Bloody Mary // J. Hale

a Walk at Breaking Dawn

Jenna sat on the cool, white tiles of the shower floor as steaming water cascaded over her, drenching her skin and muffling the world beyond. Her arms were raw from scrubbing, as though she could erase the lingering touch of the men who haunted her memories. The rhythmic patter of the water was soothing, its sound a balm that dulled the chaos within. Here, under its constant flow, she could let her tears spill freely, merging with the streams running down her face.

The bathroom was pristine, almost sterile. White tiles stretched wall to wall, broken only by the subtle warmth of light wooden accents around the sink. Above her, the unexpected presence of a sunroof bathed the room in the soft hues of early dawn. She blinked at the pale light filtering through, a realization settling over her—morning had come. Had she only slept for a few hours?

Jenna sighed and lifted her head up, letting the water hit her face. She had her eyes closed, taking in the warmth of the water, the sounds and the gratitude of being alive and well.

Last night replayed in her mind like a vivid, inescapable movie. One moment, it felt as though everything was lost, slipping through her fingers like sand. The next, Jasper was there—her bloodied saviour. She could still feel the wave of relief that washed over her at the sight of him, standing beneath the glow of his car's headlights. The light pooled around him, soft and golden, giving him the illusion of an angel descending from the dark. Her angel. But no angel would be smeared in blood.

It finally struck her—Jasper wasn't normal. No normal boy would kill like that. Kill. The word echoed in her mind, sharp and undeniable. The realization crashed over her: he had killed those men. The ones who had been assaulting her. The blood, the bodies—there was no way they could have survived.

He was a killer.

But why didn't it bother her?

He saved your life, a quiet voice in her head reminded her.

Jenna brushed her wet hair back, letting the water stream over her face one final time before turning off the facet. Slowly, she pushed herself up from the ground, her movements heavy and unsteady. She'd never given it much thought before, but maybe there was a reason she felt so drawn to him.

In a world of chaos and tremors, he was her anchor—her sea of calm. A place where she felt safe. A place that felt like home. She wasn't the girl who had gone on a psychotic rampage. She wasn't Bloody Mary. She was just Jenna.

He was Jasper. And for her, that was all that mattered.

Alice had set out some clean clothes for Jenna—items borrowed from Rosalie, as their sizes were the closest match. Jenna hesitated, eyeing the neatly folded garments with uncertainty. They looked far too expensive, a world apart from her own worn and dirtied clothes. The blue knitted Aran sweater, with its intricate cable patterns, and the beige straight-leg trousers weren't anything Jenna would have ever chosen for herself. The style was refined, understated, and far removed from her usual wardrobe.

Still, the allure of clean, fresh clothing won out. Jenna slipped them on cautiously, almost guiltily, the unfamiliar luxury pressing lightly against her insecurities. The fabric was soft and opulent, far more comfortable than anything she'd ever worn. It felt expensive—just like everything else in the Cullens' world. They were filthy rich, a truth impossible to ignore.

Towel-drying her hair, Jenna then brushed it out and decided on a simple braid that rested over her shoulder. As she glanced in the mirror, she was startled by her reflection. She looked well-rested, almost serene, her face showing no trace of the chaos she felt inside. Polished and composed, she appeared as if nothing had happened—as if she hadn't been shattered only hours ago. The incongruity gnawed at her. On the outside, she was neat, calm, whole; inside, a storm churned, threatening to break at any moment.