When the Cat's Away, Boots will Play

A Boots' Point of View

Sort of …

A Note about this outtake ...

This is outtake is a Boots' POV. However, it isn't a traditional POV.

In this, er, what-ever-you-call-it, Boots jumps out of the story to chat with the readers. He expresses his views and shares some insights about the other characters.

And me.

And ya'll.

I do have to warn you - if you're the type of reader who likes a story to unfold naturally and without interruption, then you might want to give this one a pass until it's complete.

A Special shout-out to Jack's mom for pre-reading!

This here is Boots.

Now Miss Jane – excuse me – Miss Jayne, with a Y, she done told me a million times that I had no business poking my nose into her story. Said it was "A Bella's Point of View fic" and that even though I was a major part of her tale, it's not mine to tell or some shit like that. Well, maybe it isn't, but the way I look at it, every man has a right to tell his own story, or at least his version of how he thinks things went down.

So, I figure … what the hell? I may as well take a few minutes out of my life and sit for a spell and try to jot down some of my own thoughts and feelings. I expect it won't be hittin on much; I never did have a way with words. In fact, I barely made it through high school English because my teachers always rode my tail about things like run-on sentences, verb tenses, and those damn dangling participles. Hell – I don't even recall what a participle is, let alone why I keep leaving them dangling. It's not that I'm stupid – I'm not – it's just that my brain doesn't work that way. I'd much rather take a car apart and put it back together than I would a damn sentence, and that's a fact. Besides, Miss Jayne ain't all that great in this department, either; why do you suppose she keeps Miss Fran up every night? Poor ole thing don't even get paid for this shit.

Lord.

Well, back to my story.

The first time I saw Isabella Swan was when I was about thirteen-years old.

What? I know ya'll are just sitting there reading this sentence with ya'll mouths wide open like ya'll are about to catch a swarm of flies. Pardon me while I have a chuckle at ya'll's expense.

Okay, I'm back. Ya'll are just too easy, I swear.

As I was saying … the first time I saw Bella I was just a kid; no more than thirteen.

We were all sitting around the bonfire that me and my pal, Em had built down at the spring. Now, I should preface this by saying that we had no business being at the spring. Mama and Daddy never allowed us to leave The Home unless one of them was with us. Course, when did we ever listen to our folks, foster or not?

What's that? Oh, The Home. Well, I'm not 'sposed to tell y'all bout that, but since Miss Jayne is on the horn with some crazy gal she knows from the fandom, (whatever the hell that is), and she's likely to be awhile, I'm just gonna go ahead and let ya'll in on a few secrets. I'll probably be sorry because I know women and there ain't a one who can keep her trap shut between ya'll; I've lived with enough gals to know that 'I swear I'll never tell nobody, Boots' really means:

I'll just tell my best friend

And my sister

And my Mama

And the entire congregation of First Baptist, including the visiting pastor, his nosy wife, and the prayer circle.

But, whatever.

Just do ya'lls best to keep a lid on it for the time being, otherwise it'll piss Miss Jayne off, and she just might make good on her threat to include a character death in this story; namely mine. And Lord knows, none of us want that, what with me desiring to keep my fictional pulse and ya'll desiring to keep ya'll's racing at the thought of my bulging biceps.

What … ya'll thought I didn't read ya'll's reviews? Hell– they're the most entertaining part of this whole story. Sometimes I sit there reading them for hours while Miss Jayne stares off into space just dreaming up ways of how to kill James, or at least fry his ass. That's fun too, but damn … she's scary when she gets like that, and I need an occasional escape, just saying.

So, back to The Home.

Well, for starters it's called The Boiling Springs Home for Children. I know that's a right pitiful sounding name; I've begged Daddy to change it a thousand times. But, he always shakes his head no and reminds me that it's part of the history and that it was started by his great-granddaddy way back in the 1800's, so we best leave it alone.

Daddy is Carlisle Cullen. Now, he ain't, isn't (I know Miss Fran is glaring at my grammar) my biological father, but he is my real daddy, just like his wife, Esme, isn't my biological mother, but she'll always be my Mama.

Let me elaborate.

I came to The Home when I was about four years old. I'd been living in Chicago with my birth mother, Marie. Now she was a Masen. That's right … born and bred right here in Masenville. According to Daddy, she was kin to him through his Mama's side. Anyway, she ran away from home when she was about sixteen after she got herself knocked up with yours truly, by some fellow in Charlotte. I guess my birth mother had a wild streak. Anyway, he was from North Carolina too, but he was a lot older than she was, though I spect she probably lied to him about her age and all so she could sneak into the club where she met him.

From what I was told, he took a job in Chicago, and she followed him there. After that, the details get sort of convoluted; I was just a little tyke and all, but I think he got killed in a train wreck and she became a drunk. At least that's what I heard whispers about after I was rescued by Carlisle and came to live at The Home. You see, my mother more or less drank herself to death … the coroner said she had two bottles of bourbon and two bottles of sleeping pills in her system when she pitched herself over the top of that famous building. I think it was the Sears' Tower. It made all the papers, I do know that. That's how Carlisle came to find out about me and brought me back here to live.

Now before ya'll start tuning up about Poor Boots and his sad, miserable life, you should know that there's been nothing all that sad about me living here in Masenville. In fact, Carlisle and Esme taking me in, and later adopting me, turned out to be the best thing that could have happened – even if I didn't appreciate it at the time.

Course, nobody ever does 'till they're grown, and that's a fact.

I ran away a bunch of times when I was a teenager; God knows … I gave Daddy and Mama a fit. I was always running … never mattered to where or to whom, neither.

But that's another story that I'll leave for Miss Jane-with-a-oh-why-the-hell-not to tell.

Suffice to say, I was a pain in the ass. I own it now; even if I am ashamed of the way I made my mama cry. She knows I love her though, and more importantly, she knows I learned my lessons, and I'm not running no more.

We all got a story – us kids who came to live at The Home. None of us came from a perfect family or had an easy time of it.

Alice … well, she don't remember none of her childhood before she came to live with us, and Rose ... well, all she knows is that her daddy murdered her mama and she was in the court system for her first five years while her next of kin had a pissing match to see who was gonna claim her. In the end, no one did, and she ended up here with the rest of us.

There's been others over the years, too, but most of them stayed only long enough to get placed in permanent homes, or they left to take jobs or go on to college as soon as they hit eighteen. Like my pal, Emmett. He lived with us for most of his teen years, but then he got taken in by a family member when he was around seventeen. Lord, that just about killed Rose. That girl thought the sun rose and set on Emmett McCarty. They used to write to each other and all, but then she took up with that prick, Royce King from Gastonia, and that was the end of that; no more Emmett. We all tried to tell Rose that Royce was bad news from the get-go but she didn't want to hear it. And then when she found herself all knocked up …

Oh, shit. Miss Jayne's gonna kill me.

I've got to go see what she's up to … hold on a second.

Okay … she's still running her yap to Liz, but I've got to be quick because they're winding down the conversation, and if she catches me, my ass is gonna be grass.

So … Rose? Yeah, that gal went and got herself all PG 13 compliments of that fucker, Royce King. That's how come she eats her feelings and I got a black mark against my name in the legal system when I tried to kill that bastard. I almost succeeded too, but Daddy found out about everything and he put a stop to it; with his left shoulder.

That's right … I shot my own father trying to kill that son-of-a-bitch King.

Course, that's another story, and I ain't got time for details seeing as how Miss Jayne's asking Miss Liz if she's gonna bring a dress to Baltimore.

I swear ... you gals are a piece of work. A dress to Baltimore?

Anyway, Poor Rosie ended up losing that baby and even if some do say that it was a blessing and all – seeing as it was fathered by that no-count-cowardly-asshole, Royce King - she was torn the fuck up over it, and that's a fact. And I can't say I blame her one bit; I would lose my shit if anything ever happened to my own baby girl, and her mama wasn't hitting on much, neither. I guess that's why Rose and I have bonded so much over the years; we both know what it's like to have our hearts busted by folks who didn't deserve them in the first place.

But Rose … well, it's been at least ten years since all that went down and she still isn't over it. I tried my best to tell her that she ought to find Em and see if there's still a spark or something, but she won't hear of it. I reckon she thinks she's tainted and ain't – isn't good enough for him or any man. What she is, is just plain old stupid; if anyone was the type to understand and be all-sympathetic, it would be Emmett. He's a stand-up fellow, and that's a fact. Least he was as a kid. None of us know where he ended up as an adult. Last Daddy heard he was in school learning how to be a cop. Now that, in and of its self, is worth a laugh or two; that boy got his ass in a ringer with Smoky more times than Shelly has fried a chicken, and that's the truth. But I've heard tell that boys gone wrong make for the best cops when they stop being bad, so who knows? It would be nice to find out, though. I miss him.

I'll bet by now ya'll are asking yourselves, "What-in-the-ever-lovin-hell-is-wrong-with-these-yahoos-in-Masenville? Don't they know about birth control?

Oh-hell-yes-we-do, and that's a fact. The trouble is - it just isn't all that reliable in these parts.

I know … huh?

It's the truth. If you don't believe me, ya'll can Google it. Folks round here have a high failure of birth control. That's why I was in such a panic the other day at the spring; I didn't use my head, least not the one sitting on my shoulders.

The old timers say it's the spring that's to blame; it's cursed.

Some say it's from the Cherokee's who turned it into some sort of a fertility rite.

Others blame it on mountain magic. These hills are full of stories about haints, witches, and all sorts of hoo-doo.

And of course, there are those who think the aliens fucked up the water; they're known to drop down occasionally and take a hit off the lake because the steam plant nearby is powered by nuclear shit. I know … but it's been said they enjoy a free fill-up before they return home.

Well, who wouldn't?

They've had all sorts of scientists and whatnots down here over the years trying their level best to figure out how it is that a girl can be on the pill, shot, ring, and that thing they dingle in her dangle (I forget what it's called) plus, make the man be extra nice and wrap it twice … YET they still manage to get knocked up.

None of them could ever figure out why; it is a phenomenon that defies explanation.

Some years back, that fake, television lawyer- Nancy Grace, decided to do an investigation on us after she got wind of it.

Nine months later she gave birth to twins.

And that old gal was one cycle away from menopause, Lord knows.

Anyway, I just wanted to offer a little explanation, least ya'll think we're nothing but a bunch of ignorant rednecks that subscribe to the idea that women should be barefoot and pregnant. Not that it's a bad thing mind you – I love bare feet and babies. But I swear - we do make an effort to fuck responsibly.

Okay, I'm off topic – so- back to the night that I saw Isabella Swan for the first time …

We were sitting around that bonfire, taking swigs from a bottle of bourbon that I'd swiped earlier from Miss Vick's locked cabinet. (She always kept it locked and then - bless her heart - she always left the key right on top of the cabinet where any fool could see it.)

Around the fifth shot or so of the bourbon, Alice started into one of her trances; Lord … ya'll don't even want to go there. When that girl starts to drift into one of her hypnotic states, she is downright scary. Her eyes get all dreamy, and she just stares off into space … and if you happen to be watching her when she does that, well, she'll take you right along with her. I'm not joshing; it's like being sucked into a vortex, and you can't stop it no matter how hard you try. Course, that night I was feeling no pain, so I didn't even make to effort to stop; I was weak as a kitten.

And that's when I saw the image of a dark-haired gal, swimming in the spring. Her hair was all fanned out around her head, and the moon allowed me to see her face; it was pale and so beautiful that I had to blink a few times just to make sure I wasn't imagining things. But what really turned me inside out was that she wasn't alone. No indeed – she was lying there in the arms of a tall man, who was cradling her next to his chest. And even though I couldn't see his face, I knew he loved her. I could tell in the way he held her – felt it in the way it just rolled off him.

I sat there for what seemed like hours just watching the two of them interact … it was downright supernatural; I knew they weren't real, but I knew they were real all at the same time. I figured it was a haint and I must have said so out loud, because Alice corrected me and said, 'They're not spirits, Boots – they're visions from the future. Your future.'

And as soon as she said that, the man looked up at me and that's when I knew that I was looking at my future self.

I stood up and ran my butt back home so fast that I left the others eating my dust for days.

I ain't never told no one this story before, and it's giving me that cat-ran-over-the-grave shivers just recollecting it now.

Anyway, Alice told me later, that this was the woman I was gonna marry one day. She told me she was from Massachusetts and would come into my life when I least expected, or wanted, for that matter.

Course, being a kid, I blew her off and acted like I never saw a thing and that she was just drunk or just plain old full of shit.

But I knew in my heart that she was right.

That's why, when I met Tanya Sue a few weeks later after she turned up like a bad penny at The Home and said her daddy was from Massachusetts, I figured she was the girl in the spring. Now reason should have told me it couldn't have been her, seeing as Tanya had strawberry blonde hair and blue eyes, and the woman in the water had dark hair and dark eyes. But, I convinced myself that I was drunk, and even if the vision was pretty clear, (okay, crystal-fucking-clear) that it was still Tanya Sue and I was just remembering the whole thing wrong. I don't know … men can be all kinds of stubborn asses, I guess, and I never claimed to be anything less than a man.

Well, by now ya'll know that Tanya wasn't the gal in that vision and that she turned out to be a major disappointment in my life. I can't say I never loved the girl, because I did, after a fashion … she was the mother of my Elizabeth Marie, after all. But I can say that she wasn't the girl in that vision and she sure as hell never made me feel like that man felt when he was cradling that woman in his arms, neither. And I know now, for a fact, because I AM that man, and I am here to tell you that what I saw that night was nothing compared to what I saw and how I felt when I held that girl in my arms for real.

Now I know ya'll are just sitting there, panting … just waiting for me to spill all the secrets about my feelings and most of all, the dirty details of our lovemaking.

Well, that ain't gonna happen, so save your thoughts for when you need them. I never have been the type who kisses and tells.

But ... I will tell you this:

Her skin feels like satin. It truly does. The only thing I ever felt softer was maybe Elizabeth's skin when she was a baby, and even then, it's a close second. Her skin … is just gorgeous. It's pale but not sickly … it's … well, it's just plain perfect, is all.

And her mouth? Lord … I don't know what I love better … the way it feels when I'm kissing it or the way I feel when I'm listening to what comes out of it; it's a toss-up. That gal can kiss like no other woman I've ever known. Shit … that first time she pulled me to her down at the shop? I thought I was gonna lose it in my pants like I was a thirteen- year old chap. Hell - I almost did. Jesus, Lord above … I ain't never been taken by surprise like I was that day. Frankly, I don't think I can ever work in that particular bay again without getting a major hard on. I guess Jake is going to have to have that as his designated workstation otherwise, he'll think I'm some kind of pervert.

Sorry for being so crass … Miss Jayne hasn't had time for Bella to clean my act up just yet. I doubt she ever will succeed, but it'll be fun watching her try.

Back to Bella's mouth … lord. Those lips … I can't help but wonder what they'll feel like wrapped around my -

Oh-hell … she's off the phone.

Maybe she has to pee. Fingers crossed.

Oh good … she's got to let the dog out. His name is Bert. He's a Shih Tzu. Yes, Ma'am … she went and Mary-Jane'd him right into the story. I swany, you gals are a piece of work.

So, Bella's mouth … it's wonderful. I know y'all want to hear more about the sexy stuff, but honestly, for me? The sexiest part about it is the stuff she says; I could sit and listen to her talk all day long and never tire of it; she's just so intelligent and so funny without even trying. And that accent? Damn.

Now, I know ya'll like to give her the business – don't think I haven't read some of ya'll's comments about how dumb she is and all that. Well, maybe she didn't always act the way you thought she should, but I have to ask; how many of y'all would act if ya'll's lives were being threatened and ya'll were told that everyone you loved was gonna be murdered by that cock-sucking bastard, James? It's all well and good to sit in judgment when you're sitting there stuffing your faces with Little Debbies and washing them down with sweet tea or Pinot Grigio. But it's another thing altogether when you're being chased in an apple orchard by some pasty-faced fucker who's waving a gun and shooting his mouth off about killing your mama.

Okay, so maybe I have an opinion or two about the way you view the woman I love.

Well, shit.

I blew the lid off that, didn't I?

I know – I know – I've only known this gal the better part of a week now.

But I love her.

And I know what I sound like, believe me; I sound like a love-sick-fool.

Well, I guess maybe I am.

But, even if I have only known her a few days; I've also known her all my life. She's the girl in my vision, the woman in my dreams, and the only gal I ever saw fit to carry to the spring.

And one day, when all of this mess and turmoil is over, I plan on letting her in on a little secret.

It's a big one.

I've never been married before.

Tanya never would say I do; only I won't.

That's something for ya'll to mull over while you're debating whether to finish off that pint of ice cream, or just go for broke and order that pepperoni pizza you're really craving.

Besides, Alice told me that the girl in my vision was going to be my wife one day, and the one thing I've come to know is: Alice is never wrong.

Now I know … I can hear ya'll now; "That boy is gonna get his heart broken."

Well, y'all could be right, and that's a fact. But, feature this; maybe it won't get busted this time around. Maybe, just maybe, it'll be the best damn thing that ever happened to ole Boots.

Or not.

But, I am willing to find out.

I just hope that Bella is too. I don't think I can take it if she runs away again, but if she does, well … I reckon I'll just have to go on after her tail.

Ya'll thought I was gonna say, "Then I'll let her go," didn't ya'll?

I guess ya'll don't have a clue on how I operate if ya'll thought I would just say, "Don't let the door hit ya where the good Lord split ya." That's not how I handle things; despite how I acted when I marched off in a huff and she had to trot after me dressed in nothing but a damn towel. Lord. I was just fired up, is all. According to my mama, I've got red hair and a temper to match. I guess I come by it naturally.

But, Bella and me, we made-up -and if I have my say (and I will) we're gonna make-up some more. Lot's more. So stay tuned.

Well, I've got to take my leave now. Miss Jayne is back with Berty, and I expect she'll have a hissy when she reads this here chapter or outtake or whatever it is – I'm not a writer, so I don't know what you'd call this mess of words. But maybe, if we're both lucky, she'll see fit to post it for ya'll one of these days.

Till then, picture me in a dirty white T-shirt. I've always got one of those at my disposal. And thanks to my job and my genetics, I've got the muscles and the build to pull them off.

Spectacularly.

Lord. I didn't write that … that must have been Miss Jayne. She said she would get back at me. I hope she knows that payback is a bitch.

Yours truly,

Boots

PS: It's me again, Boots. I made a decision while Miss Jayne took her shower. She's blow drying her hair, and we all know that's gonna take a long-ass-time because that woman is never satisfied with her hair. And aside from that, she just went and had it cut, so Lord only knows how long it's gonna take; the last time she had it cut, it involved two hours of blow drying, one hour of flat ironing, and a half hour of crying. And then she broke her damn mirror pitching a fit, and poor ole Steve had to replace it - again.

Anyway, I believe I am going to try to contact my old pal, Em and see if he can help us with the pickle my girl has gotten herself into with this pecker, James. It might take me awhile to locate him; he has been MIA ever since Rose told him she never wanted to see or hear from him again. But I figure Rose will come to her senses eventually – after she kicks my ass but good a few times. Oh, well … she's kicked it before, and I survived, and this time I've got Bella by my side, and something tells me she won't let her hurt me but just so bad.

Yeah … fingers crossed on that too.

I hope that Esme saved his address because his email bounced back just now. I know there's a lot of McCartys in the world, but how many of them can possibly be stuck with a handle like Emmett? I'm about to find out.

Well, I'll be … she cut the dryer off, and she's singing. I guess she likes her new do after all. I know that'll make Steve happy; he's tired of replacing those GD mirrors.

Boots

PPS: How in the ever-lovin'-hell did ya'll come up with some of ya'll's names? I have sat here for the past two hours reading ya'll reviews and for the life of me I can't figure it out.

Oldenuf2knobeta - Took me so long to cipher this one that the poor ole thing is probably dead by now. RIP.

EdwardsFirstKiss - Poor gal don't know that there's another reader called Edward'slastkiss. I ain't bout' to break it to her, neither.

brasirish - What-in-the-hell? Is her bra Irish? I ain't figured this one out yet. I hope she PM's Miss Jayne with an explanation cos this is the kind of thing that can keep a man up at night.

Now - Miss J ... she's going to Baltimore on some kind of a meet-up. She tells folks it's a "Writer's Conference" but we all know she's full of shit and that's just code for a Twilight feeding frenzy. Anyway, the point being ... she ain't likely to respond to ya'll reviews because we all know that whenever you gal's get together, liquor is involved in some fashion. Nuff said, and I'm no one to judge. But, if you want a reply I will do my level best to oblige. That said, I might be dead in a preceding chapter or at least grievously injured. Course, I'm betting that she ain't going to kill her cash cow.

Fingers crossed.

B

A/N: I Hope you enjoyed hearing from Boots. I had a lot of fun with this one! The regular chapter is still in the works but it should be up soon. Till then, thank you so much for your reviews and support for this fic. A special shout-out to my fic-Sis Fran, who puts up with my nuttiness and neurotic behaviors about tweaking and titervating the living hell out of my stories. And that poor ole thing don't even get paid for this shit. xo Jayne