Chapter 6: Paint Chips and Plaid Crimes
"A new life should come with fresh walls and less flannel upholstery."
Friday arrived with more drizzle, more overcast sky, and more evidence that Forks had declared war on my hair's ability to remain un-frizzed. I gave up after two minutes and pulled it into a loose braid, then threw on jeans and a soft hoodie that still smelled faintly of Phoenix sun.
Charlie was already halfway through his toast when I wandered into the kitchen.
"You've got," I pointed to his chin, "a jam situation."
He blinked at me, then swiped his sleeve across his chin. "Handled."
"You're a vision of grace."
He grunted, then handed me a mug of cocoa before grabbing his own travel coffee and heading out.
"Be good," he called over his shoulder.
"I make no promises!" I shouted back, then winced as the door clicked shut.
The morning at school started off about as normal as things get in a town where half your classmates are walking fashion models with dead eyes and ambiguous dietary habits.
Angela greeted me at my locker with a sheepish smile.
"Jessica said you made Mr. Banner laugh yesterday."
"I drew mitochondria having a turf war. It was a dark, biological drama."
"I wish I had your brain," she said, giggling.
"Don't. It's mostly trivia, caffeine, and increasingly specific vampire exit strategies."
Angela didn't know how literally I meant that, but she laughed anyway.
My morning classes passed by in a blur up until lunch. Which was par for the course in high school.
Mike waved me over, and I sat at the end of the table with him, Jessica, Angela, and a few others. I picked at a slice of pizza and listened while they debated who had a crush on who.
Jessica leaned close. "You've got Biology next, right? Still flying solo?"
"Yup," I said cheerfully. "It seems that Edward Cullen saw me once and moved to another state. I like to think it's my overwhelming charisma."
That got a laugh from most of them, even Angela.
I spotted the other Cullen's across the cafeteria.
Rosalie and Emmett were sitting unnervingly still. Jasper looked like he was holding his breath. Alice smiled right as I glanced over, and for one weird second, I felt like she knew I was thinking about her.
Then I blinked and it was gone.
Hopefully it's just me being paranoid. Which it totally normal for my current situation.
Biology was boring without my angry vampire lab partner.
Mr. Banner paired me with an acne-ridden sophomore named Reed who wore too much Axe and called mitochondria "the bomb diggity."
We identified cell structures in awkward silence until he asked if I had a boyfriend.
"No," I said. "But I do have a restraining order quota for the year, and my dad is the sheriff... so tread carefully."
He didn't talk to me much after that.
Thank God for small miracles and a Dad with a badge.
When the final bell rang, I bolted.
Because I had better places to be and today was project day.
And by project, I meant Operation: Save the House from Pattern Crimes.
Forks' local hardware store was one part small-town charm, one part chaos. The bell over the door jingled as I stepped inside, rain dripping off my hood.
Paint swatches lined one wall like tiny rectangles of possibility.
I grabbed a cart and made a beeline for them.
The couch had been the final straw. Brown plaid so intense it had given me a migraine last night. The rest of the house was beige, wood, and more plaid, like a lumberjack had exploded in 1997 and no one had cleaned up.
I needed color. Life. Maybe something vaguely human.
A bored teen clerk in a vest spotted me looking at the paint chips and wandered over.
"You doing a room?" he asked.
"I'm righting the wrong my father's decor taste has committed to my eyes." I replied.
He blinked at me with a confused look but just nodded and said. "Cool."
I just shrugged and went about my shopping.
I left that store with:
Three test cans of warm-toned neutrals.
Two paint brushes.
A roll of painter's tape.
And a vision.
Charlie was already home, on the couch, watching a fishing show when I walked in with paint cans clanking.
He looked at me, then looked at the bag.
"Is that...?"
"A revolution in the making, yes it is." I said, setting them down.
He narrowed his eyes. "You're not planning on painting your room black, are you?"
"No. I'm painting your house something other than sad beige and serial killer flannel."
Charlie set down his beer. "I like my couch."
I pointed at it. "This couch looks like it haunts its own cabin."
"It's broken in."
"It's just plain broken, Dad."
He didn't argue. He stared at it for a long moment, sighed, then said, "You gonna paint today?"
"Tomorrow's Saturday. Enchilada leftovers tonight, and if you agree to at least consider letting that plaid monstrosity go, I'll let you pick the next couch."
He leaned back, arms crossed.
"I want cup holders."
"Deal." I nodded in satisfaction.
We ate dinner with a sense of mutual smugness. I even put on music while we cleaned up. Charlie tolerated it for a full three songs before muttering something about "kids these days" and hiding in the garage.
I finished homework at the kitchen table, then pulled him in to go over paint options.
"I like this one," he said, pointing at the swatch labeled Smoked Sunset.
"It's literally the same color as your mustache."
"I'm consistent," he replied.
"You're impossible."
But I marked it with a star anyway.
That night, after brushing my teeth and changing into my favorite faded sleep shirt, I flopped into bed and stared up at the ceiling.
I hadn't dreamed of Damon in two nights.
But I could feel that tonight would be different. There was an electric hum under my skin, and a weird itch behind my ribs. Like my tether to Damon was coiling tight again, pulling me toward him.
So I closed my eyes and let myself fall into it.
When I opened my eyes I was standing in a parlor lit by gas lamps and candlelight. Music drifted from the nearby room, it was a lilting piano melody played by delicate fingers.
The walls were a rich burgundy. A fire crackled low in the hearth. The scent of cinnamon, blood, and rosewater hung in the air like an omen.
Katherine was leaned over the piano laughing, her gown hugging every curve, with her eyes locked on someone just out of view.
Damon was standing there he looked charming and dangerous even in his humanity.
He was dressed to impress with dark slacks, an open collar, and his cravat tucked in loosely.
His eyes, though…
I could tell had found me in the shadows.
I also saw the moment of fear on his face before he glanced back at Katherine.
But she didn't see me and she never would.
He must have remembered that Katherine couldn't see me because he relaxed before he smiled at me.
It wasn't the performative grin he used on everyone else. This one was a small upturn of his lips that you would miss unless you were paying attention.
That's when Katherine twirled away from the piano and beckoned him.
"Dance with me, Damon," she purred.
He stepped forward dipping into a practiced bow and took her hand.
But the moment their fingers touched, I could tell something had shifted.
His smile slipped.
His gaze slid back to me.
Luckily Katherine was to wrapped up in her own delusions and didn't notice Damon's change.
She just laughed as Damon spun her around the dance floor.
When the music stopped, she whispered something in his ear and pressed a kiss to his cheek. Then drifted toward the stairs like mist on a windless night.
When she vanished, Damon turned and walked straight toward me.
"You're still here."
"I couldn't leave without at least saying hello."
He stopped inches away. Candlelight danced in his eyes. The fire crackled low behind him.
"That first night when I saw you in the garden," he murmured. "I thought you were a ghost."
"I might be." I smiled playfully.
"You're not."
"No, I'm not a ghost."
"Good."
He stared at me, unreadable. His fingers twitched like he wanted to reach for something but didn't know what.
"You shouldn't stay," he said softly.
"Why not?"
"Because if you do…" He swallowed. "I won't be able to forget about you."
"Maybe that's the point."
Something in him broke open at that and a flicker of longing slipped through his mask.
"I think I'm already past the point in which I'm able to go on living without anticipating your next visit."
The dream had started to crack at the edges alerting me to my impending departure.
But I didn't wake up right away I pushed myself to stay for even a moment longer.
I stepped closer. Close enough that if I reached out, I could touch him.
He didn't flinch or pull away.
His voice, when it came, was nearly a whisper.
"You make me feel like I can be something other than what society expects me to be."
And then the dream ended.
I woke to the soft buzz of my phone alarm and the scent of rain.
My heart ached for Damon.
But I smiled.
Because I had a feeling that I would see him again soon.