#Emmett/Angela | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

oopsitsnothingcreative · 4 months ago

Text

SUNLIT MEADOW - CHAPTER 1

Summary: Beau Swan-Torres moves to a small town to live with his father and finally have the regular life of a high schooler. Instead, he meets a mysterious, charming boy who flips his world upside-down. Beau's determined to uncover all of this town's secrets and it just might end badly for everyone involved. Twilight (Life&Death, Twilight Reimagined, and Midnight Sun) rewrite!!! I changed and added to the lore and world building.

Aka Twilight but make it gay and not toxic. No stalking, no watching people in their sleep. They will actually date/have a relationship and have personalities. Everyone has trauma.

Parring: Edward Cullen/Beau Swan

CHAPTER 1: FIRST SIGHT

My mother drove me to the airport with the windows rolled down. It was seventy-five degrees in Los Angeles, the sky a perfect, cloudless blue. I was wearing my favorite shirt,—an oversized, white button down—a tank top underneath, and a pair of high-waisted black shorts, which I was wearing as a farewell gesture. My carry-on item was a dark green parka and I’d change into jeans during my layover.

I absently fiddled with the charms on my necklaces as I tried to memorise that familiar way the heat felt on my skin. My eyes traced the landscape outside—the palm trees swaying lazily in the breeze, the endless sprawl of stucco houses and sun-bleached billboards, the sharp glint of glass and chrome in the distance. I wanted to hold onto it all: the golden haze of the afternoon, the way the city seemed to hum with life, and the bittersweet ache of leaving it behind.

In the Olympic Peninsula of northwest Washington State, a small town named Forks exists under a near-constant cover of clouds. It rains on this inconsequential town more than anywhere else in the United States. It was from this town and its gloomy, omnipresent shade that my mother escaped with me when I was five years old. It was in this town that I’d spend every summer and every other holiday. And it was where I’d spend the remaining years of high school.

I loved LA I loved the sun, the dry heat, and the sprawling chaos of the city. Even though living with my mom could be quite… challenging, I always felt like she needed me there. Unlike her, I didn’t actually hate Forks, though she loved to assume I did.

“Beau,” my mom said for what felt like the thousandth time as I stood by the gate. “You don’t have to do this.”

My mom says we look so much alike I could use her as a shaving mirror. That’s not entirely true, though I don’t look much like my dad, either. Her chin is sharper, her lips fuller, always curling into a smile that makes her look younger than she is. Mine are thinner, more serious—even when I try to smile. My skin is lighter than hers, more like my dad’s. But we do have exactly the same eyes. On her, they’re childlike—wide and deep brown—which makes her look like my sister rather than my mother. We get that sometimes (actually happened maybe twice) and though she pretends not to, she loves it. On me, the deep brown is less youthful and more… unresolved.

Staring at those wide, worried eyes so much like my own, I felt a familiar panic. I’d been taking care of her my entire life. The time when I wasn’t in charge of the bills, paperwork, cooking, and general level-headedness my parents were still together.

Was I really about to leave her to fend for herself? It had seemed like the right decision over the summer when I’d made it. But it felt all kinds of wrong now.

Of course, she had Phil now. That was still surprising, considering her track record. At least with him around, the bills would probably get paid on time, there’d be food in the fridge, gas in the car, and someone to call when she got lost. She didn’t need me as much anymore. And, honestly, I needed structure and stability in my life.

“I want to go,” I said, hoping she’d finally believe me.

“Okay, honey. Tell Charlie I said hi.” I noticed the way her lips twitched every time she spoke his name.

“I will.”

“I’ll see you soon,” she promised. “You can come home whenever you want—I’ll come right back as soon as you need me—”

I almost laughed. “Don’t worry about me,” I had to interrupt her, or she would probably spiral until I agreed to stay. “It’ll be great. I love you, Mami.”

She hugged me so tightly I couldn’t breathe, and then I walked through security. When I turned back, she was already gone.

It’s about a three-hour flight from the LAX to Seattle, another hour in a small plane up to Port Angeles, and then an hour drive back down to Forks. Flying never bothered me; the hour in the car with dad, though, I was always a little worried about. I love him, and we talk regularly, but neither of us was what you’d call outgoing—probably a necessary thing for living with my mother.

He had really been pretty decent about the whole thing. He seemed genuinely pleased that I was coming to live with him sort of permanently for the first time. He’d already gotten me registered for high school, and was even going to help me get a car.

When I landed in Port Angeles, it was raining. It wasn’t an omen, just inevitable. I’d said my goodbyes to the sun.

Dad was waiting for me with the cruiser. This I was expecting, too. My father is Police Chief Swan to the good people of Forks. My primary motivation behind buying a car, despite my serious lack of funds, was that I hated driving around town in a car with red and blue lights on top. Nothing slows down traffic like a cop.

I stumbled off the plane into Dad’s awkward, one-armed hug.

“It’s good to see you, son,” he said, smiling as he automatically steadied me. We patted each other’s shoulders awkwardly, both of us embarrassed, and then stepped back. “You haven’t changed much. How’s Renée?”

I thought, Yeah, Dad, it’s been a month. Not a decade. But I just said, “Mom’s… great. It’s good to see you too.”

I only had a few bags. I mailed most of my stuff weeks ago, and my “winter” clothes were already at Dad’s house. My California wardrobe was mostly useless here anyway.

“I found a good car for you, really cheap,” he announced once we were strapped into the cruiser and on our way.

“What kind of car?” I asked, suspicious of the way he said ‘good car for you’ as opposed to just ‘good car.’

“Well, it’s a truck actually. A Chevy.”

“Where did you find it?”

“Billy Black down at La Push.”

La Push is a small Native American reservation on the nearby coastline.

I didn’t respond to that, just stared at him. Honestly, I needn’t have asked. Of course, it was Billy, Dad’s best friend and my godfather. They would go fishing in the summers, and I was forced to tag along. I remembered riding in that truck when I was little, wedged between Billy and Charlie, with Jake, the windows down as we bumped along the dirt roads. The truck had always felt too big for me back then, like it was swallowing me up with its massive, rattling engine.

“You know, since he’s in a wheelchair,” Dad continued when I didn’t respond, “he can’t drive anymore, and he offered to sell me the truck cheap.”

“What year is it?” I asked, already sensing this wasn’t going to be a good answer. I could see from the change in his expression that this was the question he’d hoped I wouldn’t ask.

“Well, Jacob’s done a lot of work on the engine—it’s only a few years old, really.”

Did he really think I would give up that easily?

“When did he buy it?”

“He bought it in 1984, I think.”

“Did he buy it new?”

“Well, no. I think it was new in the early sixties—or maybe fifties…” he admitted sheepishly.

Dad had a way of making things sound newer than they were, like that truck hadn’t been ancient the last time I saw it. I remembered clambering into the cab, my legs too short to reach the floor, as I sat between them. The seat had smelled like old leather and engine grease, and Billy would joke that it had more character than any of the shiny new cars the tourists would roll through town in.

“Dad, I don’t really know anything about cars. I wouldn’t be able to fix it if anything went wrong, and I couldn’t afford a mechanic—”

“Really, Beau, the thing runs great. They don’t build ‘em like that anymore.”

The thing, I thought to myself. Yeah, I can totally see that as a nickname.

“How cheap is cheap?” After all, that was the part I couldn’t compromise on.

“Well, son, I kind of already bought it for you. As a late birthday gift.” Dad glanced sideways at me with a hopeful expression.

Wow. Free.

“You didn’t need to do that, Dad. I was going to buy myself a car.”

“I don’t mind. I want you to be happy here.” He was looking ahead at the road when he said this. Dad had never been good at expressing his emotions out loud, and I’d definitely inherited that from him. So, I kept my gaze forward too as I responded.

“That’s amazing, Dad. Thanks. I really appreciate it.”

“Well, now, you’re welcome,” he mumbled, embarrassed by my thanks.

We exchanged a few more comments on the weather, which was wet, and that was pretty much it for conversation. We both stared out the windows, saying nothing.

It was beautiful, of course. Everything was green: the trees, their trunks covered with moss, their branches hanging with a canopy of it, the ground covered with ferns. Even the air filtered down greenly through the leaves. Someone could say it was too green—someone like my mother—but I kind of liked it. It was like an alien planet compared to LA’s endless, blinding sandy colors.

Eventually, we made it home. He still lived in the small, four-bedroom house that he’d bought with my mom in the early days of their marriage. Those were the only kind of days their marriage had—the early ones.

There, parked on the street in front of the house that never changed, was my new—well, new to me—truck.

It was a faded red color, with big, rounded fenders and a bulbous cab.

And I loved it. I wasn’t really a car guy, so I was kind of surprised by my own reaction. I mean, I didn’t even know if it would run, but I could totally see myself in it. Plus, it was one of those solid iron monsters that never gets damaged—the kind you see at the scene of an accident, paint unscratched, surrounded by the pieces of the foreign car it had destroyed. The thing definitely had a personality.

It felt weird to think about how much smaller it seemed now. When I was a kid, it had looked like a giant beast, ready to swallow me whole. Now, I could actually see myself behind the wheel, driving it.

“Wow, Dad, I love it! Thanks!” I was genuinely enthused about the truck. Not only was it perfect, but now I wouldn’t be faced with the choice of either walking two miles in the rain to school or accepting a ride in the Chief’s cruiser.

“I’m glad you like it,” Dad said gruffly, embarrassed by the attention.

It only took one trip to get my stuff upstairs. The bedroom I got faced the backyard. It had belonged to me since I was born. The wooden floor, light blue walls, and peaked ceiling were all so familiar. The faded, dark plaid curtains around the windows had been there forever, too. The only upgrades over the years were swapping out my crib for a bed and adding a desk when I got old enough to need one. Now, the desk held a laptop—a stipulation from my mother, so that we could “stay connected” or whatever. Most of the decorations were the same as when I’d left last summer: the posters, sketches, a rainbow flag pinned to the wall, books, trinkets, and fairy lights. Even the desk was still cluttered with my art supplies and random knick-knacks.

The room, untouched, just as I left it. Well, mostly untouched, except for the boxes on the floor waiting for me to unpack. That’s how it always felt coming back—comfortable but slightly off, like my brain needed a moment to adjust to old routines. It was weird how even a familiar place could feel foreign when you’ve been gone awhile.

There were only two bathrooms—the smaller one downstairs, right next to the guest bedroom, and a slightly bigger one at the top of the stairs.

One of the best things about Dad is that he doesn’t hover. He left me alone to settle in, which would’ve been altogether impossible for Mom. I appreciated the quiet, the space to think, and the chance to process. It was nice to be alone. When I was younger, I used to be afraid of being alone, but I found out pretty soon that loneliness was less lonely than it seemed. It had a strange comfort of its own, like the hush after a storm. Now, I even preferred it sometimes.

That bittersweet train of thought kept me company as I carefully arranged my book collection on the shelf. The spines lined up in their usual neat rows, a comforting rainbow of familiarity amidst the chaos of unpacking. It felt a little like catching up with old friends, though if I told anyone that, they’d probably think I’d lost my mind.

I wasn’t even halfway done with unpacking when I saw the stack of textbooks waiting on my desk. Anxiety hit me like a truck. Starting a new school won’t be easy, especially a week after the school year began. Forks High School had just three hundred and fifty-seven—now fifty-eight—students; there were more than seven hundred people in my sophomore class alone back home. All of the kids there had grown up together. I probably went to kindergarten with them, but I didn’t exactly keep in touch with anyone. So, basically, I would be the new kid from the big city, something to stare at and whisper about.

Maybe if I had been one of the cool kids, I could work this to my advantage. But I certainly wasn’t that guy. I’ve always been… offbeat. Not the football star, the class president, or the bad boy on the motorcycle. I was the kid who looked like he should be good at basketball—until I started walking and shattered the illusion. The kid who got shoved into lockers until I’d suddenly shot up eight inches freshman year. The kid who was too quiet to be noticed, too sarcastic to blend in, too lost in my own head to care, too weird, too nerdy, and too queer. But if I was being fully honest—I didn’t really want to fit in. It all looked exhausting.

And don’t get me started on sports.

I wasn’t completely unfit—I was a ballet dancer, and I ran when I could (mostly in the mornings or when I couldn’t sleep, which was often, too often)—but if there was a ball involved, I was an absolute menace. My hand-eye coordination was so laughably bad it should come with a warning label. And despite the constant sunshine of California and being half Latino, I was paler than people expected me to be and had always been on the leaner side.

Once I’d finished cramming clothes into the old pine closet, I grabbed my bag of toiletries and headed for the bathroom to clean myself up after the day of travel.

The hot shower helped clear my head. Standing in front of the mirror, I ran my fingers through my damp curls. Maybe it was the light, or maybe it was the hot shower I just took, but my skin looked a bit darker and my usually barely seen freckles were somehow more visible.

Unlike other teenagers, I didn’t have a ton of free time. I had a checkbook to balance, a week’s groceries to shop for, meals to cook, a part-time job, and a very long list of after-school activities.

So I didn’t relate well to people my age. Maybe the truth was that I didn’t relate well to people, period. Even my mother never really understood me. Sometimes I wondered if I was seeing the same things through my eyes that the rest of the world was seeing through theirs. Like, maybe what I saw as green was what everyone else saw as red. Maybe I smelled vinegar when they smelled coconut. Maybe there was a glitch in my brain.

But the cause didn’t matter. All that mattered was the effect. And tomorrow would be just the beginning.

I didn’t sleep well that night, even after I had managed to calm myself down. The rain wouldn’t shut up, and the wind howled like it had a grudge against my window. I buried myself under the old quilt, and eventually, a pillow. It was well after midnight before I finally passed out, and only because the rain finally settled into a quieter drizzle.

Morning wasn’t much better. Thick fog wrapped the house like a damp gray cocoon, hiding everything. You could barely see the sky in Forks most days, but this was next-level gloom. Breakfast with dad was quiet. He wished me good luck at school. I thanked him, knowing his hope was a waste of time. Good luck tended to avoid me.

Dad left first, off to the police station that was his wife and family. After he left, I sat at the old square oak table in one of the three unmatching chairs and stared at the familiar kitchen, with its dark paneled walls, bright yellow cabinets, and white tiled floor. Nothing had changed. Mom painted those cabinets eighteen years ago, trying to bring some sunshine into the house.

Over the small fireplace in the family room was a row of pictures. First a wedding picture of Dad and Mom in Las Vegas, then one of the three of us in the hospital after I was born, taken by a helpful nurse, followed by the procession of my school pictures up to this year’s. Those were painful to look at—the bad haircuts, the braces years, the acne that had finally cleared up. I’d have to figure out a way to convince Dad to move them somewhere else, at least while I was living here.

It was impossible to be in this house and not realize that Dad had never gotten over Mom. It was kind of… sad, honestly. I’d always hoped he’d meet someone new, someone who’d make him happy. But for now, it was just the two of us.

I didn’t want to be too early to school, but I didn’t have anything better to do. So, I grabbed my jacket—thick, non-breathable plastic, like a biohazard suit—and stepped out into the rain. It was only drizzling, so I wouldn’t be soaked through immediately, but it was still Forks: wet was the default setting here. Reaching for the house key stashed under the eaves—my set of keys must’ve still been in one of the unpacked boxes that I pushed under my bed before sleep—I locked up. My dad’s old combat boots sloshed awkwardly as I walked. I kinda missed the normal crunch of gravel underfoot, but I didn’t have time to linger. The misty wet swirled around me, like it was personally offended that I dared to leave the house.

Inside the truck, it was blissfully dry. Someone—probably Dad—had cleaned it up, but the tan upholstered seats still smelled faintly of tobacco, gasoline, and peppermint. The mix was oddly comforting. I inhaled slowly, and the scent tugged at old memories. I could picture Jake and me squeezed into this truck next to our fathers, listening to music on the radio, Jake cracking stupid jokes to make me laugh. That felt like a lifetime ago. The engine roared to life—loud, sure, but it quieted down with every second. Well, no one’s perfect, I thought wryly, not even this truck. On the plus side, the radio was newer than the rest of it, and I could connect my phone. Small victories.

Finding the school wasn’t difficult; like most things, it was right off the highway. It wasn’t totally obvious that it was a school; only the sign, which declared it to be FORKS HIGH SCHOOL HOME OF THE SPARTANS, clued me in. It looked like a collection of matching houses, built with maroon-colored bricks. Only the one in the front resembled a school; it was definitely the biggest building out of all. There were so many trees and shrubs I couldn’t see its size at first.

Where’s the institutional vibe? The chain-link fences? The metal detectors?

I parked in front of the first tiny building, which was attached to the bigger one. A sign over the door read FRONT OFFICE. No one else was parked there, so I was sure it was off limits, but I decided I would get directions inside instead of circling around in the rain like an idiot. I stepped unwillingly out of the toasty truck cab and walked down a little stone path lined with dark hedges. I paused outside the door, took a deep breath, and went inside.

The office was brightly lit and warmer than I’d hoped. It was small—a waiting area with a few padded folding chairs, orange-flecked commercial carpet, notices and awards cluttering the walls. A huge clock ticked loudly and plants in large plastic pots seemed to spring up everywhere, as if there wasn’t enough greenery outside. The room was cut in half by a long counter, cluttered with wire baskets full of papers and brightly colored flyers taped to its front. Behind the counter were three desks, only one of them occupied. A large, red-haired woman wearing glasses sat there, typing something. She was wearing a t-shirt, which immediately made me feel overdressed for the weather.

She looked up as I walked in. “Can I help you?” she asked, her tone friendly enough.

“I’m Beau Swan-Torres,” I informed her, bracing myself for the inevitable flicker of recognition. Sure enough, her eyes lit up with awareness. I was expected. Great. She’d clearly heard the gossip. Son of the Chief’s flighty, insane ex-wife, came back home at last.

“Of course,” she said, rifling through a precariously stacked pile of papers on her desk. After a moment, she pulled out what she was looking for. “I’ve got your schedule right here, Beauregard, and a map of the school.” She brought several sheets to the counter and laid them out for me.

“Um, it’s Beau, please,” I corrected gently.

“Oh, sure, Beau.” She didn’t miss a beat, though I could tell she’d already mentally filed me under Beauregard.

She went through my classes for me, highlighting the best routes to each class on the map. Then she handed me a slip I’d need to get signed by every teacher and return by the end of the day. She smiled at me in that overly bright way people do when they feel awkward. “I hope you’ll like it here,” she said, echoing Dad’s earlier sentiment.

“Thanks,” I replied with a polite smile of my own. Because what else could I say? “Can’t wait to be the awkward new kid everyone stares at” didn’t seem appropriate.

When I got back to my truck, other students were starting to arrive. I drove around the school, following the line of traffic. To my relief, most of the cars were older models like mine. In California, it was a common thing to see a new Mercedes, Porsches, or even Teslas in the student lot. The nicest car here was a shiny Volvo, and it stood out.

I parked quickly, cutting the engine so the truck wouldn’t draw too much attention. Sitting there for a moment, I stared out at the rain-slicked lot and the clusters of kids walking toward the buildings. My stomach twisted, and I pulled out the map, trying to memorize it now; hopefully, I wouldn’t have to walk around with it stuck in front of my nose all day. Satisfied that I at least knew where to start, I stuffed everything in my messenger bag, slung the strap over my shoulder, and sucked in a huge breath. “It won’t be that bad.” I tried to calm myself. “This wasn’t life or death—just high school.” It’s not like anyone was going to bite me.

I finally exhaled and stepped out of the truck. I pulled my hood down over my face as I walked to the sidewalk, crowded with other students. My plain black jacket blended in, which was comforting.

Once I got around the cafeteria, building three was easy to spot—there was a giant black “3” painted on a white square on the corner. I felt a knot in my stomach tighten as I approached the door. I took another deep breath as I followed two unisex raincoats through the door.

The classroom was small. A few students in front of me stopped to hang their jackets on a long row of hooks. I followed their lead, awkwardly mimicking them. They were two girls—one a porcelain-colored blond, the other just as pale, with light brown hair.

I made my way up to the teacher’s desk. The nameplate identified him as Mr. Mason. He was tall and balding, and gawked at me when he saw my name—not an encouraging response—and, of course, I felt my face heat up as he gave me a once-over.

Thankfully, he didn’t make me introduce myself. Instead, he waved me toward an empty desk in the back. I sank into the chair, trying to make myself as invisible as possible. It didn’t work. It was harder for my new classmates to stare at me in the back, but somehow, they managed.

I stared down at the reading list Mr. Mason handed me, doing my best to ignore the unwanted attention. Brontë, Shakespeare, Chaucer, Faulkner, Fitzgerald, Dickinson—comfortingly familiar… yet boring. I’d read all of it before. While the teacher droned on, I let my mind wander. Maybe Mom would send me my folder of old essays, or maybe she would think that was cheating. I started mentally rehearsing my counterarguments.

When the bell rang, a nasal buzzing sound, I wanted to pack up quickly. But before I could escape, a beautiful, skinny girl with brown hair quickly and gracefully walked towards me and leaned across the aisle to talk to me. The girl was utterly unique. She was short and pixie-like, with sharp, delicate features. Her short hair messy, pointing in every direction with perfectly cut bangs. The short, choppy strands framed her face like a crown of controlled chaos, with each jagged edge adding to the punkish, untamed look she wore so effortlessly. It was the kind of hair that seemed to defy gravity, perfectly matching the fierce independence in her eyes.

“You’re Beauregard Swan, right?” She gave off the vibe of the popular but nice, overly helpful kind of popular. Her voice was cheerful and as unique as she looked.

“Beau,” I corrected, trying not to cringe as everyone within earshot turned to look at me.

“Where’s your next class?” she asked, completely unfazed.

I fumbled with my bag, pulling out the schedule. “Um, Government with Jefferson. Building six.” There was nowhere to look without meeting curious eyes.

“I’m headed toward building four, I could show you the way…” Definitely helpful. “I’m Alice,” she added.

I smiled tentatively. “Thanks. That’d be great.”

We grabbed our jackets and stepped back into the rain, which had picked up. I could have sworn several people behind us were walking close enough to eavesdrop. I hoped I wasn’t getting paranoid—more than I already was.

“So,” Alice said, making casual conversation, “this must be a big change from California.”

“You could say that.”

“It doesn’t rain much there, huh?”

“Five or six times a year.”

“Wow, what must that be like?” she wondered.

“Sunny,” I told her, and she laughed, a soft, quiet sound I almost missed.

“You know,” she said, “I was new here once, too. We moved here my freshman year.”

“We?” I asked, surprised. “How’d you adjust?”

“I’ve got a big family,” she said, waving it off. “And it was a little rough at first, but people warm up eventually.”

We circled around the cafeteria and headed toward the south buildings near the gym. Alice walked with me all the way to the door, even though it was clearly marked.

“Well, good luck,” she said, her tone cheerful, as I touched the handle. “Maybe we’ll have some other classes together.” She sounded more certain than hopeful.

“Thanks,” I said, offering a faint smile. I could see myself becoming friends with her.

The rest of the morning passed in much the same fashion. My Trigonometry teacher, Mr. Varner, who I would have disliked anyway just because of the subject he taught, was the only one who made me stand in front of the class and introduce myself. Cue the stammering, blushing, and tripping over my own boots on the way back to my seat. A real highlight of the day.

After two classes, I started recognizing a few faces here and there. There was always someone braver than the others who would introduce themselves and ask usual questions: How did I like Forks? Wasn’t the weather awful? Did I miss California? Most were surprised when I mentioned I’d spent a lot of time here growing up. It was just the school that was new to me. At least I never needed the map.

In every class, the teacher started out calling me Beauregard, and though I corrected them immediately, it was frustrating. It had taken me years to live down Beauregard—thank you so much, Grandpa, for dying just months before I was born and making my father feel obligated to honor you. No one back in California even remembered that Beau was just a nickname anymore. Now I had to start all over again.

I had to sprint to my next class because Mr. Varner refused to let us leave until someone solved the problem on the board. Fortunately, it was also in the main building, so I didn’t have to run that far. The classroom was filled with art supplies—paintbrushes, easels, stacks of paper—and the walls were covered in art pieces, some of them probably made by my new classmates. I noticed all of them were girls. Judging by the stares, I figured I might be the only guy in this class. They really looked at me like I was lost or something. Art clearly wasn’t a big draw for Forks’ male population.

I put my bag on the free table and looked for the slip for the teacher. She hadn’t noticed me come in, too focused on whatever she was typing on her laptop. She was pale—like everyone else around here—but maybe a little more so. She was small, with round features, wearing a dark green dress and a dark, almost black cardigan over it, she looked exactly like you’d imagine an art teacher to look like. Something about her heart-shaped face, her billows of soft, caramel-colored hair, reminded me of the ingénues of the silent-movie era.

When I reached her desk, she startled slightly and looked up, her expression caught somewhere between curiosity and nervousness. “Oh! Mr. Swan-Torres,” she said, her voice soft and musical. “I’m so happy to have you in my class.”

She took the slip from my hand before I could say anything and signed it, then grabbed a stack of things from her desk and handed them to me one by one.

“This is for your work—don’t lose it,” she said, passing me a sketchbook with my name neatly written on the cover. Then came a pack of pencils and a thick art history book. “Don’t worry, we haven’t started any projects yet. Right now, we’re doing an introduction to art history. And this—” She handed me a small canvas. “This is for the graded project this semester, which we’ll discuss next week. You only get one, so if something happens, you’ll have to buy your own, all right?”

“Y-yes, Thank you.” I managed, clutching the supplies like they might vanish if I moved too quickly.

She looked at me, then at her desk, then back at me, her brow furrowing slightly. “Am I forgetting something?”

At first, I thought she was asking me—like I was supposed to know—but then I realized she was just thinking out loud as she looked around trying to jog her memory. “Oh, of course,” she murmured, opening the cabinet and pulling out a folder. “Your father left me some of your work to assess to get you into this advanced class.”

The bell rang, cutting off any chance for follow-up questions, and she waved me toward the table I’d left my bag on. I quickly dropped everything on my table, as she launched into a lecture about Renaissance art. I realized I didn’t get her name. I looked at her signature on the freshly signed piece of paper—Esme Cullen.

I was still a little confused about how I’d gotten into this class, but I wasn’t going to complain. The girls who had been staring at me earlier kept it up, though I pretended not to notice. Instead, I opened the thick art history book and flipped to the right page, letting Esme’s enthusiasm for the Renaissance wash over me.

After class, I finally found my locker, crammed my new supplies into it, and tried to memorize its location. Then it was time to leave the warm, dry halls of the main building and find my next class.

Alice was waiting outside the Spanish classroom, her face lighting up when she saw me. It seemed like she had been waiting for me. She looked so genuinely happy.

We sat next to each other and spent most of the lesson talking without ever getting caught. It was like Alice had a sixth sense for when the teacher’s attention was about to shift to us. I took Spanish for the easy A, so I wasn’t going to pay that much attention anyway.

The conversation was nice. She was funny—surprisingly sharp, too—and apparently obsessed with fashion. She was interested in my outfit, particularly my shoes. “I like vintage things,” she said.

Alice walked with me to the cafeteria for lunch. Her bubbly, energetic personality contrasted sharply with my dry, sarcastic one, but somehow, the conversation flowed. She had this way of making you talk, even if you didn’t want to.

We sat at the end of a full table with several of her friends, who she introduced to me—couldn’t complain about the manners here. Overwhelmed by the rush of new information, I forgot all their names almost immediately. It was a lot to take in. They seemed impressed by her bravery in speaking to me. A boy from Trig—I think his name was Eric—waved at me from across the room.

It was there, sitting in the lunchroom, trying to make conversation with seven curious strangers, that I first saw them.

They were sitting in the corner of the cafeteria, as far away from where I sat as possible in the long room. There were four of them. They were talking and laughing and eating. They weren’t gawking at me, unlike most of the other students, so it was safe to stare at them without fear of meeting an excessively interested pair of eyes. But none of that was why they caught my attention.

They didn’t look anything alike. There were three guys. One was huge—muscled like a serious weight lifter, at least six-five, maybe taller, with skin about the same tone as mine and short, dark, curly hair. Probably the school’s star-athlete. The one sitting next to him was slightly shorter, though not by much, but still muscular, with honey-colored hair. There was something intense about him, edgy. The last one was lanky, less bulky, with untidy, bronze-colored hair. He looked younger, more boyish than the others.

The girl was taller than average. She had a beautiful figure, the kind you saw on the cover of a magazine, the kind that made every girl around her take a hit on her self-esteem just by being in the same room. Her hair was golden, gently waving to the middle of her back.

Totally different, and yet, they were all exactly alike. There was something about them making them the same, although I couldn’t quite place it. They all had very dark eyes—from here they looked black—despite the range in their hair colors.

But all this is not why I couldn’t look away. They looked like normal teens, yet they were all insanely attractive. They were faces you never expected to see except perhaps in a museum, painted by an old master as the face of an angel or a Greek god. It was hard to believe they were real.

I decided the most beautiful of all was the bronze-colored haired guy, though I expected the female half of the student body would vote for the movie-star blond guy. They would be wrong, though. I mean, all of them were gorgeous, but there was something about the bronze-haired one—something that made my stomach twist. He was absolutely perfect.

“Who are they?” I asked the girl sitting next to me, whose name I’d forgotten.

As she looked up to see who I meant—though she could probably guess from my tone—suddenly he looked at us, the perfect one. He looked at my neighbor for just a fraction of a second, and then his dark eyes flickered towards mine.

He looked away quickly, more quickly than I could, though in a flush of embarrassment I dropped my eyes at once. In that brief flash of a glance, his face wasn’t interested at all—it was as if she had called his name, and he’d looked up in an involuntary response, already having decided not to answer.

My neighbor gave a nervous little laugh, looking back down at the table. I followed her lead, feeling the tips of my ears heat up. Great. Nothing like getting caught staring.

“That’s Edward and Emmett Cullen, and Rosalie and Jasper Hale,” she said, her voice low like she was sharing a secret. “Alice’s family. They all live together with Dr. Cullen and his wife—she teaches here.”

Alice, sitting across from us, glanced up at the mention of her name, giving the girl a mildly amused look.

Of course. It made perfect sense that the unique, beautiful girl was related to the other unique, beautiful people.

I stole another at the beautiful boy, his attention was fixed on the tray in front of him as he tore apart a bagel with long, pale fingers. His mouth was moving very quickly, his perfect lips barely opening.

Strange, unpopular names, I thought. The kinds of names grandparents had. But maybe that was in vogue here—small town names? I finally remembered that my neighbor was called Jessica, a perfectly common name. There were two girls named Jessica in my History class back home.

“They’re all… very good-looking,” I said, struggling to find words that didn’t sound completely ridiculous.

“Oh, yeah!” she agreed, suddenly louder. “And they’re all together—Emmett and Rosalie, and Jasper and Alice.”

Jessica giggled as Alice kicked her under the table. But that only made her laugh harder.

“Are you gossiping about my family again, Jess?” Alice teased, shaking her head. Then she turned to me, her grin still firmly in place. “It’s fine, Beau. I would’ve told you about them eventually. My parents fostered Rosalie and Jasper a little over a year ago, but my brother and I had already been dating the twins long before that.”

“Wait—so you’re not all…?” I trailed off, not sure how to phrase it.

“Related? No, not really. It’s complicated,” Alice admitted with a shrug. “When we moved here, we were all the people talked about. Like this one, over here.” She jabbed her fork in Jessica’s direction, earning a mock gasp of outrage.

Just then, Jasper—at least, I assumed it was Jasper—stood up and walked towards our table. He passed behind me, leaned down to kiss Alice on the cheek before heading out of the cafeteria without a word.

Alice smiled widely, her cheeks weirdly, palely blushing. “Gotta go! See ya, guys!” She was gone before I could even say goodbye, her bag nearly slipping off her shoulder as she hurried away.

I glanced back at the Cullen-Hale table. Rosalie and Emmett had left, joining a group of what looked like seniors sitting closer to the exit, leaving their brother alone at the table. He didn’t seem to mind—or maybe he didn’t notice.

“What was the name of the boy with the reddish-brown hair?” I asked Jessica, keeping my tone neutral.

I glanced at him from the corner of my eye, and he was staring at me again, but not gawking like the other students had today—he had a slightly frustrated expression. I looked down again.

“Edward,” Jessica said with a sniff, her tone sharpening. “He’s gorgeous, of course, but a complete waste of time. He doesn’t date. Apparently none of the girls here are good-looking enough for him.” The bitterness in her voice was practically palpable. I wondered when he’d turned her down.

I bit my lip to hide a smirk. Then I glanced at him again. His face was turned away now, but I could’ve sworn the corner of his mouth was curved, like he might’ve been smiling too.

A few minutes later, he got up and left without a word, moving with that same weird fluidity as the others.

I ended up sitting at the table with Jessica and her friends longer than I normally would’ve. Honestly, if I were alone, I’d have ditched the cafeteria five minutes in. I was anxious not to be late for class on my first day.

One of my new acquaintances, who considerately reminded me that her name was Angela, had Biology II with me the next hour. We walked to class together in silence. She was shy, like me, and didn’t seem interested in forcing awkward small talk.

When we entered the classroom, Angela went to sit at a black-topped lab table exactly like the ones I was used to. She already had a neighbor. In fact, all the tables were filled but one. Next to the center aisle, I recognized Edward Cullen by his unusual hair, sitting next to that single open seat.

My heart started hammering for no good reason, and I had to focus on not tripping over my own feet as I walked down the aisle to introduce myself to the teacher and get my slip signed. I was watching him surreptitiously. Just as I passed, he suddenly went rigid in his seat. He stared at me again, meeting my eyes with the strangest expression on his face—it was more than angry, it was furious, hostile.

I looked away quickly, my face heating up, and managed to trip over someone’s book in the aisle. I caught myself on the edge of their table, and the girl sitting there giggled. Perfect.

I had been right about his eyes. They were black—coal black.

Mr. Banner signed my slip and handed me a book with no nonsense about introductions. I could tell we were going to get along. Of course, he had no choice but to send me to the one open seat in the middle of the room.

I kept my eyes down as I went to sit by him, bewildered by the antagonistic stare he’d given me, trying to ignore the fact that my palms were suddenly sweaty. And of course, because I wasn’t paying attention, my hip clipped the corner of someone’s desk on the way. Smooth, Beau. Real smooth.

Without looking up, I slid into the seat and shifted as far to the right as the chair would go, putting as much space between us as humanly possible. I saw his posture change from the corner of my eye. I ran my fingers through my hair nervously and leaned forward, propping my head on my hand to block my face from his view. I angled myself away, too, for good measure. I tried to pay attention to the teacher.

Unfortunately, the lecture was on something I’d already studied. I took notes carefully anyway, always looking down.

Still, I couldn’t stop myself from sneaking a glance at the strange boy next to me now and then. During the whole class, he never relaxed his stiff position. I could see his hand on his left leg was clenched into a fist, tendons standing out under his pale skin. This, too, he never relaxed. He had the long sleeves of his white shirt pushed up to his elbows, and his forearm was surprisingly muscular beneath his light skin. Not that I cared. It was just… an observation.

The class seemed to drag on longer than the rest. Was it because the day was finally coming to a close, or because I was waiting for his tight fist to loosen? It never did; he continued to sit so still it looked like he wasn’t breathing. What was wrong with him? Was this his normal behavior? I questioned my quick judgment on Jessica’s bitterness at lunch today. Maybe she was not as resentful as I’d thought.

It couldn’t have anything to do with me. He didn’t know me from Adam.

I peeked up at him one more time, and immediately regretted it. He was glaring down at me again, his black eyes full of revulsion.

As I flinched away from him, shrinking against my chair, the phrase if looks could kill suddenly ran through my mind.

At that moment, the bell rang loudly, making me jump, and Edward Cullen was out of his seat. Fluidly he rose—he was maybe a couple of inches taller than me—his back to me, and he was out the door before anyone else was out of their seats.

I sat there, frozen, staring blankly after him. What was his problem? He was so unnecessarily rude. I began gathering up my things slowly, trying to block the confusion and anger that filled me. I felt tight knots in my stomach. I hadn’t done anything wrong. How could I have? I hadn’t even talked to him.

Was he racist or something?

“Aren’t you Beauregard Swan?” a male voice asked. I looked up to see a cute, baby-faced boy, his pale blond hair carefully flat-ironed, smiling at me in a friendly way.

“Beau,” I corrected him with a small smile, trying not to sound too irritated.

“I’m Mike.”

“Hi, Mike.”

“Do you need any help finding your next class?”

“I’m headed to the gym, actually. I think I can find it,” I replied, trying to keep it short.

“That’s my next class, too.” He seemed way too excited about this coincidence. I wasn’t sure if it was just because our school was small, or if he was always this... eager.

We walked to class together; he was a chatterer—he supplied most of the conversation, which made it easy for me. He’d lived in California till he was ten, so he knew how I felt about the sun. It turned out he was in my English class also. He was the second nicest person I’d met today. It was kind of weird that someone as nice as Alice was related to someone like Edward. But then again, I wasn’t even sure if they were actually related.

As we entered the gym, Mike asked, “So, did you stab Edward Cullen with a pencil or what? I’ve never seen him act like that.”

I cringed. So I wasn’t the only one who had noticed. And, apparently, that wasn’t Edward Cullen’s usual behavior. I decided to play dumb.

“Was that the guy I sat next to in Biology?” I asked, pretending to be clueless.

“Yeah,” he said. “He looked like he was in pain or something.”

“I don’t know,” I responded. “I never spoke to him.”

“He’s a weird guy.” Mike lingered by me instead of heading to the dressing room. “If I were lucky enough to sit by you, I would have talked to you.”

I smiled at him, and he quickly walked through the locker room door. I followed, slightly embarrassed. He was friendly and possibly liked me—maybe even a bit too much. But it wasn’t enough to make me forget the last hour.

The Gym teacher, Coach Clapp, found me a uniform but didn’t make me dress down for today’s class. At my old school, only two years of P.E. were required. Here, P.E. was mandatory all four years. Like I said this morning—good luck tended to avoid me.

I watched four volleyball games running simultaneously. Thinking back on the injuries I’d sustained—and inflicted—playing volleyball made me feel vaguely nauseous. Still, I kind of liked it. Once I focused enough, I was pretty good at it... or so I’ve been told. Unfortunately, I had a habit of spacing out.

The final bell rang at last, and I walked slowly to the office to return my paperwork. The rain had drifted away, but the wind was strong and colder. I wrapped my arms around myself.

When I walked into the warm office, I almost turned around and walked back out. Edward Cullen stood at the desk in front of me. I recognized again that tousled bronze hair. He didn’t seem to notice me enter. I stood pressed against the back wall, waiting for the receptionist to be free.

He was arguing with her in a low, attractive voice. I quickly picked up the gist of the argument. He was trying to switch from seventh-hour Biology to another time—any other time. I just couldn’t believe that this was about me. It had to be something else, something that happened before I entered the Biology room. The look on his face must have been about another aggravation entirely. It was impossible that this stranger could take such a sudden, intense dislike to me.

The door opened again, and the cold wind suddenly gusted through the room, rustling the papers on the desk, swirling my hair around my face. The girl who came in merely stepped to the desk, placed a note in the wire basket, and walked out again. But Edward Cullen’s back stiffened. He turned slowly, glaring at me—his face was frustratingly, absurdly handsome—with piercing eyes. I felt the anxiety rise inside me. The look was more of irritation than hatred and only lasted a second, but it chilled me more than the freezing wind. Then, just like that, he turned back to the receptionist.

“Never mind, then,” he said hastily in a voice like velvet. “I can see that it’s impossible. Thank you so much for your help.” He turned on his heel and strode out the door without sparing me another glance.

Okay. Cool. Definitely not about me.

I walked up meekly to the desk, my face white for once instead of red, and handed the receptionist my signed slip.

“How was your first day, dear?” she asked, her tone warm and maternal.

“Fine,” I lied, my voice cracking like a bad radio signal.

Her expression said she didn’t buy it for a second, but mercifully, she didn’t push.

When I got to the parking lot, my truck was one of the last vehicles left. I climbed inside and just sat there for a while, staring blankly out the windshield. I tried to sort through the tangled mess of my thoughts, but every time I even brushed up against Edward Cullen’s name in my mind, my stomach twisted itself into another knot.

Eventually, the cold crept in, and I gave up on pretending I was fine. I turned the key, and the truck’s engine roared to life like an old friend trying to cheer me up. The heater kicked in, and I drove home, forcing myself to focus on the road, trying to think of nothing at all.

It wasn’t working, but at least I was trying.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If you enjoyed this chapter, please consider leaving kudos or a comment on AO3—it really means a lot! You can also let me know your thoughts here on Tumblr. Your support keeps me motivated to keep writing!

Check out this chapter: on AO3

Check out the next chapter: here or on AO3

6 notes · View notes

braveclementine · 1 year ago

Text

La Push and Port Angeles

Warnings: None

Copyright: I do not own any Twilight characters or locations. I do own Davina Mikelson and Marcel. I also own the backstory for my OC. I do not condone any copying of this.

Davina P.O.V.

Dr. Cullen had been surprised when I had turned my folder into him on the same day that he had given it to me. I supposed I was supposed to have finished it over the weekend. Oh well, he should've made the questions harder then.

The week had been rather uneventful and now, I was riding up to La Push on my motorcycle. I hadn't wanted to go in Mike's car so I decided it would be better just to meet them all there. And that was exactly what I was doing.

I was ecstatic with how things were going. School was fine. I was alternating between sitting with the Cullens and sitting with Bella and her friends. Tyler and mine friendship wasn't as strong as mine and Sam's, but we still hung out a little bit.

And then of course, there was the hospital which was starting to become one of my favorite places on Earth.

I couldn't care less if Dr. Cullen and his family were vampires. Honestly, I reveled in the fact that these magical creatures existed.

I had done my research of course: Vampire Diaries, Dracula, Blood Ties, Vampire Academy, even I am Legend!

Hopefully, my hard work paid off and I knew a little more about what sorts of vampires the Cullens could be. It also got me to wondering if there were any other magical creatures that existed and whether or not they were dangerous or what sort of creature they'd be.

Part of me even suspected Sam was some sort of magical creature. He was startling tall when he'd been a shrimp at ten. Not to mention the sickening almost magical love between him and Emily. And of course, the heat of his skin. As a doctor in training, I knew he should be running a temperature and he was just fine.

But anyways. . .

Today was truly a wonderful day. It was maybe seventy-five degrees out- almost boiling hot for a place like Forks. The sun was shining and First Beach water was dark gray. I could see the rocks that made up the beach instead of sand. I knew that even though they were gray from far away, they were actually brilliant colours up close.

There were driftwood trees that were scattered hap-hazardely on the beach, white washed and bleached from the years in the sun and salt combined.

There was a forest off to the side that I was sure the Forks residents would want to go hiking through eventually. Meanwhile, there were actually quite a few people out on the water, surfing. I would have to get out on the water.

I loved the water. I loved swimming, I loved surfing and snorkeling and anything else you could do on water. I felt at home on the water.

I pulled up in the parking lot, parking next to Mike's van and then made my way down to the beach in my bathing suit and a wrap around my waist.

Mike and Bella were sitting next to each other as Mike started a driftwood fire. I watched the blue and green flames flicker up and heard Bella gasp.

". . .salt does it. Pretty, isn't it?" Mike asked, sitting back down on the log before Jessica turned to claim his attention.

"Hello Davina." Bella said as I sat down next to her.

"Hello Bella, how are you liking the sun today?" I asked cheekily.

"It's nice." Bella said quietly.

"You invited Edward on the trip, didn't you?"

"Yes, but he got all weird when I mentioned the beach." Bella replied.

"Hmm, that is strange. You're not going to prom either are you?" I asked.

"No, I plan on being out of town." Bella said. "You?"

"Eh. Tyler asked." I said, stretching back on my arms. "Along with a few dozen other boys. But I don't want to go to prom."

Bella and I chatted for another half hour about small things, sometimes with Angela chiming in on the conversation. However, as the boys got angsty about staying around the fire pit, they wanted to go hiking.

I thought that my cue to go up to the shop and rent a surfboard and wet suit. I zipped myself up in the black and blue suit, tucking the gun surfboard under my arm, making my way towards the ocean.

The minute my feet touched the water, my entire body relaxed and I closed my eyes. I was very quick to make my way out to sea, going out farther than the tourists and even the native residents.

My hands parted the water easily as I pushed myself against the waves as I prepared to stand. Once I did lift myself into a standing position, I could feel a swell of breeze as I made my way back towards the beach.

The waves weren't large today, much to my disappointment, so the ride was only gentle and calm, not adrenaline rushing like I preferred. But I wasn't really expecting anything else from Forks.

I stayed out on the water for most of the day, even when the others came out of the forest. I only went off when I saw Bella leaving with Jacob, Billy's son.

I padded over to the campfire, wincing when my feet hit the rocks. I did see an absolutely beautiful dull gold one and I picked it up.

There weren't may people from school left. Tyler and Lauren were the only ones, rummaging through CD's together.

"Hey Davina!" Tyler said as I came up, stretching. "How were the waves."

"Pathetic." I said with a grin. "I'm going to have to drive down to California to get monster waves."

I heard a sigh and I looked over to see Sam sitting with a few boys.

"Well hello Sammy boy."

One of the boys who had been drinking spit out his drink in a laugh. The other grinned.

"Hey shorty." Sam replied.

I scowled, "I can't help it if you're freakishly tall. I'm average height."

Sam laughed huskily.

"Anyways, food?" I asked.

Sam grinned, "Maybe we ate it all."

"I know you didn't because I know you knew I was on the waves which meant you knew that I was going to be hungry and you love me so where's the food?" I demanded, setting the gun board down.

Sam sighed, reaching behind him and handing me nacho doritos and a rootbeer.

I nearly squealed. "You got me rootbeer!"

"It's your favorite drink." Sam muttered.

I grinned. "Anyways, who are the ugly guys on either side of you?"

Sam snorted, "Jared and Paul."

I tried telling them apart before finally turning to the boy I suspected was Paul. "You're Paul?"

"How did you know?" Paul asked.

"You're still as scrawny as you were when you were a kid." I smirked, "I bet I could still beat you in a wrestling match."

"Oh you're on." Paul said, a maniac glint in his eye. "You're not a little girl anymore."

"No." Sam said shortly. "Not today Davina."

"Fine." I said exaggeratedly, sitting down next to Sam, making Paul budge over. I noticed his skin was also boiling hot.

"Sam said you got an internship at the hospital?" The other boy who must've been Jared asked. "How. . . is that?"

"Fine." I said with a shrug. "I've learned a lot. Dr. Cullen really knows what he's doing so-"

I closed my eyes and flinched as I felt the sticky soda explode on my left side. Paul had squeezed the can so hard it had exploded.

"Paul." Sam barked.

"I'm going to return my surfboard." I responded coolly, getting up without looking at Paul and picking up the surfboard. I made my way back to the shop, giving back the wet suit and the surfboard. I now wished I had a towel that I could use to wrap around me.

Oh well, it was just about time to go home anyways. I debated saying good-bye to Sam but decided against it.

I made my way over to the motorcycle and saw Sam leaning against it.

"Down boy." I said with a bit of a smile.

He rolled his eyes. "So endearing. I wanted to apologize for Pauls' behavior tonight. He has a lot of anger issues and he's still sorting them out."

I was quiet for a moment, looking at the sun setting, making Sam's bronze skin almost glow in the faint light. His eyes, dark and warm, yet slightly haunted from his past and possibly whatever he was going through now.

"Sam?"

He blinked at my serious tone. I was never serious.

"Yeah?"

I paused and then asked, "What are you?"

Sam didn't move a muscle staring into my eyes, gauging my reaction. I tilted my head slightly, analyzing his build. "I know. . . I know you're different. You're not the same as when we were kids. And I don't mean the build of your body, although I think the height and muscle probably contributes a bit. . . but the heat of your skin. I thought maybe it was just a native thing. . . but the man at the surfboard shop had normal temperature. And you hate the Cullens."

"I can't- Davina go home." Sam said, getting up off the motorcycle. "You watch to many movies."

"Really? I watch to many movies and I'm the fool for believing you're different? Says the guy who believes the Cullens are vampires because of your Quileute legends!"

"That's different." Sam said shortly.

I felt like I would cry. Sam was my closest friend, almost my brother. And yet he wasn't going to tell me what was with him?

"S-Sam." My voice cracked and we both winced. I sucked in breath and whispered, "Fine. I'll figure it out on my own."

I swung my leg over my motorcycle, backing it out with my feet before starting it.

"Davina." Sam said in a warning voice but I ignored him, bringing the bike to life and roaring out of there.

----------------

I was in a bad mood at the internship the next few days and Dr. Cullen knew it. He said nothing though, leaving me in my peace and silence. And it wasn't like I was mad at him and I didn't bring my anger out on anyone but myself.

Sometimes, I thought maybe he could hear me in the office next to him. Well, that wouldn't be a surprise. In every Vampire movie ever they had amazing hearing so there was that.

Once I finished my work, I headed to his office, taking the long way instead of the short cut, knocking on the door.

"Come in." He said.

He was working behind his desk and he didn't even look surprised to see me.

I loved his office. He had several bookcases in here that were filled with books, not all of them medical. I loved skimming them on the few days I worked in his office, in silence, on the couch. It was a rather comfortable couch and sometimes, I found myself wondering if he ever slept on it when he had long shifts at the hospital. But then I wondered if he could even sleep.

"Hello Miss Michaelson." Dr. Cullen said, putting his pen down and folding his hands on top of his desk. "Are you finished for the day?"

I hesitated and then said, "I was wondering if I could work in here today. I'm. . . just not liking the silence of my office to much. I don't mean we have to have conversation, I just want to be around someone right now."

"Of course."

Merlin I loved his voice.

I gave him a brief smile, settling on the couch. I was in a more relaxed mood and I curled up in the corner of the couch between the back of it and the arm.

The silence was comfortable and I was relaxed immensely. I didn't look at him directly, only listening and also observing.

He went very long periods without breathing and only breathed as though it was a reminder that I was in the room. Often times, when he did breathe, they were shallow and when they were deep, he clenched his pen tightly as though restraining himself. I wondered if it was my blood he could smell and if it was tempting to him.

I noticed that he usually wasn't affected by the smell of blood. He could work rather calmly and smoothly. However, when around me, he seemed to hold his breath. Why was I different? Did I smell different?

After a while, I pretended to finish my office work- cataloging real patients blood work in envelopes to be sent to their houses for cancer tests- and asked quietly. "I have a random question."

"Sure."

"If a Vampire had a mortal enemy, what do you think the magical creature would be?" I glanced at him briefly.

He looked rather taken aback and I noticed that the grip on his pen had tightened even more than when he took in his deep breaths. If he wasn't careful, he was going to crush his pen.

"I suppose a werewolf maybe?" He questioned. "I'm not really sure."

A werewolf. Yes, that made sense. Werewolves and Vampires usually were enemies. Should I go visit Sam on a full moon and see how he reacted?

"Was there a particular reason for this question Miss Michaelson?" He asked, frowning slightly.

"I was trying to figure out what Sam was." I answered honestly. "And you being a Vampire was my best source of information."

Dr. Cullen was completely frozen now and I glanced at him nonchalantly. "Dr. Cullen?"

He seemed to swallow and he asked, "I- did the kids-"

"No. No one told me." I answered, shifting into a sitting position before getting up, and sliding the completed folder onto his desk. "I just knew. Have a good day Dr. Cullen, I'll see you Wednesday."

And with that, I walked out of the room, closing the door behind me. I didn't realizing I was smiling until I started home on my motorcycle. And then I realized, Sam's a Werewolf.

-----------------------

"Would you like to go shopping with us tomorrow?" Angela asked me as I sat down next to her at the lunch table. It was day two of the Cullens not being in school which made me wonder if they actually burned in the sun.

"I thought you guys went last night?" I questioned as I helped myself to some pizza.

"Mike asked Jessica out on a date so we're going tonight instead. And even though you're not going to the dance, I knew you wanted new clothes."

"Yes, thank you. I would love to come. Here-" I wrote my address down on a piece of paper and gave it to Angela. "That's my address so Jessica knows where to pick me up."

"I'll let her know. We're leaving right after school. We'll probably pick you up last though so you'll probably have more time to get ready." Angela said.

I chuckled, "Thanks."

I hadn't seen or talked to Sam since our spat so I was stuck driving myself home now. Not that I minded, I loved riding my bike. But I also was starting to feel quite alone. It was bad enough my parents and brother were dead and I had about zero friends.

Well, let me correct. Zero real friends. I was bubbly and hyper and a complete geek and so everyone always thought that just about everyone was my friend. But when you put it to the test, it's not real friendship.

I needed Sam. It was like a heartache. I couldn't live without having Sam in my life, not here. I'd always had Sam, whether it was when we were kids, or when I lived on the army base and we wrote each other letters, or now when I moved back and he was the caring brother. I needed him.

But I was stubborn. I wanted him to come and apologize to me first. He could've just told me he was a damn werewolf. I would've kept my mouth shut. Why didn't he trust me?

My thoughts continued to run wild as I searched for an outfit that I could go out in. Finally, I chose a long sleeved-white shirt with the word Angel written on the collar in black. A red top with a pocket, zipper, and belt on it. The white shirt was tucked into my one and only skirt- which was to short to wear at the hospital.

I wished I had knee high boots to complete the look, but I just slipped on my combat boots instead. I lifted my hair into a ponytail, curling the ends of it quickly before applying dark makeup and grabbing my purse. I shoved my phone, money, and some pepper spray into the bag, slinging it across my shoulder.

I found that Jessica was just pulling up to the house, her eyes wide as she glanced at my house. Was it impressive compared to hers? I had no idea. But most of the houses here were Victorian. This was an older section of the neighborhood. They are also spread a bit further apart with large backyards as they were usually farm houses.

I opened the back door, sliding in next to Angela.

"You look cute." Jessica squealed, her eyes taking in my outfit.

"Thanks." I said, flashing her a grin.

Jessica drove fast so I knew the trip wouldn't be long. She played Led Zepplin on the radio- not really my favorite. Rock's not really my music type- and chatted all about her date with Mike yesterday. And she was talking about how she hopped they were going to get to the kissing stage by the dance.

Maybe it was because I was infatuated with a God like Vampire but I really couldn't see how anyone thought Mike was handsome, good-looking, or even cute.

Angela was a bit disappointed in the fact she was going with Eric. She liked him, but apparently he wasn't her type. I had a sneaking suspicion that her type was actually Ben Cheney, but I didn't say anything. I wasn't Jessica after all.

Port Angeles was a nice coast city. The board walk that led out to the docks and whatnot. However, Jessica and Angela took us straight to the department store. I went off on my own for just a little bit.

I wasn't really the type of girl to try something on. I just looked at it, held it up against me in the mirror, checked if it was my size, and then debated whether or not to buy it.

I bought a few new pairs of jeans, a couple skirts, a few blouses, a new leather jacket, and a few other items that I felt I needed.

I met up with the others in the shoe section, trying on heels as they already had their dresses.

I bought myself a new pair of sneakers that were gray and light pink and would go well with my nurse scrubs. I also bought myself a pair of knee high boots that complimented the outfit I was wearing right now so I tore off the tags and wore them with the outfit.

There were also heel pumps and combat boots with heels that I bought. The pumps would be for at the hospital along with the sneakers.

At the moment, Jessica was at a counter, trying jewelry. Angela was trying on pink heels at the moment.

"Angela?" Bella asked quietly.

"Yes?" Angela asked behind me. I was pretending to be bent over, fixing the zipper on the knee high boots.

"I like those." Bella said.

I glanced behind me to see the pink heel on Angela's foot.

"I think I'll get them- though they'll never match anything but the one dress," Angela muttered.

"Or a white pantsuit." I replied.

"Very true."

"Oh, go ahead- they're on sale." Bella encouraged. She looked like she was hesitating about something so I turned back around, fixing the shoe boxes in my bag. I had several bags filled with clothes and I was hoping I could put it in Jessica's car so I didn't have to carry everything around.

"Um, Angela. . . Is it normal for the. . .Cullens to be out of school a lot?"

"Yes, when the weather is good they go backpacking all the time- even the doctor. They're all real outdoorsy."

So that's why Dr. Cullen hadn't had me come in the past couple days. He had probably known the weather was going to be nice.

So if they went backpacking in the sun, did that mean they didn't burn? Or maybe they didn't go backpacking at all. Maybe they hid in the house.

"Oh." was all Bella said. Angela didn't ask any questions and neither did I. Jessica came back with rhinestone jewelry that I thought looked a bit cheap, but I supposed if it was what she wanted to wear, so be it.

Upon exiting the store laden down with shopping bags, Angela and Jessica said we could go put our things in the car before going down to the bay. Bella on the other hand wanted to go book shopping. She also denied Jessica and Angela going with her, saying she got really caught up in books.

"I'll go with her." I declared. "I absolutely love books so this could be a chance for me to get something new as well. You guys don't mind taking my stuff back to the car, do you?"

"Not at all," Angela replied sweetly and the two of them split my bags between the two of them, giving Bella directions on how to find the bookstore.

Bella and I set off in comfortable silence until we approached the place that Jessica had mentioned. However, upon looking inside, it looked more like a store that would be down on the Quileute rez. Dream catchers hung in the windows, books on healing properties, and the shelves were lined with different coloured crystals.

Bella and I looked at each other before deciding to keep on walking, looking for another bookstore.

I had a bit of a headache and as Bella and I continued to walk, I closed my eyes, hoping for relief. I hadn't drunk as much water as I should've in the past couple of days, but I had never been very good at that. I always got distracted with homework and work, forgetting to eat and drink. Plus a bit of a lack of sleep.

The next time I opened my eyes, I was basically alone. I looked around in a panic and realized that Bella was neither ahead of me, nor was she behind me.

"Ah bollocks!" I cursed. My headache started to pound. I pushed my cool hand against my forehead like that would do anything.

I pulled out my phone, calling Bella but there was no answer. Damnit, I don't even think she had a cell phone, this was her house number.

I figured, based on my slow pace so I hadn't bumped into anything, that Bella was probably ahead of me so I started walking faster, glancing down alleyways to see if I could find her.

I looked up at the sky, trying to guess what time it was. The sky was growing dark, the clouds drawing close. There was still some pink, orange, and purple in the sky so I knew it was getting very close for the sun to set and I was still riddled with indecision.

I could go back, find my way to the Italian restaurant so that I could find Angela and Jessica- and maybe Bella was there, freaking out about me being lost- or I could keep going and search for Bella.

I could hear a group of men wolf-whistling and I was slightly worried about whoever they were whistling at so I hurried around the corner, ducking into the shadows. I saw the back of Bella and felt relief wash over me. I hid as the men passed by, not noticing me crouching in the corner.

"Bella!" I called once I felt they wouldn't hear me.

Bella spun and relief flooded her face, "I couldn't find you!"

"Sorry, I. . . got distracted." I had no way to explain what had happened.

"We should probably go back." Bella mentioned.

I nodded, "Yeah, I'm getting hungry. And Jessica and Angela are probably getting pretty worried."

It was definitely darker now and we started back up the way that we had come. My senses were heightened, burning as my eyes darted around, looking for any dangers. My nerves were tingling and my hand crept into my purse for the pepper spray in case I needed to pull it out and give someone a good one.

I let Bella led as my senses were all jumbled and I couldn't exactly remember the way back. I had a tendency to get lost as I usually spaced out quite a bit.

Bella quickened her pace after throwing a glance over her shoulder and I glanced back as well before seeing two men behind us. They weren't close, about twenty feet back, but I started quickening my pace as well.

"We need to get out of here." I muttered, hooking my arm with hers.

She still led, keeping her pace quick as we made our way up. There were no cars, no people, we weren't in the right section of the city. This was bad. My nerves spiked even more and at the pace I was trying to make Bella go, she would trip over her own two feet and that wouldn't be good.

Finally, we darted around a corner before coming to a stop. There were two more men in front of us.

"There you are!" His voice was booming and my headache was back in just a few seconds.

"Yeah," the voice behind us said. "We just took a little detour."

"Right, Bella, I'll distract them. You run and get help."

"That's a bad idea Davina." Bella murmured.

I scoffed, "There's no such thing as a bad idea. Only poorly executed awesome ones."

"Is that a quote from something?" Bella asked in a panic.

"Vampire Diaries. Damon Salavatore. Season two episode 15." I rattled off confidently.

"Never seen it."

"You're totally watching it after this." I muttered. "Alright now go."

Bella took off running, past the two men in the alleyway and the four of them let her go, turning on me.

I gritted my teeth.

Alright then, show time.

7 notes · View notes

rookieoneil · 1 year ago

Text

Rising Star

Chapter 8

Preview

Jackson went back to LA, and Lucy had to admit that she was beginning to miss him. She’d been spending this week, mostly by herself. Per Angela and Nyla’s request, they wanted to cool down public appearances, not wanting to do too much. So Lucy had hardly seen Tim since the impromptu photoshoot with Jackson.

In his absence, she went to rehearsal, did some yoga, and for the first time since she lived in Los Angeles, she added a photo to her house. Jackson had sent her a very rough photo of her and Tim laugh mid shot. She couldn’t help but put it up, it was a good memory.

He had breakfast delivered this morning and told her to be ready by five for Aaron’s party. Aaron Thorsen was a well-known socialite and a friend of Tim. Lucy was excited, she never really went to big star-studded parties, so she was excited to see what the fuss was about.

#chenford fanfic #chenford fic #the rookie #lucy chen #tim bradford #chenford #angela lopez #aaron thorsen #brendon acres #emmett lang #celina juarez

14 notes · View notes

schmope-is-dead · 1 year ago

Text

some of yall need to pick up a history book so bad before you ever say anything political again. god bless

#charlie.txt #I will not lie I still need to read some malcom x and angela davis #but tumblr is such a white progressive space that sometimes yall will propose shit that has historically been used to discriminate #and I say this as a white teenager mind you #some of you guys didn’t pay attention in school when they were teaching about emmett till and the jim crow era and it shows

1 note · View note

hoahoahoahoahoa · 3 months ago

Text

I just realized I've been coming up with varying states of being ~in the know~ without actually being In for Bella's human friends

Mike keeps missing the truth by approximately 2.3cm

Angela knows but she minds her business

I've always kinda hc'd that Jess is really into vampire romances (she's read the Vampire Diaries, Southern Vampire Mysteries, IWTV, etc.) and desperately wants vampires to be real... not realizing she goes to high school with five of them

At this point I might as well keep it going:

Eric Yorkie's convinced something's weird about the Cullens but his theory is completely wrong (he thinks they're... uh... necromancers. Or extraterrestrial skinwalkers. Or unauthorized colored contact lens dealers.)

Tyler Crowley has had a run in with a vampire before but the Cullens don't have red eyes like the one he met, so he never makes the connection

Lauren Mallory has extended family members who are vampire hunters

#twilight #twilight renaissance #mike newton #angela weber #tyler crowley #jessica stanley #eric yorkie #Eric's just a paranormal enthusiast in general #Emmett loves staging cryptid sightings for him #hoa5 #i almost made Tyler a werewolf but i'm like. yknow. jacob fills that role.#he's bella's human friend that got an upgrade

47 notes · View notes

ronnydeschepper · 1 year ago

Text

De peperbus van nonkel Miele (61): Trump en fascisme

In november e.k. zijn er verkiezingen in de VS. Sommigen zien in de kansen van Donald Trump het gevaar van fascisme in de Verenigde Staten. Een bloedige dictatuur is misschien overdreven. Maar sommige fascistische ingrediënten zijn wel aanwezig in de VS. Tegelijk hebben de VS een ander gezicht: de sociale, ecologische en anti-raciale strijd. Ook is een socialistisch geïnspireerd senator en…

View On WordPress

#Angela Davis #bartolomeo vanzetti #Bernie Sanders #Celestino Medeiros #Donald Trump #Emmett Till #Fran Drescher #Gabriel Rockhill #George Floyd #Jesse Washington #Joe Biden #Joe McCarthy #Malcolm X #Martin Luther King #Nicola Sacco #Wernher Von Braun

1 note · View note

cece693 · 5 months ago

Text

Kiss, Marry, Kill

pairing: jasper hale x male reader tags: human reader, jasper being hurt over small things, Emmett being his joking self, party games, crack fic?

Streamers of gold and cream swirled from the high ceiling of the Cullens’ mansion, and the soft glow of fairy lights made everything look like a magical dreamland—well, at least to your human friends, who couldn’t stop gawking at the place. For you, it was home away from home. After all, you spent so much time here with Jasper that the polished floors and glittering chandeliers had become more familiar than your own dorm room.

Still, tonight felt different. It was your birthday—the last you’d celebrate with a beating heart. Next year, you’d be fully immortal, forever attached to Jasper’s side. But first, you had a party to survive.

You had just finished eating a perfect slice of birthday cake (courtesy of Esme’s unwavering drive to make it tasty for even someone who despised cake) when Jessica's voice boomed across the music:

“Birthday boy! Get over here! We need you!”

Her tone made you freeze. You recognized that brand of enthusiasm. It usually meant trouble or embarrassing party games. With a resigned sigh, you left the comfort of the food table and found Jessica huddled in the living room with Angela, Mike, and a handful of other curious onlookers.

“We’re playing Kiss, Marry, Kill,” Jessica announced, flipping her hair as if she was unveiling some grand plan. “And you’re up first!”

Your stomach sank like a stone in a lake. An array of wide, excited eyes turned your way, including Mike’s—who offered a sheepish wave. You prayed to whatever powers exist that Jasper wasn’t within earshot. “C’mon, Jess,” you said, forcing a laugh. “Don’t you think I’m too old for this?”

She scoffed, rolling her eyes. “You’re twenty-one, not eighty-one! Besides, Emmett is all fired up just hearing about it.”

You heard a low chuckle from across the room. Emmett, leaning casually by the DVD shelf, flexed his biceps with a wink. Rosalie smacked his arm in mock annoyance. Great—there went your hopes of keeping this discreet.

“Alright, fine,” you relented, your cheeks heating. “Let’s get this over with.”

Jessica cleared her throat dramatically and raised a tiny notebook where she’d jotted down names. “So, Kiss, Marry, Kill…” She paused, letting the suspense build. “Mike, Emmett, and Tyler!”

You snorted. Of course she’d drag Emmett in. And Tyler? The guy who you briefly had a fling with before getting with Jasper? Oh boy, now you desperately hoped Jasper wasn't even in the house.

“Okay,” you began slowly. “Let me, uh…weigh my options…”

Immediately you thought of killing Tyler. No way would you announce you'll hypothetically kiss or marry him, it was tough enough to break your friends-with-benefits relationship. You didn't want to give him false hope when that ship has sailed. Mike was potentially clingy, might send you heart-shaped candies on Valentine’s Day with bad puns, but he was overall harmless. And Emmett, there would never be a boring day in your life, it was Rosalie you were worried about. She'll definitely kill you if you even dared to steal him away.

As these thoughts zipped through your mind, you realized the circle of friends was waiting with bated breath. “Alright,” you said, “if I have to choose, I'll kiss Mike…”you said, pointing lamely in his direction.

You heard him choke on a soft, “Really?”

Rolling your eyes, you glanced at Emmett, who was now wagging his eyebrows. "I'll marry Emmett. He’s entertaining, funny, strong, and got a great sense of humor..." you rattled off, trying not to laugh as Emmett bounced in his spot like a child. “You hear that, Rosie? I’m marriage material!” Rosalie simply rolled her eyes.

"And I'll kill Tyler. No offense man, but you did almost take out Bella with that van years ago, so maybe it's karmic justice. Rest in peace.”

While your friends erupted into laughter, especially at the idea of your 'marriage' with Emmett, you maneuvered your way through the crowd, itching to find Jasper. While it was merely a game, you knew it would rub your cowboy the wrong way to hear you'll marry his brother. Looking everywhere for him—his room, the kitchen, the living room, hell, even the bathroom—you had just returned to the kitchen where Edward suddenly flashed in front of you.

“Jeez, Edward!” you exclaimed, pressing a hand to your chest. “I'm still human, remember?"

He just shrugged with a knowing smile. “He’s in Carlisle’s study. I’d go talk to him if I were you.”

His expression told you everything you needed to know—Jasper was not in a good mood. With a nod, you headed toward the study, ducking under a few gold streamers.

You found Jasper sitting at Carlisle’s desk, arms folded, staring intently at the wall. His blond hair fell into his face, casting shadows across his darkening eyes. The moment you stepped in, he flicked his eyes up, then away, like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to see you or avoid you.

“Jazz?” you said softly, closing the door behind you. “Want to tell me what’s bothering you?”

His expression darkened as he let out a humorless laugh. “Don’t act like you don’t know. I heard everything. You’re apparently planning to marry Emmett now.” Though the jealousy stung your heart, his wording was so ridiculous you almost snorted. But one look at his face told you laughter would not help.

“It was a joke, Jazz. You know that.”

His Southern drawl grew sharper. “A joke, sure, but it sounded pretty convincing. You did have reasons lined up for why Emmett would be such a great husband.”

Your jaw dropped. “You’re serious right now?”

He held your gaze, frustration and hurt swirling in those golden irises. “If you wanna go marry him, go ahead,” he said bitterly. “It’s your birthday; maybe that’ll be my gift to you—freedom from me.” You took a breath, forcing yourself not to snap back. He was centuries old, but that didn’t stop him from occasionally having the emotional meltdown of a teenager.

“Jasper, you know I love you,” you said, voice cracking slightly. “The only reason I said I’d marry Emmett is because Tyler and Mike are the other two options. And I definitely wasn’t going to marry them.”

He ran a hand through his honey-blond hair, exasperation evident. “Still. Hearing you talk about Emmett like that…it wasn’t pleasant.”

“I’m sorry, but in the game, someone had to be Marry. And I—”

A loud creak announced a third party: Emmett barged in, wearing the dopiest grin. “Hey, fiancé!” he crowed, waggling his eyebrows.

Jasper’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Emmett, I’m really not in the mood.”

Emmett tossed his hands up. “Okay, big guy, cool it. I just wanted to see if the wedding was still on or if I should start ripping up the invitations.”

You blushed furiously. “Emmett, get out!”

He laughed but obeyed, tossing a mock salute as he backed out, calling down the hallway, “Hey, Rosalie, we’re canceled… I mean, no, I’m not actually…It was a joke—don’t give me that look!”

When Emmett finally left, the door clicked shut, leaving you and Jasper alone again. You watched him quietly for a moment, noticing how his shoulders slumped with residual tension. “I’m sorry,” you repeated, stepping closer. “You mean everything to me—this game was Jessica’s silly idea, and I just got roped in. I swear, I never would’ve said it if I knew it’d hurt you.”

His jaw worked, and you could see he was trying to contain the waves of jealousy. You placed a tentative hand on his arm.

“I chose Emmett mostly for comedic effect, okay? Mike is…Mike, and I have history with Tyler. If I’d said I’d marry him, I’d be sleeping with one eye open. Emmett was the lesser evil.”

A flicker of amusement ghosted across his face—very brief. “So, you really don’t wish you had a ring from Emmett?”

You nearly laughed. “God, no. I’m sure Rosalie would kill me if I tried. And I only want your ring, anyway.”

He exhaled, some of the tension leaving his posture. Carefully, you slid your arms around his waist, feeling his cool body against yours. “You’re the one I want,” you insisted. “Always. Soon, we’ll be bonded forever—vampire to vampire. That’s bigger than a wedding.”

His eyes softened, and you could tell he was tuning into your sincerity—possibly even reading the waves of guilt and affection roiling off you. “I’m sorry I overreacted,” he said quietly, pressing his forehead to yours. “I just…don’t like the idea of sharing you.”

The door swung open again, this time revealing Alice, Bella, and Edward peeking inside—like a cluster of meddling siblings. “Are we good here?” Alice asked, twirling a piece of confetti between her fingers. “Because the party’s over, and I’m thinking of scheduling a no-more-dumb-games vow for the next birthday.”

Bella attempted a sympathetic smile. “We tried telling Jessica that it might not be the best idea.”

“Also, Emmett’s writing up a wedding registry,” Edward piped in, wry amusement in his tone. “You might want to stop him before he goes too far.”

Jasper let out a disgruntled sigh, rising from his seat. “I’ll put a stop to that.” You followed him out, hand in hand. The tension of the evening lingered in the air, but the weight was lifting, replaced by relief and some lingering embarrassment.

Back in the foyer, Emmett was dramatically dictating a registry list to Rosalie, who stared at him like he’d lost his mind. “Definitely want a waffle iron, and maybe a lifetime supply of hair gel for the big day—”

Jasper cleared his throat, and Emmett turned to see the two of you standing there. “Aww, the happy couple!” he teased, pressing his hands together.

“Emmett, enough,” Jasper hissed, though you could see the glint of amusement in his eyes.

Rosalie rolled her eyes and swatted Emmett with a leftover balloon. “You’re impossible.”

You let out a chuckle and caught Jasper’s eye. The corners of his lips lifted in a soft smile—an olive branch of sorts.

Alice, never one to miss a cue, fluttered over. “Now that the crisis is averted, how about we officially call it a night? There’s more cake on the table if you want it, but I doubt you do,” she teased, knowing full well none of the Cullens would partake.

“I might,” you joked. “Still human, remember?”

Jasper slid an arm around your waist, leaning down to press a cool kiss to your temple. “You might be human now,” he whispered, “but soon enough, we’ll have our forever.”

You smiled, heart full and light. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

338 notes · View notes

inky-writing · 5 months ago

Text

Carlisle Cullen x Reader

Inky-writing masterlist Mirage masterlist

Warnings: still none haha

Word count: 1,842

Chapter 3: Making Friends

September 2004

By the time friday rolled around, Y/N had begun to find a routine at Forks High School. The halls no longer felt like a labyrinth, and the faces were starting to become more familiar. Still, it was lonely navigating a new place without anyone to call a friend.

That same morning, her homeroom teacher introduced her to Jessica, even if she already knew who she was (but he didn’t know that), to give her an official tour of the school. Y/N had already learned her way around, but she accepted anyway, grateful for the chance to connect more with her classmate.

Jessica was chatty, as usual, pointing out all the little quirks of the school as they walked through the halls. “That’s Mrs. Stone’s classroom. She’s nice, but hze quizzes are impossible. Oh, and over there is the gym. We usually have PE outside unless it’s raining, which, you know, is most of the time”.

Y/N chuckled, finding herself relaxing in Jessica’s company. “Thanks for showing me around. It’s nice to have someone to talk to”.

“Of course!” Jessica grinned. “You’re doing great, though. You’ve already survived the cafeteria last week”.

Y/N laughed, and for the first time since arriving in Forks, she felt genuine happiness.

During second period, Y/N saw on her planning she had Litterature. She adjusted her shoulder bag over her leather Jacket before entering the classroom. The teacher wasn’t here yet, so she directed herself toward the back, where she found a seat next to a muscular brown haired boy. He looked like he could be part of the football team, and seemed odly familiar. Y/N then remembered where she first saw him: it was Emmett Cullen, she recalled from what Jessica told him. He shared those same golden orbs as the rest of the Cullen family, as well as their ethereal and inhuman beauty.

The boy smiled at her, “Hello there, I’m Emmett”. Y/N blinked out of surprise before answering, “I’m Y/N”. He nodded at her as the teacher entered the room and telling the class to quiet.

At lunch, Jessica introduced her to Eric and Tyler, and she rapidly understood that gossip was the principal subject of conversation within the group. It didn’t bother her though, it was better to befriend them than to be by herself. The four of them sat together, chatting about classes and teachers.

Midway through their meal, a boy, who she learned to be Mike Newton, appeared at their table, his boyish grin firmly in place. “Hey, Y/N, right?”

She nodded, unsure where this was going. “Yeah”.

“Cool. I’m Mike” he said, pulling up a chair without waiting for an invitation. “I saw you in chemistry the other day. How’s it going?”

“It’s… going just fine”, Y/N replied, exchanging a glance with Angela, who hid a small smile behind her hand.

Mike seemed undeterred by her answer. “If you ever need help with anything, just let me know. I’ve been here forever, so I know the ropes”.

“Thanks” she said, though she couldn’t help but feel a bit cornered by his actions.

Jessica leaned closer, her voice low. “Mike’s nice, but he can be a little… intense when he likes someone”.

Y/N’s cheeks flushed. She wasn’t sure how to feel about Mike’s sudden interest in her, but it was nice to know someone was paying attention.

As the day went on, Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. It wasn’t the casual curiosity she’d felt from her classmates on the first day: this was sharper, more focused. Every time she turned around, she caught Alice Cullen’s gaze fixed on her.

During spanish, Y/N dared to make direct eyecontact with Alice. The petite brunette girl smiled, but it wasn’t the kind of smile that set her at ease. It was knowing, as if Alice was privy to a secret Y/N hadn’t been let in on.

By the time the final bell rang, Y/N's nerves were a mess. As she packed up her things, Jessica caught up with her. “Hey, do you want to come over this weekend? Angela and I were thinking of watching some movies while doing our nails and you know, sleepover”.

Y/N hesitated, surprised by the offer. “Really? That sounds great, I would love to”.

Jessica grinned. “Awesome. Give me your number, I’ll text you the details”.

The walk home felt longer than usual, the grey sky pressing down on her. Her thoughts kept drifting back to Alice. There was no denying the girl’s strangeness, her habit of staring at her, the enigmatic smiles, the way she always seemed to be one step ahead of everyone else.

When Y/N reached her house, she found her uncle Charlie in the living room, watching a baseball game. He looked up as she entered. “How was school?”.

“Not bad” she said, dropping her bag by the door. “I think I made some friends”.

Charlie nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “That’s good”.

Y/N returned the smile, but the words felt distant. Whatever was going on with Alice Cullen and her family was anything but normal.

That night, as she lay in bed, Y/N’s thoughts were a storm of confusion. Alice’s behavior wasn’t just odd; it was as if she knew her, or smething about her; as if she was waiting for something to happen. And then there was Carlisle, whose calming presence lingered in her mind.

Y/N closed her eyes, determined to push the thoughts away. Tomorrow was another day, and she wasn’t going to let the mysteries of Forks consume her. But deep down, she knew she was already entangled in something far bigger than she could imagine.

October 2004 - Carlisle pov

It had been a month since Y/N began her new life in Forks, and Carlisle Cullen observed her with a growing sense of unease. As both a doctor and psychologist, his life revolved around maintaining a professional distance from those his patients, but Y/N made that distance increasingly difficult to maintain.

He sat in his office at the clinic, reviewing his notes from their latest session. Y/N had been referred to him shortly after her arrival, a recommendation from Chief Swan after her tragic loss. In their bi-weekly meetings, they discussed her parents’ death, her grief, and her attempts to adjust to life in Forks. She was reserved but thoughtful.

“It’s hard to think about the future” she had admitted during their last session. “I feel like I’m stuck in this in-between place, not really living but not ready to move on, either”.

Carlisle had offered her the reassurance he always gave his patients: that grief was a process, and it was okay to take things one step at a time. Yet, even as he spoke, he found himself wanting to do more for her. He chalked it up to her vulnerability, to the way she reminded him of the countless lives he’d seen shattered over the centuries. But was that all it was?

On a rainy Thursday evening, Carlisle found himself at the diner in town, grabbing his team some coffee for the nightshift. He rarely did it, but lately, the solitude of his home felt oppressive. The diner was a warm haven, music was flowing, and it filled with the hum of conversation and the clatter of dishes.

(https://open.spotify.com/intl-fr/track/0cZDC7uxNK8lqQ3GgyvCnD?si=68648eb8b99a433a)

It was there that he saw her.

Y/N sat at a booth near the window, surrounded by her friends. She was wearing a red dress underneath her everpresent oversized leather jacket, with a multitude of silver necklaces. Her delicate fingers where adorned with silver rings, one representing a snake, another with a amethyst, and the others just plain silver. Jessica and Angela were there, too, along with Mike Newton, who seemed particularly attentive to anything Y/N had to say, desperatly gapping for her attention. Carlisle watched as she laughed at something Mike said, her expression lighter than he’d ever seen before. It suited her, he thought, that smile. It made her seem more like the young woman she was supposed to be, rather than the grief-stricken girl he’d come to know.

But then, Carlisle’s chest tightened. The sight of her with Mike stirred something unnameable within him, an ache that bordered on jealousy. He forced himself to look away, gripping his coffee cup as though it might ground him.

This wasn’t right. He was her therapist, her doctor. She was only 17 with a long life ahead of her, waiting to be lived. And beyond that, he had Esme.

Esme.

The name brought a familiar pang of guilt. She was his mate. The loving and caring mother figure of the Cullens clan. Yet, in recent months, something about their connection felt… forced. Esme had grown distant, her smiles never quite reaching her eyes. He had attributed it to the passing of time, to the natural flow of relationships. But now, as he wrestled with his unexpected and oh so wrong feelings for Y/N, Carlisle couldn’t help but question everything he’d accepted as truth.

From her booth, Y/N glanced toward the counter and noticed Dr. Cullen sitting alone, waiting for the coffees. She hesitated before turning back to her friends, but something about his presence lingered in her mind. It was strange seeing him outside the clinical setting. Here, he seemed almost… human.

“You okay?” Mike asked, leaning closer. His tone was light, but his eyes betrayed his concern.

Y/N forced a smile. “Yeah, just tired”.

Mike’s brow furrowed. “If you need to talk or anything, you know I’m here, right?”.

“I know. Thanks, Mike” she said, appreciating his kindness even as she struggled to fully reciprocate his feelings. He was sweet, and being with him was easy. But something held her back, a quiet voice in her mind whispering that this wasn’t what she truly wanted.

Carlisle’s gaze drifted back to Y/N despite himself. He noted the way she interacted with her friends, the subtle hesitations in her movements. She was still grieving, that much was clear, but she was trying. He admired her resilience, even as he questioned why he felt such a deep connection to her struggle.

And then there was Alice.

Her recent behavior had been… odd, even for her. She’d been distracted, her usual clarity clouded by something. Carlisle hadn’t pressed her for details, respecting her boundaries, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that something larger was at play. Alice’s visions had always been a cornerstone of their family’s stability, and to see them falter was unsettling.

As he paid for the coffees and left the diner, Carlisle resolved to focus on what he could control. Y/N was his patient, and his priority was her well-being. Whatever he was feeling, whether it was misplaced sympathy or something deeper, he would set it aside. For her sake, and for his own.

Chapter 4 >>>

82 notes · View notes

oopsitsnothingcreative · 4 months ago

Text

SUNLIT MEADOW - CHAPTER 3

Parring: Edward Cullen/Beau Swan

TW: Underaged drinking, panic attacks, mention of child abuse, mention of past toxic relationship,

CHAPTER 3: THERE’S A MILLION SCARY THINGS

Soon, Halloween became the only thing anyone could talk about—especially Jessica. Her parents were going away for the weekend, leaving her alone in their big house, which was apparently code for “party time.” She handed out invitations to anyone that seemed even mildly interested.

I would’ve been more excited about it if I hadn’t accidentally agreed to bake cupcakes and cookies for the party. Well, “agreed” was a strong word. Jessica had this incredible talent to con her friends into helping with her schemes before they realized what was happening. It wasn’t just me, either—she roped Alice into decorating, a bunch of guys (including Mike) into picking up snacks, and even got her older cousin to buy what I assumed was the sketchiest—and cheapest—alcohol imaginable. Meanwhile, Jessica herself was busy making playlists and planning “fun activities”… whatever that meant.

“How am I supposed to do all of this in one night?” I groaned, letting a stack of recipes Jessica had printed out flop dramatically onto the cafeteria table. My forehead followed immediately after.

Alice leaned in close, practically yelling into my ear. Her voice was as obnoxiously cheerful as ever. “I can help you!”

I tilted my head just enough to glare at her, cheek still squished against the table. “Aren’t you already busy turning Jessica’s house into the set of Hocus Pocus? How are you gonna help me and make the party look like Spirit Halloween had a meltdown?”

“Multitasking.” Her grin practically gleamed. “If we team up, it’ll be done in no time!”

“Oh, good,” I deadpanned. “More work. Yay.” My face remained firmly planted against the table, my voice muffled by sheer resignation.

“Could you not?” She gave me a pointed look, crossed her arms, clearly unimpressed.

Angela, who’d been quietly reading at the other end of the table, finally set her book down. “I can help, too.”

Alice lit up like we’d just solved world hunger. “Perfect! We’ll head to Jess’ after school and get to work. It’ll be fun.”

“Sure,” I muttered, shifting my glare to the mountain of recipes now haunting me. “If by ‘fun,’ you mean collapsing from exhaustion while frosting a cupcake with my own tears.”

Alice rolled her eyes at me, but I caught her hiding a smirk. That was one of the best things about her—she never let my sarcasm faze her, but she never dismissed me either. She just... balanced me out. Like, where I saw doom, she saw glitter and glue guns. Somehow, it worked.

“Stop being dramatic,” she said, nudging my arm with her elbow. “It’s gonna be fine. And anyway, you’re better at baking than you think.”

“Sure,” I grumbled, “and I’m also great at suffering in silence.”

“You’re definitely great at suffering,” she teased, leaning her chin on her hand. “Silent? Not so much.”

Angela chuckled softly. Alice smiled at her, and for a second, I let myself think that maybe this whole baking disaster wouldn’t be so bad after all.

**********

I spent the rest of lunch—and the walk to Biology—strategically avoiding Mike. I’d overheard him talking to Tyler about matching group costumes. I was pretty sure I’d heard my name somewhere in their conversation. Whatever it was, I didn’t want to know.

By the time I got to class, Edward was already at our table, smiling at his phone, his face lit by the glow of his phone. He was smiling at whatever was on the screen, and my heart immediately betrayed me by skipping a beat at just the sight of him, and I stopped in my tracks like a total idiot. I didn’t even realize I was blocking the entrance until someone bumped into me.

Why was this happening to me? Why couldn’t I like someone more… attainable? At some point, between late-night texts and those maddeningly perfect lunch conversations, my brain had made the executive decision to develop a crush on Edward Cullen. Stupid brain. Stupid feelings. Stupid, impossibly pretty boys who made my heart stop.

I practically threw myself into my seat, busying myself with my bag. That’s when I noticed something sitting on my side of the desk.

“What’s that?” I asked, frowning.

Edward looked up, his expression a mix of amusement and mild confusion. “Your book.” He said flatly, setting his phone down.

And indeed, there was “The Complete Novels of Jane Austen” lying before me.

I blinked. “My book? W-What? How? I’ve been looking everywhere for this. I thought I lost it in the cafeteria! Where did you get it?” Words were just spilling out of my mouth as I picked the book up.

“I borrowed it.”

“You… w-what? Borrowed it?” I squinted at him. “You mean stole it.” I corrected jokingly.

He leaned back, “I borrowed it,” he repeated, his lips twitching into the smallest soft smirk, making one of those small, adorable—very distracting—dimples pop out. “I made some notes for you in the margins.”

My mind went blank, and I could only stare at him just as blankly. Words failed me and my stupid heart went crazy again. All I could do was stammer, “W-what?” and continue to stare. Damn those mind-melting dimples.

Fortunately, Mr. Banner started the lesson before I could embarrass myself any further. I quickly stuffed the book into my bag, yet I couldn’t focus. All I could think about was Edward sitting in his room writing notes with that stupid, perfect handwriting of his in my book, for me, thinking about me. And he remembered I liked to put notes in my books. Had he been paying attention? Why was I like this? Why did I do this to myself? Why couldn’t I just stop thinking about this boy? A very, very, very attractive boy who did very, very cute things.

I mean, how could I not start catching feelings? Honestly, I was screwed. And the worst part? I had no idea if he even liked me back. Why would he?

“Beau?” An already too familiar voice right beside me got me out of my daydream. “Are you listening to me?”

“Huh?” I turned to him, panic flickering across my face.

Great, I’ve been daydreaming about Edward and his stupid, perfect hands the entire freaking hour.

He tilted his head, clearly trying not to laugh. “I was talking… to you,” he said, smiling faintly, like he found my obliviousness very entertaining. “I said, we should get going. Unless you wanna stay here…”

“Oh! Sorry, I-uh, sorry.” I mumbled, frantically shoving my stuff into my bag, avoiding eye contact like my life depended on it.

“It’s fine. I’ll walk you to the gym. We can talk on the way.” His smile deepened, and my knees promptly forgot how to function.

We fell into step together, his voice a low, calming hum beside me. My thoughts were all over the place. I tried to focus on what he was saying, but I kept getting distracted by all the little things he did. The way his hand occasionally brushed against mine, or when he leaned in and spoke really close to my ear, leaving the faint scent of his cologne and sending shivers down my spine. Somehow, I managed to keep up the conversation and even made him laugh once or twice.

“Are you excited about the party, Eddie-boy?” I heard Alice’s teasing voice behind us, and suddenly her arm looped through mine. She wedged herself between us, wrapping her other arm around her brother’s waist. Edward slipped his arm around her shoulders instinctively, though his expression was a mix of fondness and mild annoyance. They exchanged a look, it seemed like they were having a full conversation, though they didn’t exchange a single word.

“I’m still not sure I’m going, Ali,” he said, matching her playful energy, but I could tell he was a bit annoyed.

“Of course you are! You have to. It will be fun.” She sounded certain, like she knew it would be exactly as she said. I noticed she did that often.

“It’s a costume party. I don’t have a costume.” He explained flatly.

“Oh, don’t worry about that. I’ve got a perfect one for you, already at home,” she said with a sly smile. “While we’re on the subject of costumes…” She turned her gaze to me, eyes sparkling with mischief. “What about you, Beau?”

“I, uh…” I stammered, feeling like a deer caught in headlights. “I don’t have one. Haven’t really thought about it.”

Shit. Another thing to add to my ever-growing list of things to stress about.

“You could go as Bowie. B-O…” she sounded out my name slowly “B-O-wie. Get it? I think you can pull it off. And Eddie is, like, obsessed with him.” She slightly squeezed my arm and smiled at me.

“You’re sooo funny, Ali,” I said dryly. “Really, how do you come up with this stuff?”

She elbowed me in the ribs. “You could go as the king of sarcasm, but that’s who you are everyday.”

“I use sarcasm because murder is illegal,” I shot back, earning a laugh from Alice.

“See you after class, boys!” She walked off, still giggling, and I suddenly realized we were standing in front of the gym.

Edward leaned casually against the wall, giving me a once-over that made me self-conscious for absolutely no reason. “You could pull off anything,” he said, his voice quiet but sure.

I rolled my eyes, mostly to cover the blush I could feel creeping up my neck. “Thanks, Mr. Flattery.” I lightly pushed his arm, which only made him grin.

“You should go,” I said pointedly, hoping to deflect whatever was happening here. “You’re going to be late for French.” I paused to emphasize the next part “Again. Mrs. Goff will kill you.”

He smirked, tilting his head like he was daring me to stop him. “Spending time with you would be worth it.”

I just stared at him, brows raised in disbelief.

“Fine, fine.” He pushed off the wall, his grin softening into something warmer. “I’ll see you later.”

I walked backwards in the direction of the entrance, still looking at him. “I’m going to Jessica’s. To help with the party prep, so don’t wait for me.” As I opened the door, I saw he didn’t move, so I yelled, “Go to class!”

He looked down, his hair falling over his eyes. I heard him mutter something that sounded like “Yes, sir,” and with that, he turned on his heels and walked away, leaving me wondering—again—what the hell I’d done to deserve this kind of torture.

When I entered the locker room everyone was already there. Mike was talking animately with Tyler in the corner. His voice was low, but his expression wasn’t exactly subtle—irritated, maybe even angry. I couldn’t hear them over the usual chaotic chatter of guys yelling across the room or slamming lockers shut, but when they saw me, they clammed up and started walking away.

Okay. That wasn’t suspicious at all.

It might’ve been all in my head, though. ‘Cause when we were teaming up to play, Mike, as usual, did everything to be on my team. He was his regular, overly friendly self. Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was pissed at me for something.

When I got to Jessica’s, Alice, Angela, and a few others were outside, battling over the decorations. Alice was mid-argument with some unfortunate soul about how the pumpkin string lights were supposed to be hung. The main entrance was wide open, so I ducked inside, leaving her to her war.

No matter how many times I came here, Jessica’s house never failed to make me feel like I’d walked onto the set of some rom-com about ridiculously rich people. I knew Jessica’s family was one of the richest ones in Forks, but this house was fucking huge—absurdly huge, especially, for a family that small. Even the kitchen looked like it belonged in a magazine instead of an actual house. It also looked like it had never been used, which made the ridiculous amount of supplies on the counters seem even more out of place.

I dropped my bag on the counter, pulled out my recipes, and started sorting through them. Most of them were fairly simple, but some were overly complicated. Absolutely me, a sleek little radio perched on a shelf. I turned it on, letting the background music drown out the awkward silence. A song I didn’t know came on, and I shrugged. It was better than nothing, I thought. I sorted the supplies next and got down to work.

Four hours later, I was still baking. Apparently, this kitchen had two pretty big ovens. Was this a rich people thing? Who the hell needed more than one oven? I suppose it did make things easier for me. I could shove in double the cookies and cupcakes at once.

I was almost done. Almost. The cupcakes were in the ovens, and I’d moved on to decorating the cookies. Pumpkin shapes, bats, witches, and other halloweeny things—store-bought icing galore. But then, because fate has a sick sense of humor, Jessica wandered in to “check” on me, and while scrounging for a snack, she casually remembered that her mom used to make mac-and-cheese cupcakes when she was little. She’d made those big pleading eyes and asked sweetly if I could whip up some for the party. And, of course, instead of politely saying that I in fact did fucking mind because I’ve been here all day and would love to go home instead of indulging her weird rich-girl nostalgia, I responded with “Oh, no problem,” like the spineless idiot that I am.

Fast-forward to me working alone in a giant kitchen, decorating cookies while mac-and-cheese cupcakes baked away. Alice and Angela? MIA. I assumed they had their hands full with Jessica and her ideas, and I didn’t have the energy to bother them.

I was channeling all my artistic abilities and focus into decorating a cookie when I nearly had a heart attack as I realized I wasn’t alone in the kitchen anymore.

“I didn’t know you could sing.”

The voice came from across the kitchen island, so sudden I dropped the cookie I’d been working on. I didn’t need to look up to know who it was. That voice had been haunting my daydreams and messing with my sanity for weeks. If I looked up, I’d lose whatever thin thread of concentration I had left. So I didn’t.

“I don’t sing,” said flatly, trying to salvage the mess I’d made instead of acknowledging him.

“Weeell…” He dragged the word out teasingly. “You just did. You have a beautiful voice.”

My hand froze mid-cleaning. Beautiful voice? Me? I snuck a glance out of the corner of my eye. Edward was leaning against the counter,his head tilted slightly, wearing one of those stupidly disarming smiles. “I think you should do it more,” he added lightly.

That’s when I realized I’d been absently singing along to Like a Virgin. Fantastic. Kill me now.

Back in California, there had always been music playing. My mother and I would sing along, and for a while, those moments were some of the happiest memories I had. She’d light up whenever I joined in, overjoyed that I was doing something—anything—that connected us. It was the only thing besides ballet that ever seemed to work. Everything else eventually led to me disappointing her.

She signed me up for art classes so I could learn to paint like her, but I fell in love with drawing instead. I wanted to write; she wanted me to play an instrument—anything but the guitar, which she despised and hated that I even touched. When I inevitably caved in on her wishes and took piano lessons—because we were “supposed to learn together”—she lost interest in a matter of weeks, leaving me stuck with an old upright piano in the living room. I only played it when the sight of it gathering dust became unbearable. But I couldn’t say any of that to him. It wasn’t exactly kitchen-counter small talk.

So, I changed the subject.

“Whatcha doing here, Eddie?” I asked instead. The nickname slipped out, and I realized it was the first time I’d called him that. Maybe it was because I liked the way his full name rolled off my tongue.

He grinned. “I’m picking up Alice… but she’s not done yet.” He leaned closer. “And those smell amazing.” He nodded at the cookies. “May I… Have one?”

He started reaching out for one, but I smacked his hand away before he could grab it.

“These are for the party, so no. Hands off.” I made the mistake of looking at him then—directly into his stupid, unfairly beautiful eyes. And when he looked at me with those eyes, it was nearly impossible to say no to him. I could see all the different colors in them, a perfect mixture of light brown and green—that you couldn’t normally see, unless you stood this close—with a dark ring around the edges, like someone had hand-painted them.

He leaned in even closer, his nose just inches away from mine. “What if I ask really, really nicely?”

My whole body went rigid. My grip tightened on the edge of the countertop as my thoughts spiraled into complete chaos. I didn’t know if I wanted him to move away or come closer. Did he want to kiss me? Did I want him to? What if he kissed me? What if he did, and it wasn’t what he expected? What if it was? What if it’s all just in my head? What if I kissed him? What if? What if? What if…

“Pretty please,” he murmured, his voice soft and infuriatingly sweet. It echoed in my head like a spell.

I straightened up, desperate to put some space between us. “Edward Cullen, are you flirting with me?” I asked, half-joking, half-looking for some kind of confirmation.

“No, I’m not flirting with you,” he said, a bit too quickly. “I’m clearly begging you for food.” His cheeks went faintly pink, and I could’ve sworn his eyes flicked down to my lips for a split second. Maybe I wasn’t imagining it. But I might’ve gone completely insane at this point.

“Fine,” I said with a sigh. “You can take one—” But before he had a chance to, I added. “If… You help me decorate the rest.”

“Deal,” he said instantly, a quiet laugh escaping as he snatched up a cookie. He took a bite, then froze.

My stomach twisted and my head started folding with anxious thoughts.

Oh, no. What did I do wrong? Did I forget to add some key ingredient? Did I grab salt instead of sugar? Did I ruin the whole batch?

“This is soooo gooood,” he said, his eyes wide. “I think I’m in love.”

And with that, he took another bite, looking entirely too pleased with himself while I stood there, losing what little grip on sanity I had left.

This man was seriously driving me insane!

**********

When I finally got home, my dad was fast asleep on the couch, the sports channel still blaring. The man could fall asleep in the middle of a war zone—and honestly, he probably had. I didn’t have the heart to wake him—not that he’d wake up easily—so I turned the TV off, covered him with a blanket, and dragged myself upstairs. I thought maybe a shower would help me find the energy to come up with a last-minute costume. Well, I thought wrong. I barely made it to bed before passing out, and honestly, it wasn’t a graceful collapse.

When I woke up, my face was mashed into the pillow, and something felt… off. It was quiet, which was weird. Normally, the morning was filled with my dad’s hurried footsteps, the coffee machine going full blast, or he would already be on his way to work, the morning news left on in a hurry. But today? Dead silence.

I stayed still, waiting for my alarm to go off. It didn’t. The feeling that I was getting a suspicious amount of sleep crept in. I rolled out of bed in panic, smashing my knee on the floor on the way down. My phone almost slid out of my hand, and when I finally managed to check the time, my heart sank. 9:53.

Cue panic.

Messages flooded my phone: Alice, spamming notes and random gossip; Mike, mostly asking if I was dying and—most importantly, for him—if I was still going to the party; and, of course, Jake with his usual Good morning, sunshine text. My heart sank. I was so late I’d skipped panic mode and gone straight into existential crisis.

My heart was racing as I threw on some clothes and sprinted to the bathroom, managing to brush my teeth and fix my hair in record time—okay, I looked like a half-drowned cat, but who cares?

On my way downstairs, I missed the last step, fell flat on my back, and rolled dramatically into the wall. I could hear the framed pictures banging against it, and for a very scary second I thought they would fall on me.

It took me a moment to register the throbbing pain in my shoulder and I was thankful no one had been home, they would’ve heard some truly creative language that my dad definitely wouldn’t have approved of.

I had no time to wallow in self-pity, so I quickly gathered the scattered contents of my half-open bag and threw it over my still hurting shoulder and hurried to the kitchen. I was just going to grab something to eat and take off when something on the fridge caught my eye. Held by one of the magnets—one of a little, blue fish—I got for my dad years ago, was a piece of paper with his messy handwriting.

“I saw how tired you were, so I called school. You have a day off.

Get some rest! I’ll be back tomorrow afternoon. Have fun at the party!

—Dad.”

I stared at the note, my back slowly sliding against the wall until I hit the floor. My knees pulled up against my chest, the paper crumpled in my hand. My breathing turned shallow and ragged, like someone had sucked all the air out of the room. I hugged my knees tighter, trying to keep it together, but it wasn’t working.

It was stupid, really. A day off shouldn’t feel like such a big deal. But it wasn’t just the day off—it was the fact that someone had noticed, that Dad had noticed. He didn’t say much, but he always saw me. Even when I wished he wouldn’t. He knew when to push and when to let me breathe.

It was the kind of thing my mom or abuela would never have done.

I’ve never missed school. Well, not without a good reason. No missed school days unless you were literally dying. And even then, my abuela would probably shove a thermometer in your mouth, wave a hand dismissively, and remind you she’d escaped communism, or that she’d sacrificed everything for her family. She was one of those larger-than-life Cuban grandmothers who could command a room with just a look.

She and Mom expected perfect grades and a spotless house. All this to say, complaining wasn’t allowed. Every argument, every minor rebellion, it didn’t matter if I was asking for five more minutes of sleep or complaining about math homework, ended with her reminding me how lucky I was to be born in el país de la libertad or saying something like ‘What happened at school that was so bad, Xavi? Did someone… steal your freedom today?’ And then she’d give me the look—the one that shut down arguments before they even started. She had this way of making you feel guilty for even breathing wrong, but you couldn’t be mad at her because she’d bake you pastelitos right after. Like some kind of guilt-trip peace offering.

Mom went along with whatever grandma wanted. Whether she agreed or not, she didn’t fight back. Even after grandma passed away her presence lingered like a ghost, and everything stayed the same, weirdly enough. My mom didn’t step into her shoes exactly, but the expectations didn’t disappear.

My mom was… complicated. She wasn’t strict the way abuela had been. Not exactly. But she carried that same controlling energy, wrapped up in smiles and hugs and a glass of wine that was never quite empty. Her mood would quickly change regardless if she had something to drink or not. But after a few too many drinks she usually said something along the lines of ‘Beau, you need to relax. Be a teenager’ yet everything she did prevented me from doing so.

I always thought she was that way because her free-spirited nature had gotten crushed under abuela’s endless rules. But I wasn’t so sure now. After all, my father was in the army, and he wasn’t anywhere near as strict as them.

I mean, he was army through and through, but somehow the most chill person on the planet. People always expected him to be the strict one, I guess because of the whole army vet, now chief of police thing, but he wasn’t. He’d spent his early twenties halfway across the world in places he never talked about—not unless he’d had a few beers and thought I wasn’t listening. The one time I’d asked, all he’d said was, “It’s nothing like the movies, kiddo.” He’d never gotten into details, but I could piece it together from the shadows that sometimes crossed his face when he thought no one was looking.

He trusted me, and that somehow made me try harder. Not that I’d admit it.

Somehow, after all of that, he’d ended up being the kind of dad who’d let me screw up a million times and still say, “You’re doing fine, kid.” My mom used to say it was because I reminded him of himself, but I didn’t see it. He was tough. I was… well, whatever the opposite of tough is.

I closed my eyes, the vice in my chest tightening. I hated the feeling of losing control, the way it made my hands tremble and my breath catch. I tried the tricks that were supposed to help: counting, focusing on something solid like the cold linoleum under my fingers. Nothing worked.

The tears burned, threatening to spill over, and I clenched my fists, nails digging into my palms. “Get it together, Beau,” I muttered. Deep breaths. That’s what they say, right? Deep breaths.

It didn’t help much, but I stumbled into the kitchen and boiled some water for tea.

Chamomile. Grandma used to swear by it. “Xavito, you drink this, you calm down. Then you can be smart again,” she’d say, her thick Cuban accent turning every word into a song. I could still hear her voice sometimes, echoing in my head, teasing me about my name. She never liked “Beau.” Too American. Too… not Xavier.

I forced down a cup of tea, the warmth helping to unclench the icy grip on my chest. Still, I couldn’t shake the restless energy gnawing at me. I wandered back to my room, hoping it would help, but when I stood in the doorway, I froze, staring at the bed like it was mocking me.

What was I supposed to do now? There was always something—always something to fill the time. I never had to just be. It was… unsettling.

I hated it. I hated the way it felt like I was waiting for something to happen. Or, worse, for something to go wrong. I was never without a plan, never without a schedule. Not even for a second. And now? Now I was just… standing there, useless.

I glanced at the clock. I had no idea what to do with myself, and it was making my skin itch. I paced the room a few times, like I could out-run the feeling of emptiness. The ticking of the clock on the wall was starting to feel louder than usual.

I couldn’t let it get to me. I couldn’t.

I decided to try to get some sleep. And that’s exactly what I did—tried.

I closed my eyes, tossed and turned, trying to find the most comfortable position to sleep. And nothing. It felt like my body had forgotten how to be still, how to be calm.

The more I tried to get comfortable, the more restless I became. I opened the window and drew the curtains, hoping the fresh air would clear my head. It didn’t. And it got even worse when my mind inevitably wandered to yesterday… to Edward… to his eyes… to his lips… Damn, those lips… and to how I shouldn’t be thinking about him or his stupid lips. But I couldn’t stop.

Why was I even thinking about this? About him? It wasn’t like he’d said or done anything… except for the way he looked at me, the way his voice got softer when he spoke to me, the way he leaned in just a little too close.

Okay, fine. Maybe he’d done plenty. But this wasn’t me. I’ve never craved someone’s affection like this. Ever. But with him, it was like my brain had been rewired. It was terrifying, wanting someone so badly it felt like my whole world might shatter if they didn’t want me back. Wanting them like that—needing them—that wasn’t me. But with Edward, it was different. Too different.

I rolled over, burying my face in the pillow, but it only made the thoughts worse. It felt like my brain was just looping through the same images, the same impossible questions.

What if he was flirting with me? Or was he just messing with me?

Get it together, Beau.

But the panic was creeping in. I hated that feeling. My chest felt tight again, and the idea that I might need something, want something from someone—it sent me into a tailspin.

I looked at the time again. Instead of trying to relax, I decided to make a plan. Something to fill every second, every corner of my brain, just to stop the thoughts from creeping in. It didn’t matter what the tasks were—cleaning, reorganizing my bookshelf, math homework—anything was better than this. Something was always wrong when I had too much time to think.

Before I knew it, the day had slipped away, leaving me tangled in a web of thoughts and feelings I didn’t know how to escape.

**********

The party had started over an hour ago. I’d parked a block away, and I could already hear the music—the bass thumping so loud it felt like my car was vibrating.

And yet, I couldn’t make myself get out of the car.

I just sat there, overthinking everything. Why did I drive here alone? I should’ve gotten a ride. Would I end up drinking? Probably not a good idea. Why did I even come at all? I’ve never been to a party before. I didn’t even know how I was supposed to act.

“This wasn’t life or death—just high school.” I muttered under my breath, over and over, like a mantra. It didn’t help much, but eventually, I took a deep breath and cautiously stepped out of the car.

The air was cold, too cold even for my outfit. Somehow, even four layers of clothes weren’t enough for autumn in Washington. At least it wasn’t raining, though I probably should’ve worn a thicker jacket. I knew I was acting like a five-year-old screaming at his mom that a jacket would ruin the costume, but then again, I didn’t have a mom that would tell me to wear a warmer jacket.

I glanced down at myself. This costume had been sitting in my closet since last year, for what was supposed to be my first real party, my first wild high school experience. The party I’ve never got to because I had to take care of my heartbroken mother after her boyfriend decided to trash our living room and steal her credit card. I spent that halloween night on the phone with the bank while cleaning. So fun.

Still, I’d been excited back then. I remembered the guy that invited me. He was a year older, kinda cute in a “plays in the band that only performs in his garage” kinda way. We had that in common, the band thing. We went on a couple of dates, and I barely knew him, but it still hurt when he avoided me in the hallways after I stood him up.

Now, here I was, finally using the costume. People were pouring out of the house, some of them I had never even seen before. I guessed Jessica managed to invite people from the town over. A big group gathered on the porch and front lawn, talking and drinking, and one guy was already puking in the bushes. A great start.

I stood frozen on the sidewalk, overthinking again. I could still turn around, go home, and pretend none of this ever happened.

But I didn’t.

I felt my shoulders tighten as I walked inside.

Everything from the floor to the ceiling screamed halloween—the low lights, thin smoke, decorative pumpkins, skulls, cobwebs, caution tape over some of the doors and, of course, the people in crazy outfits. It was so loud I had to fight the urge to cover my ears. The living room had been turned into a dance floor, packed with sweaty, drunk teenagers. I pushed through the crowd, dodging elbows and drinks, and made my way to the back of the house, where it was quieter.

Sort of.

The back room had tables covered in snacks and games. To my surprise, people seemed to actually enjoy my baked goods, and that earned a small, satisfied smile from me.

I was looking for my friends when I got hit by a ping-pong ball in the shoulder. A guy dressed like a baseball player just shouted “sorry” before going back to his beer pong game. Meanwhile, I got stuck in place like a Sim when their action was canceled. Just following the ping pong ball with my eyes, watching how it missed the cups each and every time, to the frustration of the players and others around the table.

“Beau! I’ve been looking for you!” Jessica’s voice snapped me back to reality. She pulled me into a tight hug. “You look… amazing!”

“Wha-what are you supposed to be?” she asked, pulling back to give me the full once-over.

“Oh, I, I’m the Doctor. The Tenth Doctor.” I gestured awkwardly at my thrifted brown three piece suit with thin white stripes, a matching tie, red converse, and paper 3D glasses on my head. My nails were still painted black, thanks to my shortage of nail polish remover, so I decided to lean into the look with some eyeliner. The only thing missing was the iconic sonic screwdriver, but I’ve never been interested in buying overpriced movie gadgets—mostly because I’ve also never had the money. Jessica was dressed as Princess Peach in a light-pink puffy dress and a very sparkly tiara.

Jessica’s blank stare said it all.

“Doctor Who,” I added. “The British TV show?”

“Who?”

That was it. The joke practically wrote itself. “Exactly,” I muttered with a little laugh, but it was wasted on her.

Jessica shook her head like I’d just confessed to an unspeakable crime. “Whatever. Come on, we’re drinking!” She grabbed my arm and dragged me into another room.

And there he was, looking like a dream, looking like Mr. Darcy. The shirt, the coat, the messy hair—he looked like he’d just stepped out of the set of the 2005 Pride and Prejudice adaptation. Like he’d just confessed his undying love for Elizabeth Bennet.

My heart skipped a beat.

He was incredible, and I was hopeless.

I couldn’t tear my eyes away, not even when our eyes locked, and the rest of the room disappeared. My stomach twisted into a knot, and I could barely breathe. Not until I literally couldn’t see him anymore, until there was this tiny faerie practically throwing herself at me. Her cheerful voice pulled me back to Earth and then she literally pulled me straight to the ground to sit next to her, because apparently we were playing a drinking game.

That was when I finally noticed there were other people around that weren’t this handsome Georgian guy or his magical-looking, faerie sister.

Before I knew it, I was sitting cross-legged in a circle on the floor, wedged between Jessica and Alice, being handed a plastic cup filled with something alcoholic, surrounded by Super Mario characters. Looking at them all—Mike as Mario, Tyler as Luigi, Eric as Waluigi, Lee as Wario, Samantha as Rosalina and Lauren as Princess Daisy—made me glad I avoided them when I heard the words “group costumes.” Ben and Angela’s costumes didn’t match the rest of the group either. Angela was some anime character I didn’t recognize, and Ben was a superhero from one of those comics he always reads.

“Okay, game time!” Jessica announced, dropping a stack of laminated cards with questions or dares, and an empty bottle on the floor in the middle of the circle. The rules were simple: spin the bottle, pick a card, and either do what it said or drink. Basically, a mash-up of ‘Truth or Dare’ and ‘Never Have I Ever,’ so the classic teenage party game, except Jessica was the mastermind behind the questions and dares—which meant things were about to get really personal. Of course.

As expected, I was right; the questions did get personal, especially when it came to Angela and Ben. Everyone knew they had feelings for each other—except them, obviously. Beyond that, everything, specifically the dares were exactly what you’d expect—designed to make you drink. I honestly thought I could just sit and observe everyone else without ever having to actually, well, play. Fortunately, the bottle seemed to avoid me most of the time—maybe out of pity—and when it finally landed on me, I got lucky and only got the easy questions, like ‘what was your first kiss like?’ Questions that were a little embarrassing, but not so personal that I couldn’t answer them.

I considered lying but decided the truth was mortifying enough. “Weird,” I said, trying to sound casual. “It was with my best friend’s school friend. Paul. He kissed me at a campfire while people roasted marshmallows. Romantic, right?” I rolled my eyes, hoping that would be enough.

But Jessica, of course, the gossip queen that she was, immediately connected some dots in her head. “Wait, is this Paul Lahote? Didn’t he—?”

“Yep,” I cut her off quickly. “He did. And we don’t talk about it.” My tone was light, but internally I was wishing for spontaneous combustion again.

The game dragged on, circling around like an awkward confession roulette. People swapped stories about exes, awkward childhood moments, and, in one case, an unfortunate tattoo. I stuck to short answers, leaning on sarcasm, and kept my cup untouched. The only thing that truly made it embarrassing was Edward’s presence. Especially when I got the question ‘what was your first relationship like?’ I almost choked on my drink.

Talking about my first boyfriend—if I could even call him that—in front of the guy I wished was my boyfriend was a special kind of torture. Worse still when I had to admit I was still a virgin (or at least by my friend’s standards). I wanted to sink into the floor. I avoided Edward’s eyes like they might actually catch me on fire, instead staring at the rim of my cup as I muttered something vague about my weird, messy, complicated relationship with Paul Lahote.

I kept most of it to myself, glossing over the details like I always did. Paul wasn’t someone I liked to talk about often with anyone, brushing it off with a joke that didn’t quite land. It wasn’t a story I wanted to share here, not with Edward sitting across from me, his gaze soft and curious. Not when the truth still felt too raw, too tangled. Even Jake only knew bits and pieces, though he probably knew more than I’d ever had to admit out loud. My relationship with Paul was a tangle of contradictions—brief but long-lasting, messy but magnetic—and doomed from the start.

Well, it wasn’t always bad. It was actually quite sweet in the beginning, the opposite of complicated.

Jake introduced me to Paul when we were thirteen, during one of those Forks summers where the days stretched out like they’d last forever, back when everything felt simple and exciting. Paul was a year older, he was pure energy—loud, cocky, and unfiltered. But when we were alone, he let his guard down just enough to pull me closer. For weeks, he tried to impress me, to make me laugh, showing off at the bonfires and daring me to do things I never would’ve done on my own, like daring me to race him into the freezing water. I laughed at him at first, but before I knew it, I was caught up in his gravity.

I’ll never forget the night he kissed me for the first time. We were sitting by the fire on the beach, away from everyone, the ocean whispering behind us. His hand brushed against mine, and for once, he seemed nervous, his confidence faltering. He looked at me like he wasn’t sure if he was about to ruin everything, and before I could second-guess what was happening, he leaned in and kissed me. It was awkward and clumsy—his lips too warm, his nose bumping mine—but it was also perfect in the way only a first kiss can be. We spent the rest of the summer tangled in each other’s orbit, sneaking around like it was the world’s greatest secret, stealing moments when no one else was watching.

When the summer ended and I went back to California, I thought that would be it. A sweet little memory to tuck away. That’s just how these things went.

Only, it didn’t end.

When I came back the next summer, Paul acted like no time had passed. We picked up right where we left off, sneaking around, again, stealing kisses when no one was looking, and whispering into the night. For the first time, it felt like something that could stretch beyond just a season, into something bigger, something real.

Even though loving Paul came with rules, ones I didn’t understand at first. He wasn’t out—not to his family, not to anyone but me… not even to himself in some ways. I could feel the weight of his fear, the way it pressed down on every moment we shared. Always looking over his shoulder, always torn between who he was with me and the version of himself he thought he had to be for everyone else. I tried to tell myself it wasn’t his fault, that I could be patient, that he’d figure it out.

But no matter how much I tried, I couldn’t carry that weight for him. Loving him meant shrinking myself, bending myself to fit into the spaces he made for me, and hiding in the shadows he was too afraid to step out of. I kept telling myself it was enough… even when it wasn’t. But the truth was, Paul’s fear kept us on uneven ground from the start. I was always waiting for him to let me in completely, and he never did.

We promised to make it work, even with the distance. And for a while, it did. I believed him when he said it was worth it, that we were worth it. We stayed up late texting, calling each other, trading sleepy ‘I miss yous’ that felt like lifelines when we were hundreds of miles apart. I clung to those words like they could hold us together.

But slowly, Paul began to drift away. For a while, I convinced myself the distance was the problem. That everything would be easier if we were in the same place. But it wasn’t. Paul started pulling away bit by bit. He would take longer to text back, then stopped responding altogether. Let my calls go to voicemail. At first, I made excuses for him—he was busy, overwhelmed, tired. I told myself we were fine. But the silences between us grew heavier, like they were saying all the things Paul couldn’t bring himself to say.

Then Jake called.

He wanted to know why I hadn’t told him that Paul and I had broken up. My heart sank. I didn’t know what he was talking about until Jake told me he’d seen Paul with another boy—and, furthermore, he apparently also had a girlfriend.

He’d been seeing other people, and I was the last to know.

I felt hollow. I’d been holding onto something that was already gone, and everyone else could see it but me. Paul didn’t even have the decency to end things. He just… moved on, leaving me to piece together what was left of my dignity. I wanted to hate him for it, but I hated myself more for not seeing it coming. For ignoring the warnings Jake had given me from the start. He told me Paul wasn’t the kind of person who’d ever give me what I deserved. He told me Paul didn’t know how to love anyone but himself, but I didn’t want to believe it. I thought I could prove him wrong.

The worst part of a broken heart wasn’t the moment it shatters—it was the quiet echoes that linger after. I missed him in ways that made no sense. I missed the warmth of his laugh, the way he’d call me “kid” even though we were only a year apart, the spark in his eyes when he was just Paul and not the mask he wore for the rest of the world.

I kept waiting for closure that never came, for some kind of explanation. But Paul never gave me that. He just kept going, not looking back. And I was left to wrestle with the ache of loving someone who wasn’t who I thought they were.

I wrote about it, of course—it’s what I do, what I’d always done. I put it all in my journals, poured every feeling, every ounce of confusion, and longing, and heartbreak into words, or incomprehensible scribbles or sketches… anything that came to my mind was hidden neatly into those pages meant only for me. Though sometimes that endless stream of thoughts and pictures ended up as poems or lyrics, and those lyrics—with a lot of effort from my more musically talented friends—turned into songs for our little band.

But even with everything I wrote, the words couldn’t erase the hollow ache of knowing that no matter how much I’d loved him, it would never be enough to change reality.

Paul had always been a storm—wild and untouchable, pulling me in and tossing me aside. And I’d been foolish enough to think I could weather it.

And yet, even after all that, it wasn’t over.

The following summer, I didn’t expect to see Paul. I told myself I was over him, that the bruises he’d left on my heart had faded. But the moment he found me again, smiling that same careless smile like none of it had ever happened, my resolve crumbled.

He told me he’d made a huge mistake, that he’d never stopped caring about me, that he missed me. He said I was the only one who really understood him. And like the fool I was, I believed him. I let him pull me back in, convincing myself that this time would be different. That the sweet boy who kissed me by the fire was still somewhere inside him.

But Paul wasn’t the same. He was reckless now, angrier. He’d started drinking heavily and even smoking weed, partying with people who only fueled the worst parts of him. I’d get calls from him at three in the morning, his voice slurring as he told me he loved me while I could hear the sound of wind whipping past—Paul, drunk and driving, making promises he’d break by sunrise.

He wanted me when it was convenient, but he refused to let anyone else see us. We’d sneak around like some dirty secret, hiding behind locked doors and whispered conversations. When I asked him why he couldn’t just be honest about us, he’d snap, accusing me of trying to ruin his life or calling me selfish for not understanding how hard it was for him.

He showed up late to see me, reeking of alcohol and bad decisions. Sometimes, he’d come with bruised knuckles, a split lip, or blood on his shirt, and I never knew whether to ask questions or stay quiet. If he was in a good mood when I asked what happened, he’d laugh it off or change the subject. Other times, we’d fight. The arguments were sharp and exhausting, like walking on glass, and no matter what I said, it always ended the same.

He’d apologize and tell me it was my fault in one breath. He was so charming and persuasive. He’d tell me I was wrong, call me crazy, say I was imagining things, make me doubt myself so much that I started to believe him. There were times I’d feel like I was losing my grip on reality, constantly questioning if I was the problem, if I was too much, or not enough.

I remembered the time when I could make him smile during an argument, the argument forgotten, but those times were gone, swallowed by the storm of anger that lived inside him now. I couldn’t reach him anymore.

Paul’s temper scared me. He’d punch walls when things didn’t go his way, leaving holes in the plaster. One night, during an argument, he grabbed my wrist so hard it left bruises. I told myself it was just a moment, that he didn’t mean it, but deep down, I knew it wasn’t the first warning sign—I’d been ignoring them for months.

He’d cheat on me and lie. Once I’d overheard him talking with his friends, saying he’d only ever dated me for laughs. We’d fight and we’d break up. Later, when he was drunk and alone, he called me crying, saying he didn’t mean it, that I was the only one who ever mattered to him. And I believed him. Over and over again.

This cycle went on until this past summer—the one that finally broke me. Paul begged me for another chance, tears in his eyes and promises tumbling from his lips like they actually meant something this time. And like every time before, I gave in. I didn’t even know why anymore. Maybe I was still clinging to the memory of the boy who kissed me by the fire, the one who made me feel like I was someone worth chasing. Or maybe I just wanted to believe that he could change, even though deep down, I knew better.

I wanted to believe him when he said things would be different. But nothing had changed. The fights were still there, sharp and suffocating. The jealousy, the anger, the drinking, and, of course, the cheating. He wanted me to belong to him completely, but he was never really mine—not in the way I needed.

It all came to a head when I told him I had to go back to California a month early. He didn’t even let me finish before he lost it. His face twisted in anger, his voice cracking as he shouted over me. When I tried to explain, he grabbed my shoulders and slammed me against the wall. His whole body was shaking, and for the first time, I wasn’t just scared of losing him—I was scared of him.

I never got to tell him the truth—that I wasn’t leaving for good. That I’d decided to move to Forks, to stay. Not for him, but for me. Because I wanted a fresh start, a place that felt like it could finally be my home. But in that moment, I realized something that had been staring me in the face for years: Paul wasn’t the person I thought he was. He never had been.

Walking away from Paul felt like breaking free from a chain I’d kept locked around myself for far too long. It wasn’t easy—I wanted to turn back more times than I care to admit. There was a hole where he used to be, and no matter how much I knew I needed to leave, it still hurt. For so long, I thought love was supposed to feel like this. Like sacrifice and pain and longing. But Jake—my best friend, the one who always had my back, even when I didn’t deserve it—showed me otherwise. He reminded me of who I was, of what love should feel like.

Looking back now, I can see the relationship for what it really was: a mess of manipulation, heartbreak, and abuse dressed up as love. Paul was like a storm—beautiful and wild, but impossible to hold onto without getting swept away. He played with my emotions like it was a game, keeping me guessing which version of him I’d get each time. The charming boy who made me laugh until my sides hurt? Or the angry, destructive one who left bruises on my… heart?

Paul never changed, not really. He was still the boy who punched walls when he didn’t get his way, who got drunk and showed up at my door with slurred apologies. The boy who talked shit about me to his friends, who made me feel like I wasn’t enough and too much all at once. And for a long time, I let him make me believe that was my fault.

But the truth is, Paul wasn’t mine to save. No matter how much I tried to break through his walls, all I ever did was hurt myself in the process. He drained me of everything I had to give, and when there was nothing left, he moved on, leaving me to pick up the pieces.

I think the hardest part was letting go of the hope. The hope that he’d wake up one day and realize what he’d done, that he’d apologize in a way that actually meant something. That he’d love me the way I deserved to be loved. But holding onto that hope was killing me, and I finally had to let it go.

In the end, all I got from Paul was a lesson—and some songs. Writing about him was the only way I could make sense of it all, turning the pain into something real, something I could use. So, yeah, I got some decent songs out of it. But honestly? I’d trade them all just to never have met him at all.

Now, only a few months later, I sat in a circle of new faces, new friends and I couldn’t stop thinking about how messed up it all was. Paul’s ghost lingered in the room, a weight I couldn’t quite shake. I wondered if Edward saw it, too—if he could tell that every sarcastic remark was just a defense mechanism, a way to keep anyone from getting too close. After all, getting close had only ever ended in disaster.

The bottle spun and spun, but it never seemed to land on the right questions for Edward—the ones I needed answers to. My stomach twisted every time I glanced his way, wondering if he noticed the way I stumbled over my words when he looked at me a little too long or how I laughed a little louder at his jokes. Maybe it was stupid, but part of me wanted to believe Edward could be different. That he wouldn’t leave me feeling small and broken like Paul had.

The bottle spun again, glinting under the dim light, and I forced myself to focus on the moment, to push Paul out of my mind.

Edward drank a couple of times, always at the worst moments for my sanity. Questions like, ‘Do you have a crush on anyone?’ were met with a cool, deliberate sip instead of an answer. My chest tightened every time. I wished he’d said something—anything. I wished he’d said my name. I wished for confirmation that all of this wasn’t just in my head.

Jessica’s grin turned downright predatory. “Alright, Cullen,” she drawled, handing him a card. “Let’s make this interesting.”

Edward picked up the card and read it aloud, his voice calm and measured: “Who’s the most attractive person in the room?”

Cue collective silence.

Edward’s gaze swept over the circle, his expression unreadable, until his eyes lingered on me. For a fraction of a second too long. Then, with infuriating poise, he raised his drink and took a slow sip.

My stomach flipped, and not in a good way. Was I imagining things? Did that tiny pause mean something, or was I just desperate enough to make it up?

The moment passed, and the game trudged on. The rest of the group seemed oblivious to the tension humming between us, but I couldn’t stop sneaking glances at him. And every so often, I caught him doing the same.

When the bottle finally spun back to me again, Jessica couldn’t hide her excitement. “Alright, Beau,” she said, her grin like a shark circling its prey. “Let’s get serious.” She handed me a card that read: “Kiss the person you find most attractive here.”

I froze, heat rushing to my face. The room felt suffocatingly small.

Edward’s gaze burned into me, intense and unreadable. It was the kind of look that could melt steel—or possibly my brain.

I hesitated, my fingers tightening around the cup. I considered my options.

A) kiss Edward, get rejected and die of absolute mortification.

B) drink and look like a total coward.

Well, I already was a coward, so the choice was easy. I lifted the cup and drank, the alcohol burning my throat as I avoided looking at Edward. It was warm and bitter. It wasn’t all that bad, but I wasn’t entirely sure if I liked it.

Jessica pouted, but the game rolled on. Slowly, people started peeling away. Ben and Angela were the first to leave, as they emptied their cups to avoid the uncomfortable questions about their feelings. Tyler followed soon after. Alice abandoned the game entirely to join Emmett and Rosalie on the dance floor. My cup was still half-full at that point.

Before I knew it, everyone had fizzled out completely. It was just Edward and me, sitting in the corner of the room, the laminated cards abandoned on the floor. Exchanging questions under the flimsy pretense of the game, except neither of us wanted to embarrass the other. It started very simple.

“What’s your favorite color?” Edward asked suddenly, as if it was vitally important to him.

I rolled my eyes. “Very creative.” I leaned back, pretending to think deeply. “It changes from day to day.”

“What is it today?” he pressed, still solemn.

“Probably brown.” I tended to dress according to my mood.

He snorted, dropping his serious expression. “Brown?” he asked skeptically, raising an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed.

“Yeah, brown,” I said defensively. “Brown is warm. Also everything that’s supposed to be brown—tree trunks, dirt, rocks—is all covered up with squashy green stuff here. I miss brown,” I complained.

He seemed fascinated by my little rant. He considered for a moment, staring into my eyes.

“You’re right,” he decided, serious again. “Brown is warm.”

And then, like it was nothing, he reached over, swiftly, but somehow still hesitant and brushed a strand of hair behind my ear. His fingertips barely grazed my skin, but I forgot how to breathe for a solid five seconds.

“What’s your mother like?” He asked suddenly. It was my turn, but I let it slide. His tone shifted to something softer, more curious.

I blinked, thrown by the change in topic. He studied me curiously while I answered. “Uh, she’s… complicated. She kind of looks like me—same eyes, same hair color—but she’s short with darker skin. She’s an extrovert and super forgetful. She’s also eccentric, irresponsible, and a very unpredictable cook. She’s a nurse, or I guess she was a nurse, she quit to travel with Phil.”

“Do you miss her?”

The question caught me off guard, and I hesitated, my hands tightening around my cup. “Yeah. I mean, I guess I haven’t really thought about her much this past month.” I paused, feeling a little guilty. I looked away, focusing on the way my drink swirled in my cup.

“Why did your mother marry Phil?”

It took me a second to answer.

“That’s… complicated too.” I sighed, trying to find the right words. “My mom… she’s very… young for her age. I think Phil makes her feel even younger. Anyway, she’s crazy about him.” I shrugged, feeling awkward. Personally, I didn’t see it, but did anyone ever think anyone was good enough for their mom? He made her stop drinking or at least drink less, so that was something, I guess.

Edward tilted his head, like he was trying to understand my logic. “Do you approve?”

I shrugged again. “I want her to be happy, and he’s who she wants.”

“That’s very generous… I wonder…”

“What?”

“Would she extend the same courtesy to you, do you think? No matter who your choice was?” His voice was low, his eyes searching mine with unnerving intensity.

“I, I think so,” I stammered. “But she’s the adult—on paper at least. It’s a little different.”

His face relaxed. “No one too scary, then,” he teased.

I grinned back. “Define scary. Covered in tattoos and piercings? A gang member? Someone who doesn’t like dogs?”

“That last one would be unforgivable,” he said, his tone dry.

“Exactly.”

His lips curved into the faintest smile, and I found myself staring at it, which was definitely not helping my racing pulse.

“Do you think I could be scary?” he asked suddenly, his eyebrow arching in challenge, the corner of his mouth lifting in a teasing smirk, lightening his face.

I pretended to examine his face for a minute, partly to keep the conversation light and partly as an excuse to shamelessly stare at him, my favorite thing to do, as of late. His features were perfect, so symmetrical. His face would stop anyone in their tracks, but it wouldn’t make them run in the other direction—the opposite.

“It’s kind of hard to imagine that,” I admitted.

He frowned a bit.

“But, I mean, I’m sure you could be, if you wanted to.”

Edward’s smile faltered for a second, like he wasn’t sure if I was joking. Then he chuckled softly, the sound low and warm.

We both paused for a moment, the silence between us wasn’t awkward. If anything, it felt… comfortable. More than I’d ever experienced with anyone else. It was strange to feel so connected to him, even when we weren’t talking. This past month had been filled with so many moments like this, where we didn’t need words to understand each other. It was like we had fallen into this rhythm, this unspoken closeness that I hadn’t shared with anyone else.

“Do you have any other relatives?” he asked after a while, his voice quieter now.

“My mom has a sister,” he waited for me to continue. “Umm…Tía Isa, she’s great. She and her husband are journalists, they travel around the world, or at least they used to. I don’t know what they do now. I-I haven’t seen them in years.” I looked down at my hands. “We used to be so close.”

“What happened?”

“She and my mom fought a lot. They had a huge argument a few years ago, and Tía moved away. Mom didn’t want me talking to her anymore.”

Edward tilted his head, his expression unreadable. But he didn’t push for more.

“So,” I said, desperate to steer the conversation away from myself, “are you going to tell me about your family? It’s got to be more interesting than mine.”

His posture stiffened, instantly cautious. “What do you want to know?”

“The Cullens adopted you?”

“Yes.”

I hesitated, unsure if I was crossing a line. “What happened to your parents?”

“They died a long time ago,” he said, his tone flat and matter-of-fact.

“I’m sorry.”

“I don’t really remember them clearly.” His voice softened. “Carlisle and Esme have been my parents for a long time now.”

“And you love them.” It wasn’t a question. It was obvious in the way he said their names.

“Yes.” A small, genuine smile tugged at his lips. “I can’t imagine two better people.”

“Then you’re very lucky.”

“I guess I am.”

After that, the conversation drifted, though it was hard to find something we didn’t already know about each other. We ran out of the simple, light and breezy questions pretty fast.

He asked me about my favorite books. And reluctantly I had to admit that I’d had a massive crush on Mr. Darcy when I first saw the movie adaptations. He laughed but admitted that he could respect my taste. Then he even got me to talk about Doctor Who, and I was surprised when he admitted the Tenth Doctor was also his favorite.

The room was getting stuffy and warm, the kind of heavy air that makes you feel like you’re stuck inside your own skin. Somewhere along the way, I shrugged off my jacket, letting it hang loose over my shoulders, and absentmindedly started to roll up the left sleeve of my shirt.

I didn’t even know what we were talking about or what led to this conversation, but Edward was laughing at me for being a ‘ballerina’ when he suddenly asked:

“How did you get that?” He was looking at my left forearm, specifically at the faint, thin lines on it, etched there like they’d always been part of me. “Did you fall out of a tree as a kid or something?”

He was joking—I knew he was. But the question hit me like a sharp jolt. I didn’t even notice the countless scars on my body most of the time. Nobody did. Either they didn’t look closely enough to notice, or pretend they didn’t see. Either way, no one ever outright asked about them.

But Edward wasn’t like anyone else.

I didn’t know why, but I yanked my sleeve down quickly, my hands trembling just enough for me to notice. I looked away, the heat creeping up my neck. I could feel him tense up beside me.

“I—” Edward’s tone shifted instantly, his voice soft, urgent, and apologetic. “I didn’t mean—”

“Don’t,” I interrupted, my words probably sharper than I intended, forcing a smile I didn’t feel. “It’s fine. Really.”

I grabbed my cup and drained it in one long gulp, in hopes it would calm me down. Unfortunately, the liquid did nothing to settle the storm inside me. The tension between us was palpable, but I couldn’t stand the way he was looking at me, steady and concerned, like he was trying to unravel me with his eyes, or like he wanted to fix something he didn’t understand. I stood up abruptly, and he was right by my side. He reached for my hand, but I pulled away before he could touch me.

“Really, let’s just go dance.” I smiled at him again, but he still wasn’t convinced. “And I can’t dance, so it will be fun.”

He hesitated, his expression doubtful. “You just told me you’re a ballet dancer.”

“Well, this,” I gestured to the crowd of drunk teens, “is very different from ballet.” A corner of his mouth twitched, he was clearly fighting back a smile. I seized the moment, grabbing the cuff of his sleeve, walking backwards, pulling him along with me. “Come on, you can make fun of me some more on the dance floor.”

For a moment, he just stared at me, like he couldn’t quite believe what I was doing. Then he laughed—a low, melodic sound that sent a shiver down my spine—and let me lead him. It distracted me more than it should have.

I didn’t get far.

I bumped into someone. There was a loud shattering noise echoing in my ears, I felt my shoes getting soaked. The acrid smell of spilled alcohol hit me like a heavy wave. I looked down. Glass, tiny shards of glass all over my shoes. And it was like I was back there. I couldn’t catch my breath, I was so lightheaded, I gripped the first thing near me not to fall down. The noise of the party blurred, people laughing, someone yelling “Watch it,” but it was all muffled, like miles away or coming from underwater. The sound of breaking glass still echoed in my head, getting louder and louder—sharp, relentless, deafening.

I didn’t even realize I was running, pushing my way through, until I felt the cold night air on my face. I had no idea where exactly I was. My feet carried me to the nearest wall, solid and grounding, and I collapsed against it, my knees pulled tightly to my chest.

I gasped for air, but it wasn’t enough. My lungs wouldn’t fill. My tie felt like it was choking me. I clawed at it, loosening it with trembling hands. It didn’t help much.

“Beau?” A familiar voice—soft but sharp—pierced through the thick haze in my mind. It felt far away at first, muffled like it was underwater, but steadily, it grew louder, closer. It anchored me, even as I shook uncontrollably.

Edward kneeled in front of me, his face etched with concern. He rested a steady hand on my trembling knees. “Beau,” he said again, his voice calm and deliberate, “what do you need?”

I couldn’t answer, my breathing still erratic, shallow, ragged. I clutched my chest with one hand and dug my fingernails into the palm of the other, hard enough to sting, trying to steady myself. Edward’s hand slid into mine, stopping me from hurting myself further. His grip was firm but not forceful, his touch gentle. I clung to it desperately, like a lifeline.

“Hey.” His voice dropped, low and soothing. “Look at me.”

He tilted my chin up with the lightest touch, just his fingertips grazing my skin. His eyes locked onto mine, those beautiful, weird golden-green eyes, impossibly bright against the night. “You’re safe. Just look at me.”

I focused on him, the sharpness of his features blurring the chaos in my mind.

“Breathe with me” he said, his voice calm but insistent. “Inhale. Slowly.”

I tried, the first breath a jagged mess. The cold night air burned as I dragged it into my lungs.

A moment later, “That’s it. Now exhale.”

We exhaled together. His hand never left mine.

He repeated that over and over. I matched his rhythm, each breath a little deeper, a little steadier. His thumb brushed against the back of my hand in slow, rhythmic circles. Gradually, the tightness in my chest eased, the frantic edge of my panic dulling under his patient guidance. The cold air seeped into my lungs, calming the storm.

I became aware of my surroundings again—the chill of the night air on my skin, the faint thrum of music from inside the house. I realized we were on the patio, mercifully alone.

Edward stayed close, his presence as steady as the stone wall behind me. “Are you feeling better?”

I nodded, though my throat still felt raw, my body shaky.

“Okay. What can I do? Do you want me to drive you home?”

The mention of “home” made me firstly think of the home back in L.A, dragging my thoughts back to the thing I tried desperately to forget about. I shook my head hard. “No,” I croaked.

“Do you want to talk about it?” His voice was careful, almost hesitant, as if afraid to push me too far.

I hesitated, but then nodded. Words felt impossible, but something in me needed him to know.

Edward didn’t rush me. He just waited, both of his hands now in mine, letting me squeeze them as tightly as I needed. The quiet wrapped around us like a cocoon. My jacket must’ve fallen to the ground at some point, and I noticed it lying next to him. He must have picked it up after chasing me out here. The thought sent a faint warmth through my chest, though it was quickly drowned by the lingering echoes of panic.

I didn’t know how much time had passed. It felt like ages when I finally spoke, my voice barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry. This… this hasn’t happened in a while.”

“Don’t apologize,” Edward said firmly. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat making it difficult. “I… I need you to just listen. And then we can go back inside, okay?”

I needed to tell someone. And for some reason I needed him to know, I wanted him to know everything.

“Okay,” he agreed, his voice so soft it almost felt like a promise.

I took a deep breath, focusing on our intertwined hands. His were slightly colder. “I was maybe… about seven,” I began haltingly. “It was late, really late, and I was asleep. I heard my mom shouting and this… this loud crashing noise.”

Edward’s grip on my hands tightened ever so slightly, encouraging me to go on.

“I got up and went to the living room. My mom and her boyfriend were fighting.” I paused, my throat closing up. Edward didn’t speak, didn’t move, just stayed there, steady as always. “He was throwing things. I don’t think they noticed me. I… I remember hearing more glass breaking, and my head started hurting, everything was kind of a blur. I think I passed out.”

Another deep breath, shakier this time. “When I woke up, I was on the floor. There was glass everywhere. And this weird smell—like metal and salt with alcohol. Then another crash, and I think something fell on top of me, like a shelf… I don’t know, I just felt something heavy on me and I couldn’t move. My mom was screaming my name, over and over. And then I woke up in the hospital.”

The words hung in the air, sharp and jagged. I let my head fall back against the wall, staring up at the cloudy sky, no star in sight. “I hadn’t thought about that night in years… but I dunno, you asked about my mom, and the…” I trailed off, gripping my left arm where the scars were, “…and then the glass.”

I looked back at Edward, at those beautiful eyes, still fixed on me. Despite everything I couldn’t help but smile, “But I’m fine, really.”

Edward didn’t look convinced. “It’s okay if you’re not fine,” he said softly, his voice like warm honey tea.

He reached for my jacket, carefully draping it over my shoulders.

“But I am. I’m not gonna let this stop me from having fun with my friends. I got scared, and I just needed a minute,” I insisted, standing a little too quickly. My knees wobbled, and I lost my balance. Edward caught me immediately, his hands firm and steady around my waist.

I realized just how close we were, his face inches from mine. I was pressed against the wall, with my hands on his chest. His hands shifted to the wall on either side of my shoulders, caging me in without ever feeling threatening. His breath was warm against my lips, his gaze dark and intense.

“Are you still scared?” he asked, his voice low, rough. It was like he was asking about something else.

“No,” I whispered. “What would I be scared of?”

His gaze dropped to my hands, still pressed firmly against his chest.

“You?” I let out a nervous laugh, though my voice was barely audible. “Oh, Edward, there’s a million scary things in this world… but you are not one of them.”

I made sure to look straight into his eyes as I said this. There was something unreadable in his expression. I held his gaze, trying to will him to understand what I couldn’t put into words. And he looked right back at me, like there was something in me worth looking at.

Edward leaned in, his nose brushing against mine. The smallest, unexplainable spark passed between us, electric and undeniable. His forehead rested against mine, and I unconsciously closed my eyes, my heart hammering against my ribs.

“I get them too,” he murmured, his voice so quiet I almost missed it.

“What?” I asked, but I couldn’t open my eyes.

“Panic attacks,” he admitted, a faint vulnerability creeping into his tone. “Not often, but… when they hit, it’s like the world closes in. Like I’ll never breathe again.”

I stayed still, stunned. “You?”

“I’m not as unshakable as you think, Beau.”

The moment stretched between us, charged with something fragile and electric. I tilted my face up, trying to bridge the gap between us, just enough that the tiniest part of my lips barely brushed his—

And nothing, just nothing.

I blinked my eyes open, disoriented. He wasn’t there. He was just gone.

Was he here at all? Did I just imagine him being there, comforting me? Was I going crazy or did he just leave me? Which was worse, being insane or being rejected?

I pressed my lips together, the lingering ghost of his touch fading. Tears prickled at the corners of my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. I could either cry and drown in self-pity or laugh and move on. So, I laughed—a hollow, bitter sound—and pulled my jacket tighter around myself.

Like I said, getting close had only ever ended in disaster.

With a deep breath, I turned back toward the house, slipping inside through the glass door. The deafening music hit me like a wall, drowning out everything else, every single thought in my head.

I grabbed an unopened bottle from the kitchen counter, poured a cup, and downed it in one go. I wanted to drown everything out. Paul, Edward and every fucking memory of my mother, of the pain, of the screams and the blood that creeped in my head. It burned all the way down, but at least it gave me something to focus on.

Tyler and Mike appeared at my side, grinning and laughing, their words lost to the pounding music. One of them grabbed my arm, pulling me toward the dance floor.

And I let them drag me away, the crowd of screaming people swallowing me whole. Everything started to get blurry fast.

**********

I was in a different part of the house. Maybe the basement? I wasn’t sure how I’d ended up there. The room was thick with smoke, stinging my eyes and making the edges of everything blur even more. A group of guys was sprawled out on couches and the floor, looking like they were melting into the furniture, clearly stoned out of their minds.

I was sitting between Tyler and… someone else. His name was a blur, lost in the haze in my head. Tyler was way too close, uncomfortably close. It was like he had no idea what personal space was. His arm was slung across my shoulders. He was chatty, his voice loud and slurred, and he kept laughing at things I didn’t say. I guessed he was too stoned to notice I wasn’t interested… in him or whatever he was saying.

“You having fun?” he slurred, leaning into me. His breath was warm and smelled like beer.

I didn’t answer. I wasn’t sure if I could. My head felt heavy, and the words were stuck somewhere in the fog. He offered me his joint and I shook my head weakly, not bothering to explain, but he kept insisting.

“Come on,” he pushed, his voice dropping like it was supposed to be enticing. “Mama didn’t raise no fucking bitch,” he slurred, putting the joint to my lips. I tried to pull back, but the couch seemed to swallow me whole.

“Tyler! Noooo, no, Beau—no, mama raised a bitch, let’s go,” a small voice snapped through the haze, sharp and fierce.

A tiny fairy. Alice. She grabbed my arm, yanking me to my feet with surprising strength. I let her, grateful for the escape. She shot Tyler a murderous look that could’ve burned a hole through him. He looked up at her, confused and slow to react.

“Mama didn’t raise nobody, actually,” I mumbled, stumbling after her. “My mom was absent.” I laughed at my own joke, but no one else did.

Alice’s arm hooked firmly under mine, holding me steady as she led me back upstairs. My legs felt like jelly, but she kept me moving, dragging me to where Angela was waiting by the dance floor. Her face lit up when she saw us. Alice handed me off like a package, and they steered me toward the crowd of dancers.

“Dance it off, babe!” Angela shouted, her voice barely cutting through the noise.

I didn’t argue. I didn’t do anything. I let them push me into the crush of bodies, their laughter and energy buzzing around me like static.

The music thumped in my chest, a dull, steady rhythm that drowned out everything else. Time blurred. Everything faded into a blur of sound and movement. I felt a cup pressed into my hand, and I drank it without thinking. I didn’t even know who gave it to me.

**********

Then I was wearing someone’s cowboy hat. I wasn’t sure whose it was or when I’d put it on. It sat lopsided on my head, threatening to fall off as I swayed to the beat. Everything was hazy and I liked it that way. It was so much easier to breathe with every thought and memory pushed to the back of my mind.

A guy dressed as a pirate offered me a shot, and I downed it without hesitation. It burned all the way down, and I laughed—though it didn’t feel funny. Nothing did.

The pirate high-fived me, and I stumbled backward into someone else. They caught me, steadying me with a laugh, their hands lingering on my shoulders before they disappeared back into the crowd, and then I was dancing again. Or at least moving.

***

It didn’t take long for the room to spin. Everything felt distant, like I was watching it all happen through someone else’s eyes. My body moved on autopilot, going wherever someone pulled me, doing whatever they suggested.

A hand brushed my back—too low to be casual. I turned, but whoever it was had already disappeared into the crowd.

***

Someone pressed up behind me, their hands brushing my waist.

“Hey, you look lonely,” a voice murmured in my ear.

I didn’t turn around. Didn’t care. Just pushed their hand off me.

They lingered for a moment before melting away into the crowd.

***

Another drink found its way into my hand. This one was blue, or maybe green. I drank it anyway.

Someone else tried to talk to me, leaning in close, their smile too wide, their words slurred. I couldn’t hear them over the music, and I didn’t bother trying.

I turned away, letting the crowd swallow me again.

**********

Sometime later, the music slowed down, giving me a second to realize how much my head hurt. My throat was raw from singing—or screaming—along to songs I barely remembered. I felt the ache in my legs, the weight in my chest creeping back in, heavier with every beat of the music.

I needed air. Or maybe just quiet.

I stumbled out of the crowd, I asked the nearest person about the bathroom, the words barely making sense even to me.

“Upstairs,” they said, pointing vaguely toward the staircase.

Ugh, of course, it had to be upstairs.

The stairs were strung with fairy lights, bats taped to the walls, and stars dangling from the ceiling. At the bottom, a cowboy was making out with a cheerleader, their bodies pressed against the railing. I pushed past them without a word and stumbled up the stairs.

The bathroom was one of the first of many doors on the left. I pushed it open and froze in place.

At first, I didn’t know what I was looking at, my brain struggled to catch up. The thought, ‘just how drunk am I?’ came across my mind.

Princess Peach and Princess Daisy were kissing in the bathroom. Or rather, Jessica and Lauren were kissing in the bathroom. Jessica was pressed against the sink, her legs wrapped around Lauren’s waist. Jessica’s hands in Lauren’s hair, Lauren’s hands on Jessica’s hips and moving up and down Jessica’s thighs.

They jumped apart when they finally noticed they weren’t alone anymore, faces flushed, startled and wide-eyed.

I shut the door instantly, yelled ‘sorry’ and ran. Just bolted back downstairs, past the cowboy and cheerleader who were still glued to each other.

**********

Back in the kitchen, I grabbed a new bottle of something amber. Whiskey, rum—whatever. I took it to the dance floor, drinking straight from the bottle.

The warmth spread through me, dulling the edges even more. I drank half of the bottle before someone took it away from me. Everything blurred again—faces, music, laughter. I wasn’t sure how much time had passed. I found another bottle, someone took it from me again. But I didn’t care.

I was dizzy. My throat was raw. It was too loud, it was like my ears were bleeding. The flashing lights too bright. I longed for my bed, my warm, cozy, safe bed. I dug my phone out of my pocket, squinting at the screen. 3:15 a.m.

I needed to go home.

Somehow, I found myself on the front lawn, I didn’t know how, but I was there, the cold air hitting me like a slap. I found my keys in my jacket’s pocket, I fumbled with them, realizing with a sinking feeling that I couldn’t drive.

I was in no condition to walk to the car, let alone drive.

I collapsed to the ground with resignation. The damp grass soaking through my jeans. Tears rolled down my cheeks, hot against my cold skin.

I pulled out my phone again, scrolling through my contacts with shaking fingers.

Who was I supposed to call? Definitely not Dad. He was out of the question. No way.

I stopped at Jake’s name and hit call.

It rang and rang, going to voicemail.

I tried again.

And again.

The fourth time, I broke down and left a stupid voicemail.

“Jakey… I know you’re probably asleep, but I can’t get home. I-I need you. I need you to get me. Pleaseeeee,” my voice slurred and cracked, but he could probably still understand me. I hoped he could.

I hung up, dropping the phone into the grass beside me. The tears kept coming, but I didn’t wipe them away. I just stayed there, staring at nothing, waiting for something to pull me out of the dark.

**********

Bonus: Edward’s pov

Beau was so close, yet somehow still not close enough. He smelled wonderful, like lavender and old books. Now there was an undertone of whiskey, which made his smell all the more intoxicating. I inhaled slowly. His eyes were so dark, his pupils dilated, I could barely see the lovely, warm, deep brown, he slowly closed them, his long lashes falling on his cheeks. And then his lips…Oh, his lips… looked so soft, chapped from constantly biting them, but still soft. I wanted to feel them on mine so badly. I gently rested my forehead against his. He was warm, it felt so good against my permanently slightly colder skin.

I had this gorgeous boy under me, and he wasn’t afraid of me, even though he should have been. He was here with his hands on my chest and he trusted me. Beau sighed, and something hot and electric went through my chest. That was right, more right than anything I’d ever managed before. Making Beau feel like that, safe and secure in my arms, was it. I dreamt of kissing him for so long, but when his lips parted and he leaned towards me, his heartbeat quickened, I froze.

I knew I could never have him. I tried so hard not to cross the line. I told myself I’d be fine with just being friends. That I could at least have him as a friend, that it would be enough. But still I hung on every breath he took, every word he said. The question was never out of my mind: What is he thinking now? When I heard him quietly sigh to himself. When he twisted a lock of hair absently around his finger. When he threw his books down with more force than usual. When he was reading and suddenly frowned. When he wrote, almost obsessively, in his journal. When he rushed to class late. When he tapped his foot impatiently against the floor. Each movement caught in my peripheral vision was a maddening mystery. When he spoke, I analyzed every word and tone. I wanted him to be mine. Selfishly, thoughtlessly, mine.

For a long time I wished I couldn’t hear everyone’s thoughts all of the time, but when it finally happened it nearly drove me crazy. I never really got to enjoy the quiet of Beau’s mind. His thoughts were the only ones that actually mattered to me. Not hearing his thoughts was a blessing and a curse.

Spending time with him made me feel normal, human. But I wasn’t human and no matter how much I wanted to be a part of his world, I couldn’t. Being with me was too dangerous for him. My pursuit of him was indefensible. What kind of relationship could I offer him, when I couldn’t risk touching him? He deserved someone he would be safe around, someone that could touch him and not accidentally hurt him.

Alice said that I would not be strong enough to stay away from him. I would prove her wrong.

Leaving Beau there was the last thing I wanted, but I forced myself to anyway. I was gone and inside the house before Beau could notice. But before I could grab my things and leave the party for good, Alice was in my way, blocking my only exit, visibly angry.

“What the hell are you doing?” She yelled over the loud music. Emmett was right behind her. This whole situation was really entertaining for him. He was dying to see what Alice would do.

“I have to leave,” I said, my teeth clenched. If I stayed, I would definitely do something stupid.

“You can’t just leave, you idiot!” she snapped. “What, you can’t even properly kiss a boy you like? You had the perfect opportunity and you blew it.”

Damn, kid, you’re a mess, Emmett thought, sympathy in his tone.

“Bite me,” I muttered under my breath, and I heard his low chuckle. I stalked out of the room. Alice touched my arm as I passed, but I didn’t acknowledge the gesture.

They followed close behind me. Alice sighed. You are so blind, Eddie. Can’t you see where you’re headed? Can’t you see where you already are? It’s more inevitable than the sun rising in the East. See what I see…

I shook my head, horrified. “No.” I tried to shut out the visions she revealed to me. “I don’t have to follow that course. I will change the future.”

She’s been having the same visions for a few weeks now. Visions in which my feelings for Beau either end up getting him killed or changed into… one of us. And I couldn’t let either one happen.

“You can try,” she said, her voice skeptical.

“Oh, come on!” Emmett bellowed. “You had a gay crisis so big you had to leave the state. Just get it over with already.”

“Keep out of it,” I said under my breath. Alice’s face fell, and then brightened again. “Can you keep an eye on him? Please.”

Alice unwillingly nodded. Fine. Be stubborn. It’s only a matter of time.

I was running before I left the house. I raced into the forest. The rain was back again, falling so heavily that I was drenched in a few moments. I liked the thick sheet of water—it made a wall between me and the rest of the world. It closed me in, let me be alone. I ran as fast as I could until I reached the meadow, my meadow, my safe place. It was miles away from the town, from the people, from their thoughts. It was a place where I could breathe, where I could think. And I needed to think. I lay on the grass, feeling the cold rain on my skin.

This could not be allowed. There had to be a way to circumvent the future. I would not let Alice’s visions direct me. I could choose a different path. There was always a choice. There had to be.

His scent lingered on my clothes. That sweet, sweet scent which made me wonder if he was even human. He didn’t smell like any other human, not like, well, prey.

**********

I remembered Beau’s first day at school vividly. Every single detail.

I tried to give him some privacy. I knew how hard it was moving to a new place, every mind in Forks was already focused on his arrival. I wanted to give him space, but Alice decided to talk to him. I saw Alice’s visions, saw her becoming friends with him, which made Beau even more interesting. But I still kept my distance.

He was sitting with Alice in the cafeteria.

Edward Cullen.

I turned to the sound of my name being called, though it wasn’t being called, just thought, a reflex reaction. My eyes locked for a small portion of a second with a pair of wide, deep chocolate-brown eyes, so familiar, yet new, warm and intense at the same time, framed by thick, long lashes that blinked once in surprise. His face was gentle and thoughtful, with soft, dark curls that framed his features, slightly messy in a way that seemed more accidental than intentional. His skin had a warm, golden tone, it stood out against the backdrop of mostly pale faces of the student body. It gave him a distinct presence, though he seemed almost unaware of it. His whole face, the cheeks, the bridge of his nose, trailing all the way down his neck were dotted with faint freckles. Somewhere deep in the back of my mind I wondered if every inch of that enchanting sun-kissed skin was covered in freckles. And those full lips, slightly parted in either curiosity or maybe astonishment, were a perfect blend of features. They made him look almost regal, something that everyone around seemed to notice. I knew that beautiful face, though I’d never seen it myself before that moment. It had been foremost in everyone’s head that day.

The new student, Beauregard Swan-Torres. Beau. He’d corrected everyone who’d used his full name… I looked away. It took me a second to realize that he had not been the one to think my name.

Wait, is he interested in Edward? Is he into boys? I heard the first thought continue.

Now I recognized the ‘voice.’ Jessica Stanley—it had been a while since she’d bothered me with her internal chatter. What a relief it had been when she’d gotten over her misplaced infatuation. It used to be nearly impossible to escape her constant, ridiculous daydreams.

Alice was talking about our family, and I listened carefully for Beau’s reaction and heard nothing, though I listened close beside where Jessica’s frivolous internal monologue gushed. It was as if there was no one sitting beside her. My gaze locked on those wide brown eyes again. He was sitting right where he had been before, and looking at us, a natural thing to be doing, I supposed, thinking about us, too, would be natural. But I couldn’t hear a whisper. I scanned Alice’s thoughts for an explanation, but she was already lost in the future and not focusing on what was happening right before her.

I could hear nothing but silence from the place he was sitting. Nothing at all. I felt a moment of unease. This was nothing I’d ever encountered before. Was there something wrong with me? I felt exactly the same as I always did. Worried, I listened harder.

All the voices I’d been blocking were suddenly shouting in my head.

…wonder what music he likes… maybe I could mention that new band… Mike Newton was thinking, two tables away—fixated on Beau.

Look at him staring at Beau. Isn’t it enough that he has half the girls in school waiting for him to… Eric Yorkie thoughts, also revolving around the boy.

…My God, she’s not even looking at me anymore… flaunting her new best friend. What a joke… Even Edward’s staring, weird… Lauren Mallory was always jealous when it came to Jessica. Her secret crush on Jessica was consuming most of her thoughts. Venom continued to spew from the girl’s internal ranting.

…I bet everyone has asked him that. But I’d like to talk to him, he’s cute. I’ll think of a more original question… Ashley Dowling mused.

…maybe he’ll be in my Spanish… June Richardson hoped.

…tons left to do tonight! Trig, and the English test. I hope my mom… Angela Weber, a quiet girl, whose thoughts were usually kind, was the only one at the table who wasn’t obsessed with Beau.

I could hear them all, hear every insignificant thing they were thinking as it passed through their minds. But nothing at all from the new student with the pretty eyes.

Of course, I could hear what the boy said when he spoke to Jessica. I didn’t have to read minds to be able to hear his low, very attractive—though I couldn’t admit to myself yet—clear voice on the far side of the long room.

“Which one is the boy with the reddish brown hair?” I heard him ask, sneaking a look at me from the corner of his eye, only to look quickly away when he saw that I was still staring.

I’d hoped that hearing the sound of his voice would help me pinpoint the tone of his thoughts, lost somewhere I couldn’t access, but I was instantly disappointed. Usually, people’s thoughts came to them in a similar pitch as their physical voices. But this quiet, shy—attractive—voice was unfamiliar, not one of the hundreds of thoughts bouncing around the room, I was sure of that. Entirely new.

Oh, that’s not a good idea… but I guess everyone had a crush on Edward at some point… Jessica thought before answering the boy’s question. “That’s Edward. He’s gorgeous, of course, but don’t waste your time. He doesn’t date. Apparently none of the girls here are good-looking enough for him.” She sniffed.

I turned my head away to hide my smile. Jessica and her classmates had no idea how lucky they were that none of them particularly appealed to me.

But him…

It was unbelievably frustrating. I could clearly see it was a strain for him to sit there, to make conversation with strangers, to be the center of attention. I could sense his shyness from the way he held his frail-looking shoulders, slightly hunched, as if he was expecting a rebuff at any moment. And yet I could only sense. Could only see. Could only imagine. There was nothing but silence.

I could hear nothing. Why?

“Shall we?” Rosalie murmured to Emmett, interrupting my focus.

I looked away from the boy with a sense of relief. I didn’t want to continue to fail at this—it irritated me more than I cared to admit.

Jasper got up and walked to Alice, and I had to stop myself from rolling my eyes. I didn’t need to read minds to know what Jasper was thinking. I hoped they’d go far enough away for me not to hear their thoughts while they made out.

Emmett and Rosalie left soon after to join their friends. After some time, I too got up from the table and left the cafeteria.

In the classroom, I settled into my chair and let my books spill across the table. I was the only student who had a table to myself. The room slowly filled as students trickled in from lunch. I leaned back in my chair and waited for the time to pass as I replayed that brief interaction. The boy was still on my mind.

I didn’t notice him enter the classroom.

It wasn’t until he passed by my desk that my body went rigid, seized by a sudden, primal reaction. I hadn’t been surprised by a human ever since I was changed. Yet, in that moment, I felt something raw and instinctual surge through me—an immediate flight-or-fight response.

In that instant, I was nothing close to the human I’d once been; no trace of the carefully constructed control I’d spent decades mastering, no shred of humanity remained. It was as if his mere presence unraveled me.

The moment my eyes left him, it was like he ceased to exist.

Not in the mundane sense of someone walking out of sight, but in a way that was deeply, profoundly wrong. I couldn’t sense him. Couldn’t track him. It was as if the universe itself blinked, and he vanished.

And it terrified me. I spent decades trying to bury my vampire instincts and, just like that, my control was gone.

I snapped my gaze back to him, and there he was again, walking toward his seat as though nothing had happened. I stared, unblinking, trying to make sense of it. My mind raced, each question more disjointed than the last. What was he? Human? Supernatural? Something entirely outside my comprehension?

His gaze met mine, and I saw myself reflected in the wide mirror of his eyes. —shock, anxiety, and something else I couldn’t name etched into his delicate features. His heartbeat thudded faintly in my ears, grounding me, but the moment I looked away, it disappeared again. I still couldn’t hear his thoughts.

It was maddening.

I spent the entire hour with my eyes glued to him. I didn’t trust myself to look away. I had to make sure he was still there. His mental silence made everything so much worse. He was an unknown. My mind clawed desperately at the silence where his thoughts should have been. I tried to analyze every detail—his movements, his posture, his breathing. He had a heartbeat though, every time my eyes shifted away from him, I couldn’t hear it anymore. Every time I looked away, even for a fraction of a second, the world felt emptier, more dangerous.

And still, I couldn’t ignore how beautiful he was. This boy would drive me completely mad.

When the bell finally rang, I bolted.

I was in my car before I even realized how I’d gotten there. This boy shattered my reality. I was losing my mind. Everything I knew, everything I have been used to and comfortable with was gone. I needed to avoid him. I needed to put some distance between us, as much distance as possible.

So I tried to get out of Biology. I went to the office and, with the rest of my mental strength, I tried to change classes. I was barely coherent as I spoke to the receptionist, gripping the edge of the counter to steady myself. But then, he surprised me for the second time.

A faint breeze from the opening door announced his arrival before I even saw him. I didn’t need to turn around to know it was him; his scent washed over me, a mix of warmth and something tantalizingly sweet. My control faltered, and panic surged again.

I had to leave.

I didn’t stop until I was in my car, moving too fast, too reckless the entire way there. Most of the students had cleared out already, so there weren’t a lot of witnesses. When I slid into my Volvo, the others were already there, their curious gazes fixed on me. My hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly it groaned under the pressure. My breaths came in short, sharp gasps, as though I couldn’t get enough air.

He isn’t real. He is. What is he?

“Edward?” Alice’s voice broke through the storm in my head, alarmed.

I couldn’t answer her. My vision swam as the panic built, wave after wave crashing against me. I gritted my teeth, struggling to steady myself, but the feeling of losing control only grew.

“What the hell happened to you?” Emmett demanded.

I shook my head, my throat too dry to form words. Swallowing hard, I tried to speak, but the rising tide of panic made it impossible.

Instead of explaining, I threw the car into reverse, jerking us out of the lot faster than I should have. The tires squealed, the sound slicing through my fraying nerves.

Oh, he’s having a panic attack, Alice realized. Her thoughts were clear, cutting through the haze like a blade. “Eddie, what happened? What do you need?”

Without looking, I knew Emmett, Rosalie, and Jasper had all turned to stare at Alice. She shrugged, her expression uncertain. She couldn’t see what had passed, only what was coming.

“I need—” My voice cracked, barely above a whisper. I slammed my foot on the gas, the car lurching forward. My hands trembled so badly that I could barely maintain my grip on the wheel. “I need… to think. To figure this out. He’s—he’s not real.”

“What do you mean?” Alice pressed, her tone softening with concern.

I shook my head again, unable to explain. How could I? How could I put into words the way he made me feel like I was losing my mind?

I gripped the side of my head with my free hand as if I could physically hold my thoughts together. The image of him—his wide eyes, his fragile movements, the maddening silence of his mind—played over and over in my head like a fever dream.

“Edward, breathe,” Alice said gently, placing a hand on my shoulder.

I tried. I really tried. But each breath came shallow and fast, and I couldn’t escape the feeling that everything I knew—everything I’d built my life around—was crumbling beneath me.

The silence in his mind. The way he disappeared when I wasn’t looking. The sheer impossibility of it all.

What was he?

What was happening to me?

Alice’s hand tightened on my shoulder, her thoughts shifting. She looked ahead for me now. We both processed the vision that had just flashed in her mind, and we were both surprised.

“You’re leaving?” she whispered.

The others stared at me now, their questions unspoken but heavy in the air.

“I think so…” I rasped. The words felt foreign in my mouth, like they didn’t belong to me. But I knew they were true. I had to leave. I had to clear my head. I needed to breathe.

Alice’s vision shifted again, playing out a future I could see as clearly as if I were already living it: an empty highway at night, trees dusted with snow flashing by at nearly two hundred miles per hour.

“I’ll miss you,” she said quietly, her voice tinged with sadness. “No matter how short a time you’re gone.”

***

I spent a week in Alaska, hiding in the snow, trying to get my mind right, the silence of the wilderness echoing the maddening silence of his mind. The stillness should have brought clarity, but it only gave me time to replay every moment over and over again. It was a week full of realizations.

I came back knowing two things; Beau was a mystery, unlike anything I had ever encountered. And I was undeniably, dangerously attracted to him.

**********

Attraction.

It was a problematic thing to contemplate. So many sides to it, so many different meanings and levels. Not the same thing as love, but tied up in it inextricably.

I had no idea if Beau was attracted to me.

Would his mental silence somehow continue to get more and more frustrating until I went completely mad? Or was there a limit that I would eventually reach?

I tried to compare his physical responses to others, like Jessica Stanley, but the comparison was inconclusive. The same markers—changes in heart rate and breathing patterns—could just as easily mean fear or shock or anxiety as they did interest. It seemed unlikely that Beau could be entertaining the same kinds of thoughts that Jessica Stanley used to have. And yet… as I remembered those fantasies that used to repulse me, but remembered them with Beau in Jessica’s place…

The air in my lungs felt too hot, too sharp. My throat ached, the fire clawing its way up and down as my mind conjured an image I couldn’t seem to stop.

What if it had been Beau imagining me with my arms wrapped around his fragile body? Feeling me pull him tightly against my chest, my hands sliding up his back? One cupping the nape of his neck, my fingers curling into his hair, feeling its softness under my palm? The other tracing the curve of his jaw, tilting his face up toward mine?

And those lips. Soft, full, and slightly parted, warm and inviting. My thumb brushing across them, his breath hitching under my touch. I’d let my fingers trail down the side of his neck, feel the rapid beat of his pulse against my skin, alive and fragile and…

And then I would lean in, drawn by the heat of his breath, the quiet sound of it catching in his throat as I moved closer, so much closer—

I flinched violently, yanking myself back from the edge of the daydream, horrified.

The ache in my throat burned brighter now, hotter, as if it were punishment for indulging those thoughts.

I almost did all those things.

I barely touched him, but I had been so close and his hands were on my chest—And, oh my god, I need to stop…

Attraction was an impossible dilemma, because I was already too attracted to Beau in the worst way.

Did I love him?

No? I didn’t think so.

Maybe?

Not yet.

I definitely had feelings for him, but infatuation or a crush didn’t seem to describe them well enough. So was it love?

Alice’s glimpses of that future had stuck with me. Those flashes of what could be, of what felt inevitable. I could see how easy it would be to fall in love with Beau. It would be exactly like falling: effortless, as though gravity itself were drawing me to him. Not letting myself love him was the opposite of falling. It was pulling myself up a cliff-face, clawing my way up hand over hand, the task as grueling as if I had no more than mortal strength.

I would not destroy Beau’s future. If I was destined to love him, then wasn’t staying away from him the very least I could do?

And yet I couldn’t do it. I guess I was too selfish for that.

Hours passed, the rain eventually stopped, but my thoughts had only tangled further. There were more questions now than before, more fears. And I still couldn’t stop thinking about Beau. I was too far away to hear Alice’s thoughts, and my phone was dead. I had no way of knowing if Beau was safe. The need to check on him struck me suddenly, like a physical pull I couldn’t ignore. Before I’d even made the decision, I was already moving. My feet carried me swiftly, faster than I should have allowed, back toward Jessica’s house.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

See the previous chapter: here or on ao3

Check out the next chapter here or on ao3

4 notes · View notes