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Equinox

Summary:
June Elliott leaves her life in Manhattan for a simpler one with her aunt and uncle in Forks, Washington. However, after encountering William Cullen, a new member of the infamous Cullen clan, June begins to wonder what is in their minds, since they are the only people that she seems to feel connected to. After developing a relationship with the kind hearted Renesmee, his so-called "sister", June grows with the family. One encounter changes her entire view when she realizes what they truly are. With painstaking recovery comes revenge, heartache, and terror as June is hunted and lusted over. Her small town, rural life becomes exciting as she unites with wolves and vampires in an entirely new world.


Notes:
I might be discontinuing my other series... this will be part of a new one! It's a break-off story! Enjoy!


1. Home

Rating 0/5   Word Count 2168   Review this Chapter

I hate planes.

I hate the thought of sitting next to someone I don't know. Thinking, at any given moment, I could be falling downwards with no chance for my life, and the last thing I get to see are the strangers next to me? I want to vomit.

The moment the doors shut and the half-gurgling muffle of the overhead starts to buzz, I close my eyes and pretend to be asleep. No more disturbances. People can't ask me to move. Now, everything relies on me. As selfish as it is, I feel a sense of comfortin being asleep. Do not disturb.

"We will be arriving at Seattle-Tacoma International at 5:42 PM Mountain time. For now, please relax and enjoy your flight."

I push myself down further into my seat. My eyes burn from all the tears I shed last night. I can hardly stand to move. How can this be so uncomfortable? I can't help but hound myself with questions---why am I doing this? Why can't I just stay, stay in Manhattan, make it simpler there?

"Why would you ever want to stay in Manhattan, sweetheart?" The voices start to press against my brain. No matter how much I fight them, they ring in my ears. "Why would you want to stay? It's dangerous. You look so sick, why would you ever want to stay?" After several moments of fighting, I quit. Maybe hearing my mother's voice isn't so bad.

Until I dream about it. I know that I am prone to nightmares, one of the reasons why sleeping on a plane is such a risk for me. I pretend to sleep, but I know that I can't let msyelf do it. So I sit, holding my phone between my knees with the snooze button on my vibrating alarm ready to alert me. It takes so much effort to keep me ticking.

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I check my phone impatiently. The clocks have changed: 5:36. The overhead starts to buzz. "Attendants, please prepare for landing."

Finally.

The plane rolls onto the ground. I can see through the window of the row that the sky is dark and radiates a lonesome grey. It is beautiful, I can't deny it, but it's not my place. Nothing in this green, plush world intrigues me. I am only inspired by city things, bright lights, and noises. I love the smell of streets, the allure of the meat shops and the crazy immigrant men and their pizza houses. I let my mind wander, almost hearing the sound of the horses in the street, taxis honking, and the buzz of business life as it lights up during the city rush hour. This is how I'll comfort myself.

"Excuse me, ma'am." A wide man hovers over me, trying to break through the aisle. I quickly move me knees. Seriously, why did he have to kill my day dreams?

The people continue to crowd through, but none of these are New Yorkers. They're all returning from New York. I can see it in their demeanor, the way they wait patiently for their turn to leave. This is not how the people do it in New York. My heart aches.

I surprise myself by being one of the last ones out. I pulled my small duffel carry on up to my chest. The rest of the luggage remained down at the gate. All I had left to look forward to was the dreary, washed up hallways of the subtle airport. I clambered out of the cabin without even thanking the pilot and eased into the predictable new airport that would become my JFK.

If there was ever a time to be lonely, it was now.

Passengers were long gone. I was left, stricken, at the gate. It seemed as if the airport had shut down. I could see a few takers nearby, lined up at gates that were sending them to Idaho, parts of California I'd never heard of, and even Alaska. I was in a whole other atmosphere. Where were the gates for Paris, and Rome, and Beijing?

I made my way for baggage claim, feeling lost. By the time I'd gotten on the escalator, I'd almost completely forgotten who was coming for me. I looked out on the sad welcoming crowd below, signs directed for Bryan and Mia and even a pretty young wife and her twin boys with their "Welcome Home Dad" banner. It was two others that stopped my heart.

A couple in their early fifties, both average height, who I knew and recognized from pictures. I could almost hear their voices in my head, just as I'd heard on the phone. The woman was extremely skinny and had cropped, fading blonde hair and a circular face hosting a wide grin. She looked like my mom, a more natural version. The man had a structured jaw, salt and pepper hair and goatee, and seemed just as happy. He lingered a good four inches over his thin wife. They were both fit and healthy, but quietly aged. I evaluated their simple jeans and T-shirts, nothing formal. All I could do was silently pray that the escalator would take me to another floor. Do I have to socialize?

"This is for your best."

The words of my mother echoed in my head. I could see her patent blonde hair gently curled, and that airbrushed tan and those long, white fingernails. I smelled Victoria's Secret, saw a frilly blouse, and shut my eyes for a moment. Suddenly, it was all gone.

"Hi, June!" Aunt Brooke went in for a bony, tight squeeze. "How was your flight, dear?" The hug was lasting longer than I intended.

"Good," I said at the break-off. Now time for Uncle Tony's hug.

"Get any rest?" he asked. We parted. Aunt Brooke continued to watch me, while slowly moving toward the only operating conveyer belt. I followed closely behind, avoiding all eye contact.

"Yeah, enough," I replied, rubbing my eyes. I wanted to get the message across that I was exhausted.

"Tell me, dear, which bags are yours?" Brooke said quietly.

"Just black," I said. "They're, uh, Chanel bags... you know, the double C--"

"I know Chanel, honey," Brooke said, smiling patiently down at the belt. "We're not all country hicks out here." I'm an idiot.

From my angle, I could see more bags spewing out of the tunnel.

"I'm going to go on this side, to watch for them," I said. Did I need permission?

It was cold outside. Too cold, actually. It was a good thing I'd come from New York with a set of jackets on hand. Uncle Tony saw how cold I was and offered to take all of my bags, but I nearly snapped them away from him and kept walking. We made our way to the parking lot.

They drove a little green Subaru Outback with a tiny trunk. We loaded the backseat with luggage. I took my place and said no more. Brooke and Tony seemed to watch me constantly, trying to identify my vague ehavior. They had good intentions, but I was just...not happy.

"Don't worry," Brooke said from the passenger seat, "your parents bought you your own car and sent it over a few days ago. It's a brand new Jeep Cherokee, white." She seemed to beam with pride. "I hope you don't mind, Tony and I took it for a spin. We were the talk of the town!" Her and Uncle Tony started to laugh, so I joined in with mine half-heartedly.

"You can drive it whenever you'd like," I said softly. Brooke's face fell. She watched me with her sad, curious eyes for a moment, but I broke the stare and turned to face the window. It was dark now. All I could see were the shadows of great trees against the dark blue sky. I felt like an Alaskan wolf, like the ones you see on Hollywood films amidst eskimos and icy winter bonfires. I was out of my element.

Where was the giant Rockefeller Christmas tree? Why couldn't I see the millions of lights twinkling all around me, as if I were part of space? I was so alone, and so confused. But I was with Brooke and Tony. They hadn't been able to have kids, and my mom had promised me that they'd be more than good at this.

"Brookie loved you as a baby," she'd said, her eyes going blank. "She'd always hold you and look into those blue eyes and say, 'Look, Molly, she's going to be the most beautiful little ballerina ever.' And you are!"

Those words in my head made me ache, I had to ignore the nagging feeling. I was getting better at pushing that out of memory.

We drove for four hours. I fell asleep so soon that I didn't even realize we had crossed a ferry. My eyes opened as we passed a small, unpopular sign leading into Forks. Most hearts would ache, and I expected mine to, but instead, I felt this sort of acceptance. It was this strange feeling of adventure.

In school, I remembered hearing my psychology teacher talk about the human brain and how it can control its own feelings and prospect. Right then, It was as if the good part of my brain had taken over the bad part, and now my eyes were opened to a new idea. The idea of change, of living.

We lulled through the small town while Brooke began rambling.

"That's Buck Wallace's place," she said, "he runs the library down on the corner. Look, the Morsey's are having a dinner party, Tony. How'd we not get an invite?"

I drowned out their friendly conversation and observed. There were the houses, the living status, the tiny aspect of the town. It was small and quaint, sincerely romantic, but I was near tears. Despite my acceptance of this new place, there was still that longing for my old one.

We pulled off onto a smaller street with faded, white cottages placed sparingly apart. It was as though we were driving deeper and deeper into the forest before Brooke announced that we were there. Tony pulled the car up the side of the faded white house, onto a patch of dirt, next to a sleek white Jeep that could not have been anyone else's. The house was tiny.

In an instant, I saw the brownstone with its high walls and beautiful entrance gate. I was climbing the steps to the penthouse, the Victorian detail, the old London style, and the steampunk-era hallways and faded brown walls. My heart skipped a beat.

I traded in a tour of the house for a night in my new room. It was a comfortable distance from theirs, and Brooke made completely sure that I was at ease.

"Are you sure you're alright?" she asked. "I haven't painted anything or bought any bedding, so all of it's guest stuff." She lingered still. I tossed my luggage onto the floor and turned to face her.

"It's perfect, Brooke," I said, looking around at the bare wells and white bedding. Really, it was perfect: blunt, simple, all I need.

"Well," she said, tired. "It's no Manhattan."

"But it'll do," I remarked quickly. I didn't want the words to linger in the air. She nodded and sighed.

"I'm sorry, Junie," she whispered. "I know you don't want this--"

"This is everything I need," I replied. I didn't want to have this conversation, not right now. "I'm fine. I promise." I looked straight into her eyes and nodded. She offered me a sympathetic smile. Was she starting to tear up? Oh no.

"I'll do anything for you, June," she said, wiping her nose with the sleeve of her jacket. "I'm...I'm so sorry, okay." She gathered herself together and looked up at me, tearfully. I had nothing to say, as awful as it was.

"Don't cry, Aunt Brooke," I said, moving towards her. I was the least emotional person that had ever lived. "I promise, I'm happy here. If you could come inside my mind, you would know too. I promise." I tried to smile, but it was hard. She accepted my fake one and wrapped her arms around me, patting my back.

"Oh, I'll do my best to know, dear," she said. She kissed my cheek and walked out, closing the door behind her.

And now, I was alone. Very much alone. I pulled my boots off my feet, unbuttoned my jeans, and slid on a t-shirt. How could I sleep after so many hours of it in the car? But my mind was moving slowly, and my heart was decreasing. I knew I needed something to distract myself from the idea of being in a new, foreign place, but I couldn't get it here.

Tomorrow was Saturday. I had two days to dwell on the fact that I was now living in a new life. Living in a new world.