DISCLAIMER: THE STORY DOESN'T BELONG TO ME; THE CHARACTERS ARE PROPERTY OF S. MEYER AND THE PLOT BELONGS TO ANN ARSTON ARA.

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR LETTING ME SHARE YOUR STORY IN ENGLISH!

¡GRACIAS ANN, POR DARME ESTA OPORTUNIDAD!

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Outtake

I Won't Let You Go

POV Nessie

The first time I saw my sister I was sixteen and she was twenty-two. My mother had died in a car accident because she had played street car racing and it hadn't gone well.

Nothing had gone right.

My father tensed up next to me when he saw them arrive at the funeral and I saw Isabella as something I could never become, as we were complete polar opposites.

At my age I had already dyed my hair countless times; Bella barely used bobby pins to hold back her beautiful brown hair. I was wearing a mini skirt and six-inch heels; she was wearing dark jeans and sneakers. I was in a blouse so low-cut that I was barely showing my navel next to my cleavage, wearing heavy make-up and Bella was in a T-shirt, with no plunging neckline, no make-up. Even so, we were both too similar physically.

I looked old because of everything I was wearing, and she looked too young because she was a natural, a mature woman who could care less what people said about Renée Swan-Dwyer's abandoned daughter.

I always pointed that out to my mother.

The fact that she gave up her first daughter was a hard blow to me because, in the end, I had everything.

I had her.

People who knew Renee's past pointed to me as if I had asked my mother to come into the world under those circumstances. Isabella, on the other hand, had only Grandpa Charlie, who protected her as one protects someone broken inside.

And deep down I wanted that.

That protection I didn't have because my mother was busy with her friends much younger than her, and my father was cheating on her with every willing girl who would open her legs.

Isabella was killing herself daily to graduate from college arts, I had left high school halfway through and no one had cared.

She loved art. I loved to draw.

Eventually, I realized that Bella loved dancing in a way that, if Renée were alive and could turn back time, she would have had Bella with her, because my love of music was not what Renée wanted it to be. And not being so, with me being the intruder in Bella's life, she accepted me as her annoying little sister.

I met Jacob one afternoon in April. He was excitedly talking to my sister on the porch of Charlie's building about cars and motorcycles. I was riding a quirky little pink motorcycle, my mother's last gift to me. He, a Harley. Jacob was twenty-three, and I was seventeen, but his black eyes were as beautiful as night and his wolfish grin entrancing. He was a gentleman dressed as a crook, in love with a girl with no innocence, who at the time, was willing to ruin his heart.

"What the hell are you doing Nessie?"

I snorted the cocaine on the table and smiled, beginning to feel its effect. Jacob tugged on my arm and stared at me, anger shining in his eyes. There was disappointment too. Little did I care at that moment as all I could think about was destroying myself.

Jacob tried.

He tried to help me, to pull me out of the dark world I was in at seventeen, but it was a futile attempt and I hurt him, ruining the most precious thing I could ever have.

The unconditional love of a great man.

Charlie was so worried about me, he decided to lock me up in a rehab center. Bella was too busy paying bills, studying, and carrying out all the responsibilities Charlie never told her about, and I hated him for it.

Because he took care of her.

Because she was the important one.

Because who would love a shitty addict who'd had everything and felt like she'd had nothing?

And I didn't react. I didn't. Not until my best friend died in front of me, intoxicated with adulterated heroin, a drug I was about to inject.

"Get me out of this Charlie!" I begged on my knees, hugging myself, sobbing, while my grandfather talked to my father, who didn't mind signing some papers and giving him custody of me.

I finished high school. I finished with my addiction. I kept dyeing my hair because I forgot my natural color, and I stopped using whore makeup. I helped several girls and now after almost two years I am proud to be studying for my degree in social work because I want to be someone good, and I want to help.

The scholarship took months of hard work but getting it was an honor. Coming back to New York was an honor too because I left as an addict and came back as a new woman.

Nahuel took a puff on his cigarette before I snatched it out of his hand. To kick it.

"Isabella told me you were here." Jacob's voice stopped my action. I turned, smiling mockingly, as I tossed the cigarette and kicked it away.

"Yes… She also mentioned you were here," I answered very rudely, staring at him. Nahuel kissed my cheek, saying goodbye to me silently. My gay best friend left, getting on his motorcycle.

We had been having fun playing a joke on Charlie when he cornered us in the hallway of the building and I was upset that he thought Nahuel was a bum when I was helping him with his heroin addiction. Then I told Charlie the truth and he stopped grunting in my direction.

"I'm not gonna leave the town Renesmee," Jacob pointed out, bringing me back to reality.

I smiled even more.

I deserved every one of his words and insults, but he didn't know that feeling hurt was not my style. I had learned to pay in kind.

An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. Cruel, but efficient.

"I don't expect you to," I clarified, walking toward the entrance of the building unwilling to put up with his humiliations no matter how much I deserved them. Jacob grabbed my arm as I passed him.

"Are you still using shit?" I let go of his grip, answering him bitingly.

"That' s none of your business Jacob."

"Of course," he grumbled, turning away from me as if I had leprosy. Charlie, who had seen the whole exchange, looked at me skeptically as I took the shopping bags from his hands and then walked with me in silence.

"You're not going to tell him," he said, hugging me. I kissed his cheek before replying

"He doesn't care about that, Grandpa."

.

.

.

"The break room is in the last hallway on the left, if you get lost call me on the radio we gave you and I'll direct you. I hope you feel good here," Kimberly smiled openly as we entered the room where I would be teaching painting classes. It smelled of tobacco and the windows were closed, while those who would be my students at the rehabilitation center, saw me as I saw my mentor Carmen once: as a monster.

"They're just kids, Nessie," Kimberly said, pushing me into the room. I had been told they were scary and annoying, but none of them said anything when I walked in.

"Remember that in an hour the mechanics' teacher arrives to take the kids away," and with that Kim left.

I put the things I had in my hands on the gnawed desk and then walked to the windows. Many protested when I opened them and the light came in, but they still didn't say a word.

The law of ice, huh?

"I'm Renesmee Swan and I was a drug addict," I said firmly, looking at them all harshly. I held up my nose as if I had no bones and then showed the scars that marked my vain attempts to find a vein in my arms. Only in this way did I catch the attention of everyone, who sat up straight at their desks, fixing their gaze on me.

"I saw my best friend die in front of me, intoxicated with adulterated heroin, and I lost the love of my life. I finally realized that I couldn't go on like that. Now I'm an art teacher and in a few years, I'm going to get a degree in social work. I'm proud of that. Who wants to be proud of themselves in two years?"

Trembling hands went up and I smiled, for I had just won over a class of kids, who, I had been told, were the most aggressive in the center. Quietly several of the kids helped me set up the tripods we would use to mount the blank canvases. Two girls smiled at me when I complimented them on the first drawing we did together: the drawing of an unsmoked cigar, abandoned on an ashtray.

I discovered excellent artists and kids who would be beaten by six-year-olds at drawing. Yet I heard them laughing at each other comparing their drawings. I picked up a pencil on the floor and it was when I lifted my face that our eyes met. Jacob was leaning on the threshold with his arms crossed and his gaze fixed on me.

"Nessie, I finished," said Bryan catching my attention to him, who apparently was another born artist. He smiled when I handed him the pencil.

"It's perfect," I complimented him, patting his shoulder. Then, to my chagrin, I had to turn to Jacob.

"I guess you're the mechanics' teacher," I said, picking up my desk. Jacob kept looking at me intently, making me nervous.

"You guess right," he replied without showing me anything.

"Okay guys, mechanics class is about to start so go ahead. The girls can finish the drawing," I announced, walking towards the girls. Jacob left and I let out the air I didn't know I was holding. I gathered everything and said goodbye to my students, happy to say that I finally had a job.

The cold night greeted me, and I walked exhausted to my old, but rebuilt, truck.

"What did you do with the motorcycle?" Jacob asked, making me throw the keys behind me in fright. I cursed under my breath looking for the keys when Jacob's hand reached out to me.

"I sold it," I replied, taking them, avoiding brushing against his hands, without much success. I opened the door, which creaked in the silent night, putting the things in and when I was about to get in Jacob pulled my hand, cornering me between his body and my car. My hands automatically pushed against his chest, but he didn't even flinch.

"Why did you come back?" he asked, bringing his face close to mine.

"Why do you care?" I countered, my strength beginning to break into pieces, then I looked down at my hands, pulling them away from his chest, and sticking them to the car.

"Wrong answer," he remarked, narrowing his eyes at me. I sighed.

"The city is big enough for both of us, Jacob. I won't bother you, I promise," I pushed his chest, but Jacob didn't move. Getting tired and running out of patience I growled at him.

"Why don't you just leave me alone?" I hit his chest hard. "It's okay! I fucked up with you and I'm sorry! But I don't deserve that you want to hurt me and I'm not going to..."

Jacob pressed his lips to mine in a fierce kiss, not letting me continue. I tried to push the taste of his lips away, but it was impossible to resist, not when my heart refused to.

"I hate it when you wander too much," he whispered, kissing me again, invading my mouth hungrily. "I won't let you go this time, Nessie."

I hung on his neck, feeling my heart pounding, and responding to his kisses.

"I don't want to leave."


How nice, don't you think? Very little has been known about them throughout history, but they could not be left without their happily ever after and without knowing their history.

With this, it is the final ending of The Dance of the Dolls

Thank you so much for accompanying me on this adventure and for those who are reading it after it's completed: I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.