Story Notes: Twilight-missing moment time frame. One shot. The real reason Lauren Mallory is a bitch; the real reason she is, specifically, to Bella. I don’t own the Twilight saga—however I do own the plot line in this story.
This was originally written as a segment in my story Miracle World, under the title Black Cherry. The plot was a good one, and then I fit it into Lauren’s lack of background… and now we’ve got this. Thanks to Admittedly Obsessed for her beta-er-ness Twilighted Beta: Admittedly Obsessed
The morning was cold and bleak, but it was Forks. What else could I expect? I didn’t bother to look out the window to the iron gray sky I knew was there as I trudged down the hall toward the bathroom. The familiar shots of green and white ghost on all sides of me, and the brown floor only creaks in response to my walking on it.
The bathroom door shot up suddenly in front of me in my early-morning torpor. I turned the handle, but it barely budged in response. I was about to start banging on the body of the door, but a voice came from inside.
“What?” It was my older brother, Wesley. He had graduated from Forks High last year and he was in the process of arranging university plans Canada. I wondered why he would want to go someplace even colder, but then I felt envious. At least he was leaving this hell hole. I was stitched to the ground of this pitiful town until I could graduate.
“Nothing,” I replied. I waited for Wes to get out of the washroom. When he did, I rushed in before he was even out and I slammed the door shut. I realized I was huffing in and out heavily as I peeled out of my sticky-with-sweat clothes. I barely realized I was crying—but I didn’t anymore, it was a routine thing.
The streaming water in the shower did nothing at all to alleviate my black and sinking heart. It felt good, though, against my face. It mixed in with my saline tears and stung my eyes. When the hot water began to run out, I dreaded it. I tried to turn to maximum but all I got in response was a shocking blast of cold. I quickly turned off the shower then, lingering in the enclosed world of vinyl and metal.
But it was pointless to do so. I heard his voice at the door.
“Lauren,” he said in that sickly sweet manner. “Lauren, come on, baby. It’s time to get dressed for school.”
“Shut up and die,” I mumbled under my breath, unsure if he could hear me. He had his ears and eyes in the walls of this house. Suddenly my protective wall of vinyl and metal seemed unsafe—it was small and cramped and tried to shut me in. I got out of it shortly, wrapping a towel around myself. The one around my hair… Finally I decided to just to grab a bathrobe and slip into it, with the other towel still clinging to me.
“Lauren,” he said again, not even sounding stern or reprimanding. Fuck you! I wanted to scream. But I held my chin high, shut my eyes to dull the next wave of tears, and pulled open the door.
I barely saw him on my way out but I knew he was there. He was everywhere. I could smell the rough, burning scent of cologne and whiskey. He smelled strongly of the former in the morning and more of the latter at night. But in between those two times, he smelled like both and it was an odor I have grown to loathe.
When I was just outside my room, his hand on my shoulder stopped me. Of course he would cross the distance faster than I would. Of course he would even bother to cross the distance between me and the bathroom, even when it was closer. Of course.
“Aren’t you gonna say good morning to daddy, Lauren?” he hissed lowly, softly, and I could feel and smell his horrible breath on my face.
“Ugh,” was all I said as I peeled his hand off my shoulder and crossed into my room and closed the door all in one motion. That was routine too. I strode over to my closet, as if my airy stride was the one semblance of dignity left. The curtain was drawn, which was good; I felt too exposed with it open. Reluctantly, I peeled off the layers of towels.
I dressed quickly in whatever my hands touched. If I lingered naked for too long…who knows. Walking over to my mirror, I examined myself.
It wasn’t bad today. Just a black tight-fitting shirt and tartan drainpipes. I smoothed down the front of my shirt—the creases faded off of the symbol of my hate. These clothes were all gifts from my excuse of a father. They were very pretty, and I didn’t have to pay for them—not monetarily, anyway.
I had paid with my body; I had paid with my soul.
I shuddered, remembering all the times he had assaulted me. The times he had violated my privacy, broken through my virtue. I could barely hold the belt I had in my hands; it trembled. Shivering, I drove it through the individual hoops.
Next came the makeup. I applied it furiously around my eyes, trying madly to erase the fact that I had been crying. Crying and reminiscing. When I was done, I examined myself. The pouty, full red lips and the smoke-ringed gray eyes didn’t belong to a girl who had been spending her night waking up and falling asleep again; not a girl who was crying and fearing every second of her home existence.
I was Lauren Grace Brown. I refused to take my the last name of my “father.” It was the least I could do for mom, the only thing I could do for mom. Of course, that had confused my teachers at school, when, in my falsely bubbly script, I had signed my work “Lauren Brown” instead of “Lauren Mallory.” I didn’t ever care to explain. But what did I care? They wouldn’t get it. They wouldn’t ever get it.
Suddenly a different voice was at the door. It was Wesley.
“Lauren?” he asked softly. “You need a ride today?” Wesley was in on the dark and terrible secret I would never bring to public light.
“Sure,” I said, and my voice trembled.
He was at the door when I opened it. I was suddenly so grateful for his tall, huge bulky frame to support me. It seemed like he could fit all around me, guard me from our “father.” I was practically clinging to him as we both descended the stairs slowly. I averted my gaze, looking only at Wes, as I caught the first sight of him in the kitchen.
“You driving her today, Wesley?” he asked. I could imagine the grin pasted on his face. I felt Wes stiffen beside me.
“Fuck does it look like,” my brother replied.
“What did you say to me?” my “father” demanded.
“I said, what the fuck does it look like?” Wesley snapped. He gripped my arm and led me out the door. Soon we were in his old burgundy Honda Civic, the key in the ignition. We were down in the road.
I was so thankful Wesley hadn’t left me yet. Though I knew it was hurting him to leave me behind, he had to go to Canada. He couldn’t imprison himself in Forks because of my miserable existence. I would live with someone else while he was gone. Maybe Jessica. Or maybe Angela. Or never mind, she had that boyfriend of hers.
And then my thoughts flickered briefly to that girl. Bella Fucking Swan. How I hated Bella Swan. Her and her whole family. That idiot thought I hated her because she siphoned Tyler’s attention from me. She didn’t know a thing.
My hands balled into fists as I recalled that first night. I had called 9-1-1, expecting help to come quickly. Expecting the police to see my father’s face twisted in his still lingering orgasm that he had unfairly executed onto me. They would see my pain.
Chief Swan burst through the door minutes later, and it was then that I praised Forks for being such a small town. But then it was Chief Swan I internally cursed to the pits of Hades as I spewed my story to him—and he didn’t listen. All he saw was the assuring smile of my father, telling him that “Lauren’s going through a hard time right now.” And then Chief Swan swallowed the whole story—while I swallowed blood and tears.
We were at the school. I gave Wesley a parting hug, just before he drove away and I felt my exterior soul hardening, steeling, becoming indifferent to the qualms of these sad people. And then I caught an eyeful of Bella Swan’s face gawking at me while she clung to Edward Cullen. Tyler didn’t have anything to do with it.
I sneered back at her and she flinched away.
You are everything I cannot be, and I hate you, Bella Swan.
Chapter End Notes: Was it good? Bad? I think I got this whole other side of Lauren thing down. Review, please? Cybercookies and punch for those who dooooo (: -Koda. |
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