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I'm nothing but a monster burning in a hell that only exists in my head. There's no hope left until one harmless glance chances logic and binds two eternal enemies together in a twist of fate. Can the escape from this hell be found in an infuriating dimpled grin? Or is this another dark, dirty trick of my own mind? A forbidden passion, heat, and intense anger—this is no fairytale.

[Disclaimer: Monster is an originally plotted fic. The ideas within this fic are not to be copied in any way, shape, or form—I have not given my consent to any manner of copying. All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the intellectual property of their respective owners. All canon concepts and characters are the property of the Twilight Saga's author, Stephenie Meyer. No copyright infringement is intended. Similarities are for the sole use of fan fiction, and no profit has been or will be benefited from the posting of this fic.] Emerging Swan Award 2012, nominated into Fandom Choice Awards.

14. The Famous Jordan Uley

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"The worst things in life come free to us." - Ed Sheeran.

Chapter Fourteen

The Famous Jordan Uley

May 11th, 2005.

I paced the driveway, my thoughts scattered. My fingers ran across the weeds that lined the driveway, the soft tips brushing against my fingers. I smiled a little, the light humming I was making becoming in sync with the wind.

When puddles grew more frequent beneath my feet, I studied my reflection. My skin still held its natural tone, my eyes were still the same dark blue, and my hair was still long and black, wavy down to my shoulders, some strands golden in the sunlight. But, in a way, I was different. In the past few months, I had changed. I had turned fourteen on the sixth of May. It was not something of much meaning, just a higher number, but it was significant in the change that it brought.

Physically, I had aged. My hair had grown out, spreading out across my shoulders. My eyes had darkened to a deeper blue, and my body had completely matured. I didn't know why, but I was a lot taller, too. I measured five foot eleven on the dot. The height brought a slender yet toned look to my body, and new strength that had no source. Still, the physical changes were the easiest things to accept.

When I turned fourteen, the number of years I'd been on the earth simply increased by one. Yeah, that was normal, but on that day, I was also thirteen. I was fourteen, thirteen, twelve, ten, eight, seven, and three. The years piled up inside me, and the memories they brought kept me that way.

I was three because the memory of my parent's death made me the way I am.

I was seven because I tried to isolate myself and escape the attention.

I was eight because everyone thought I needed help, but I wouldn't take it. Why? Because I didn't need it. I could survive without anyone breathing down my neck every minute of every day.

I was ten because Paul was there to offer support, but at the same time, I couldn't completely trust him. He'd changed, too: grown taller, became more muscular, and had moved forward without me, leaving me in the dust of fading memories. I couldn't be sure about what had happened on the day that he had burst into the school. The images of the wolves I'd seen flashed behind my eyelids. Wolves, one black and one grey. Wolves with dark eyes that I knew all too well, yet at the same time, were strangers. I left the images of them go without much thought. It was hard enough to even trust my own eyes, much less crazy children's tales.

I was also thirteen because I carried the weight of murder on my shoulders. Beth Anderson was pronounced dead. The story was broadcasted on the news on March 15th, 2004. Beth had died from fatal injuries. I, the maniac child, was to blame.

The cops were already on the search. They couldn't find Sam's house because it was hidden deep in the reservation, but they found his office. I remembered being there one afternoon, in his spacious office placed in the Quileute postal building, the center of the village, when the front door was kicked down. Panicked, Sam managed to shove any evidence of his presence in his suitcase while he hid the two of us in a secret opening in the wall.

Thankfully, the cops couldn't find either of us. After it was clear they had left, Sam's boss came and gave us the green light. I was also thankful that Sam's boss was nice—he had fired Sam, but he didn't report him.

That day, we came to the conclusion there was no chance for me to return to school. I would never continue my education again. Nicole was sent off to be educated at home with Jacob to keep the two of them out of trouble. I was going to go with them, but Billy didn't think I should be out wandering while I was being searched for, so I kept Sam company. We talked about what had happened, although I often found myself blanking out whenever I was pushed about my feelings. Sam didn't like that much, and he'd taken to going out to work on a building project in the forest when stress hit him too hard. Sometimes, Jacob and Nicole would come back from "school" and hang out with me while Sam was out. I didn't talk to them much—it was hard for me to even understand their words unless they were blunt and clear. My mind was spinning far too fast. It didn't matter either way, because Nicole wasn't planning on putting effort into trying to hold conversation with her blank-eyed sister, and Jacob wasn't any closer.

Eventually, Nicole ceased to acknowledge me, and the visits from Jacob stopped. This wasn't much of a surprise, but suspicion got the better of me. Sometimes, I'd be up early to watch the sun rise when I'd see her break through the trees, looking beat up and swaying with exhaustion while she slipped inside, her clothes in shreds and her feet bare.

There was something strange about it, but Sam assured me that he had it all taken care of. It was hard to think that Sam, of all people, would have everything under control, especially after one incident in which Nicole and I were arguing and it ended with me hurling a rock at her face. Despite my lack of trust, I kept my suspicions to myself and hadn't spoken a word about the situation after that.

I raised my hand from the weeds and stared at the little dots of blood on my fingertips. I realized I was awfully close to the road; the weeds were always sharp there. My feet slowed. I started turning around to head back inside.

But in the middle of the turn, something unusual caught my eye. It was nothing really, just a dash of color in the background. Suspicion caused me to pause, just for a moment, needing to get a better look.

A car, painted an odd crimson color, was creeping along the dull, bumpy road. I stopped walking, my head still facing the weeds while my eyes studied the car. It was rare enough to have a car be this far into the reservation, much less going this slow. Maybe it was some delivery man coming out to drop off more wood for Sam.

I strained my eyes closer, waiting for the man to step out and ask for directions. It wasn't a big deal. I shrugged and kept going, saying nothing to him. It wasn't my business what he was up to, and frankly, I really didn't care. But when the car didn't speed up, I felt a sliver of suspicion. I had learned from the past that listening to my gut was not an option, but a necessity.

The car continued to pass, making its way past the broad driveway. When the car moved out of sight, I still didn't relax my gaze. The red color still lingered among the trees. I was smart to wait.

I could see the window as it slid down and I could hear the click of the opening door. A figure swung his head around and set into a brisk walk, heading toward me. He was no more than a splatter of black against the trees until he pulled his sleeve back, revealing a black object held in his gloved hand.

The man disappeared for a moment. He slipped into the cover of the trees, but I could hear more hushed noises when he moved through the forest. Leaves and branches cracked, the sounds of them growing louder and louder. Still, I didn't move. My breath puffed out in a muted laugh and a twisted smile spread across my face.

He took his time. I assumed he knew I was staring as he broke through the trees because he didn't bother to be quiet anymore. Each step was loud enough to be heard halfway across the country. He might as well have announced that he was coming as he broke through the trees. Of course, he didn't. The man stood there, his average build covered in black leather. Only his dark eyes were revealed, showing through two round holes in the middle of the hat stretched over his face and neck. I didn't really bother to study his form. Not because of the black suit, but because of the black handgun wrapped in his long fingers.

"You," the man barked. "You are Jordan Uley."

My eyes slanted slightly, fixed on the gun in the man's hand. I had all the right to stare; it's not like everyday some strange man approached me with a gun in his hand. This might be a once in a lifetime experience.

I plastered a smile on my face once more. I took the time to raise my head, meeting the dark brown stare of the man. He was just as tall as I was; I didn't even have to move back to look at him. I planted my feet, standing a few yards away from the man.

"You're a smart one, aren't you?" I looked him over as I spoke, sarcasm evident in my tone.

"No questions." The man raised the gun, aiming it toward my chest. "Did you, or did you not, take the life of Beth Anderson?"

I eyed the gun again, my fingers curling into my palm. Despite the heavy irritation, I forced my smile to widen, just for effect. "Oh, yes, I did. I beat that little snot bloody."

The man was silent. His finger curved around the trigger, slowly making an arc around it. His arm trembled as he did so, almost as if he wasn't sure what to do. I stared at him, my smile big and bright as I watched him. I could see myself smiling, too—my reflection was caught in the dark brown of the man's eyes. I was small, just a tiny dot of a picture. But when I stepped closer to him, ignoring the gun as it dug into my skin, my reflection swelled. I grew bigger and bigger, coming closer and closer.

His glazed gaze flicked around as it strained to focus on me, trying to sort out what was happening in reality and what wasn't. The shaking in his arm grew until I could feel the point of the gun twisting around in my skin. Dark blotches fanned out over his covered forehead, snaking down to the round holes where sweat dripped out. The man was panicking as I raised my foot, gently setting it back down as I closed the distance between us.

In an instant, the delirious expression on my face shattered. My hand shot forward and latched on the gun. I gave it a twist, freeing it from his shaking hand before he even realized what was happening. My fingers spun it around, closing around the gun and thrusting it forward, hammering the end of the gun into the man's forehead. The blow knocked him backward, sending him straight onto his behind.

I pointed the gun to his skull. The man was dazed—his eyes opened and closed rapidly. He raised his arms, shielding his face as if it would be enough to stop the power of the bullet.

"What kind of joke is this? Trying to lock me up, are you?"

"No," the man wheezed. "I'm not."

"Bull." I cocked the gun, smirking as the man flinched at the noise.

"I'm not a cop." He hesitated for a moment, sliding his hands down to his chest. He patted around, emphasizing the fact that he had no badge.

"Do you really think that I care who you work for?" I spoke the words slowly.

"Actually, I do. If you knew who I worked for, you might be more interested."

There was no real need for me to answer him. I watched his fingers draw something out of the folds of his black suit. My mind was starting to work faster. All it took was the flash of a silver syringe peeking out from his pocket for me to know what I had to do.

Both of us reacted at the same time.

Quick as a crack of lightning, the man swung his arm forward. The point of the needle missed my arm, but instead met my thigh, splitting through the skin like butter. I could feel the instant throb as the substance inside the syringe entered my bloodstream, working in pace with the thunder of my heart.

Acting on pure reflex, my finger constricted against the trigger of the gun. The bullet exploded, bursting out of the point in the blink of an eye. It sliced through the air, seeming to whistle with speed. It connected with the man's chest and disappeared, burying itself deep. Crimson bloomed across the man's suit, dripping like thick drops of rain onto the sand. The man's mouth slid open. He made a gurgle of some sort before his knees buckled and he crashed down lifelessly.

He didn't move again.

I leaned away from him, standing straight. A red wave of fury clouded my eyes, making my vision muddy. The tension rushed out of me, leaving me dizzy. I exhaled softly as the world went in fast-forward around me, shimmering like the sparkles of sunlight on water. Then, suddenly, I felt fire streak up my leg, an angry shot of pain. After that, the world closed down around me.