318I own nothing written by Stephanie Meyer. I'm just playing in the universe she created. The present date for this story is October, 2010.
Five years after Edward leaves, Bella and their children are living off the grid, forsaking contact with their own kind. But with one child growing at a human rate, and the other growing at an accelerated rate, Bella struggles to provide a normal upbringing, torn between her children's vampire and human natures. It all comes to a head when the decision to move to a new town puts them in the middle of a supernatural conflict none of them could fathom. Challenges will be made. Questions will be asked. But the answers won't be simple.
What happens to the ones we leave behind?
Notable features:
- Healed lacerations on both of his inner forearms. Sharp facial features-high cheek-bones, pointed chin. Lean, slightly muscular frame.
-Height: 5'6.
-Hair color/type: mahogany/medium length, straight. Slightly unkempt.
Siblings: Isabella (20 Yrs.) and Reni (4 yrs.)
By his say, and to his older sister's knowledge, he does not have a history of substance abuse, nor is he currently taking over the counter or psychiatric drugs. He is, however, a smoker. He does not have any previous experience with the mental health system.
Based on information provided by the older sister, the patient's home life the last couple of years has been tumultuous to say the least: both parents became deceased, leading to the older sister to assume custody of the patient and their younger sister, which has forced the small family unit to move in order for the older sister to attain work. By all reports from his teachers, the patient is exceptionally intelligent, but unmotivated. He has been known to show aggressive behavior towards his peers and instructors in the short time he has been enrolled and has been involved in several physical altercations on school grounds. His peers, as a result, give him a wide berth. The patient was referred to this clinic after it was revealed that he was responsible for several acts of school vandalism.
Demeanor is surly and at times brooding. Eye contact is maintained whenever he chooses to engage in conversation, however brief. At times he cannot stay seated for the duration of his sessions.
He watches the skin of the doctor's neck. Viscous fluid is pushed down his throat pipe as he swallows. It settles in a stomach full of the greasy lunch he reeks of. He searches for more characteristics to pin point, fleshy examples of their differences to an oblivious world: the bald spot at the top of his head, perpetually glistening with perspiration. Pale, doughy hands clasped on top of a purposely-cluttered desk, attached to flabby arms, attached to a middle-aged, profusely sweating torso, who's flesh begs to bulge right out of its cheap, buttoned-down dress shirt.
He asks for the time. The doctor's eyes dart to the clock on the wall.
"3:00 p.m"
He scowls at him before cricking his neck, enjoying the sensation of the bones cracking. It relieves the kinks developing in his back. Makes him seem more human.
"So…what are your plans?" the doctor asks, encouraged by his break in silence. "For when you arrive."
The boy looks up, annoyed. He mulls over whether or not he should humor him. In retrospect, nothing would come of it; today was his last day here, after all. Despite what this pseudo-doctor thought, he would never hear from them again. He knows, though. He knows the tricks this man plays- questions riddled with subtle tugs and pushes, until they were exactly where the doctor wanted them to be.
"This year has been difficult for you, I understand. So many changes—new school, new home, peers you don't always get along with—"
The boy rolls his eyes before getting up from his seat. The table on his right is full of little knick-knacks that make his fingers itch. He goes to them. A zen sandbox and mini rake soon captures his attention.
"Your sister having to assume guardianship of you and Reni—"
Carefully, he pulls the rake through the sand, comforted by the straight, uniform lines.
"Having to cope with the death of your parents."
The rake snaps between his index and thumb. Anger bubbles inside of him. He grabs another knick-knack- this time a massage ball-and begins methodically squeeze it, feigning interest in the framed diplomas nailed to the wall.
"What's the time?" he asks again, after a long silence.
"It's okay to miss them," the doctor says instead. "It's okay to feel something. You don't have to hold it in, Tony."
"I'm not holding anything in."
"Most people don't lose their parents and home to an electrical fire. It's a very traumatic—"
"Nothing's wrong. I'm fine: I get along with my sisters, I haven't gotten in a fight in months, and I'm passing all my classes." He tosses the much-abused massage ball back at the table and then turns to scowl at the oblivious, overweight blob, impatience threatening his control, and the man's life, in equal measures. "What the hell else do you want from me?"
"We've broached every subject we can this school year and last," the doctor begins, his sudden boldness quickly evaporating under Tony's unflinching gaze. "Everything…but before then. We had an agreement at the beginning of our sessions that you—"
"—would be honest with whatever we talked about," Tony finishes coldly. "You also said that I didn't have to talk about things that made me uncomfortable."
"We've talked about this- I want to help you. We've talked about the unhealthiness of repression, of keeping things too close to your chest. If whatever it is isn't addressed, eventually it's going to explode out of you when you least want it to."
The air is knocked out of him as the force of the explosion sends him back. He sees stars for a second before rough hands grab the front of his shirt and a fist that might as well be a sledgehammer connects with his nose.
The doctor rises from his seat and starts to walk around his desk. The boy's stance has shifted, from merely angry and withdrawn to defensive, taking a step back as he approaches. Like a caged animal, his eyes are fixed on the doctor.
"I just want to help you," he says, looking at the faint, white lines spider-webbing up the boy's hands and forearms. It seemed everything about this boy screamed danger, and yet he still drew people in. He knew he wasn't the only one affected: The teacher's reports alone iterated the frustration in not being able to get through the enigma that was Tony Swan, and the hallway gossip…he knew the boy wasn't lacking in admirers, despite his demeanor. If anything, it made him more desirable, an in the flesh "rebel without a cause." The perpetual scowl on his face said to stay away, but the young and naïve only saw vulnerability: an invitation. Such defenses accentuated his youthful features: the angular shape of his jaw, high cheekbones that promised something dashing and dangerous in the years to come. Unkempt, mahogany hair that he regularly ran his hand through. Emerald green eyes that were never warm.
And then, of course, his arms. Lacerations that long and deep, he thinks to himself, with the same mix of horror and fascination he felt when he first saw them. Despite the scarring, he could still see the tense outline of wiry, toned muscle. It's a miracle he has any use of his hands at all.
He's wanted to ask since then how he got them. He decides now is as good as any, but before the first word leaves his lips, Tony appears in front of him, less than an inch away.
He may have been a foot shorter than Flannigan, but the action was still enough to startle the middle-aged, balding school counselor. He yelped in shock, backing into his desk. His brain tried to make sense of it. It was impossible.
I'm tired, he reasoned. I blinked and I'm tired. Get a hold of yourself, Harold.
Tony didn't seem willing to wait for him to get a grip, though, and the doctor could only grip the edge of his desk as the boy stalked ever so closer, the predatory, caged look in eyes replaced with something akin to feral rage. When he stops, an inch separating them again, a deathly stillness descends upon him, so absolute that the doctor wonders if perhaps he's slipped into some sort of nightmare. Wasn't he tired? Surely this had to be a dream. No one could be that still.
Breathe, Harold. Just like you tell all of your other patients. Just focus on your breathing, and nothing else. He closes his eyes tight, away from his rage-filled glare.
"Drop this," he hears Tony say, venomously. He shuts his eyes tighter, biting back a whimper of fear.
"It's my damn business, not yours. Got it?"
The doctor nods.
The sound of his door slamming makes him jump, and when he re-opens his eyes, he's alone.
He was never very social.
It was a constant source of worry for his mother growing up…even though he usually pointed out that neither was she when she was still human. She'd argue that things were different for her than for him. He'd agree, adding that one can't make long term friends if they're constantly running and hiding. That usually shut her up for a while. And then he would feel guilty.
He didn't feel any guilt now, though, as he sat on the bench outside of Reni's school, a lit cigarette hanging from his lips. People knew by now to just let him be. The disgusted glares aimed at him and the trails of smoke drifting into the air never ceases, but all that exists for him in the moment is the sketch paper in his lap, the shading of greys against white, and whether or not he should make his mother's eyes gold or chocolate brown.
He ponders the irony in his introverted, timid mother's communicative face. She would always say that her face was an open book and she was right. You could tell exactly what she was thinking just by looking at her; a small smile meant she was thinking of something funny. Her biting her bottom lip meant she was nervous. But it was her eyes that said everything. From happiness, to amusement, to despair; one didn't need a verbal answer if you asked her what was wrong… you would just need to look at her face. It was convenient for everyone she met, but a burden for her. Another characteristic of hers that she saw as a weakness. Another fault.
Bitterness and shame ripples through him, and he closes his eyes trying to force it under someplace dark and hidden. He weighs it down with thoughts of the lush grass and humid air again. Of warm summer nights watching the stars, of a dark brown index finger pointing to Orion's belt, and like a dam bursting from the pressure, other memories wash through his mind, one after the other in a slurry of color and emotion: precious jewels that could fit in the palms of their hands, raspberry sweet rolls, still warm, asphalt and dirt under their feet….
Copper and salt. He spits out the red pooling in his mouth as he gets up. So that's what blood is supposed to taste like, he thinks to himself wryly as they begin to circle each other. The sound of their heavy breaths fill their grass arena, the midday sun their overseer. Each is waiting on the other to make the first move.
He opens his eyes before he could remember more. He sits up, looking around warily, sighing in relief as he sees that there are less humans around to notice him. A shaky sigh escapes his throat as he slumps back into the bench. The fear he felt is quickly being replaced by anger and annoyance. Silently he curses himself, his weakness, this…cog in his mind. He looks down at the drawing he was crafting so carefully earlier—a snapshot of his mother's face. Her eyes were still empty.
Hiya!
A smile breaks out on his face as he feels the familiar grabbing at his wrist and the ensuing thoughts that excitedly enter his brain. He looks up and his eyes meet an adorably sweet face, framed in long, messy, bronze curls. Quickly he stuffs his sketchbook and pencils into his bag, takes her hand, and reenter's the sidewalk.
"So, how was school?" he asks, flicking the finished cigarette into the gutter. She radiates her thoughts through her hand more strongly, and Tony senses the threads of her mind trying to connect with his. He tugs a slimmer of resistance down, just enough to have a conversation but not share everything. She tightens her grip on his palm further and answers telepathically, "Good. I drew a picture for Ms. Mary."
"That's good. What did you draw?" A picture of a duck drawn in bubblegum pink crayon pops into his head, which then transfers into the old lady's hands. The look of adoration on the teacher's face is priceless. "A ducky. I made him pink," she replies.
Tony chuckles. "Why pink?" he asks aloud, looking down at her.
"'Cause pink is prettier! I wish there were pink ducks," she says longingly. Smirking, he plays along, "Anything else?"
"Blue tigers!" she exclaims. "And green elephants and purple kangaroos! How come they can't be?!"
"It's just the way nature chose them to be, I guess."
"That's boring! Why couldn't nature turn them into something like us?" Animals of varying colors pop into his brain, re-shaped and reformed into fantastic beasts of lore. Sparkling in the sun. The Reni in their shared thought reaches out her hand to a lavender, polka-dotted dog, but instead of shying away like any real dog would, it happily laps at her hand, wagging its tail. The sadness that lingers in her thoughts is a beacon to him. As they wait for the crosswalk to signal go, he kneels down in front of her so they're at eye level. She avoids his eyes guiltily, hands behind her back, trailing an invisible line in the concrete with her toe.
"Animals don't know any better, Ren'," he says as gently as he can. "You know that. It's just….they're our food. And they know it."
"It's not fair," she mumbles.
"What's not?" he asks. Scowling at the ground, she puts her right palm on his face and her transmits what she can't put into words: memories of dogs in the park running away or barking in fear when she got too close; the class gerbil refusing to leave it's cubby whenever she peeks into the cage. Her disappointment. And longing.
It's not fair, she reverberates. Why can't there be animals like us?
"Well…" He chooses his words carefully. "If they were like us, they'd be strong like us, and they'd need blood like us. We'd be able to play with them… but they'd be awfully dangerous to the humans. "
Oh…sadness joins the longing still strong in her heart as she imagines holding a purring kitten. And then sadness as she thinks of the humans in her class. Her friends. He smiles sadly at her.
"Remembering them matters…even if they won't remember you."
"It's not the same," she counters. "It's not fair!"
"I know."
"Humph!" she pouts. "Why can't Momma just homeschool us? Then we can stay here!"
"You know why," he answers dully as he stands and guides her across the street. "It's not just because people will notice we're not normal." They look at each other knowingly. She squeezes his hand and Nahuel, Huilen, and Miri's faces flashes through his mind. Among other things.
"Yeah," he mutters. "That."
More from her, some half-formed, others clear. He sighs, frustrated.
"Ask Mom."
"But—"
"Reni, drop it," he says with a hint of ice in his tone. She clams up immediately and they continue their walk in silence. So distracted by his brusqueness, she doesn't notice that the route they're taking isn't the same as the one they usually take. Minutes pass before she asks where they are.
"I need to pick up something before we leave. It's a surprise for Mom, so it has to be a secret," he lies easily, making sure to close his mind to her. She accepts his reason without question as they arrive at the crumbling auto shop and he knocks on the garage door.
The sun has begun to set. A beam of light hits them as they wait. Tony's eyes automatically flicker down to their joined hands, pale and seemingly human.
The naked normalcy of their skin still fascinates him. He still remembers when he saw the humans for the first time, wondering why they didn't sparkle like his mother. For a while, he wasn't bothered by the fact that he and his sister were different. As far as his young mind was concerned, they were the same as any vampire, just better at hiding their natures.
But it was a farce. He knows that now. They were not the same. To say they were would be like saying a stone was the same as a diamond. Diamonds were born from the darkness. Diamonds were polished and pristine and always beautiful. Diamonds were hard and cold and lifeless, no matter how bright they shown in the sunlight.
The door opens as the sun's shadow descends upon them. The human greets Tony jovially, offering his arm to him in greeting. They grasp each other's hands, pulling each other in for a partial hug. Reni watches Tony and the human confusedly, fascinated by the rich darkness of the boy's skin compared to her brother's. Like a frightened turtle, she closes in on herself, trying to disappear into the form of her brother as they enter the garage. He picks her up as the human closes the door and places her on the worn sofa under windows painted over with black paint. She holds onto his hand and asks him who the human is. He smiles comfortingly and simply tells her he's a friend. She relaxes, believing him.
"I need to go with Albert to the back room for a couple of minutes to get what we talked about," he tells her. "I'll be right back. You can look around the room, just don't touch anything, alright?"
She stares at him long and hard before nodding once and sitting back against the cushions. A long yawn escapes her as he disappears through the hall.
The room is large, full of strange contraptions she doesn't understand the use for: long pieces of metal attached to chains that extend into the ceiling, metal drawers with the paint peeling off, pieces of old cars that look like they been chewed up and spat out. Nuts and bolts and tools litter the dirty, oily concrete ground. Spindly lights above her flicker on and off. She rests her head on the armrest of the sofa, counting the seconds it takes for the light to come back on.
She's not sure when she falls asleep.
She knows it's a dream when she sees the pink ducky's and blue elephants. But when men begin to appear, men she doesn't recognize, she knows something isn't quite right. They are a strange contrast to the brightly colored animals: wearing dreary, dirty overalls and worn running shoes. They weave and flicker in and out, unaware of the frolicking animals and the animals equally unaware of them.
She watches the two scenes playing before her in action: the animals, running through the tall grass she remembers from the south, and the men as they work. At least, it looks like they're working. A shiny red car sits on the narrow plates attached to chains. One of the men puts a scissor-like machine under the car and starts to push the lever that's attached to it. The more he does it the higher one side of the car seems to go. Once the side is high enough, he puts the end of a metal x into one of the bolts inside the tires and begins to twist.
"Just remember to make sure you use clean needles when you're using this shit."
The elephants and men begin to flicker out of existence equally. She feels her eyes open a fraction before falling back down, exhaustion sending her into the beginnings of a deep sleep. She feels her weight shift as she's picked up and held against a familiar someone's shoulder. She nuzzles the scent of smoke and dark chocolate, before wrapping her arms around Tony's neck.
Everything is T-POV unless I note otherwise. Change in POV will be marked with three stars in the center of the page followed by first name initial of the new narrator.
Because the drugs never work
They're gonna give you a smirk
'Cause they got methods of keeping you clean
They're gonna rip up your heads
Your aspirations to shreds
Another cog in the murder machine
~Teenagers, by My Chemical Romance~