Now
I watch the light bending to the will of the earth as the sun disappears below the horizon, while sitting in my car outside the bar. I'm expected inside Dead End, but I don't have it in me. I'm so exhausted, utterly bone-weary and sick of this new life. I've forced my feet forward every day, dragging toward a predetermined destiny I'm already disgusted with. I'm a thief, a con artist, a pawn in the mob's game; I don't even want to play, but I can't afford not to win.
Banging my head on the steering wheel doesn't clear my mind, but I get out of the car anyway since I don't have a choice. Paul would just find me and yank me inside despite my protests, and then I'd have to answer to Jake. I've avoided him like my life depends on it, and in more ways than one, it does. If I cross him, he might kill me for sport. If he gets bored, he might enforce his offer of marriage and, frankly, I'd sooner die. I'd rather be his pawn than his bitch.
Paul greets me with a raised eyebrow, and I give him a small wave, knowing I'm a few minutes late. I go to the back and store my purse in the locker provided to me, along with my all-weather jacket. My shirt, if it can be classified as such, is tiny as hell with the bar's name scrawled across my boobs in bright red. It's tight, low cut, and short, with fringe along the bottom that sort of hides my midriff. I hate it. I run my brush through my hair, knowing it makes Paul happy when it's down and styled. Slicking siren red lipstick on, I inhale deeply, holding it until I think I'll pass out before huffing it out loudly. I straighten my shoulders before heading out to the main area of the bar.
"Squeaking by, Isabella," Paul warns. Humming in acknowledgement, I clock in and grab my waist apron. I feel ridiculous heading over to a table, but that's not likely to change anytime soon. I really do suck at this so-called job.
"Hi, what can I get for you?" I ask the guy in a fake chipper voice. I have to write his order carefully, since my memory is shit, and I sit in an empty chair in the hopes I can scoop his keys up under my order pad without him noticing. My adrenaline spikes as I'm successful, and I back away from his table a few steps before turning and practically sprinting for the POS system.
Paul saunters over casually, and I palm him the set of keys so they don't rattle. The music is fairly loud, but I never succeed with this part and I'm not taking any chances. He sends the car key through the code cutter, then hands the entire set back to me. I grab the order I placed and return to the table and set the glass down before bending over and pretending to retrieve his set of keys.
"Hey, looks like you dropped these." I smile sweetly as I drop them in his hand. He gives me a leering grin in return.
"Thanks, babe. I know exactly how I can repay you," he smirks. I try not to shiver visibly.
"No thanks, fraternization is against the rules." I'm lying, Paul wouldn't care if the girls were giving blow jobs in the bathroom to keep the marks occupied. Hell, he'd probably be thrilled. Turning on my heel, I head to another customer and try to calm my nerves. I'd been taught to look for high-end car logos on the keys, and the next guy does not qualify as a mark.
My mood worsens as the night wears on. The guys doing the boosting are careful to wait and watch the customers, making sure there are no overlapping men running in and yelling about their stolen cars. Eventually, I'll learn to not take each set of keys that look right, waiting for the first victim to leave before another unsuspecting victim strolls in. There's only a total of about three thefts per night, but it adds up over the course of the weeks and months. The very idea that I'm at least partially responsible for wrecking these people's lives sends me running to the bathroom by the end of my shift, retching on my hands and knees. I just want to go home and shower off the disgusting feeling this job gives me.
The next day is my day off, and I find myself worried and stressed over the decision I made last night while I was lying in bed unable to sleep. I make a point of wearing subtle makeup and a flattering dress, styling my hair until it looks exactly right. I can't walk in heels without face planting, but I put on my favorite sandals and grab my purse, easing out the door to a semi cloudy day. In Forks, that's a good sign. My nerves almost get the best of me as I feel my breakfast threatening to rise, but I take a few calming breaths and go.
With information I learned from Angela, I make my way to the bank downtown and sit on the picnic bench in front of the founder's statue in the park across the street. I'm so nervous I'm staring at my hands as they wring on top of the table; I feel him before I see him, a tingling that starts at the base of my scalp and runs down my spine. My eyes seek him out, and I'm disappointed all over again at the look in his eyes. Edward hates me, which I deserve. I wish it could be different, and so I'm going to do my best to make that happen. I see the slowing in his gait as he recognizes me in his usual lunch spot, and the confusion on his face because I'm sure he didn't expect me here. He approaches the table with the same caution given a wild and unpredictable animal.
"Is this some kind of joke?" he rasps out. The lunch bag in his hand is squeezed, his empty hand in a tight fist.
"No, Edward, of course not. I just wanted to talk to you and explain some of the things you've wanted to know." My face is flushed, my embarrassment at his loathing causing a deep blush. There was a time he would have greeted me with a passionate kiss, but today is definitely not that time.
Edward stares at me for a good long time, until I squirm under his scrutiny, until I'm positive he's going to tell me to get lost. Finally he sits across from me, pulling plastic containers out of his reusable sack and getting out a fork. I watch, mesmerized, as he opens a container and starts in on meatloaf, wiping his lips on a napkin before opening a bottle of water. All of this is done without a single word uttered on either of our parts. I can't decide if he's going to ignore me or hear me out.
"I guess I'll just talk," I mutter before swallowing thickly. He doesn't look up. "As I told you when… when I left, Charlie had advanced from verbal abuse to smacking Mom around. So she decided to take me and leave, finding a house in a close-knit community in Florence, Oregon. We lived an idyllic few years, in a quaint house on the beach where Mom never had to be sad or scared again." I pause for breath, wishing I'd brought water with me. When I glance up I see him focused on my face, finally paying attention for the first time. "Before we left, I thought to myself, you just can't screw up Edward's life when he's got so much potential right in front of him. And yet, I was going to."
"Bella-"
I cut him off with a sharp shake of my head. "No. You deserve the answers I can give you. I was going to beg you to come to Oregon, I swear to God. You didn't know about what I had to do to Emmett yet, and I thought I could hold on to you." I make a sound of disgust and drop my eyes back to the table. "That was the worst kind of blasphemy, telling you I didn't want you. And it wasn't just that I knew you'd find out what I'd done and hate me for it, it was because I- I-" The trembling stops me from speaking for a minute, and I feel his gaze boring into the top of my head. And I'm terrified, and liberated by what I've shared, but I can't seem to say what needs to be said. I can't get the words past the regret, and instead I try to swallow the lump they've formed.
I stand abruptly, thinking this is a massive mistake, and stride quickly away from him, away from the sunshine and flowers of a park in an ordinary world. I know what truly lies beneath, and it is not good. It's the epitome of evil, and I can't entangle Edward in my web of deceit. I won't be the black widow again, luring him in only to feast on his implicit faith in me. I'll love you forever, Bella. I have to break my promise of forever to keep him and his daughter safe.
"Bella, wait!" I hear his voice just before I hear his feet pounding behind me, and his hand grabs my shoulder, forcing me to spin and face him. I don't know what I must look like, but I can feel the warmth of the tears tracking down my cheeks. He's so close, so close, and my gut is churning at the expression in his eyes. It's all too familiar, and I don't have the strength to back off as he lowers his head, his soft lips touching mine for a brief kiss. It stuns me, this display of anything besides hatred, and from the look on his face, he feels the same.
"I thought I could say it, just tell you and maybe take some of the weight from your heart. I guess I was wrong. Again." I have to turn and walk away from the love of my life again. I'm still running scared, hiding my heart and trying desperately to guard his.
Banging my head on the steering wheel doesn't clear my mind, but I get out of the car anyway since I don't have a choice. Paul would just find me and yank me inside despite my protests, and then I'd have to answer to Jake. I've avoided him like my life depends on it, and in more ways than one, it does. If I cross him, he might kill me for sport. If he gets bored, he might enforce his offer of marriage and, frankly, I'd sooner die. I'd rather be his pawn than his bitch.
Paul greets me with a raised eyebrow, and I give him a small wave, knowing I'm a few minutes late. I go to the back and store my purse in the locker provided to me, along with my all-weather jacket. My shirt, if it can be classified as such, is tiny as hell with the bar's name scrawled across my boobs in bright red. It's tight, low cut, and short, with fringe along the bottom that sort of hides my midriff. I hate it. I run my brush through my hair, knowing it makes Paul happy when it's down and styled. Slicking siren red lipstick on, I inhale deeply, holding it until I think I'll pass out before huffing it out loudly. I straighten my shoulders before heading out to the main area of the bar.
"Squeaking by, Isabella," Paul warns. Humming in acknowledgement, I clock in and grab my waist apron. I feel ridiculous heading over to a table, but that's not likely to change anytime soon. I really do suck at this so-called job.
"Hi, what can I get for you?" I ask the guy in a fake chipper voice. I have to write his order carefully, since my memory is shit, and I sit in an empty chair in the hopes I can scoop his keys up under my order pad without him noticing. My adrenaline spikes as I'm successful, and I back away from his table a few steps before turning and practically sprinting for the POS system.
Paul saunters over casually, and I palm him the set of keys so they don't rattle. The music is fairly loud, but I never succeed with this part and I'm not taking any chances. He sends the car key through the code cutter, then hands the entire set back to me. I grab the order I placed and return to the table and set the glass down before bending over and pretending to retrieve his set of keys.
"Hey, looks like you dropped these." I smile sweetly as I drop them in his hand. He gives me a leering grin in return.
"Thanks, babe. I know exactly how I can repay you," he smirks. I try not to shiver visibly.
"No thanks, fraternization is against the rules." I'm lying, Paul wouldn't care if the girls were giving blow jobs in the bathroom to keep the marks occupied. Hell, he'd probably be thrilled. Turning on my heel, I head to another customer and try to calm my nerves. I'd been taught to look for high-end car logos on the keys, and the next guy does not qualify as a mark.
My mood worsens as the night wears on. The guys doing the boosting are careful to wait and watch the customers, making sure there are no overlapping men running in and yelling about their stolen cars. Eventually, I'll learn to not take each set of keys that look right, waiting for the first victim to leave before another unsuspecting victim strolls in. There's only a total of about three thefts per night, but it adds up over the course of the weeks and months. The very idea that I'm at least partially responsible for wrecking these people's lives sends me running to the bathroom by the end of my shift, retching on my hands and knees. I just want to go home and shower off the disgusting feeling this job gives me.
The next day is my day off, and I find myself worried and stressed over the decision I made last night while I was lying in bed unable to sleep. I make a point of wearing subtle makeup and a flattering dress, styling my hair until it looks exactly right. I can't walk in heels without face planting, but I put on my favorite sandals and grab my purse, easing out the door to a semi cloudy day. In Forks, that's a good sign. My nerves almost get the best of me as I feel my breakfast threatening to rise, but I take a few calming breaths and go.
With information I learned from Angela, I make my way to the bank downtown and sit on the picnic bench in front of the founder's statue in the park across the street. I'm so nervous I'm staring at my hands as they wring on top of the table; I feel him before I see him, a tingling that starts at the base of my scalp and runs down my spine. My eyes seek him out, and I'm disappointed all over again at the look in his eyes. Edward hates me, which I deserve. I wish it could be different, and so I'm going to do my best to make that happen. I see the slowing in his gait as he recognizes me in his usual lunch spot, and the confusion on his face because I'm sure he didn't expect me here. He approaches the table with the same caution given a wild and unpredictable animal.
"Is this some kind of joke?" he rasps out. The lunch bag in his hand is squeezed, his empty hand in a tight fist.
"No, Edward, of course not. I just wanted to talk to you and explain some of the things you've wanted to know." My face is flushed, my embarrassment at his loathing causing a deep blush. There was a time he would have greeted me with a passionate kiss, but today is definitely not that time.
Edward stares at me for a good long time, until I squirm under his scrutiny, until I'm positive he's going to tell me to get lost. Finally he sits across from me, pulling plastic containers out of his reusable sack and getting out a fork. I watch, mesmerized, as he opens a container and starts in on meatloaf, wiping his lips on a napkin before opening a bottle of water. All of this is done without a single word uttered on either of our parts. I can't decide if he's going to ignore me or hear me out.
"I guess I'll just talk," I mutter before swallowing thickly. He doesn't look up. "As I told you when… when I left, Charlie had advanced from verbal abuse to smacking Mom around. So she decided to take me and leave, finding a house in a close-knit community in Florence, Oregon. We lived an idyllic few years, in a quaint house on the beach where Mom never had to be sad or scared again." I pause for breath, wishing I'd brought water with me. When I glance up I see him focused on my face, finally paying attention for the first time. "Before we left, I thought to myself, you just can't screw up Edward's life when he's got so much potential right in front of him. And yet, I was going to."
"Bella-"
I cut him off with a sharp shake of my head. "No. You deserve the answers I can give you. I was going to beg you to come to Oregon, I swear to God. You didn't know about what I had to do to Emmett yet, and I thought I could hold on to you." I make a sound of disgust and drop my eyes back to the table. "That was the worst kind of blasphemy, telling you I didn't want you. And it wasn't just that I knew you'd find out what I'd done and hate me for it, it was because I- I-" The trembling stops me from speaking for a minute, and I feel his gaze boring into the top of my head. And I'm terrified, and liberated by what I've shared, but I can't seem to say what needs to be said. I can't get the words past the regret, and instead I try to swallow the lump they've formed.
I stand abruptly, thinking this is a massive mistake, and stride quickly away from him, away from the sunshine and flowers of a park in an ordinary world. I know what truly lies beneath, and it is not good. It's the epitome of evil, and I can't entangle Edward in my web of deceit. I won't be the black widow again, luring him in only to feast on his implicit faith in me. I'll love you forever, Bella. I have to break my promise of forever to keep him and his daughter safe.
"Bella, wait!" I hear his voice just before I hear his feet pounding behind me, and his hand grabs my shoulder, forcing me to spin and face him. I don't know what I must look like, but I can feel the warmth of the tears tracking down my cheeks. He's so close, so close, and my gut is churning at the expression in his eyes. It's all too familiar, and I don't have the strength to back off as he lowers his head, his soft lips touching mine for a brief kiss. It stuns me, this display of anything besides hatred, and from the look on his face, he feels the same.
"I thought I could say it, just tell you and maybe take some of the weight from your heart. I guess I was wrong. Again." I have to turn and walk away from the love of my life again. I'm still running scared, hiding my heart and trying desperately to guard his.
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