I don't own Twilight, but I do own this plot. This is a deeper sort of story I want to develop than most romances and I hope you enjoy it
I hate you. You ruined my life. You took all of my happiness away. I hate you, never write to me again.
I hate you,
I stared down quietly at the letter my brother had sent to me. I'd been so excited, so happy. His letters were all I had left. Had I been wrong? Should I have told him the truth? No, then I would've erased all chances of his happiness completely. It was better this way I told myself, it was better that he didn't know.
I folded the letter away in my box before I could get tear stains all over it. He hated me, but I would save it anyways. They were his words, his feelings, all neatly printed for me to read forever.
There was a soft scratch at the door just as I locked up the little treasure box of letters from Edward and I turned tearfully to see who it was. Silently, I sent a prayer to God, hoping no one was there, or it was the cat. When it cracked open though, his shadow filled the room.
There is no god.
Only this demon's smile, this ancient touch, his bloodthirsty eyes. My tears dried on my cheeks and I watched silently as he approached like the darkest of shadows from the night. Only, it was a bright day outside. Comfortably warm even. So who was this cruel man with his hands running over my body?
Life goes on.
The world moves without you. Even as I was lifted and carried to my bed, I could not stop staring outside. Did it make any sense for it to be sunny outside right now? For the sky to be ocean blue, white clouds of innocence, lush rolling green hills. Everything was bright and vibrant with life, people laughed and smiled.
Yet inside, I was dying. Slowly I could feel myself rotting away, flaking into pieces like my clothes that covered the floor. His hands slid over my child's body and his lips cracked into a joker's grin as he leered down at me.
It was all wrong. There should be thunder and lightning outside, people screaming bloody murder, a forbidding eclipse of the sun in the sky; not this, this serenity. It didn't make any sense. Better yet, this shouldn't be happening to me at all.
I heard his zipper go down like a too loud fly buzzing around a rotting carcass, and denim coiled on the carpeted floor; joining his shirt. I wanted to cry, but no tears would come. Everything was dry inside of me. I had a feeling if I cried, it would only be dust.
His hands dug painfully into my sides and I winced as he slid inside me. The world should be bursting into flame; the earth should have split into pieces and welcomed hordes of demons. Instead my eyes trained on the sunlit fields beyond the window where everything was unfair and unequal.
I ignored the rhythmic beating outside my body, the pain that felt as if it were splitting me in half. I felt like I was dying. But I would wake up tomorrow. I felt like I was being torn to pieces. But my body was whole. I felt like there should be some torrential storm raging to rival Armageddon outside. But it was beautiful. I felt like a lot of things.
But nothing changed.
When he was finished, he swept the hair back from my face and kissed my forehead, murmuring praise for my obedience. He dressed himself over again and then went to the adjoining bathroom where I heard him start to fill the tub.
He came back and gave me a snake's smile as he scooped me up again, carrying me to the bathroom with him this time as he slid me into the tub.
"Be a good girl Bella and wash up, your uncles and cousins are coming to visit and we're going to go out tonight. So you've got look extra nice okay?" he asked in that sickeningly sweet voice. He sounded so genuinely concerned if I hadn't been the one in the room with him five minutes ago, I'd never believe he could do something like that.
Instead, I just nodded my head and sank under the water when he left. I tried stretching out in the tub but my body ached and I clutched my knees to my chest, clenching my body together as I stewed in the water.
I didn't want them to come. One was enough wasn't it? Why did I have to suffer so much? But I knew that wasn't how things were decided. There was no scale of good and bad. Life wasn't about being fair, it was about luck. Some people had it, some people didn't. Then there were the few extremes on each end who suffered endlessly, and those who never fell even when they tripped.
It was my bad draw that I was living this way. I'd underestimated my luck. It wasn't like I'd had it particularly good in the first place, but youthful naiveté had made me think things couldn't get any worse.
Things could always get worse.
I sank completely under the water and felt my hair hover around me like seaweed in a reef. I wished it would choke me. It only drifted about aimlessly in the water and I wondered what it would be like to drown. To just let myself stay under until my body stopped needing air altogether.
I tried, but it didn't work. My body knew air was close and I continued to float to the top. Drowning hurt too much. I settled for washing my hair and massaging away all the negative thoughts until my mind was a blank nothing. I floated there in the water and the soapy bubbles strayed where they wanted before I plunged under again, this time only to rinse my hair.
When I drained the tub I started a cold shower and rinsed my hair again, then washed my body, careful around the tender areas. By the time I got out, I was beginning to prune up and I dug through the drawers for my things.
Without drying off I sprayed myself with a body splash bottle, covering myself from the neck down in strawberry scent. It was something I was asked to do, and you didn't tell the devil no. Once I'd patted myself dry I slipped into clean panties and looked through my wardrobe.
Suffering was relative.
Raped or molested or abused, whatever you wanted to call it, it was evened by the care that went into keeping me happy. Or at least quiet. He figured we were even if he pampered me like this and I was in no position to tell him otherwise.
Plenty of other girls would kill to be in my place after all. I lived in a nice home, ate three good meals a day, had the best clothes, all the toys I wanted, private tutors, and my own TV and computer. All this at the age of nine.
Actually, I'd received it all when I was only seven, so you could say I was spoiled. Sort of. I wondered if other people might look at me and be jealous. Was it wrong that I wished I could trade places with a girl in the slums? At least then this all might make sense to me. Dirty surroundings, poor home life, violent streets. Then at least this sort of activity would fit in.
Instead I pulled out a midnight blue, square neck, a-line, basque-waist dress and slipped the silk over my skin. The description alone was irritating, but I found my aunts enjoyed trying to taunt the pauper turned princess by asking me questions about what I wore and what I did. I forced myself to study styles and trends as well as politics and business markets.
Usually a nine year old didn't do these things. But I was not permitted to leave the house, and playing with toys usually involved more than one person. Cartoons lost their flavor to me once I'd moved here, and there wasn't much to do on the web but look things up. I was a wealth of random knowledge and facts.
The bottom of the dress was cropped to mid calf and I found a pair of black glossy flats to put on as well. I found blue sapphire earrings and set them aside with a black and blue stone necklace. After some digging, I found some rubber-bands and set to work on a three part braid that way when my hair dried it would be nice and wavy.
And I still had hours of time. I hated being idle. Sitting around gave me too much time to think and I was afraid my head might explode if I thought about everything I had to think about. So I shoved those thoughts away and dove into a pile of menial tasks to occupy myself with.
I was becoming very good at not thinking. It was better when I didn't anyways. I stripped the blankets and sheets from my bed and dragged them to the laundry room down stairs, carefully not thinking about why they had to be washed.
It had only taken me ten minutes. I wanted to cry again as I felt that phantom inside my chest squeeze hard on my heart again. It clutched at me like a drowning man clutched a life preserver. It made it hard to breathe.
I sat down in the laundry room and curled up again, one hand fisting against my chest, willing the pain to go away as I squeezed my eyes shut. I wasn't sure if I was trying to stop myself from crying or trying to force them out.
Unfortunately, even in as much emotional pain as I seemed to be, my mind went back to the letter. He hated me. He would never write to me again. Two years of letters, of a fragile sort of happiness, shattered. People always told me I was a horrible liar.
They were wrong.
I lied enough to make him hate me. Lied enough that he never wanted to talk to me again. Had I really taken away his happiness? If I did, I didn't know where it was. It certainly wasn't with me. If I had his happiness I would give anything in the world to return it to him. I didn't want him to be unhappy. That was why I lied.
Every letter I ever sent him was wrong. I wasn't happy here. I wasn't having the time of my life. The huge, vacant mansion wasn't like a fairy tale. I didn't have hundreds of friends at my new school. Every word between Edward and Bella was a lie.
Reading his letters had made me happy though. Was that what had happened? Had I unwittingly sapped away all of his happiness through the letters he wrote me? If so I was sorry. If there was any way I could give that happiness I would.
I thought if he thought I was happy, he would be happy too, the way his happiness made me happy. Maybe it didn't work that way. Maybe I was flipping two coins instead. He wasn't my brother by blood. But we'd lived happily together for three years. The family bond had been there. For me at least.
When the devil came to take me away, we promised to write every day, to never forget each other. For two years I kept my promise, writing to him every day, often using several sheets of paper when they were ruined by tears. Who'd believe my letter when it was covered in tears? I was supposed to be happy.
I wished I'd never been adopted by this cruel man, but just as evilly, I didn't wish my parents hadn't died. If they hadn't, I never would have met Edward. Maybe this was retribution. A sort of eye for an eye thing. I either wished my parents were alive, and never got to meet Edward, or I wished they had died and had him hate me two years later.
It was cruel of me, but I would rather he hate me than not know me at all. I couldn't imagine that sort of life. Finally, the tears came again. I tipped my head back against the wall and let them fall silently. My body shook with the sobs and every muscle ached.
I curled up on my side and cried, a high pitched whine leaving my lips, nearly on par with that of a dog whistle. I lay for a long time, thinking, remembering.
Then Aro came for me, and it was time for dinner. Time to be touched by this unnatural adult, to be beaten black and blue by his brother, and finally, comforted by the other. A vicious circle on an eternal loop that I would continue to live. Yet, I wouldn't trade it for anything. Because that would mean not meeting Edward. I was only nine, and I knew I loved him more than the ocean was deep and all of those other sappy lines. I knew to the bottom of my soul I would rather have met him once and left to suffer, than to have never met him at all.
It was okay that I suffered. That I cried. That I was alone. It was okay that he hated me, because at least he knew me. I wanted him to hate me. It meant he would never worry. He'd never think about where I was, what I was doing, if I was okay. It was better that he hated me. It was better I had lied.
That's what I made myself believe for seven years.
Because the best part of believing, is the lie hidden inside.
Please review your thoughts on this, I really want to know what you think about it. It's my first time trying something like this and I wouldn't appreciate anything you have to say really.