Darkness to Light
Bella Swan is the perfect child. Charlie and Renee are married and living in Forks with her. But Bella feels wrong. She’s diagnosed with depression that takes over her every thought. That is, until a certain someone comes to Forks. …A certain someone with gold eyes… AU.
Okay, today has been absolutely horrible. Well, for me anyway. Oh, yeah. I don’t know when I’m posting this, but it’s August 15, 2008. The weather here shows what kind of mood I’m in; it’s raining. That’s different here; I live in a swamp. So when the sky gets dark, the world gets a little eerie. No bright sunshine. The trees that overshadow make the world look dark. So I’m taking out my dark mood on the world. It’s coming out in this story, and I liked the idea of it. I wanted Bella to be a little… well, not so perfect. Life isn’t perfect, and I’m tired of reading about Bella and her perfect life. No offense to anyone who has written about that. XD I’m just wanting to be a little… different. I also liked the idea of adding a millionaire Charlie into the mix… along with a married-to-Charlie Renee. Disclaimer: I own nothing… not even a versions Bella’s cars. …Although, I truly wish I did, and I mean own both.
1. Chapter 1
Rating 5/5 Word Count 1105 Review this Chapter
Darkness. Despair. I could feel them pressing in on me, falling down on me. I felt it everyday. It was just too much to bear anymore. I couldn’t take it much longer. I had suffered too long.
A year ago, I was told I had a severe case of major depression. I was on medicine, of course, but I didn’t feel the need to take it. Why bother? It didn’t help; it only made me feel worse. I was tired of trying to pretend to be normal, to fake everything. To try to smile when I felt like crying.
My emotions were always hidden. I tried to be the perfect student, the perfect child. I had two parents that loved me. I was a straight-A student with a 4.0 average. I excelled at every class thrown my way, and did it without really working. I had never been a discipline problem. Never did drugs, never smoked, never drank. I never went to parties. I was alone, and I liked it that way.
That was until the depression hit. Since then, my entire outlook on life has been as dark as the blackest night. I was tired of faking everything. I was tired of smiling when I felt like frowning. I was tired of trying to be outgoing when I didn’t feel like it.
I stopped my charade a few months later. I started wearing black more, and my t-shirts were of my favorite metal bands. My parents became more and more upset, and my friends stopped asking questions. I wouldn’t say I went goth, but I certainly wasn’t normal.
The doctors said I was on a downward spiral. My parents were too busy being millionaires to notice me anymore. They just went with what the doctors said. They didn’t care anymore, either. No one did; my friends stopped calling when I stopped smiling. They avoided me when I stopped talking.
That was when the new kids moved in. I heard the rumors of their inhuman beauty, but I didn’t care. I didn’t care about anything any more. I only kept making good grades because it was impossible for me to fail. I wasn’t a discipline problem because I didn’t care enough to rebel. I wish I did. But, for now, I was just… lifeless.
I saw them at lunch. The new kids, I mean. They were beautiful, just like everyone said. Even though one of them, a bronze-haired boy with gold eyes, looked haunted, he was still beautiful. All of the girls wanted to ask him out, except me. I didn’t care. Nothing was worth it. Everything was immersed in darkness for me and I felt it all the time.
As lunch cleared out, I went to biology. The same things I had heard since sixth grade, all over again. It was boring. Sadly, homework was the only thing I had left to look forward to. And it didn’t take long.
The boy I noticed at lunch was sitting in the only empty seat: the one beside the recluse, the dark goth freak. You know, the one that rarely talked and even more rarely showed emotion. The one that was a zombie, that cut her wrists at night. I felt sorry for him; this would be social suicide.
I hated the rumor that I slit my wrists, but I didn’t care enough to correct them. They weren’t right, but it didn’t matter. Nothing did. The only thing that mattered was… well… nothing comes to mind.
The haunted boy came to sit next to me. “Hello,” he said in a musical voice. “I’m Edward Cullen.”
I nodded to him. “Bella Swan,” I said with no intonation. My voice was flat with lifelessness.
Lauren instantly took the chance to walk up to him. “Don’t waste your time,” she sneered. “That cutter freak doesn’t talk to anyone.”
To my masked surprise, his face turned livid. “Well, apparently Bella does speak, because she just did. And we were having a perfectly fine conversation until you decided to interrupt when you were not welcome,” he said, his voice lashing out hard and cold.
Okay, compared to that, sitting by me was earning him points on the social scale. He had just told Lauren off, and you didn’t do that. Her football jock boyfriend, Tyler Crowley, beat down any man that was insane enough to do that. And Lauren was tough enough to hold the girls.
She walked off, shock on her face.
Edward smiled dazzlingly as he turned back to me. “Where were we?” he asked politely.
I narrowed my eyebrows. “Well, we weren’t anywhere, so do you mind telling me why on earth you would care to tell off Lauren? You would have gained more points if you’d have agreed with her,” I noted.
He frowned. “I don’t care for people who believe that they’re better than everyone else. Is it true what they say about you, Bella?” he asked softly.
There was so much emotion in his voice that I wondered why he cared. I tried not to let the emotion shine through. I was dead, in all but the literal sense of the word.
I shrugged to answer his question. “It depends who you ask,” I stated, my voice again lifeless.
He smiled. “…And I asked you,” he pointed out.
I snorted. “Then they’re lies, of course. I dress different and I’m not phony. That scares people, and they create all kinds of gossip about it,” I said monotonously.
His eyes brightened at that, in interest. “But you don’t bother to correct them?” he asked.
I shook my head. “Why bother? If I tell them different, I’m just denying it. And the reason they don’t see my cuts is that I put makeup over my wrists. Of course, I don’t wear makeup—especially on my wrists—but of course that doesn’t stop them from saying that.”
He chuckled. “They have one thing right: you’re certainly not the usual teenager,” he teased.
I shook my head, remembering the reason I pulled out from society. “No, I’m not,” sighed. “Though sometimes, I wish I was.”
Thankfully, class started then. I didn’t have a chance to talk to him again, and he left before anyone else was out of their seat. I avoided him for the last hour of the day, thanking whoever watched over me that I didn’t have to face him again.
As I got to the parking lot, I pulled out my keys to my favorite car in the world: my 1977 Pontiac Trans Am Firebird. It was black, and in nearly perfect condition, though it was slightly bulky and got horrible gas mileage. It was my father’s before it was mine, and I had loved it since I was a little girl. …Back when life was perfect.