New Moon AU. It's been a long time coming…

It's too bright. It's way too fucking bright.

The lights of the cabin shine mercilessly throughout the small aircraft. Blinding me. Debilitating me. It's hard to pretend that I'm dreaming. That what just happened isn't a visceral, bleeding nightmare. It happened, and I can't run away from it.

I can't run. I can't hide. I can't breathe. Oh, God. I just want to breathe.

The air is swamped with pity and resentment. It's clogging my nose, and it's souring in my mouth. It's also turning my sight into white, scathing fire. It's burning my brain, and it's melting what little sanity I have left. I want to vomit all over the floors, the seats, the traitors in the corner. I want them to feel as disgusted and as rotten as I do. I want them to gag on the aftertaste of bile and peril. I need them to suffer too. And from the looks of the faces around me, they aren't relating to even a fraction of the tarnish that my heart is beating through.

I would ask for someone to turn the lights off, but I'm afraid to open my mouth and initiate any sort of conversation. I can't trust myself to speak. I'm unsure of what will come out. It would probably just be a scream.

Instead of voicing any sort of discomfort, I choose to continue to sit in the silence and squint into my lap. I hold my tongue to the backs of my teeth. I've been made a fool enough today as it is. If I spread my lips again, I'm afraid that I would be stuck sick for the foreseeable future. The illumination is unforgiving in this space. I have some decency to try and hold myself together, but it's not for the show of the ones I once called family. It's for the little boy who lost his place at the blame of their pale hands.

Less than twenty four hours ago, my life was beautiful. The day started off so normal. So very normal.

I woke up to the sound of the deafening alarm on my phone. My hand batted out to turn it off. I stretched and yawned and willed myself out of bed. I trudged from my bedroom and down the hall to my small kitchen, prepared to start the usual morning routine. I would make my coffee bitter and black. I would turn on the weather channel to see exactly how much rain the town would see today. Taking small sips from a mug characterized with a silly cartoon, handpicked from the local thrift by the babe of my blood, I would then daydream of the day ahead. After an hour or so of ritual monotony, I would wake the sleeping child that resided in the bedroom next to mine. It was less than a week before Halloween, and I had just finished sewing his costume the night before. He was obsessed with superheroes, and his favorite was Spiderman. I was excited to show him what I had made. I just knew he would be ecstatic too. His dream was to scale the skyscrapers of Manhattan and save the days from villainous frenzy. He dreamed innocently and pure. A precocious boy as sweet as vanilla filled my days whole. School started at eight, I wanted him to share the joy with his friends.

Though the morning started habitual, it quickly escalated to something so much darker.

Woke up. Slammed the alarm. Stretched, yawned, etc. But as I rounded the corner to my kitchen, I flicked on the switch. A cloaked figure greeted me. It smiled with an evil that terrified the mundanity I had hypothesised. The smirk was cold-blooded. And from memory, I knew this kind of monster existed though I hadn't witnessed it since I was seventeen. It had jumped the distance to stand in front of me. Hands blurred fast and covered my face. There wasn't even enough time to blink before blackness engulfed me, and I had awoken hours later in a room as frigid as ice. I was told a trial awaited me, and the defendants would soon join the jury to determine my fate.

The following hours were too horrific to even ponder upon now. The verdict is out. The grief is too fresh, and the pain is too harsh. I swallow hard to shake the memory.

"Bella?"

I don't look up. I keep squinting. I keep my mouth tight.

"What's wrong? You're starting to shake. Are you hurting? Will you tell me what hurts?"

It all hurts, so I don't respond. It should be obvious that I hurt, and the belonging voice just sends new shards of trauma to my heart. My hurt worsens. My squint becomes a glare.

"Leave her alone, Alice. She's been through enough hell today. She doesn't need you fluttering about."

The silence stretches on. A time passes in it. I briefly look up and try to make sense of my surroundings again. Seven strangers sit around me in their subsequent seats. Half of them are staring directly at me, the others look like they're purposefully avoiding any glances.

I knew them at some point, or at least I thought I did. These people, this coven of vampires, that I thought of as mine in my youth disappeared without a trace so many years ago. They left me unprotected and alone so abruptly. But today they're back. All of them. Like the past ten years were in vain.

A sob clogs itself in my throat. Why? WHY? It's not fair. They were gone and never to be seen. I had given up looking. I moved on for the sake of my parents. For the sake of me. I made a life just like they wanted. I went to school just like I was supposed to. I started a career. I had fallen in love again. I had birthed a child. I had faced adversities through the plight of being human. I grew up. I did everything I was told to do. It didn't matter. None of it had mattered. They showed again, and they took it all back. They threw everything I built away.

I bury my head into my hands. I cry for my life. I cry for my son. I suddenly couldn't care less about my audience, nor the scene I was causing. They deserve to hear my brokenness. My torso spasmed with the jolts of sadness I exhaled. My wails deafened my ears, and broke the spell of quiet. I briefly think about opening the jet's emergency exit and jumping to my death. They deserve to see me end my life. It's their fault anyways.

"Oh, sweetheart. Oh, darling."

I feel an arm spin itself around my shoulders, and it takes every muscle in my body to not repel it away in a fit of convulsion. Instead the scream I had been suppressing finally rises to the surface. I growled in a fit of red. A deep, burning red.

"GET OFF OF ME. DON'T YOU DARE TOUCH ME."

The arm snaps back, and my sobs turn ugly. Tears and snot form together. Swirling around my face like a whirlpool. It feels as if stitches had just been ripped open from the inside. Bleeding internally into my guts. Disgusting. It's painful. It's too fucking painful.

I run to the onboard lavatory, and I heave. Everything I previously held back came up with a vengeance. It turns the commode a violent maroon.

When my stomach drains dry, I lay my head on the plastic floor. I close my eyes, and I wish for a crash of relief. But even I know that the construct of comfort is something that cannot be imagined in this era of disgrace.

I assume I had fallen asleep at one point. My eyes open with the smooth landing of the plane, and I'm being escorted onto the runway tarmac. There's two cars parked many feet away. I'm ushered into a black Mercedes with deep, tinted windows. It's dark outside and I can't make out where I am globally. Am I back in the States? I didn't even bother to look out the windows while flying away. Did I cross an ocean?

I am being driven out of the airport vicinity. The patriarch, the leader, is stationed behind the wheel. His mate sits in the passenger. I am laying haphazardly behind them. Alone. This time I do look out a window. We're on a freeway, that much I can tell. And I see a sign pass by.

Ithaca.

Sure, whatever. It doesn't matter where I am. At this point, anyone could torpedo me in any direction and I would not care. Tear me apart. Bash my skull. Rip my arm from my body and hurl it into any country on a map. I don't need it. I don't need anything.

Though the plane right was relentlessly long, the drive was short. Soon, we're turning onto a snake of back roads. A few miles in, and a hidden driveway emerges from the treeline on the right. I am once again bestowed with a magnificent Cullen mansion. Large, illuminating windows lined the front of the house. A wooden porch wraps around. It shouts of expense and luxury. It reeks of an income that's unfathomable to my way of living. I close my eyes hard. I am swarmed with the realization that this is the place where I have come to die.

The car parks. I don't move to get out. I know that once I set my feet on the property that I won't be able to leave, and I am willing to prolong the inevitable for as long as I can manage. However, the door to my seat is forced open and I'm beckoned to move.

The fight quickly recedes, and my limbs flop onto the pavement. That's right, I forgot that I actually did not mind the concept of dying. I thought it bizarre how I could possibly not remember. I hope I can convince my hosts to let me do it another way than they're intending.

I can feel a steady hand guiding me on the small of my back to the front door. Once more, my breath escapes me. It turns shallow and impending with unwanted contact. I march soullessly up the steps.

The three of us enter the home, and it's an awkward feeling as I gather my surroundings. The other four had arrived a few minutes prior. They're standing expectedly around the foyer. I don't look in their direction. Instead, I ask swiftly where a bed is. I follow a treacherous incline up a staircase. I turn to the right as I'm directed, and slam a door in the face of my tour guide. Who it was, I am unsure. Who cares? I blankly locate a bed. I finally get to shut off the lights. I crawl into the covers, not even bothering to remove my shoes. I find myself curling into a fetal position, and I cry for the loss of everything I have ever gained.

As a teenager, the idea of eternity instilled peace and prolific certainty. As a woman, I have learned that forever is an absolute con.

I pray for my end, and I curse God for my misery.

The next morning will not be normal. I will never prepare myself for normalcy again.

The idea for this story is many years old. And right now, I'm just feeling out the pieces. I've always been annoyed that no one else has ever thought of this AU. Maybe I just haven't searched enough. Whatever the case may be, I have decided to finally divulge my own mind and write it.

There won't be a consistent schedule for this tale. Just like Bella here, I myself am an adult now. I have work and other obligations. But do not fret, if you are interested, I am very hyper fixated on this. I plan to write anytime that I am free.

Please, let me know what you think. However, if no one thinks of anything, then let this just be a catharsis for me.

To be continued, my dear community.

Love, Allie.

P.S. Yes, the Taylor references are on purpose.