Twilight Fan Fiction / Twilight Fan Fiction ❯ Burn For You ❯ Secrets - The Move to Forks ( Chapter 1 )

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Prologue

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Bella's Point of View

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With a hard lump in my throat and my jaw clenched tightly to keep the hot tears locked inside my eyes, I turned my back on my mother and boarded the plane to Seattle. I knew that Renee didn't understand why I had to leave - even after I sat down in my seat aboard the plane, I still could taste her confusion and hurt on the back of my tongue, like lemons and black licorice.

I wanted to go back, to tearfully explain that my staying would only hurt her in the long run. I wanted to reveal the only secret I'd ever kept from my mother, tell her why I'd been so withdrawn for the past year, tell her why I'd become even more reclusive after the accident.

But another part of me wanted to go back for an entirely different reason.

I wanted to feel the energy and emotion running like electric charges through her veins.

I wanted to let my instincts go and pull the emotion right out of her, make her feel so intensely that her body was exhausted by the effort, take the energy emotions inspired and required and make it my own until Renee's heart didn't have the strength to beat, and her lungs couldn't find the energy to expand, and her brain lost its ability to send signals to her vital organs, and everything just shut down.

It would kill her, of course, but this part of me didn't care about that. This part of me - the predator - just wanted to be satiated. This part of me didn't care who it killed - the woman sitting in front of me, whose sadness was like dark chocolate in my mouth; the teenager across the isle from me, whose fear tasted like coppery metal. Any of them would do.

Which was exactly why I had to get out of Phoenix. So many people - so much fundamental energy fueling everyone from the smallest children to the oldest adults, thrumming in every single cell of every living person, so many rampant emotions, coating my tongue with flavor after flavor all day long - tiny tastes of the feast I'd forbidden myself to eat.

It was a constant temptation, a never-ending war of hunger versus morals. And it wearing my resistance down. If I didn't leave, who knew how long it would be until I snapped, and, when I did, who would I kill? My mother? Phil, her husband? A random stranger on the street? Someone in my class at school?

I couldn't risk it. I needed to get away before I hurt someone... again.

The face that had been haunting me for almost a year reappeared in my mind's eye. A harried looking face, painfully thin, with a pinched mouth; small, hectic, brown eyes; short, rumpled, dull brown hair. He looked harmless. But this face was so agonizing to look at - because I'd made sure that those eyes never opened again.

I ground my teeth, clenched my hands into fists, and squeezed my eyes shut as the plane took off to keep myself from crying like I had every other time his face intruded on my consciousness. I'm sorry, I tried to tell him yet again, my nose and throat burning as my tears came closer to the surface. It was an accident - I didn't know what I was, how to stop myself. But, like always, his eyes remained impassive - I couldn't tell if he'd heard me or not.

I clenched my fists tighter. She'd promised me that the dead faces went away after a while. She'd sworn that, given time, the memories wouldn't hurt anymore. But, then again, why was I holding onto her promises? She was a liar and a murderer - I knew that.

Was I so desperate to forgive myself that I would forget all the other lies she'd told me and hang onto this one? No - the memories just faded for her because she was used to killing. She was cold. Besides, I was getting exactly what I deserved. And I didn't deserve to be forgiven. This torturous regret was my penance. I would endure it.

That - the memory of the man I'd killed - was another reason why I couldn't stand to be in Phoenix any longer. Everything was a reminder of what I'd done. But there were slightly less personal reasons for leaving Phoenix, as well. I'd been sixteen when I'd become... what I was - it was still hard to even think the word - and, even though my mom hadn't noticed that I had neither grown nor changed in any way in the year since I'd changed, I knew that I wouldn't be able to avoid detection for too long.

I needed to move to Forks because, firstly, the town's population was much smaller than Phoenix's, which meant a less difficult struggle, and, secondly, because my dad, Charlie, hadn't seen me in a year. I might have a little time before he noticed that something about me was off - a little time before I had to disappear.

Which led me to my third reason for moving to Forks - lots of conveniently located woods to get "lost" in. It would be easy to take a walk one day and never come back. The rain would wash my scent away, and there were lots of animals in the forest that had the ability to eat a human girl.

If I managed to vanish in the right place at the right time - early spring maybe, when the bears were coming out of hibernation - no one would look too hard. I was a city girl, after all - if they found my mutilated backpack with the remains of a packet of beef jerky nearby, they would assume that I'd made a dumb, city girl mistake, and would come to their own conclusions. The searches would stop soon after that, I was sure.

I knew that it would hurt Charlie and Renee. But it was necessary. More than necessary - it was better for them. Much better than finding out that their daughter is a monster. A killer.

After I arrived in Seattle, I had to take a much smaller plane to Port Angeles, which was a blessing and a curse - fewer humans, but closer proximity. I practically fled the confines of the small aircraft when it landed, only to run smack into Charlie, who had been standing at the arrival gate.

"Oof," he huffed, his breath knocked out of him - I'd almost been running when I'd hit him. Charlie staggered back a step.

"You all right, Bells?" he asked, placing his hands on my shoulders to steady me.

I noticed these things and responded automatically with one small corner of my mind. The majority of my concentration was focused on ignoring the caramel-tasting happiness, marshmallow-like excitement, the crème brûlée flavor of his love for me, and buzzing life that my father was emanating - the tastes that made me yearn for more, that made the ever-present burning in my mouth escalate until it felt like I'd tried to swallow a hot ember.

My eagerness to get off the plane had distracted me - his emotions and energy had caught me off guard, making resistance ten times harder. Now I swallowed, my muscles tensing, as I tried my hardest to not kill my father. It was an intense struggle, as usual, and at first the two parts of me were evenly matched. But as soon as I gained the upper hand over my hunger, the fight became increasingly easier until I was able to manage a small smile at my dad.

Only a second had passed since I'd run into him, so my ever so slightly delayed reaction must have seemed like nothing more than tiredness, because Charlie picked up my bag for me and carried it to his car, the taste of his curiosity - honey - filling my mouth.

"How have you been, Bells? It's been so long since I last saw you."

How had I been? I'd been in near-constant pain because of the hunger I refused to acknowledge. I'd been filled with self-loathing most of the time because said hunger existed in the first place. I'd been angry at myself for endangering everyone I came in contact with. I'd been torn apart by guilt, shame, horror, and pain because I'd unwittingly killed an innocent person.

"I've been fine," I answered, so readily, so truthful sounding. The near constant stream lies I had begun to tell were becoming easier to tell all the time; at least, it seemed to be.

"Good, good," Charlie said said. The curious, honeyish flavor of his emotions changed slightly, became more salty than sweet as he grew nervous. Surprise colored me as I realized that he hadn't bought what I said.

"Are... are you sure, Bells? Renee's been saying that you've been having trouble ever since the accident and... well, you know."

Oh, yeah. I knew. Ever since the accident and... ever since the surgeon assigned to your case dropped dead for no apparent reason in your room. That was what everyone thought had happened. But it was far from true. There most certainly had been a reason for his death - me.

My parents, of course, couldn't know that. The traumatic story was that I, the unconscious victim of a car crash, had woken up to find a dead doctor sprawled across me. That was what everyone believed. Everyone but me and one other. The two of us knew the truth, and knew that the truth could not be told to anyone else.

I took a deep breath, trying to banish the doctor's face from my mind.

"I'm fine," I repeated softly, not looking my dad in the eye. I couldn't help but try to make sure that he believed me.

Charlie believed me this time - I didn't detect any red bell pepper-tasting distrust coming from him. We kept to ourselves as we exited the airport and loaded my bags into the trunk of Charlie's police cruiser - my father is the Forks chief of police.

The drive to Charlie's small two-story house was equally silent, but when we pulled into the driveway, I was surprised enough by the ancient, faded red Chevy truck parked there that I spoke up. "Is someone here?" I asked. Was Charlie expecting visitors? He hadn't warned me.

"No," Charlie muttered gruffly. I frowned slightly, puzzled by the emotions I could now taste. Strawberries - Charlie was embarrassed by something? And salt - he was worried. But I understood when he continued. "That's your homecoming gift."

"Really?" I gasped, looking at the old truck with new eyes. It was huge and solid, and for some unknown reason, I absolutely loved it.

"Dad, you shouldn't have! I brought money..."

"I wanted to," Charlie countered.

"Besides," he added, a grin spreading across his face and the amused taste of pineapple filling my mouth, "I didn't think that you'd want to be driven around in the cruiser while you were looking for a car."

I had to laugh. Charlie may not have seen me in a while, but he knew me well.

"Thank you, Dad," I said warmly. "I love it."

Charlie blushed, the faint taste of strawberry-embarrassment returning, but overpowered by the caramel-happiness he felt.

"You're welcome, Bells," he said, and climbed out of the car.

I did the same, and walked around to the truck to grab one of my bags. I followed my dad inside the house and up the stairs to my room, where Charlie left me alone to unpack. I was grateful - I needed to be alone for a while.

I sat down on my bed and looked around my room. It was very familiar. The sky blue walls, light wooden floor, and the yellowed lace curtains over the window were all the same, as was the old rocking chair in the corner. I flopped onto my back, staring at the peaked ceiling above me, letting my thoughts wander.

It was already easier here, I could tell - the closest neighbors were over a mile away, far enough that I couldn't sense them. Except for Charlie, who was watching a baseball game downstairs, there were no temptations. The relief was amazing - my mouth had been burning painfully for almost a year straight. To have that pain eased by such a token amount was heavenly. It wasn't gone, but it was much easier to bear.

But it's going to come back tomorrow, I remembered with a grimace. Because tomorrow I would have to leave the seclusion of Charlie's house, and go to school. Forks High, small-town school extraordinare. Only three hundred students from ninth grade to twelfth. This was a mixed blessing - there would be fewer people, and therefore it would be less of a challenge to keep from killing them. However, with such a small student body, I would be unable to fade into the background like I had in Phoenix.

People would notice me, talk to me, try be my friends. Any mistake that I made would be magnified and talked about. If the mistake was too glaring, then everyone would know that there was something wrong with me, and I would have to disappear that much sooner - which would still not completely solve the problem, because I'd leave rumors behind me. I would have to be careful - but then again, I would always have to be careful. I'd better get used to it.

Charlie ordered pizza, and called me downstairs when it arrived. I trotted down the stairs, my mind already wrestling with the problem that food presented. For the first few months after I'd changed, I hadn't needed to eat at all. It just wasn't necessary - my body hadn't wearied, I hadn't lost weight, and my stomach hadn't growled.

I'd had to fake eating, of course - one can only say "I'm not hungry" so many times - but after four months, as I was sitting in my Algebra II class, I'd started to experience the gnawing sensation in my stomach that had been absent for four months. My stomach had rumbled. I was starving. I'd eaten a huge lunch that day, and the then-foreign sensation of being hungry had passed, and had stayed gone for weeks. But then I'd gotten hungry again. The intervals between meals had progressively shortened, and now I needed to eat about two times a week.

Why was that happening? She hadn't eaten food in over twenty years, and was fine. Was I somehow different that she was? Was I weaker because I was new? Or was I becoming weak because I refused to feed? Would I continue declining until I died? Could I die like that - starvation? She would know the answers - but I almost thought that I would rather die than ask her, and I had no idea where she was, anyway.

I shook my head slightly as if that would knock the questions out of my mind. It didn't, but I sat down at the table with Charlie and ate anyway - today I was a little hungry. Two slices of pizza later, I went upstairs to take a shower. I wanted to wash the airport-smell out of my hair.

My taste in shampoo was another little thing that my change had, well, changed. Before, when I'd still been a human, I'd preferred strawberry-scented shampoo. But after I'd changed, that stopped appealing to me - because now I could taste the emotions of those around me, and humiliation or embarrassment tasted like strawberries. I would go about my day feeling like I had a cloud of embarrassment hanging over my head. It made me even more awkward than usual.

I stopped liking the smell - after all, it signified something bad now. So I'd thrown away all my shampoo and bought a different product - something that smelled like caramel, which now represented happiness to me. Ever since then, I'd tried to buy sweet-smelling shampoos - honey, caramel, vanilla, things like that - because usually the emotions that go with those smells are innocent and nice; things that don't distract me or bring me down.

I really needed to be happy right now. So I rubbed my caramel-scented shampoo thoroughly through my long brown hair, breathing deeply and thinking positively. I would have a good day at school tomorrow. I would not suck the life out of my classmates. Those kind of happy thoughts. I thought of them so much I even managed to convince myself that they would be true. I was actually smiling as I slipped into my room after I'd finished showering.

Of course, that couldn't last.