**Disclaimer: "Twilight" and the beloved characters appearing throughout the saga are the brilliant creations of author Stephenie Meyer. This is strictly fanfic, and I do not nor will I ever seek monetary gain for the creative expression presented on this website. No copyright infringement intended.


I woke up for the third morning this week shivering something fierce and wrapped like a damn burrito. Thank God I'd had the presence of mind to pack my grandmother's heavy down comforter before leaving home. You'd think that the millions of dollars in tuition that this school receives would afford a few more luxuries--like heat, for instance?

Fucking Washington winters. I could kill my father for choosing prestige over practicality. I would have been perfectly happy at St. Catherine's, basking in the balmy Florida sunshine. Screw the overpaid instructors and their fucking accolades. I want warmth, dammit!

Ever since my mother passed away, my father has been an exceptional pain in the ass. I realize I'm not exactly the perfect model of a congressman's daughter. I've found myself in trouble more times than I can count on one hand. But this last time…it was the last straw for Charlie. Too much scandal for his re-election campaign, I suppose. God forbid his baby girl does something like rob a damn bank. Or maybe I could fuck every guy in the state.

Ha! That would definitely get me a one way ticket to a convent in Vienna.

Nope. One minor slip up and I'm sentenced to spending my senior year in this god-forsaken, tight-assed boarding school in the frozen tundra. Thanks so much, daddy dearest.

"Bella, we're gonna be late for chapel," I heard the lackadaisical voice of my roommate call out from our substandard bathroom. I do have to give my captors some credit here. At least they stuck me with someone I could somewhat tolerate for the next two years.

Rosalie is a lot like me. The daughter of a government lackey who has just about as much respect for authority as I do. Of course, that's not saying much. Like me, she has an inclination to bend the rules to suit her need for sanity.

Unlike me, she is the apple of her daddy's eye. Perfect in every way. I wonder what he'd say if he knew where a good portion of her trust fund really goes. I'm sure our future President wouldn't necessarily approve of his daughter's weekend cocaine habit. Oh yeah, that would go over really well at the Republican National Convention.

Rosalie walked the bathroom and I rolled my eyes. How anyone can look like she just stepped off the cover of Vogue in the navy blue and shit green plaid uniform of the Marcus Preparatory School is beyond me. But of course, if anyone can pull it off, it's Rose. The girl oozes sex appeal. Perfect hourglass figure, platinum blonde, and flawless features. The girl makes me want to vomit. I actually know a few on our floor that rush to the bathroom every time she passes by. Fucking wannabes.

"Did you hear me biatch?" she said, her perfectly shaped eyebrows raised insistently. "I said we're going to be late. Get your ass out of bed already."

I sighed deeply, then sat up and ran my fingers through my dull brunette tresses. God, she's pushy this morning.

"Since when did you ever give a shit about chapel?" I asked, the corners of my lips turning down into a smirk. "Did you do something extraordinarily evil last night that requires penance?" I was certain that whatever it was, I didn't want the details.

"Ha! I pretty sure I'm beyond God's help. Besides, hell sounds so much more appealing." Rose began checking herself in the full-length mirror, turning every which way to examine every angle. Like any improvement would make her any more attractive. "But seriously, you need to hurry up and get dressed."

"Why?" I whined, eliciting a snide look from my beloved roomie. I grabbed my pillow, fell back onto the bed, and covered my face. Maybe if I suffocated, she'd shut the fuck up.

Rose shrugged indifferently. "Your loss, I suppose."

I hate it when she does this. Her signature shrug. It always means there's something especially devious she's not telling me, and the only way I'll become privy to her inside information is to comply with her wishes. Dammit! I hate my fucking tendency to become curious by this one little gesture.

I grabbed the pillow and flung it across the room, then swung my legs over the side of the bed and whimpered. Rose hates it when I whine. Serves the bitch right, keeping secrets from me.

"Ok, fine. I'm up. Now talk."

Rose's crimson lips turned up into a wicked little grin. "Oh, it's nothing really. You can stay in bed if you want. I'll make up some excuse for you."

"Rose," I growled. I hate it when she plays these games. "Tell me, or you'll come home to find I've flushed your stash down the toilet."

"You wouldn't," she gasped, her eyes wide with worry.

Seeing my resolute expression, she finally caved.

"Fine," she sighed, sitting down hard on the edge of my bed. "Jasper was waiting outside Dean Stanley's office yesterday. You know how he's always up the man's ass, fucking brownnoser. I swear I think he's trying to get a gold star so he can fuck Princess Jessica right there on his desk."

I had to laugh. Jasper's infatuation with Jessica Stanley was beyond abnormal. I mean, the girl gave the moniker "cock tease" a completely new definition. Most of the guys who'd been ensnared by her overtly chaste, schoolgirl freak show gave up after about a week.

Not Jasper. No, Jessica had become his primary focus this year. He'd memorized her schedule, her lunch habits…hell, he probably had her menstrual cycle mapped out on his Blackberry. To say the boy was obsessed was a momentous understatement.

"Anyway," Rose continued. "He overheard Stanley discussing two new transfer students with a few of the professors. A brother and sister from Chicago. They start today."

"And this is news because?" I couldn't see how this was important enough to drag my ass out of my warm cocoon. Besides, it wasn't like Marcus Prep didn't have new victims transferring in on a weekly basis. They'd receive their five minutes of new-kid fame, and then dissolved just as quickly into the over privileged masses.

"That's where the scandal lies, my dear Bella." Rose's eyes lit up. After all, scandal was all the girl really cared about. "Apparently their father is some big time Chicago crime family bigwig. You remember that over televised trial over the summer? Fucking annoyed the shit out of me because it kept breaking into 'Days of our Lives.'"

"Stay on topic, Blondie," I chastised her. The last thing I wanted to hear was a recap of an entire summer's worth of serialized drama.

Rosalie pursed her lips, then continued. "Well, it was this huge murder trial. Some judge in Chicago turned up missing back in February. They found the guy eventually. Well, what was left of him anyway. A torso, one of his arms…I think they found his head somewhere. I can't remember."

"So?" I yawned as I got up from the bed and staggered toward the bathroom.

"So," Rose repeated sarcastically, rising to follow me. "Their father was one of the guys convicted. Apparently, he was the… 'surgeon.'"

I turned on the faucet and splashed the ice cold water on my face. Grabbing a towel from the rack, I patted my face dry and turned to look at Rose, who was now leaning in the doorway staring at me in disapproval.

"What?" I asked, annoyed that I could never go through my morning ritual without her gaping at me the whole time. She handed me the tube of crimson cherry cordial lipstick I'd bought on her insistence. I rolled my eyes, then turned back to the mirror and swept it across my lips. Just to spite the little bitch, I made a show of puckering and pouting. "Happy now?"

"You're telling me that you aren't the slightest bit interested in the fact that a convicted murderer's kids are living a few feet from where you sleep."

I slapped my cheeks exuberantly. "Oh no! Call out the National Guard! Is that the reaction you were expecting?" I laughed. "Honestly, Rose. I don't think we have to worry about some serial killer stalking the dorms at night."

"Hell, Bella," Rosalie rolled her eyes. "I could care less about that shit. There are a few people on this campus I wouldn't mind seeing in a body bag. I'm just thinking of the…opportunities this might present."

"Opportunities," I scoffed. "What? You want to enlist them to take out Jessica and her little band of trailer tramps? I mean, I'm all for a little fun now and then, but I really don't think I want in on this little plan of yours. Even I'm not that fucking damaged."

Rosalie's face lit up, an expression of complete innocence radiating from her. "Actually, I was thinking wouldn't it be so wonderful if Congressman Swan's little angel showed up on the front page of the Seattle Times sucking face with the son of a convicted felon? Simply delish," she hissed.

"Oh yeah," I said. "I'm sure that would lock up my chances to get back in my dad's good graces. He's already threatened to freeze my credit cards. Do you think I want him to completely disinherit me?"

I walked over to the closet, pulling out the same white blouse, navy blue pullover, and pleated skirt. God, I loathed this uniform. More than once out of spite I'd considered going full-out schoolgirl complete with pigtails, painted on freckles, and Mary Jane's, but I was sure Rosalie would kill me before I'd have the opportunity to get near the door. I was lucky enough she allowed me out in public as it was.

"You're ruining my fun," Rosalie smirked. "You have to at least admit the idea is intriguing."

I bobbed my head from side to side. Ok, I had to admit I was extremely attracted to the bad boy stereotype that Rose presented. I mean, how much worse could I do than a mob boss' son? No, I resolved. Bad boy or not, even I had my standards…as warped and psychotic as they might be.

I slipped on my knee high socks just as the chapel bells began to chime loudly across the campus. "Shit," I said, thrusting my feet into my black penny loafers.

Rosalie was already standing impatiently at the door, her Prada backpack slung over her shoulder. "Come on," she said hastily.

I grabbed my bag and coat from under the bed and quickly followed her out the door. I had to admit, I'd never seen Rosalie as excited about a new face on campus since first laying eyes on her newest boy toy, Emmett Denali. It really wasn't in her nature to give a damn about anyone but herself. She considered everyone else her underlings. Good enough to further her own devious desires, but nothing more.

Emmett was, in her words, an exquisite fuck. Nothing more, much to his dismay. Like most of her victims, Emmett looked upon Rosalie as a goddess and treated her with the utmost respect and adoration. He was so pathetically blind to his status as her weekend plaything. I almost felt sorry for the guy. Almost.

To make matters worse, he liked to confide in me about his irrevocable love for her. Jesus…did I have the word "shrink" painted across my forehead? I have my own problems to worry about without having to deal with a lovesick teddy bear like Emmett. I mean, he was my friend and all, but didn't he have guy friends to unload his frustrations on?

We hurried down the steps, carefully avoiding the slushy mess left by our less-than-considerate fellow students. As expected, Emmett was waiting patiently outside the door flanked by Jasper and Jacob.

"Lovely," I sighed, knowing that I had no choice but to be kind and keep my mouth shut.

"You promised you'd be civil," Rosalie reminded me. "Jacob swore to Jasper he'd keep his two-bit comments to himself. So just paste on that cute little grin and deal with him for the five minutes it'll take to cross campus."

"Where's the fun in that," I chided. "You know I can't function throughout the day unless I get my licks in on Jacob."

Rosalie laughed. "I do believe those licks are what started this in the first place."

Leave it to Rose to constantly remind me of the one night of my life I seriously wanted to erase from my memory. Jacob Black had been the last person I'd have ever considered adding to my list of conquests. Of course, add seven parts vodka to three parts stupid, and you get me in the backseat of Rose's Mercedes giving Jacob a seriously fucked up blowjob.

Of course, I couldn't be held responsible for my actions. I was drunk, he pulled my hair, and so I reciprocated in kind. I'll admit, I had enough presence of mind to not draw blood. But when he'd proceeded to call me his "little whore…" Well, that's where I drew the line.

"Hey bitch," I heard as Rose opened the door. "Ow! I mean, Bella." Jacob was rubbing his shoulder where I assumed Jasper's rock hard fist had impacted.

I looked Jacob up and down, resting my eyes on his crotch. "Hmm…looks like the swelling has gone downconsiderably," I smirked. "Or did you just have them remove it completely?"

"Here we go," Emmett laughed. "I believe you owe me twenty bucks." He held out his hand to Jasper, who sullenly handed over his losses. "Thank you my dear, sweet Isabella," Emmett sang, kissing me on the forehead.

"My pleasure," I said halfheartedly. "So what exactly was the bet?"

Jasper rolled his eyes. "That you wouldn't be able to resist retaliation, given your…um…history."

I smiled. I had to hand it to Emmett. He knew me too well.

"Ok," Rosalie interrupted. "This is all very nice, but can we go now? I'd like to sit somewhere I can actually see." She slinked her arm around Emmett's, her eyes sultry to match her subtle pout. "You know how I hate to sit in the back."

Emmett wrapped his arm around his goddess. "Sure thing, babe. You'll have the best seat in the house even if I have to pound the shit out of somebody."

"Ugh," I groaned. "Could the two of you be any more saccharine?"

"Aww," Jacob sneered. "The ice queen can't handle a little good, old fashioned PDA? Not enough carnage for you?"

"Would you like to see a little carnage, Jacob?" I clenched my fist, prepared to inflict a bit of my own version of PDA on him, and his hands moved instinctively toward his crotch. I smiled approvingly. "Good boy! Now if we could only train you to play dead."

The second set of bells suddenly began to chime in the distance, signifying that we were now late.

"Terrific," Rosalie said as she grabbed my arm. We began jogging across the icy pavement toward the chapel. I concentrated on my footing, praying that I wouldn't slip and give Jacob sufficient ammunition to get in the last word in our little exchange.

When we finally reached the chapel steps, Emmett jumped in front of Rosalie and thrust open the double doors. Dean Stanley was already well into his morning invocation as we shuffled quickly down the aisle. His eyes narrowed, settling on our group as we took the empty seats, to Rosalie's satisfaction, three rows from the front.

"And Lord," Dean Stanley continued without pause. "We ask that you will assist our students in learning the value of punctuality as they make their way through this world." He glanced at the five of us as we removed our coats and stuffed our bags under the pew. Quiet snickers echoed around us. "In your name, we pray."

"Amen," the room chanted in unison.

"AMEN! PRAISE THE LORD!" Emmett yelled exuberantly, causing the room to erupt into a cacophony of laughter.

Dean Stanley cleared his throat. "Thank you, Mr. Denali. It's nice to see you so incensed with the Lord's spirit this morning." He was obviously not amused.

"Blame my Southern Baptist upbringing," Emmett replied with a smile. Jasper elbowed him roughly. Rosalie slunk further down in her seat as I tried to suppress my own laughter. Leave it to Emmett to bring more attention to our little infraction.

Dean Stanley glared at us each momentarily before turning back toward the podium. We'd definitely end up called to his office at some point during the day. I wondered what punishment he'd manage to cook up this time.

"Moving on," he said, pushing his glasses up on the bridge of his nose. "I am pleased to welcome two new students to the Marcus Preparatory family. Mr. Edward Cullen and Ms. Alice Cullen."

The two hesitated for a moment, then stood and obliged Dean Stanley's unspoken invitation to join him on the stage. Just as they began to ascend up the stairs, my phone chimed to life in my bag.

"Shit," I said under my breath, hoping that Stanley hadn't heard it. All I needed were two infractions in one day. I bent over, reaching into my bag and pressing the off button before it could make another sound. Thankfully, Stanley hadn't heard.

"Mr. and Ms. Cullen hail from the beautiful city of Chicago. I trust that, in true Marcus Prep spirit, you will welcome them with open arms and the utmost hospitality."

Rosalie grabbed my arm hard and gasped. "Oh my fucking God."

"What?" I growled, closing the bag and kicking it under the pew. I straightened in my seat, glaring at Rosalie and rubbing my arm where her talons had dug into my flesh. She rolled her eyes, grasping my hair and turning my head in the direction of the podium.

It took my eyes a moment to focus on the source of Rosalie's sudden lack of composure. At first, I only noticed the raven-haired, pixie-like girl standing to the right of Dean Stanley. Alice Cullen wasn't anything extraordinarily beautiful. Cute, I supposed. If one liked that sort of thing.

She stood with her hands clasped firmly behind her back, grinning from ear to ear. She was way too bubbly for someone whose father had just been thrown in Leavenworth. Jessica and her crew would welcome her with open arms, I was sure.

It was then my focus shifted to the boy standing to Dean Stanley's left. I don't know what I'd been expecting. Maybe I'd watched "The Godfather" one too many times, but my mind had conjured images of a young Marlon Brando or Joseph May. Nothing could have prepared me for the fucking Greek god that graced the stage in front of me.

Edward Cullen, Prince of the Chicago crime syndicate, was neither Italian nor street-roughened. In fact, he looked more like he belonged on the cover of "GQ" than the FBI Most Wanted list. To quote Rosalie--something I wasn't usually inclined to do--simply fucking delish.

"Reconsidering my sinful little proposition?" she purred into my ear as I continued to gape at the vision of masculine perfection in front of me.

"A-fucking-men." Sinning never looked so fucking good.

A/N: I would love for "Fallen Angels" to be an interactive experience. For me, this is first and foremost a fun little exercise in creativity. But I would really love to gather inspiration from my audience as to where the road might lead for Bella and Edward (or any of your other favorite characters). On that note, comments are not only welcome but sincerely encouraged. I also plan to occasionally post polls in which you, my wonderful readers, can vote on the direction this story will go. So, enjoy the ride my friends:-) You are my trusted navigators. Lead away!