Chapter Text
Renée insisted on driving me to the airport, despite my many protests. I spent most of the ride in silence, listening to her talk and occasionally chiming in with a “yes” or “mhm.” It was as it had always been. Except this time we weren’t just talking about her latest buy or what we’d be doing the next time we saw each other. This time she was trying to convince me to stay.
She’d spent the summer trying, using everything from the weather to my new baby sister to convince me to stay with her and Phil. “You’ll miss her growing up!” she’d said, holding Emma in the air, presumably so I could see what I would be missing.
I would miss her growing up. It didn’t matter how many times I called home or visited, it wouldn’t be the same.
But even if I did stay home, even if I did go to college in Jacksonville the way Renée wanted, it still wouldn’t be perfect the way she thought it would be. I would still be nearly 20, living with Renée, Phil, and Emma (who was barely two). It wouldn’t be the same as growing up with her, not really. With the years between us, I’d be more like an aunt either way.
But Renée wanted us to be a real family. That’d been clear since the moment I’d gotten back from college to spend the summer with her.
And here I was leaving.
It wasn’t that I didn’t want to stay with Renée. I loved her, of course I did. I loved how she made me laugh, the way she’d forget her purse in the house without fail every time we went out, and how she could wheedle pretty much anything out of me if she tried hard enough. I loved my mother, even if she hadn’t always been the best at, well, mothering.
But after my two years in Forks, I’d forgotten what living with Renée and Phil was like. The summer I’d spent with them before freshman year? It had been a learning curve. Even this one had been strange and difficult in a way I couldn’t put my finger on.
My dynamic with Renée had been easy. Maybe strange, to an outsider, but it was a dynamic I knew well and, more importantly, it had worked . We were like a well-oiled machine. Maybe it was tiring, but so what? Renée had been happy and I was too.
And then Phil.
Phil had been good for her. He was steady enough to balance out the more eccentric aspects of her personality, steady enough to take care of her, but exciting enough that she wouldn’t get bored of him. It was a match made in heaven. Well, except for the moving around.
So I left for her sake. It didn’t matter to me if it made me unhappy, not really. Not if it meant Renée could have what she wanted. And Forks wasn’t so bad, especially after I’d gotten to know Charlie a bit better. It was a bit less work, perhaps.
And then I’d come back. Back to Jacksonville for the summer.
It was nice to be back with Renée. And yet, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I didn’t belong. Every outing we went on, the four of us, I felt like some stranger who’d wandered too close. And with Phil handling everything bill and household related, I couldn’t even feel useful.
It had taken me awhile to realize it, but I eventually named the feeling. Jealousy.
I was happy with my relationship with Renée. And still, I wished that I’d had Emma’s mother, instead. A mother who bought groceries herself and figured out how to use GPS to pick up her kid from daycare. A mother who was content to live a more unexciting life. A mother whose kid could rely on her instead of the other way around.
I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t stay a second longer. Even this summer had felt like a marathon, like I was running on fumes. It was just too much. Too complicated.
Of course I wanted to watch Emma grow up. I wanted to be a good sister. But I couldn’t do that if I was jealous of her. A two year old.
And who was I to resent Renée?
It was pathetic.
So I left, the same way I left for Forks. The same way I left last summer. The way I was leaving now.
I cried after Renée dropped me off and tried very hard not to ask her to come back.
Somehow, I managed to get on the plane. Somehow, I managed to make it to my destination. Somehow, I managed not to turn back around and run back into my mother’s arms.
It would be okay.
It would be better. For the both of us.
When I finally got to the apartment, Angela was already there to open the door.
There she was, bracketed in the glow of our kitchen lights, grinning and crazed with a smudge of flour on her forehead.
“I baked you cookies, but they might be burnt,” she said, in lieu of a greeting.
I was surprised how relieved I was to see her. It made me want to burst into tears again, but I managed not to.
“I missed you,” I said, instead.
“Me too,” she said, smiling softly. “Come in.”
She helped me pull my suitcases inside. Then, she looked at me, her eyes gentle. “Are you okay?” she said, quietly as if she was trying not to spook me.
“I—” I pursed my lips so they wouldn’t tremble. “It’s just Renée, again.”
She shook her head. “I’m sorry.”
I wasn’t one to share my family problems. Nor was I one to bad mouth anyone in my life, least of all Renée. But Angela knew the most about my relationship with Renée, more than anyone else at least.
“It’s okay. It’s just the usual.”
She shook her head and her hand fell from my suitcase handle. She stepped forward and pulled me into a hug. She smelled like cookie dough.
“I’m sorry anyway,” she said, mostly to my shoulder. “And I’m glad you’re here.”
The hug nearly set me off again, so I was quick to pull away. I gave her a watery smile. “Me too.”
Angela was comforting the same way a warm cup of tea was after a long day. She was one of those people it was hard to get tired of. One of those people who didn’t drain my energy at all.
We met on my first day at Forks. Angela was one of the only people who didn’t look at me like some novelty in a gift shop, so of course I gravitated to her. Though at first it was a friendship of convenience, eventually we got closer, spending weekends at the beach talking about anything and everything. We weathered the loss of other friends, the shifting tides of high school, and girlhood, and somehow we came out the other end closer than ever.
When we realized we wanted to go to the same college, moving in together was pretty much a done deal.
“How was your trip?” I asked, holding a hand up to my nose to cover up a sniffle.
“Not bad. I took a nap before you came, so I’m not as jet-lagged.”
“Good! That’s good.”
She paused, and looked at me again. “You know you can talk to me, right?”
I smiled. “I know. Same goes to you.”
“Right.”
My first day of classes went without complications up until the final class: British Literature, an English course I was especially excited for. It was the one of the introductory classes I’d been most excited about when I’d declared my English major. As a Jane Austen fan, it was pretty much a requirement that I be incredibly excited and incredibly annoying about the class.
I’d shown off all my new books to Angela the night before as she got her numerous STEM textbooks together. I’d somehow managed to get my hands on a bound (bound!) copy of Mansfield Park , which was now my pride and joy.
The only downside to the class was its time slot, 6 pm. The weather was unilaterally terrible all the time, so being outside during golden hour wasn’t really a perk. And then, by the time class ended, it would be pitch black outside.
That, plus the commute from campus to my apartment, meant it would be nearly 8:30 when I got home, a late dinner time for me. We had leftovers from dinner the previous night, so hopefully that would hold me over. Perhaps I’d make myself a sandwich as well.
I really should have made a meal prepping chart or something. Maybe I’d do that over the weekend.
With thoughts of organizing and calendars in my mind, I walked into the classroom and took a seat. The room was windowless (unfortunately), but at the very least it wasn’t a seminar style class. There were a few rows of seats to choose from and I picked one towards the back of the room. Out of the way.
The room filled quickly and almost every seat was taken by the time the professor came in. At that point there was just one seat left, the one to my left.
The professor took her place behind the podium at the front of the room. She was a bit older, wearing a lemon patterned skirt and a white button down blouse. She looked animated. Hopefully also kind.
Just as she was about to get started, the door swung open one last time. My eyes snapped to the doorway.
There, standing right in the doorframe, was the most beautiful boy I’d ever seen.
His hair was a deep red, almost brown, a color that could only be called russet. His eyes were a glittering black and his skin was pale, like marble. It was fitting, considering how statuesque he looked. Like a carved statue come to life. It seemed like he was standing there for hours, like time had stopped the second he walked into the room, but really it must have been a few seconds.
His eyes scanned the room, likely looking for somewhere to sit.
Oh god, he would have to sit next to me.
He was going to sit next to me.
Somehow, even after nearly being late, he managed to walk gracefully to where the empty seat was. Like he’d always meant to arrive at that time.
The door swung shut as he moved, sending a gust of air through the room, rustling my hair ever so slightly.
He inhaled as he sat down and I could have sworn he shuddered, ever so slightly. His hand went to his mouth and for a second I thought he was going to throw up. Or leave.
And then he turned to look at me. He looked directly at me.
His dark eyes seemed to bore through mine, like he was looking right through me. Like he could see the atoms of my very being and he was trying very hard to split them all apart.
He was glaring at me.
One day in and I’d already managed to offend my seat partner.
I very surreptitiously sniffed at my hair, wondering if there was something wrong with it. Or me. But it smelled normal. Like strawberries, the way it always did. Maybe he was allergic or something.
The professor, who introduced herself as Dr. Miller, started class with us introducing ourselves.
“Bella Swan,” I said, when it was my turn. “Nice to meet you all.”
And then the boy next to me.
“Edward Cullen,” he said in a low, attractive voice.
Class continued and Dr. Miller went through the syllabus, but I was barely paying attention. All I could do was stare at Edward, who was doing his very best not to look at me again. When he did see me, he looked like he was about to bolt out of the room. And maybe also throw up in a nearby trash can.
When class ended he, predictably, bolted out of his seat and out the door. And still, his sudden movements looked graceful.
The guy to my left, who introduced himself as Mike, nudged my arm. “What was his problem?” he said, scoffing.
I barely looked at him, eyes still locked on the door. “No idea,” I said.
It was dark when I made it back to the apartment. Angela was in the kitchen, flipping a grilled cheese sandwich.
“I made you one too,” she said, smiling at me. “On the counter.”
A wave of gratitude and something else I couldn’t quite identify flooded through me. Contentment, I thought.
“Thank you,” I said, surprisingly emotional over the gesture. I took a bite of the sandwich. Predictably, it was wonderful.
“No problem. You did dinner yesterday, anyway. It was the least I could do.”
I wasn’t used to other people doing things for me. The feeling was foreign, but not bad.
“How were your classes?” Angela asked, flipping the sandwich on the pan one more time before setting it on a plate.
“Good, mostly. The guy sitting next to me in Brit Lit looked like he wanted to murder me, though.” I tried to make the comment sound funny, but it came out petulant instead.
Angela turned the stove off and moved to join me at the counter. “Yikes.”
“It was really weird.”
“Would I know him, do you think?”
I made a contemplative noise. “Edward Cullen?”
She pursed her lips. “I know an Alice Cullen? Sister maybe?”
“Probably.”
“Well, what did he look like?”
I grimaced. “Unfairly attractive.” The words didn’t really seem to do him justice. Attractive and beautiful seemed too pedestrian. Gorgeous, too, didn't seem expansive enough. Inhuman, maybe. Or terrifying.
Her eyes widened. “Oh no .”
“It was pretty bad.”
She winced. “I’m sure it wasn’t anything personal,” she said, placatingly.
“It seemed pretty personal… He sat next to me, inhaled, and then looked like he was going to gag.”
“Maybe he was hungover?”
I rolled my eyes. “Maybe he was currently drunk.” Or maybe he just hated me. Hatred at first sight, that was a new one. I didn’t voice that out loud, certain Angela would probably disagree vehemently. Privately, though, I figured that was the most likely option. Why jump to conclusions when the obvious answer was right there?
In any case, I could try and get to class early and sit somewhere else next time.
The next day passed without consequence. I was grateful not to have any other classes with Edward and by the time Wednesday rolled around, I was ready to see him again.
(And by that I meant I’d washed my hair twice and sat down in class ten minutes early. In a different seat.)
It was one of the rare sunny days of the year, so I was in good spirits when I got to class. But, the minute Dr. Miller came in, my hopes were crushed.
“Guys, just a note, remember where you sat last class because that’s where you’re sitting the rest of the semester! We’ll be doing partner work a lot so it’s better to have consistent seats.”
After class, I was going to walk myself into the ocean and never come out again.
I moved reluctantly back to my seat at the back of the room, bracing myself for Edward’s presence. Eventually class started. And still no Edward.
He hadn’t even bothered to show up.
By the time class ended, I was properly upset. All that work and anxiety and he hadn’t even shown up.
In my haste to get out of the classroom, I managed to forget my bag. I was halfway to the parking lot when I realized and then I had to make the walk back up to the English department to retrieve it. It was dark, which made me a bit sad. There was so little sun here; I’d wanted to absorb what little I could. But the weather couldn’t be helped. At least it was a good temperature. Not too warm and not too cold.
Somehow, I made it back to the building before the doors locked again, though it was later than I’d wanted. The classroom was still lit up, which struck me as odd considering how late it was now. When I peeked into the window in the door, Dr. Miller was still in the room.
And Edward was with her.
Through the door, I could hear snatches of a conversation.
“Are… sections?” from Edward.
“Full,” was all I could hear from Dr. Miller. The two walked closer to the door and I hung back, afraid of being seen. “We offer the class every semester though, if you’d like to withdraw?” said Dr. Miller, her voice much clearer now.
He wanted to withdraw?
He wanted to withdraw because of me ?
I pushed the door open before I could lose my nerve and grabbed my bag as quickly as I could. And then, in an action I would come to deeply regret, I glanced once more at Edward.
His eyes were turned towards me, that same glittering back as before. And, oh god, it was terrifying. He looked like he hated me. Like he genuinely, truly hated me. The hair on my arms raised and I shivered.
I wasn’t sure what I felt. Something cold and primal, deep down in my bones, maybe. It felt like my blood was heating, buzzing under my skin in my veins. For a second, I couldn’t hear anything but static. Like my whole world had narrowed down to one point, Edward’s face. I could feel my heart in my throat, beating hard. My legs locked, holding me in place, pinned by his gaze like a moth. And still, I held his gaze.
He looked away first, back at Dr. Miller. “I see now that it’s impossible. Sorry to bother you,” he said, his voice like velvet. Smooth.
And then he brushed past me, out the door.
My trip back outside passed in a blur. I couldn’t get the eyes out of my mind. And, more worryingly, I couldn’t tell if I’d been afraid. I wasn’t sure what I’d felt, if it was fear or something else. Something I’d never felt before. Something more dangerous.
My lack of self-preservation bled into social interaction too, apparently.
It was cooler when I got outside. Gusts of wind whispered through the trees, leaving the leaves trembling and rustling. I tried my best to put the conversation and his eyes out of my mind. It was none of my business. Even if it was personal, which it wasn’t, it certainly wasn’t my business.
I shook my head, trying to physically shake the thoughts out of my head. It wouldn’t do me any good to spiral about this now. So what if he hated me? I had friends! I had Angela. And Jessica, though she was far away at the moment (and that friendship was tenuous at best).
And Jacob. If I could still count him. If I still wanted to count him.
(I didn’t really want to think about Jacob.)
Still, I couldn’t deny that it stung.
The cool air brushed my flushed cheeks and I breathed in deeply. In and out, long enough to slow down my heart rate and cool myself down.
I opened my mouth to breathe again and then—
A scream.
A shriek of terror so loud I swore I heard it echo and bounce along the trees.
I stood, frozen for just a moment, and then I was running. Running—no, sprinting—in the direction of the scream. As I did, I pulled my phone out of my pocket, dialing 911, finger hovering just over the call button. There was a lightly wooded area to the right of the English building and I could have sworn that was the direction of the scream.
So that’s where I ran, messenger bad thudding against my thigh, heart in my throat.
As I reached the woods, I pointed my phone outwards, using the light to illuminate the ground in front of me.
It was silent when I got to the woods. No screams. Just the sound of crickets in the woods.
I turned wildly, trying desperately to see something, anything in the woods.
“Hello?” I called. “Anyone there?”
Nothing.
“Do you need help?”
Still nothing.
I scanned the ground with my light, just in case there were footprints or something else. Something useful.
Just leaves and dirt and what looked like some animal fur.
Nothing.
Maybe it had just been drunk kids messing around. Or something equally benign. It must have been around 8 at that point. A little early for drunk shenanigans, but maybe? I really hoped that’s what it had been.
But I couldn’t shake the thought that I’d just heard something horrible. The fear in that scream, it was undeniable. Horrifying.
I got the email on Thursday morning.
“Dear Students, Faculty and Staff,” it read. “I regret to inform you that one of our very own, Lauren Mallory, went missing Wednesday night. Lauren is a member of the swim team and is an active member of the community.
“If anyone has any information regarding her whereabouts, please contact campus police—” I stopped reading.
Wednesday evening.
The scream.
I’d called in to the campus police about it and they’d told me not to worry about it. There was nothing else I could have done.
And Lauren Mallory wasn’t dead.
(She wasn’t confirmed dead.)
The email didn’t say anything about why she was missing. Nothing about foul play or kidnapping. For all I knew, she might have simply run away.
But I couldn’t stop thinking that I’d been seconds away from witnessing something. Seconds away from learning critically important information. Information that could help save her life.
If I had just run a little faster, shouted a little louder, maybe she would be safe.
And I knew, I knew she hadn’t just run away.
I’d heard her. I’d heard her scream and I couldn’t do anything to save her.