Mermaid Motel

By MusicTwilightLove

Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight, and I don't want to. It'd blow up in two seconds. Also, I was listening to "Mermaid Motel" by Lana Del Rey while writing this. It has nothing to do with mermaids. I just listen to Lana a little too much. It's all good in the neighborhood.

Bella Swan is your best friend.

No, forget that. She's your one true love. The light of your life, the fire of your loins, all of that.

You started out as best friends, of course. That's how the best relationships always start. Her vampire ex-boyfriend had broken up with her, and you were there to pick up the pieces. It wasn't easy, but it worked. It worked, alright.

Bella Swan is yours. Yours, yours, always yours is what she whispered into your throat as she kissed you the last time you saw her, her lips softer than anything you've ever felt.

You believed her, and you still do believe her.

It's been almost two years since her boyfriend left. His name doesn't matter anymore. Bella's at some college in southern California and you're stuck at home, still in high school, bored out of your mind. Nothing's happening.

It's July. The beginning of July. Bella is going to be home in two days for Independence Day. You don't wanna wait for two more days. You want to see her this hour. This minute. This second.

You start to wonder if she's moved on. In the letters Bella writes (because she's so old-fashioned, so very Bella) she always talks about how much she loves southern California. It's hot and sunny. She loves that. She's beautiful and fragile. Other guys love that, too, you bet.

You start to wonder if she really will come home to Forks, to La Push, and to you. She should have come earlier in the summer, but she didn't have the money back then. Her job's not the best.

You're an idiot, you tell yourself. Bella will be here in two days. You can wait. Stop crying about it.

But you can't. You hate college. Well, no, that's unfair. You hate the fact that Bella's in college all the way in California, and that you haven't seen her in person since Christmas. Christmas! You'd be lucky even if she remembers your name.

For the next two days, you fantasize Bella in every way, shape, and form you can think of. At first it was innocent—hand-holding, little kisses, whispering sweet little nothings into her ear—and then it got different. But the innocent stuff was alright.

God, you miss Bella. You miss her warmth, her touch; you miss the way she blushes, the concentrating face she gets when she's thinking hard; you miss her dark brown hair, her creamy skin. You miss Bella Swan.

Independence Day eventually comes, and you're just thinking about her when your doorbell rings. You answer the door, and voilà. Bella Swan is standing right on your front porch. You grab her in your arms and she giggles as you do so.

You two hug, and it's like she was never gone in the first place. She sighs into your neck.

I missed you, Jake is what she tells you.

You set her down, and you look at her for a little bit, realizing that yes, she is here. She's here, she's here, she's here. This isn't a dream. And then you kiss her.

The kiss is electric. Amazing. Sparks are flying.

She's yours again.

Bella whispers sweet little nothings in your ear later that night as you two are naked and in a bed and breathing pretty hard. You guys got a motel room between Forks and La Push.

You call her lavender, and you call her sunshine. She had the best parts of both. She touches your face softly and you know that this is heaven. It's right there, in her eyes. Perfection.

Yours, yours, always yours, she murmurs.

And you still believe her.