The Outlier

TEN

I woke up and looked out the window of my attic room and saw a thin blanket of snow coating everything in my field of vision. Across my front porch, I could see Chief Swan's cruiser covered in frost. I thanked past me for thinking of parking my Mustang in the garage. I seriously couldn't be bothered to scoop ice and snow off of my car this early in the morning.

I skipped along to my wardrobe to find something to wear. I managed to layer jumpers and flannels and t-shirts, all in a faint attempt to combat the cold— even from inside my home, I was still freezing. I hoped adding my parka as a final layer of fabric would help my teeth not chatter and to my relief, it did.

Stepping out into the sore cold, I noticed my breath visualise before my eyes, my cheeks began to sting and I rushed to my car to turn on the heater. I was never a reckless or fast driver, mostly because I wanted to fly under the radar. Back in London, I never got my driver's license— only my provisional license. I was never too confident in my driving so I tried to stay below the twenties.

Today, however, I tried my best to drive extra slow— occasionally receiving a few annoyed honks from passersby. I simply had no interest in going through an icy vehicle slip-n-slide, costing me my life and, more importantly, my car— so, unfortunately, those passersby will have to deal with my extra slow driving.

Eventually, I reached school and pulled over triumphantly. I wished, deeply, that I could be applauded for safely reaching school but no one gave awards for that kind of thing. I reckoned it'd have to be a personal little victory. I parked next to a rusty orange Chevrolet, its paint discoloured or peeling in various areas.

I climbed out of my car to stand by my car and listen to music, soaking up the scenery that made me feel like a character straight out of an indie film. I popped in my headphones as alternative melodies began to fill my mind and take me to a land far, far away.

Today was the first snowy day in Twilight, I remembered with horror. I tried to gather myself to leave as naturally as I could but, by then, it was simply too late. I heard tires skidding in my direction. I glanced back at the Cullens. They (mostly Alice) had expressions of shock painted on their perfectly sculpted faces. I almost felt guilty for causing faces as beautiful as theirs to be twisted with anxiety, ruining their flawless appearances. But Edward was...

Gone?

Edward or any of the Cullens for that matter aren't my love interests here, there is no way any of them would risk the exposure of their family for an English girl that came waltzing in from another reality.

This is how I die, I thought sombrely. I braced myself for the impact, it was the least I could do at that stage. Everything around me seemed to have slowed and so have my movements. I attempted, feebly to have my brain send a message to my body to move but my nervous system was too slow. I could hear my heartbeat drum rhythmically against my ears as the black van came closer and closer. My insides felt hollow as I imagined how painful it would be. I never had much of a pain tolerance, I hoped the universe would cut me some slack on my deathbed.

My body seemed to have a mind of its own as I sunk to the floor, dazed— my back facing my old-ass sports car. At least, this time, I was sober— I could experience every emotion building up to the moment I died again. A low throaty growl announced the presence of another, hands moved before I could even blink. The impact did hit, though not nearly as severe as I imagined it to be, and certainly not severe enough to kill me. My head hit the pavement, the splitting ache only made bearable because of the adrenaline rush.

An arm was wrapped around me protectively as one would hold a fine china vase, like they were scared I'd shatter if they held me too firmly. While the other arm was extended, pushing the car away from me with his handprint moulding itself onto the van's sliding door. Our faces were only inches away from each other. His topaz eyes were no longer dazzling or intoxicating, but rather piercing. Pin-drop silence went on for what felt like decades before the panicked screams ensued.