Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns Bella, Alice, and the crew. I own only my ideas.
A/N: Hi! This is my first Bellice piece, I hope you guys like it. I was really excited by this idea, and I hope it comes out as well as it sounds in my head. I've been asked by a quite a few people to do this pairing, and I'm sure this won't be my last story starring these two. First chapter is more like a prologue, so please excuse the length. The chapters will get longer, I promise.
This story is dedicated to Hollowgo and Shabbacabba. You guys make my ego go BOOM. Thank you.
It was raining. Again. Surprise, surprise. I had no real opinion about that, I was used to it, I had lived in the rain of Washington state every bit of my twenty-two years.
I turned away from the rain-splattered window pane that looked out over the street my apartment building towered over, sighing at the mess that I faced. There were boxes left untouched, boxes spilling newspaper and bubble wrap onto the cream-colored carpet of my living room. I had to get over the homesick feeling and just suck it up and accept the fact that I no longer lived in my security blanket of Forks, and I was indeed in Seattle, living alone in my own one-bedroom apartment.
I smiled as I sipped the black coffee in my hand. My father had finally married his long time girlfriend, Sue, and I felt it was best I move on, now that I was sure the house wouldn't burn to the ground in Dad's attempts at cooking for himself. Though he was a good man, and an honest cop, he was no great shakes in front of the stove.
I looked at the clock. It was almost nine. I sighed. I started my new job today, working as a sales manager at a music store in town, which was what I want to do to makes ends meet when I start school next year. After school... I plan to own my own music shop.
Music was my big brother growing up. It guided me, protected me, comforted me. It was my best friend, my vent, my shoulder. When I was ten, my dad bought me an acoustic Fender (which I named Love, as in Courtney Love, when I was fourteen) and bought me lessons on the weekends in Port Angeles. He made sure he was off every Saturday morning for three years, while I indulged my addiction. Because I was extremely addicted to strings rubbing my fingertips raw until they callused, and hearing the flow my hands could make from the lovely instrument in my embrace. I never had aspirations to be a huge rock star, or even be in a band. Guitar for me was personal, and I didn't want to share that piece of myself with the world, not for fame, glory, immortality, or money. It would feel like prostitution.
I set my coffee cup down on the table and moved to the hallway that led to my bedroom and its adjoining full bath. I had to be there at eleven for training, and I wasn't sure what the traffic would be like on the way there, so I figured the early bird could catch the worm. I maybe even had time for a biscuit from McDonald's.
I gathered my clothes for the day, smiling to myself when I remembered what the boss had said to me in my orientation, about how we didn't have uniforms because he strived to stay away from corporate policies. He was a private owner, and he was proud of it. All I had to wear was a name tag on a lanyard that hung around my neck. It was a beautiful thing to me that I could throw on a comfortable pair of worn out jeans and a band tee, and toss my Chucks on my feet and still be at work, making moolah on the clock.
Once I was freshly showered, hair pulled back into a low ponytail so that my Mariners fitted cap could actually fit my head, and aforementioned Chucks were tied securely to my feet, I grabbed my guitar case and locked the door as I made my way out. The hall and the elevator were both empty as I made my journey down to the wet street, and I set my guitar down long enough to pull up the hood on the sweatshirt I'd put on.
My truck was where I had left it parked behind the building in our fenced in lot, cold and quiet. The passenger door screamed in protest as I wrenched it open to stash my case inside, and I winced at the noise. My poor truck had been Dad's gift to me on my sixteenth birthday, bought from his best friend Billy, and rebuilt by Billy's son, an automotive repair child prodigy, and my best friend, Jacob. My heart twinged as I thought of Jake, with his warm eyes and white smile. That was another reason I had to leave Forks. Jacob had recently professed his undying love for me, despite the fact that I am, and have always been, a lesbian. He swore he didn't care if I loved him that way or not, he just had to tell me how he felt. I spaced from him after that, unable to be the catalyst for my best friend's broken heart. If I had the ability to be with a man, I was sure it would have been him... but it was not meant to be. And I couldn't hang around to watch him suffer. I refused. He accused me of being in love with her. Leah. I scoffed, because it wasn't true, but he would hear nothing of it, and threatened to tell my dad that I was fucking his girlfriend's daughter, my now step-sister.
Dad marrying Sue nipped that in the bud. Leah and I haven't spoken since the wedding. And Jacob let the issue go. I was safe in Seattle, away from my somewhat turbulent past in Forks.
Yes, safe in Seattle where no one knew me, no one had ever heard of Bella Swan, the police chief's daughter, the hellion, the rebel, the reject. No. No one knew me at all, and I was safe here.
A/N: So, what did you think? I'm really nervous about writing this pairing, so be nice! lol