head, his fingers making the "L" for loser sign.
I actually like him today, but he's definitely an alien.