This is my first ever fanfiction and to prove it, this is the second time I have uploaded this chapter!
It occurred to me I better have a disclaimer, all characters belong to S Meyer and I hope that my stab at storytelling doesn't deeply offend her!
I glance anxiously at the antique wall-clock, digesting the ominous time it displays, I feel as though I have been punched in the stomach, all the wind leaving my sails. He'll be home in exactly ten minutes.
With that thought in mind I spring into action carrying out my tasks with the precision and attention to detail that he has come to expect.
Dashing away from the window overlooking the garden and towards the dining table, my socked feet slide along the kitchen floor. Triple-checking the position of the knife and fork I am satisfied they are level with each other and smear free. I critically cast my eyes over the rest of the table; I must view it as if through his eyes. The side plate is located to the left of the fork, just how he likes it. The water glass to the right stakes its position above the knife, trapping the ice cold water it holds. A napkin that has been folded into a triangle lays horizontally on the spotless dinner plate, and a small sprig of lavender I have cut from our garden lay atop of the napkin.
Re-tying my awful chintzy apron – a Christmas present from my beloved, I stand in the kitchen, smoothing down my long flowing chestnut brown hair. I quickly slip off my socks, tucking them into the large pocket on the front of my apron.
Grabbing the shoes lying in the corner of the room, I put on the punishing heels he naively believes I wear all day. Tottering over to the kitchen hob, I check my reflection in the gleaming stainless steel. My chocolate brown eyes widen as I take in my appearance, we had only been married a few short years, but already I was beginning to look tired and older than the 25 years that I have actually amassed. My make-up was still visible, evening out my usual flushed complexion. I don't like to wear a large amount of make-up. He, however loves me to wear bright red lipstick and as I paint the colour on my lips I feel another piece of the persona he has created slip into place.
I met my husband whilst we were at university, I was studying English and he was completing a Business degree, our rooms were on the same corridor. I noticed him straightaway, he was so attractive, all strawberry blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. The first time he acknowledged me and asked me on a date, it felt as though the world had stopped turning. As time passed we became quite serious about each other. He was so different back then, generous, attentive...caring even, and he was a wonderful lover.
Coming back to the present from my trip down memory lane, I bend slowly and pull the oven door open, depositing two freshly made bread rolls so that they can warm through, using an oven glove I take the lid off the casserole containing yesterday's leftover roast beef, giving it a stir to make sure it hasn't burnt on the bottom of the pan. I feel faintly proud of my frugalness, I knew some household money saving tips that would be enough to make even the most devout member of the Women's Institute turn green with envy.
Certain that all of the items on my mental checklist are complete, I make my way to the refrigerator and grab a bottle of Stella Artois, so apt that his beverage of choice should be affectionately known as 'Wife Beater'. Setting his lager on the counter, I stretch to retrieve a warm bottle of lager from the back of the cupboard and place it in the refrigerator at the back, swapping it for a cold one. This way it would have more time to chill, ready for when he requires it. With shaking hands I count twice to make sure that enough lager is present in the refrigerator. There must always be six beers never more, never less, in the refrigerator at ALL TIMES - because of that bastard, I won't ever forget again, it was a foolish mistake and there was no need to ever repeat it. Stroking the scar on my left upper arm through my blouse, it acts as a constant reminder to improve upon my forgetfulness, funny how excruciating pain can ensure that one was...better at remembering.
Reaching in the drawer next to the refrigerator for a bottle opener, I uncap the lager and pour it into a chilled pilsner glass, tilting the glass to ensure that there is just the right amount of foaming head. Another quick look at the clock tells me that there are only three minutes to go until the king of the castle returns home.
I walk to the front door, careful not to trip on the worn threadbare rug that covers the wooden hallway floor - I detest that rug, it was an heirloom from his family apparently. I knew that it held no actual value and it was a poor quality imitation Persian rug. Standing off to the right of the front door, I extend my right-arm at the elbow, ready to receive his coat upon arrival; my left thumb and index finger hold the pilsner glass by its small stem so as not to warm it unnecessarily. The position is false and uncomfortable if held for long periods of time, my mind drifts back to an evening where he was over an hour late, that had been...demoralizing.
My heartbeat quickens as I hear the familiar sound of his car pulling up to our house. I count slowly to ten under my breath as he parks in the drive and I listen for the slam of the car door, the gravel crunching under his expensive leather shoes as he clears the short distance to our front door.
As the doorknob turns I take in a sharp breath - He's here! Let the show begin. I feel a false smile stretch across my face, my cheeks straining with the effort.
"Isabella darling!" he booms as he comes through the door. "It's so wonderful to see you awaiting my return. It's these little things that make me realise you do appreciate how hard I work to keep you in the lifestyle that you have become accustomed."
Looking to the left, his eyes lazily rake over me, silently appraising me from head to toe, taking in my whole appearance. His gaze lingers longer than I like on my exposed collarbone and covered breasts, I feel as though I am standing here in nothing but my underwear. Clearly satisfied with what he sees, a small smile graces his thin lips and he leans in to kiss me fully on the lips. Returning the kiss, I can taste cigarettes and cheap coffee on his tongue as it forces past my lips and into my mouth. My eyes close tightly as I breathe through my nose, waiting for him to pull away first and end this torture. Eventually, he frees my mouth. "Yes, James darling, it's wonderful to see you also...of course I appreciate how hard you work, to ensure that I do not have to. I get so much satisfaction from keeping a good home for you..."
Shoving his coat and briefcase into my only free hand, he snatches the lager and takes a long swig. His eyes close as he lowers the glass and his tongue darts out to lick his lips. He grins somewhat eerily and opens his eyes, looking intently at me. "For us Isabella... you keep an agreeable home for us." I smile meekly at him and lower my head to stare at the floor. He turns on his heel and walks into the kitchen, I can hear the chair scraping along the floor as he seats himself at the kitchen table, waiting for me to serve him.
When he embraces me now, it's nothing like the passionate kisses we shared during our University years. It was in my final term, that James proposed, I was so happy we set a date for the following summer, my life was perfect and I didn't want for anything. We had a wonderful June wedding, all our family and friends were in attendance. It was shortly after we returned from our honeymoon in Italy that my Mother and Father were killed in a car accident. This was the turning point James began to act differently towards me, treating me more like property than his equal.
Placing his coat on the coat-hook and his briefcase by the door ready for the morning, I take a deep sigh and wander towards the kitchen ready to feign interest in my husband's anecdotes from his day at work.
As I clean the kitchen after our meal, I can hear James in the living room, idly flicking through the plethora of News Channels on the television. He really isn't a very bright man, despite the fact amount of news and current affairs programmes he watches. He could never persuade the rocks in his head to make some room for the knowledge he so desperately craved. Regardless of the lies he tells me, I know he isn't popular or in a position of power at work. The one year he decided to let me attend a work function, I had a very interesting conversation with a PA that worked in James' department. She confirmed everything I always suspected about his character, which somehow made it easier to suffer his self-important bullshit.
With the kitchen clean enough for a meal to be eaten off any given surface, I wander to the laundry room. Whilst loading the washing machine, I feel James' ominous presence in the doorway, he leans lazily against the doorframe, his feet crossed at the ankles. Turning my head a fraction, I look at his feet more closely and notice that he's wearing his casual shoes, I bite my bottom lip to try and suppress a smile. A surge of hope fills my heart as I wait for him to address me.
"Isabella, I'm going to the pub."
"Yes James, of course, have a lovely evening." Standing up fully, I smile brilliantly at him, grateful for the few hours of freedom that he has just bestowed upon me.
"I want to wear the cornflower blue shirt with the pin-stripe suit to work tomorrow. It'll need pressing" - Typical! Of course he'd leave me some chores to do.
My body tenses as I realise he's leaning in towards me, his hand reaches out and brushes my hair off of my right shoulder, kissing just below my earlobe. Closing my eyes I wait for the contact to be over, uncomfortable with his close proximity.
James snakes his hand down my shoulder and round to cup my right breast, he squeezes it roughly, his thumb rubbing the nipple through the fabric, I feel his breath hot in my ear "And when I get home…" pausing, he licks the inside of my ear "I'll expect the usual". I struggle to suppress the shudder that threatens to ripple its way down my spine, I can taste the bile rising in the back of my throat.
"O-f..Of course, James. I'll be waiting…"
Turning on his heel, he stalks out of the laundry room. I lean back against the wall for support. Closing my eyes I listen for the sound of James donning his coat and fiddling with the catch on the front door. I hear the door shut and his footsteps retreat down the driveway I shakily exhale, realising that I must have been holding my breath.
Shaking my head as if to clear it, relief swims through my veins, hastily I stuff all of the washing into the machine, now that James' towering presence no longer inhabits the house there isn't any need to be so overly cautious. Slipping off my punishing heels, I run to the kitchen and turn the radio on, the opening notes of ELO's 'Don't Bring me Down' come over the airwaves, this was one of my Father's favourite songs, I crank up the volume.
Dancing along to the music, the ironing is finished in a jiffy. Brewing myself a mug of hot sweet tea, I settle on the sofa with my preferred choice of escapism. Leafing through the pages of my well-worn romance novel, I pause at the picture of the author on the inside sleeve…E.A.M Cullen… I feel my heartbeat quicken and a warm feeling spreads throughout my whole body, paying particular attention to the area between my legs. He really is impossibly gorgeous, he conjures up images of the most amazing romantic settings and acts of chivalry and love against all odds in all of his works of fiction.
If only I could have a relationship like those depicted in his novels, to be ravaged in a meadow, or taken in the shower, I get hot just thinking about it.
Reading has become my only release from the current situation that seems to have crept up on me. After my parents were buried, it emerged that my Father's Accountancy Firm was experiencing financial difficulties and the business was forced to fold. I always believed that both my parents were sensible with money, however after all the assets were sold and the accounts and staff wages settled, there wasn't a penny left.
My world started to crash down around me, the loss of my parents was simply the beginning. James started working longer hours and suggested that I put off finding a full time job while I was grieving. At the time I believed he was being thoughtful, but as time went by my teaching course got put permanently on-hold and I didn't have any other qualifications other than my English degree to speak of.
I became a housewife and began to tend our home, at first it was fine. Yet James' ridiculous demands started to become more degrading. Constant orders followed by relentless criticisms wore me down. He makes me feel so inadequate and stupid, as though I am I not good enough for him. He can be so cruel at times, I'm so scared of his unpredictable mood-swings and impossible expectations.
I sit in bed reading, the glow from the bedside lamp lighting up my face and bouncing off the facets of red and brown in my long thick plaited hair. The sound of a key scratching against the keyhole breaks through the silence and is a sign that an inebriated James is home from the pub. Laying my magazine down on the bedside cabinet, I slip out of my nightshirt, folding it and tucking it under my pillow. I pull the bedcovers up to rest just below my chin and listen as each stair groans and protests under James' weight as he moves closer to the bedroom.
His fingers curl around the bedroom door and I notice how grimy his fingernails are, he wanders into the centre of the room sneering "Ah… there you are. Very good Isabella" He watches me whilst undressing messily, removing all items of clothing except for his white tennis socks, leaving his clothes in a heap. His eyes are black as coals as they lock on to mine, never moving from my face.
"I do hope you're naked under those covers" Slowly peeling back the duvet his eyes glaze over at the sight of my naked body. Involuntarily I shiver under his scrutiny, a smattering of goose-bumps dance around my form as if chasing the trail left by his leering eyes.
Gruffly climbing on top of me, I can feel his already hard cock pressing against my thigh, using his knee he roughly prises my thighs apart. Pushing all of his length into me, he begins a punishing rocking motion; my vagina is so dry and unimpressed that the burning pain is unbearable, but he doesn't notice my discomfort. As if it's a pathetic attempt at foreplay I hear him whisper breathily into my ear "Oh Isabella, you feel so good against my cock, aren't you flattered that my dick gets so hard for you?" the heady mix of real ale, cheap blended whiskey and cigarettes is pungent on his breath, he grinds further still into me. Nervous that my mouth might betray me and voice how I am really feeling, I simply nod in answer to his question and bite down on the inside of my cheek as I tighten my walls in the hope that his release will come quickly. I feel the familiar pumps of James' seed leaving his cock and emptying into me, his deep guttural groan is a welcome sign that it is all over.
Rolling off of me, the bedsprings squeak as James flops onto his stomach and begins to snore softly.
Feeling completely unfulfilled, sore and used, I close my eyes and cry silent tears. They weave a hopeless trail down my cheeks falling into my ears and hair. I try to stop my body from shaking with my sobbing so as not to wake him. Exhausted I will sleep to come, bringing with it a release of heady sweet dreams offering the passion and love, I read about and so desperately crave.
A/n: I also forgot the other vital part! A begging request for reviews and just a general nod from people as to whether they think this is worth continuing with. The second chapter is written, but requires some tweaking and the third chapter is in production. If people would be interested to see the other chapters please just let me know. I hope the English setting isn't too off-putting for anyone, but I'm not convinced I could write a believable American setting.