Author's Note: This is my first stab at pure A/H. I like to write two fics at once, and this one will hopefully appeal to Becoming Bella Swan readers. Since BBS is in the last chapters (as is Imprinted), I wanted to introduce this sick little project I've been working on. The genre is a little experimental: a blending of angst and comedy. Certain elements of the characters are canon, with a little twist of nasty and fun. Please note that Stigmato is in essence an MA fic, and it will include dark themes, adult situations including lemons, and some minor drug use... oh and Canadian spelling! Each chapter will begin with Bella's facebook status as there were be lots of references to social media.
Here are the folks I couldn't do this shit without. Please note that there's a chance many of them were drunk during this editing process:
Primary beta: jkane180 (drunk)
Pre-readers: mac214 (drinking), wordslinger (um, not drinking but altered by some sort of substance) and bforqueen (European so probably drunk)
Hand holders: hezpixie (very drunk), Dragonfly336 (not sure) and JaspersIzzy (cloudy, with a chance of drunk)
Chapter one: Suicide is Painless
Facebook status: Killing myself.
The bathwater had cooled to tepid, but still, I held a steak knife to the bluish flesh of my wrist without any real follow-through. The serrated edge was duller than I expected. Shit, this was stupid. Who was I kidding? It's not like I had the stomach to slice through my skin, not when I couldn't even apply enough pressure to tear through the first dead layer. Also, what if I didn't kill myself all-the-way dead and contracted Tetanus or something?
Do not misunderstand my intentions; I totally intended to die. I mean, I thought I did, but there was no way I could butcher myself like a stuck pig. Perhaps I should explain myself...
To state the obvious: I was fucking depressed. It was beyond anything I could articulate on my sad little blog (ironically called "Sylvia Plath is Dead," but I digress). I was shrouded in a hackneyed darkness of epic proportions that I couldn't see any logical way out of. Intellectually, I understood that I was young, only eighteen, and likely my perspective would change given enough time and opportunity, but who the fuck took the time to check in with the left side of the brain when contemplating offing oneself?
So after some well thought out tweeting with my childhood friend, Jake, I made a twitter poll list entitled "Best Ways for Bella Swan to End her Pathetic Existence." In hindsight, not exactly the smartest plan, but I loved making lists. Taking random information and formulating a workable plan out of it was like mapping the stars; finding order in the seemingly chaotic universe. The Devil is not, in fact, in the details; God is.
Faced with the bitter reality that my plan didn't work, I forced myself to admit defeat. My fingers were prunes, and my fucking wrists were sore. Man, I should have known I'd fail. Why did I bother pulling a towel out of the linen closet if I was supposed to bleed out in the tub? Renee would have been pissed if I stained the good Ralph Lauren towels. Actually, that in itself made it almost worth shedding a few drops of blood onto the white terry cloth.
The water sloshed over the side of the tub as I heaved my body out. It didn't matter that I soaked the floor. It didn't matter that mould would now grow under the shaggy bathmat, and everyone would inhale spores and die of the lethal biohazard that water and natural fibres breed. Apathy is part of the human condition. It was a cold comfort that maybe I would die and no one would care.
That's when I slipped and cracked my head open on the faucet. Hm, best laid plans, and all that...
My last thought before my vision darkened was: I'm one of those assholes they write about in chain emails. I'm a Darwin Award recipient.
-({})-
"Bells." Charlie looked old. Did I do that to him?
"Hey, Charlie." I did my best to smile, allowing him to relieve me of my bags.
"Is that it?"
"Nah, Mom's shipping the rest."
He nodded and pulled my backpack onto his shoulder, towing my luggage behind him.
SeaTac was a zoo. I huddled against father's side before I realized I was dangerously close to actually touching him. He stiffened as my sweater brushed his shirt.
"A lot's changed since you last visited," he explained, feigning excitement.
"Oh yeah?"
"We, er, have a Wal-mart..."
"Forks has a Wal-mart?"
"Nah, Port Angeles does."
"Awesome. Now I know where to go to buy ammo for my rifle." You know, to shoot myself in the head with.
"You thinking of hunting?" Dear Lord, his eyes actually lit up at the prospect.
"No, Charlie. Maybe just fishing, okay?"
He nodded and loaded my bags into the back of an old Chrysler. "We're going fishing tomorrow. I know Jacob would love to see you."
"Sounds good, Dad."
"Need to stop in at Newton's for some new lures. Do you mind, Bells?"
"It's fine." I yawned. Really, it wasn't fine at all. I just wanted to go home, and by 'home,' I did not mean my father's house. Not for the first time, I wished my mother wasn't such a weak piece of shit. Renee needed to be handled, and I was tired of being the one to do it. She was Phil's problem now.
Fuck, Renee's guilt trip was on an infinite loop in my head.
"Bella? Bella? You scared me! How could you do this to us?"
"I slipped, Mom. It was just an accident."
Only I could manage to slip and fall onto a dull knife, effectively slicing through my arm. Of course, my drama-queen of a mother refused to listen to the voice of reason. It was just an accident. What kind of idiot would commit suicide by both cutting her arm open and giving herself a concussion?
"It'll just take a couple of minutes, Bells." Charlie wrenched the gearshift into park and cut the engine, but the truck still shuddered like it was suffering from some sort of automotive palsy. "Takes her a while to calm down. Lemme help you out of the car. Billy said the door sticks a little."
"What's with the crap-mobile? What's wrong with the cruiser?"
"Well, I was going to wait but, it's a gift... for you."
"Me? You're giving me this piece of shit? Um, thanks?" Did I look like a hillbilly? Shit, I was so grateful to get out of the pile of rust, I suddenly had a greater appreciation for the phrase, 'get the fuck out of Dodge.'
"I just want to see you smile again, Bells. I figured you'd want your own car." Well, fuck. That was sweet.
"Yeah, Dad. It's great..." My tongue tripped over the last word as something shiny in the parking lot caught my attention. A silver Volvo glared haughtily at my crap-heap, and instantly, I was ashamed. "Woah... fancy." Even fancier still was the boy who emerged from the vehicle, his hair arranged on his head like he had been fucking all afternoon and then he sprayed it in place during the post-coital afterglow. He ran his hand through his hair a few times and dropped his keys into his front pocket, pulling the jeans down slightly in the process. I became aware of drool forming on my chin. Shit, he was better than anything my wet dreams could ever conjure up, and I suddenly regretted not packing my dildo in my carry-on. He strutted into the sporting goods store, moving with an almost feline grace.
He was so beautiful that he practically sparkled.
"Coming, Bella?"
"Almost," I gasped, before remembering that it was my father speaking so, ew. "I mean, yeah, I'm... following."
Charlie shot me a bewildered look and disappeared inside the store while I pondered why beautiful creatures like this boy had to be put on the earth to torment the morbidly plain like myself. Chewing on my fingers like an asshole, I paced a path in front of the entrance and tried to pull up Tweetdeck on my iPhone but the Fail Whale was beached on my screen. "Mother shitter!" I cursed and walked into the front door as it swung open.
"Holy fuck, are you okay?" a chorus of Angels sang from somewhere above me... well, not really, but the voice was so beautiful it was practically inhuman. I didn't need to look up, it was plainly clear the owner of said voice was Mr. Sex-on-a-stick himself. He offered me a hand, and I stared at the beautiful fist from my spot on the ground, trying to figure out what I was supposed to do with the appendage. "May I help you up?"
"I'm fine," I said, except my nose was totally bleeding.
"Shit, your nose. Come to my car, okay?" he pleaded, but I didn't move. "I'm not a psycho; you're perfectly safe with me, I swear." Yeah, that so wasn't true. I was obviously a danger to myself and others.
"I'm fine," I repeated. He ignored me and removed his shirt, pressing it up to my nose.
"Tilt your head back."
"I'm so sorry!" I stammered.
"Are you apologizing for bleeding?"
"Yeah, I guess so."
His eyes narrowed, but he smiled. "You're Isabella Swan, right?"
"Bella... but, yeah." I coughed up a little blood as girlishly as I could manage.
"I'm Edward Cullen." He balled up the shirt and turned it around, applying pressure with the clean side. "I'm calling my dad, okay? He'll come see you."
"We only just met," I protested like a retread.
Edward smirked. "He's a doctor.
"Right." Someone shut me up! "Actually, I'm fine. Really." I pulled the shirt away from my face and so help me, Edward tilted my head back and peered up my nostril.
"I think the bleeding stopped."
"Excellent. Do you want your shirt back?"
"You can go ahead and keep that."
I sneezed a blood clot onto his shoe. "I'm really sorry."
"It's okay, Bella. I'm going to let your father know what happened, okay? I'll be right back."
"Ah-huh," I nodded.
"Don't go anywhere." For some reason he looked incredulous.
"I won't." See, asshole? I cursed at myself, This is why you can't have nice things. Could I have fucked up a first impression any worse? Well, probably...
He disappeared inside the store, and I stared sadly at his blood-stained shirt. It had obviously been expensive. Now it couldn't even be used as a rag.
Somehow everything I touched turned to shit.
There was no way I could face Edward again. Suddenly overtaken by my intrinsic flight instinct, I fucking bolted as if I was being chased by some demon other than my own cowardice.
Author's Note: What did you think? Good, bad, strange? I need feedback!