Real Women Have Curves (Twilight AU-Human)

Chapter 1: Arrival

B POV

The rain smothers the window, skewing the shapes of the trees, people and buildings that lay outside. Everything looked like a green, suffocating blur.

Then again, that's how I've always remembered this desolate part of the country. Green, suffocating and blurred. My memories of my father consist of him taking me on soaked camping and fishing trips.

The worst part is the tiny library that stocks next to no books, forcing me to cram my oversized roll-away duffel bag with as many books as it can carry, then finding or making room for some clothes.

Of course all of my clothes are size XL, shirts are 1/2 to long sleeved, pants have to be longer than my knees and I have at least half a dozen pairs of sweatpants. Anything to cover the body I am so ashamed to show.

That was the worst part of living in Phoenix. Seeing all the girls wearing spaghetti-strap tanks, bikinis, and short shorts that I could and would never be caught dead in. I never fit in, simply because of that fact. I've always been invisible, except when someone is yelling something like "Hey fatass! Move! You're blocking the view!"

I just learned to sit in the back, not draw attention to myself and keep my head in a book. At this point I'm probably more well read than most English teachers.

It goes without saying that I never had distractions from my studies, and when I say distractions I mean boyfriends, girls nights out, school activities, social events of any kind.

My mother always tried to tell me that I was beautiful just the way I am, that some guy was going to come along and see me for who I really was, that my weight didn't matter, it was just a number. Something corny and less heartfelt then a prostitute telling her client it's the best sex she's ever had.

I'm not a complete imbecile, I'm fat, I know it. At this point though I've tried everything I can to lose weight, it just never works for me. Diets, done them all. Pills, popped more than Robert Downey, Jr. (pre-detox). Exercise works for a week, then nothing. It just doesn't work and no matter how healthy I eat, I never lose weight.

Some people have said it's because I'm just too lazy, but mostly it's because I've just gotten used to being this way. Changing would just ruin what I do have going for me, which is being an invisible bookworm, which suits me. For now, I'll just remain that way.

"Hey Bells, we're here." Charlie pulls me out of my hypnotic state. "I got something for you, as a home warming gift, I guess."

He leads me around to the side of our house where there sits the most awfully spectacular thing I have ever seen.

Being 17 years old and living with Renee was not living in luxury. With all the speeding tickets and auto accidents she would get in monthly, insuring me and getting a car for me were never really an option, as my mother barely made enough a month to cover hers. Well that's until she met Phil, but that's another story.

So seeing a red beast of a truck sitting there, winking at me with the freedom that every 17 year old yearns to have is quite a surprise. I accept the truck with as much grace as a baby bird taking flight for the first time. I'm terrible at accepting gifts, especially if I have nothing to give in return.

"No problem Bells," Charlie grunts, "Just wanted to make sure you had something to get back and forth to school with."

"Thanks," I murmur.

We make our way back to the cruiser to grab my duffel bag and carry-ons. We hastily deliver them to my room without another word being said.

"Well....." Charlie blows his breath out in short beat-like rhythms then turns and walks out without saying another word. I love that man of few words.

I shake the rain off my coat and hang it on the back of the door and continue to unpack my books and the few pieces of clothing in my possession. Once I'm done, I look around the room noting that the walls are still the dull yellow that I remember. The bed is in the same exact place it has always been. The bookshelf, although now overfilled with books, still has its lack of structural integrity. And the desk, which holds the ancient looking computer, is dustier then I remember, but still looks web worthy.

I glance at the clock, 3:45. Enough time to finish a couple more chapters in the current book I'm reading and then start dinner. As a girl who has a love-hate relationship with food, it makes sense that I can cook.

As I begin to get pulled back into the fictitious people and places of my book the rain really picks up, making me look out the window and roll my eyes. Ah Forks, you haven't changed. Then again neither have I.