This is a totally new area for me. I've always only written EdwardxBella stories so this is a stretch for me. I got the idea after getting on a JasperxBella kick a few weeks ago. It stemmed from reading 'Leaves of Grass'. The author completely captivated me and blew Fucktard out of the water. Since then I've been reading any and all JxB fics I can get my hands on. If you know of any that are worth reading and are pretty long then PM me the name of the story along with the authors name. I'd prefer to read a complete story, but if the author updates regularly then I'm game. Anyhoo, without further adieu, I give you 'Conviction'.~Kisses, Whitney
My life hasn't been an easy one. Right from the beginning I've had to be a fighter. My mother, if you could call her that, never 'planned' on getting pregnant with me. But I figure that when you let your dealer take it out in trade when your feigning for a fix the last thing you're thinking about is using a condom. When she was brought into the hospital sometime later for OD'ing she learned she was pregnant. I guess I could give her a little credit because by the time I was born I was only addicted to cocaine and not the rest of the shit she'd been doing prior to being pregnant. On second thought, fuck her. She left the hospital the morning after I was born and I never heard from her again.
I spent my first three months of life was spent battling the addiction in the NICU. One of the nurses got tired of me being called 'Baby Whitlock', which was my mother's surname, and named me after her brother, Jasper. When I was finally released it was straight into the foster care system where I spent my first eighteen years of life.
The majority of my childhood was spent defending myself against asshole kids who thought that just because I was a quiet skinny kid meant that I was weak and stupid. By my teens I'd been moved from family to family too many times to count because I was always in trouble for fighting. Most families didn't want to deal with a problem child like me so it wasn't very long I spent with any particular family. When I was sixteen or so I was with a certain family that actually taught me something. I'd been with them for about six months, my longest time with anyone, when my foster dad decided it was okay to beat his wife for not making dinner on time. For some reason, hearing him beat her up struck a chord with me so I decided to show the son of a bitch how it felt. Obviously, that was my last night at their home.
A few foster homes later I was eighteen and kicked out of the system with nothing but a suitcase full of clothes and my name. I wandered a bit from my home state of Texas. I took odd jobs to eat and clothe myself as necessary, but spent my nights in different shelters in whatever city or town I was in at the time. In Pennsylvania I met an old man who was from Texas himself. His nephew owned a bar in New York City and needed some help. He gave me a little bit of extra dough to make it to the city and two days later I was walking into the bar.
It was a little hole in the wall place in the worst location, which was smack dab in the middle of Manhattan. Peter Houston owned 'Pete's' and lived in the apartment above the bar with his fiancee slash only waitress, Charlotte. He let me stay in the room in the back and docked the room from my pay as a bartender. 'Pete's' was a Texas bar through and through. There wasn't a DJ only a jukebox and a few tables scattered around the 'dance floor' with a massive oak bar with bar stools bracketed to the floor all along it. Needless to say 'Pete's' didn't exactly cater to the Manhattan crowd.
I'd been working there for about a year and a half and had become almost like family with Peter and Char. They weren't planning on getting hitched anytime soon and it was hilarious to watch Peter's large frame cower and bend to Char's will. The dude was whipped. The night of my twenty-second birthday Peter had given me the night off. I had no plans so I spent my time in my little room reading. I went to the library a couple times a week to borrow and exchange books. Reading had always been an outlet for me.
I'd been lost in the world of Jules Vern's 'Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea' for about an hour or two when I heard a loud metal clunking sound outside the only window in my room. I figured it was some homeless person pilfering through the dumpster until I began to hear voices.
"I'm sorry, James. I was just talking to him. We're in the same class at NYU. It was innocent," a female voice pleaded through the sound of her tears. It sounded like she was terrified.
"Bullshit! You must think I'm some dumb fuck you can lie to while your out whoring around," responded an angry male. Within a half of a heartbeat I heard something that let me know I needed to step in. He slapped her and she cried out.
I jumped to my feet and as quickly as I could pulled on my boots. I ran through an unusually large crowd in the front of the bar to let Peter know to call the cops then pushed my way back toward the rear exit outside my room.
I scanned the alley and saw the fucker kicking the woman in the stomach while he shouted shit at her. Immediately I saw red and made my way to him. I can't say for certain what happened next. My memory is a little foggy on the details. All I know is two ambulances were needed, one for the woman who was unconscious and the other for the fucker, and I was sent to Sing Sing to await my arraignment where I was charged with felony assault and battery.
Apparently, the fucker was the son of a high standing judge in the city. He made sure that my name was drug through the mud. At my trial, the ADA mentioned my start in life along with every fight I'd been in while in school, not to mention my role in nearly beating a foster father to a bloody pulp. The woman never came into court to tell her side of what happened, but my public defender made sure to mention that she was in critical condition at Bellvue. Other than knowing that I had no idea what happened to her. Eventually I was found guilty and sentenced to two years prison and another three probation.
Six months after my sentencing and subsequent lock-up I got a letter from someone other than Peter. I opened it up in the 'privacy' of my cell and was nearly knocked off my feet at who it was from.
I'm sure you're wondering who the hell I am and why in God's name am I writing you. I'm the woman you're in prison for defending. My name is Isabella Swan, but everyone calls me Bella. I sincerely want to thank you for literally saving my life. Now I'm sure you're wondering why I was even with that asshole.
James wasn't like that when we first started dating. We met through mutual friends in the city and for the first several months he was the nicest guy I'd ever met. He seemed genuine in not only his actions but also his words. About six months into the relationship, what I thought was a slight bit more than the usual jealously people have in relationships turned into a literal green eyed monster. He wasn't only angry over me spending any about of time with my friends, but it had spread to include my family.
I never wanted them to see how James treated me or the results of his temper. The night you saved me we were out to dinner with some of his friends. I had gone to the restroom and on my way back I ran into a classmate of mine from NYU. We were talking about our upcoming final exams and subsequent graduation when James grabbed my arm and drug me out of the restaurant and into the alley.
He pushed me into the dumpster and I tried to explain about the guy from the restaurant, but he told me I thought he was stupid. He slapped me and when I fell over I hit my head pretty hard on the corner of the dumpster.
From there you'll have to rely on your account of what happened on your end. I was in a coma for two months. I had several broken ribs, one of which punctured my lung and a ruptured spleen that was hemorrhaging too much so they removed it. When I woke up my parents explained what happened with you, that you'd been found guilty and sentenced only two days prior to me waking up.
I only stayed in the hospital long enough for some follow up testing to come back and then I was released. I stayed in the city with my parents for a couple weeks until James decided he would try to bully me into taking him back. Eventually I filed a restraining order and moved to the west coast with my parents. I ended up having to file another restraining order here in Washington and to change my cell phone number.
I finished up my Bachelor's degree in Education via correspondence and this past fall started on my masters at U-DUB in Seattle. My dad, who is the police chief in my hometown, was able to track down where you were sent and the information I needed to contact you after me begging him for the past few months.
When he told me some of your life's story and how you didn't have any family I wanted to not only offer my thanks and appreciation, but also my companionship. I'd like to get to know you and for you to get to know me. If I could I'd go and visit you, but I'm a little afraid of being anywhere near the state of New York. Not to mention it's three thousand miles away.
There's not much to say about me really. I just turned twenty-two September thirteenth and I hate celebrating my birthday. It's not like anything bad happened on my birthday to traumatize me. It's just that the celebration of one's birthday is about one day being centered around them. I hate being the center of attention. It comes from feeling put on the spot and when that happens I usually make an ass out of myself. I'm clumsy by nature so usually I fall over air all the time which causes people to laugh and me to be embarrassed.
Speaking of which, I'm a blusher. I like to think it wouldn't be so bad if I didn't have the pallor of an albino. Seriously my skin is as white as the snow in the North Pole. It's ridiculous how sunburned I got during Spring Break my sophomore year in Cancun. I only went because I was meeting up with my high school best friends for the first time since we all went to college.
My best friends, Emmett and Alice McCarty and Rosalie and Edward Cullen, are actually siblings. What's even funnier is they are all 'with' each other. Emmett is twenty-three is engaged to Rosalie who is my age. Em went to Notre Dame on a football scholarship, but blew his knee out his senior year. He was majoring in sports education anyways so when he graduated he moved to Seattle to teach. He got back with Rose even though they were always off and on. She was studying engineering at U-DUB. They live in our home town, Forks, now where Em works at the high school and Rose owns a mechanics shop.
Edward and Alice got married two weeks after our high school graduation and went to school together in Europe. Edward is now a member of the Seattle Orchestra while Alice is a personal shopper with her own business and a line of 'affordable yet stylish' clothing. Em and I joked on Edward for jumping the gun on tying the knot so quickly because he didn't want to go to Europe with Alice and 'live in sin'. By the way, Edward and Rose are the preacher's kids at our church.
My parents aren't really 'church' people. Really the only reason I went was because I got drug along by Alice and Em, who had fallen in love at first sight with Edward and Rose when they moved to Forks during junior high. I was always the fifth wheel after that, but they did try to keep the PDA to a minimum throughout the years. When they did break off to do shit I don't want to know about with their significant others, I always found myself with my nose in a book. I read and still do read just about anything I could get my hands on except Harlequin novels. That shit shouldn't be considered a part of the literary world.
You know, I think that because I was always so clumsy and the fact that I preferred reading over pretty much anything is why I always hated sports. That's not saying I didn't watch sports I just never participated. Em was a linebacker in high school while Edward played baseball. Rose and Alice were cheerleaders too so I got stuck watching football, baseball, and basketball every year. Not to mention my dad's love for his 52' flat screen and any and all sports he could find on TV.
My mom got tired of watching it all so she drug me along with her to different classes at the community center in Port Angeles. One week it'd be glass blowing and the next it'd be making pottery. She tried every class the center offered then moved on to different exercise crazes and so on. She's a little scatterbrained, but my dad and I love her. I'm actually what some people would call a 'late in life baby'. My parents got married straight out of high school because my mom was pregnant, but a month later she miscarried. She ended up suffering numerous more miscarriages over the years, but when they were both thirty-five I was born. I was born completely healthy, but my mom nearly died giving birth. She had to have a hysterectomy due to hemorrhaging too much. So I'm an only child to only children whose own parents passed away before I was born.
I guess I wouldn't know much about how your life went, but if you'd like to tell me I'd be more than happy to listen. It doesn't have to be about your past or even what's going on now. Hell, you could tell me about your dreams or hopes for the future. Anything you want. I'm here to listen and, if you'd like, to help.
I immediately wrote back thus beginning our status as pen pals. Aside from Peter and Char I never had friends before and Bella became one. She told me of how she was doing in school and about working as a teacher's aide at a high school in Seattle. I told her about my life prior to being locked up and about Peter and Char. I tried to keep the prison talk out of our letters at first, but she called me on my shit. She said that she didn't need her, as I had said it, 'pretty little virgin ears' protected from life on the inside. She went on to say that she wanted me to, as she put it, 'pop her cherry'.
This brought our conversations through our letters to a whole other place. She said that through letters she 'kind of' fell for me when she didn't even know what color my eyes were. I responded, 'Blue and I kind of fell for you too.'
The next letter I received from her had a picture of her enclosed. She said that Edward's hobby was photography and that he used her to test out different cameras, features, lighting, and developing. When I finally allowed myself to see the picture I was in awe. There in a meadow of wild flowers of all shapes, sizes, and colors sat an angel. She was sitting cross legged leaning back with her hands braced behind her on the ground. She wore a white tank top and a pair of dark wash jeans with no shoes. Her dark hair hung in large curls in layers around her heart-shaped face and I was sure it fell down her back too. The sun was shining behind the camera so what was probably just a dark brown hair color looked almost auburn in the sunlight. The light also made her large,wide brown eyes sparkle with delight and her smile seem infectious. Simply put, the woman was a goddess and I told her so.
She wanted a picture of me, but all I was able to offer was the mug shot that her had access and she didn't want that. So I simple described myself as best as I could:
...Most dudes here are covered in tattoos from their different gang affiliations over the years, but I've managed to keep to myself and keep my skin clean. I kind of tower over people at six foot three inches and while I might not weigh a lot, I'm muscular. There's not much else to do here besides lift weights or read, so I've managed to bulk up a bit. I'm not like a body builder or even that skinny muscular shit. More of a combination of both, I guess. Before I got here my hair was kind of shaggy looking. It hung almost to my shoulders in wavy curls, but the douches here simply buzzed my head. If I remember correctly it was kind of a honey color, but being that it's so short now it looks like a dirty blond color. I got some scars instead of tattoos. Some are from being in the hospital when I was born and hooked up to all those machines, but others are from... well... fighting. Not all foster families I lived with lived in the best neighborhoods, Bella. Sometimes I'd find myself up against a switchblade or a broken beer bottle...
The letter I received after that was littered in water marks along the pages and I correctly guessed that she'd been crying as she wrote it. She said that reading about how hard my life had been was an eye opening experience for her. She said that she wanted to do nothing but kiss each and everyone of my scars to show how much she loved and admired me for rising above my situation in life and trying to change. She went on to say that she had signed on as a volunteer at a community center in need in a rundown neighborhood in Seattle. That terrified me.
I pleaded with her to stop, but she refused. She did, however, enroll in self-defense classes and began to carry pepper spray with her wherever she went. She assured me that whenever she arrived at the center she parked her car under the lights in the parking lot and never left the building after dark without the security guard's escort to her car. He even stayed with her until she was safely in her car and pulling away. This eased my fears, but not enough. I wanted desperately to be there to beat the shit out of anyone who wanted to put their hands on her or harm her in anyway.
March of my final year in prison rolled around and along with it came a unannounced visit from the representative that would set up my probation once I was released. When I arrived in the woman's office under the ever present watchful eye of the fucktards that turned a blind eye to some of the shit that went down on the block, I sat in the comfortable cloth chair across from her.
"Mr. Whitlock, I'm sure you're wondering why I've asked you to come in," she said in a pleasant tone. I couldn't have really given a shit, but I wasn't in a place where I could argue as I didn't want to jeopardize my upcoming release. I simply nodded to her in a respectful manner that I'd used on the many different social workers I grew up with.
"I'm sure you're aware that once you are released from your term here that you have to check in with a probation officer within forty-eight hours or you'll be found in violation of your probation and returned to prison. When I received a phone call from a probation officer who actually requested your case, I became intrigued," she continued as she arched her brow as she placed envious on the word 'requested'.
"It seems that you have no family or friends to mention of and therefore nowhere for the state to release you. You see, you have to have a home address to give the officer when you meet with him initially," she stated as she clarified the terms of my release.
I became terrified that I wouldn't be let out of what I came to know as hell and apparently it showed. She quickly smiled and said, "Relax, Jasper. Between the officer, a concerned citizen, and I we were able to work everything out for you."
I immediately relaxed, but found myself curious. "What do you mean 'concerned citizen'?"
She smiled widely and said, "It turns out that the recently retired police chief of a small town in Washington had a connection in Seattle. He was able to talk to a good friend of his and convinced him to attempt to take your case. From there I was put in touch with a," she paused to look down at her yellow legal pad then returned her eye contact, "Isabella Swan. She has requested that you be released into her custody with the assurance that she'd take you to your meetings with the officer."
My mouth hung open in shock. I couldn't believe what I'd heard. Bella was... helping me? In my experience, very few people actually helped someone else without expecting something in return. I knew that she would never ask me for anything, it was a testament to her character, but there had to be something I could do for her in return. I was interrupted of my internal rambling by her desk phone beeping loudly and another females voice stating that her conference call was on hold.
I went to stand assuming that the conversation was over when she stopped me. "Sit. You need to hear the final plans."
I took my seat as she turned the call on speakerphone. "Former Chief Swan?"
"I'm here," came a gruff male voice.
"Mr. Orlando?" the woman in front of me asked of the next person to which came a jovial male reply.
The woman, who I realized I didn't even know the name of, looked up at me with a knowing smile on her face and said, "Ms. Swan?"
I unconsciously leaned forward to hear her reply when I heard the sweetest voice in my twenty-four years.
I smiled involuntarily at the sound and the lady in front of me spoke again, "I have Mr. Whitlock here so let's go over the plans we've set up for him."
One by one, they each spoke of their role in my release. The former chief Swan stated that once he was made aware, by his daughter no less, of my plight he set about getting Mr. Orlando on board. Mr. Orlando called and spoke with the representative in front of me about the conditions of my release. He was then contacted by Bella, who vouched for me and stated that her home address would be mine. I was sure that I heard Chief Swan snort and grumble something to the effect of, 'It's not like the stubborn girl would listen to a word her father said.' He then earned a sharp reprimand by Bella.
She then spoke of how, once she made Mr. Orlando aware of my home address, she called and spoke with the woman still smiling at me. She informed her that she'd been in contact with me after I was locked up. It was then I learned the best news out of all the good news I received in my time in that office.
"I'll be arriving at the prison on the day of your release to," she cleared her throat unnecessarily before continuing, "escort you back to Washington and then to Mr. Orlando's office the day after our flight back," she said.
I'm sure she heard the smile in my voice as I spoke for the first time since the call started, "You're coming here!"
Bella laughed, a sound that was music to my ears, and said, "Yes, Jasper. I'm coming there! I'll be waiting in the lounge the minute you're sprung."
I laughed back at her and said, "That is by far the best thing I've heard in the past two years. Hell, the past twenty-four years!"
The representative smiled at me and said, "Well if that's all, I'd like to give Jasper his birthday present."
I looked up at her in shock that she'd not only known it was my birthday, but that she'd gotten me anything.
"Former Chief Swan, Mr. Orlando, excuse me for being blunt but could you kindly hang up," she said. The two men called out their goodbyes and quickly hung up their lines to the conversation. "Ms. Swan, I'm going to give Jasper fifteen minutes of semi-private conversation with you."
I heard Bella gasp as I stared in awe at the woman before me. "Jasper, you can pick up the receiver and speak to Ms. Swan for fifteen minutes, but I have to stay in the room with you. I will remain quiet until you have a minute left then you will have to hang up."
I nodded and reached out my hand for the receiver. Tentatively, I picked it up, but before I could put it to my ear the woman said quietly, "I'll be on the other side of the room with my iPod ear bobs in place blissfully unaware of what you are speaking about. Happy Birthday."
I smiled widely at her then gently put the receiver to my ear. "Bella."
Please read & review. I haven't written anything more because I'm waiting to find out if this is worth continuing. BTW, I will be updating 'Twisted' sometime this week. ~Kisses, Whitney