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So, they say Guardian Angels come down from wherever to love and protect us, right? Wrong. I could sue the liars that proclaimed such a thing.
The first time I met HIM, he was sitting on my bed, throwing a tennis ball at my wall, the second time he wa sitting at his grave, and the third? I don't even want to GO there...
Edward Cullen is not a Vampire in this story. He's a Guardian Angel, as is the rest of the Cullen family.
I have posted this story on another site, too, but I thought it would look nice if it was a BellaxEdward thing.
Please review! this is my first story here!
1. Chapter 1
Word Count 1962
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Why is it that all the weirdest, abnormal, stupidest things have to happen to me? What have I, Isabella Marie Sawn (Call me Bella), ever done to the world to deserve this? If it is for that can of Diet Coke I left on the park bench the other day, then I am very sorry and I swear I will join the Recycling Club…If, you know, such a thing actually exists.
But if it isn’t for that can of Diet Coke, then why is it that I’m the one standing in front of the wooden door marked heavily detention and not Eric? I mean, it was totally him who sprayed my locker and then made out it was me. Why would I spray my own locker? I’m not even the artistic type! I don’t like spray cans! There fumes itch my nose and make me feel miserable…or high. Depends the brand.
I sighed heavily and looked down at the green slip in my hand. My name was scrawled on the top along with the date, time and all my contact information.
Great, I thought as I pushed open the wooden door, if my mother finds out, I’m dead. Actually, more than dead. Try cold, buried and forgotten.
I looked quickly around the room. Apart from me, there was only one other girl there and she was the Detention teacher. There were a couple of guys from some of my classes and the schools Class A Bad Boy who was sitting in the back, carving the sleek wood of the tables with his pointy compass.
No one looked up, thank God, as I walked in and I only had to set the slip in the little wire basket on the desk before I was free to scuttle away to a seat in the back, far hidden from any prying gaze. Even if, you know, no one was interested in little old me. They would be if they go to the Trophy Room and they would see my little trophy for winning that years Essay Writing Competition. OK, maybe they wouldn’t, seeing as all of these are bad boys with a reputation for not studying or working.
One question kept popping up in my mind: what do you do in detention? I didn’t have the guts to ask the teacher and all the other guys looked as if they would bite your head off if you even tried talking to them.
“Psst.” Someone hissed from behind me. I was sure I had taken the back most seat but apparently I was wrong.
I turned my head a little to acknowledge the whispered call.
“Hey, d’you have a pen?” He asked. I was sure it was a he, unless girls now had deep voices that seemed to laugh at you when you blushed a very not pretty shade of umber.
“Um, yeah,” I said just as quietly and fished in my bag for my Bic. I handed it back to the boy and caught a glimpse of his hand. Big with a deep tan and long, elegant fingers with one silver ring - the band was a firing dragon - adorned his middle finger.
I looked away as soon as his fingers enclosed over the pen and I heard him whisper ‘thanks’ before the sound of pen scratching paper filled my ears.
I settled down and fumed a little about the why’s, when’s and there fore’s of this situation. Surely, Eric would now take advantage of how weak I looked? I didn’t even protest when the Janitor set me the punishment! Well, I did tell him - or tried to - that I was allergic to spray can fumes but he just couldn’t take the hint, could he?
My brother was right, it was a cold, cruel world out there. One of his little phrases of wisdom he seemed to say only when he was drunk. I sighed heavily and tapped my fingers on the tabletop, wishing that I was somewhere else. Well, I guess every boy in this class was wishing they were somewhere else.
Abruptly, the pen on paper scratch stopped and silence filled my ears. It felt louder than noise. I didn’t want to turn round, nor did I want to see the boys face. He was probably gorgeous, funny, intelligent and everything a girl could want.
It seemed to be a long while before the scratching sound started up again, only to be stopped by the four o’clock bell ringing loudly in the empty hallways.
I jumped out of my seat and was out of the room like a shot, rushing down the stone steps and walking quickly down the road toward the bus stop.
I remembered when I was in the shower that I had left my only working pen in the hands of a guy that sat behind me, and who’s face I didn’t know. Silently, I cursed myself. I would have to sneak one out of my brothers room. Emmett wouldn’t know unless he was told…
Towelling my hair, I opened my bedroom door and set my dirty clothes in the basket near the door. I didn’t notice the low, repetitive thump, thump, thump until I straightened up and turned towards my bed.
But when I turned round, I did notice the sound…and the boy lying on my bed making that sound. He was throwing a yellow tennis ball at my wall, a bored expression on his face.
I squeaked and dropped my hair towel. Thank God I had dressed in the bathroom, even though, you know, I was wearing my short shorts and a tight vest as my pyjama’s.
The boy turned and saw me, “finally. Why do girls take so damn long in showers?” he said casually, as if he was used to sneaking into girls room and give them a heart attack.
I didn’t say anything, I only stared at him. What was a boy - a hot one too - doing in my room, throwing a tennis ball at my wall and looking as if he belonged there?? Well, at least he had remembered to take off his boots, which I noticed were lying just under the window sill. I really hated it when people climbed onto my bed and forgot to take their shoes off. Manners much?
“So? Are you mute?” The boy asked quite rudely swinging his feet off the bed and looking at me as if I was mentally disabled.
“No,” I croaked, “But, excuse me, who are you? And what, exactly, are you doing in my room?” The rest of this came out as an embarrassing squeak.
The boy swept his copper bronze hair back off his eyes, and the look of disapproval he was giving me deepened, “What do you mean, what am I doing here? You called me.”
I called- wait, what?!
He saw the look of confusion sweep over my eyes and he glared, “Oh wait, don’t tell me you’re another
one.” Um, excuse me? Who was this guy? And what the hell did he mean by: don’t tell me you’re another one.
The confusion, anger and puzzlement must have shown on my face, seeing as the boy sighed and looked heaven wards.
Muttering something under his breath, he grabbed my arm and forced me to look at him, his eyes searching my face for something.
“What are you doing?” I asked. I really didn’t like to be touched by strangers.
“Examining my patient, what else?” He said in a voice that asked me if I was dumb enough to not notice it.
“Your patient? Are you a doctor?” I squeaked, moving away from his touch. He looked at me as if I was insane, which, counting how many times something stupid left my mouth, I probably was.
“No,” he said slowly, as if he was talking to someone exceptionally retarded, “I’m…an angel.” I burst out laughing. I couldn’t help it. If he meant a Hells Angel, then yeah of course he was. I mean, Angel’s don’t wear leather jackets, combat boots and do not have a tattoo of a skull on their wrist. Apparent Angel Dude stared at me with revulsion etched in his soft features and his mouth was pulled down at the corners in an arrogant frown.
“You done yet?” he snapped when I slumped onto my bed and my laughter subsided into soft giggles. Still, this seemed to piss him off even more.
“You’re…You’re an…angel?” I gasped between giggling fits. Apparent Angel Dude rolled his eyes and gestured at himself in a oh-what-do-you-know-it kind of way.
“Yes, I’m an Angel and you belong in an asylum.” He snapped, glaring daggers at me.
“Thanks. Well, if you’re an angel, then maybe I’ve won the lottery. Can you leave now, please? I still need to blow-dry my hair,” I hissed, anger making the words drip of my tongue like poison.
“Actually, I leave when I want to,” He replied smoothly, perching himself on the edge of my desk which was scattered with disks, late homework’s and a few letters from my school.
“If you’re an Angel, doesn’t that mean you’re dead?” I asked.
“Yeah. So? Does a dead man in your room make you uneasy?” Oh no. I’m used to have dead men in my room everyday. That’s what I wanted to say, instead, I found myself saying - or rather, squeaking -
“No, why should it?” I’m a bad girl, lying to an angel. Not that I believed he was one, anyway. Still…
Apparent Angel Dude gave a bark of laughter, “Whatever, princess. Anyway, what I want to know is:
Why did you call me?”
You mean, how did I call you, I thought. How did I? I don’t know this guy, so he wasn’t on my messenger list, or my contact list on my phone, so how could I have called him? He wasn’t making any sense. At all.
Sighing, I said, “I didn’t call you! That’s what I’ve been trying to get into your head all this time!” Angel Dude raised an eyebrow. Was he doubting me?
“Right. So I got sent for no reason? Well that’s another life wasted!” He muttered darkly. I looked at him and narrowed my eyes. How was it that I was getting into a fight with a hot, sexy, bad boy looking angel? If he was one anyway…
“Whatever. You’re one weird person,” I replied, waving a hand for emphasis. He looked shocked.
“My name’s Edward, not ‘Apparent Angel Dude’ as you like to think of me.” His voice was smooth and low, like velvet covering my body. I was instantly shocked as he said the words. How did he know I was thinking that? Was he psychic?
He’s an angel, a tiny voice whispered in the back of my head.
“See? Even your conscience is telling you that I’m an Angel.” I blanched. Oh great, so I know I couldn’t even think in privacy?!
“Right,” Before I could say anything else, the front door slammed and my brother called, “Bella?”
“Coming!” I shouted back.
When I turned round, toward the desk where Edward had been sitting, I saw the place was empty.
Instead, a fine mist hung in the place where he had been sitting, roughly outlining the shape of his perfect body.
Maybe I was wrong after all.