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In the rapidly darkening twilight, the sign pointing to Forks is barely visible, Nessie slows to a crawl as she approaches the intersection, mind racing. This is the first real choice of her life and it terrifies her. This is the first real choice in her life and she knows it isn’t a choice at all really. Still she pauses at the intersection hands on the wheel and wonders.
…
“Your papers, Miss Cullen” J. Jenks slides the manila envelope across the table, unable to keep the fear from his voice.
Nessie examines the contents slowly, enjoying his terror. They are perfect, as always, but she leaves him worrying for a little while, she dislikes the man on principal and she needs him to do as she says.
“If anyone from your family was to ask about this..”
“You would tell them nothing” Nessie cuts him off with an icy stare, they will find her out soon enough but for now there is a thrill in secrecy.
The human wrings his hands desperately, torn between wanting to please her, and the remains of his twisted loyalty to her family.
“May I ask..” He hesitates fear palpable “I made a passport for child who looked very like you, the girl who purchased it claimed to be her mother but was far too young for that to be true.. by that I mean.. do you intend to escape?” He pauses as he realises how obvious he has made his assumptions about her family
“or rather run away” he corrects.
“What I intend to do with these is none of your business” Nessie stands “Thank you for your time”
She sweeps from the room authoritatively and out onto the street, where she breaks out into a giddy smile, hugging the envelope to her chest. She has nothing stopping her now, a new life is written on this paper, and she can make it hers whenever she chooses.
…
The house feels empty these days. Her Aunt Rose and Emmett have left to live by themselves in Europe, and Jacob is far away at college. In truth Nessie is glad to see Jake doing something, anything, away from her, she dislikes their innate bond with a passion and hopes secretly that it will dispel with distance. Still, a part of her selfishly wishes he were still here, joking around and playing Fifa with Emmett. She wishes her Aunt Rose were here too, she was more than a mother to her, and the loss of her unconditional adoration has left a gap the others couldn’t fill.
Carlisle and Esme have left them too, not far but closer to the hospital where he works long hours, still atoning for a sin he didn't choose to commit. The remaining four vampires cleave closer together for the absences. The need for family, for security is obvious and Nessie finds herself at once lonely and smothered.
…
“How was Seattle?” Her Father asks, from the piano where he sits youthful brow furrowed over a row of smudged notes.
“Good” Nessie answers dutifully, casting her eyes around to see if the others will pick up the conversation.
“Did you get everything you wanted?” Her mother adds, not looking up from her book.
“Yes I did” Nessie pauses “I saw a busker with a keyboard, he was playing that song you like?”
“That's lovely” Her mother answers, looking almost surprised that Nessie has ventured beyond her usual one or two-word sentences.
She backs from the room, leaving her parents in companionable silence. They’re happy, she knows they are, but she can't help but wish they were a little more interested. She supposes it her fault, she never thought to be chatty until she had established herself as quiet.
Yet, a vampires minds is vast and busy, they can go days without conversation to no cost, and Nessie, for all her uncommon intelligence, is far too human to not feel the emptiness keenly. So she wanders to her room a thousand thoughts and ideas hanging unsaid on her tongue.
…
She wonders sometimes what would have happened if she had been the monster they expected. If she had fangs, and claws and eyes as red as blood. If curved horns had peeked from her curls. She wonders then if they would have been as willing to forgive her brutal entrance to this world. Would they have welcomed her so warmly if she had been anything other than this. This harmless, perfect, precocious creature that charmed with a touch and read Keats as a bedtime story. She was once glad of her soft smile and sweet voice, it protected her. Yet nowshe longs for fangs and claws if only because she would be a lot harder to ignore if she were a nightmare.
Still she knows that is unfair. She has spent her life making herself harmless, as obviously self-sufficient and undemanding as she could. Perhaps a part of her had always known that her very existence was an anomaly, more a cause of problems than a solution, and she had spent her life making up for it. But she is sick of that now, sick of constantly proving her worth, justifying her very presence. She has never been human like the rest of them, has nothing to long for in her past, nothing to miss. They may have been made into monsters but she was born one, and she is tired of dulling her fangs on sweetness.
…
Throwing her bags on her bed, Nessie drags out a small suitcase and studies it intently, it is expensive but unassuming, not ideal but it will have to do.
She has to pack carefully, to bring everything she needs but not look as if she has uprooted her life here. It is not difficult to weed out clothes. She eschews the expensive dresses her aunt buys for her in favour of old jeans and plain t-shirts. She owns few clothes that will render her inconspicuous, and she longs for something ordinary, something that will make her invisible.
A flash of inspiration sends her tip-toeing to her parent's room. She is sure that somewhere beneath the minimalist wall decor, and neat lines of CDs there will be something that means more.
She finds her mother's old clothes at the bottom of the wardrobe, with the boxed remnants of her human life. They are faded with age and slightly moth bitten, but her mother's human scent still lingers on them like the ghost of who she had once been. In truth, the boxes have the feeling of a tomb. A memorial to a person who no longer existed, who has changed so much they’d faded away. The books and diaries, dreamcatchers and fairy lights have no place in the new life her mother has carved out for herself.
Nessie slides her arms into a worn, oversized flannel and breathes deeply. The material is soft the way clothes only get with age and wear, and frayed at the cuffs. It is obviously, wonderfully imperfect and Nessie loves it for it.
…
“I’m going to visit Grandpa Charlie,” Nessie says the next day at lunch and steels herself for the response.
“When?” Asks her mother, ever cautious “You can’t just turn up in Forks out of the blue”
“I’ve already told him” Nessie lies fluently “he’s getting your old room ready for me”
A flicker of nostalgia, perhaps even sadness, plays across her mother's perfect face. She misses her father when she remembers him, misses some part of what she had once, even if she will never admit it. Nessie knows this, has always known this, and she regrets using it but it is necessary. She doesn’t want anyone asking questions
…
Nessie loads her deceptively small suitcases into the back of her truck, ignoring the looks of ridicule from her family.
“You would be better of taking one of our cars,” her father tells her seriously, and she rolls her eyes.
“I like the truck,” she says, and she does, it is not her mothers truck, that one had fallen to pieces, but it is similar enough. She had spent a happy summer fixing it up with her Aunt Rose and Jacob, and she wonders if she clings to it so tightly because she misses them. This is what she thinks, and what her father hears, as he glances away pained, missing them too.
What she keeps from her thoughts is the knowledge that the truck is much less conspicuous than a fancy car, and a lot easier to live out of if she has too.
…
Saying goodbye is harder than she expected. They don’t know her true intentions and she fights to keep them from her mind, ever glad Alice cannot spy into her future.
It will not be forever, she promises herself, and yet it feels that way as she clings to her mother a little longer than is usual.
“Be safe” Her father calls over the roar of the truck's engine.
“I will” She promises, guilt building at the betrayal, but excitement building too, the sense of freedom, of being her own person for the first time in her life.
…
Nessie pauses at the intersection, to her right is Forks, and Charlie and everything she knows, to her left is the open roads and future beyond her control. Despite the weeks of preparation, despite the suitcase in the back of the van with everything she loves contained inside, even though she has planned for this, she has reached the real moment of choice. She could still turn back, act as if she had never dreamt of running, could visit Charlie, and then go home and sink back into the endless monotony of a perfect forever. She could turn back. But she doesn’t. Flicking her indicator on, Nessie turns left onto the freeway, and doesn’t look back.