Will Chapter 5 of "Twilight" be my doom?
Feb. 15th, 2009 12:37 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
perpetual_motionI'm gonna level with you all: If I finish this chapter feeling more worn-out than trainwreck-amused, this will probably be it. There's only so much one snarky bitch can take, and if chapter 5 continues in its spiral of pure and complete idiocy, I may not continue on.
That being said, if you'd like to remember were we last left off, we were here.
Tonight's drink of choice is a 1 ounce shot of Bailey's Irish Cream. I like to sip it slowly, and it felt like a proper choice for these "festivities". And, also, so no one fears for my liver, let it be known that I'm not actually throwing back booze every time I recap. Given the amount I suggest others drink while reading the recap, I thought it would be best to make that clear.
"I'm not going to class today," he said, twirling the lid so fast it was just a blur.
Okay, fine, it's been previously mentioned that Edward's holding Bella's lemonade bottle, but that was THREE PARAGRAPHS AGO. THIS IS NOT PROPER CONTEXT, MEYER.
"It's healthy to ditch class now and then." He smiled up at me, but his eyes were still troubled.
"Well, I'm going," I told him. I was far too big a coward to risk getting caught.
Things that scare Bella: Skipping class, playing sports, driving her truck, being liked by boys WHO LIKE HER, dancing, talking to her father
Things that do not scare Bella: WANTING TO DATE A GUY WHO SAYS HE'S A BAD PERSON.
As I half-ran to class, my head was spinning faster than the bottle cap. So few questions had been answered in comparison to how many new questions had been raised. At least the rain had stopped.
So, she can't play basketball and think of Edward, but she can "half-run" and think of Edward. Bella really is a spectacular kind of stupid, isn't she? Also: WHO GIVES A FUCK ABOUT THE RAIN.
I was lucky; Mr. Banner wasn't in the room yet when I arrived.
"wasn't in the room yet when I arrived. It's technically not a grammar flaw, but it violates rule six because "yet" is a needless word. That's the first drink of the night!
Mike looked resentful; Angela looked surprised, and slightly awed.
Of COURSE they look resentful and awed. The WORLD'S SPECIALIST SNOWFLAKE got attention from the GUY SHE WAS STALKING. Drink up!
[Mr. Banner] put [the boxes] down on Mike's table, telling him to start passing them around the class.
"put [the boxes] down", "telling him". VERB. TENSE. DRINK.
The sharp sound as the gloves snapped into place against his wrists seemed ominous to me.
The sound of her Bio teacher putting on rubber gloves skeeves her, and yet she's still okay DATING A GUY WHO ADMITS HE'S A BAD DUDE.
Okay, I just quoted from this paragraph, but it turns out that it's so bad you have to see the whole thing:
"Okay, guys, I want you all to take one piece from each box," he said as he produced a pair of rubber gloves from the pocket of his lab jacket and pulled them on. The sharp sound as the gloves snapped into place against his wrists seemed ominous to me. "The first should be an indicator card," he went on, grabbing a white card with four squares marked on it and displaying it. "The second is a four-pronged applicator —" he held up
something that looked like a nearly toothless hair pick "— and the third is a sterile microlancet." He held up a small piece of blue plastic and split it open. The barb was invisible from this distance, but my stomach flipped.
I think I speak for all of us when I say, "MY EYES OH GOD MY EYES". Also, verb tense and pronoun fuckery in the final sentence ["The barb was invisible from this distance"]. Drinky-drinky!
Sidenote: Is anyone actually boozing when they read these? I'm curious to know what the buzz is like, as I haven't re-read while having a drink in hand.
Clammy moisture broke out across my forehead.
SWEAT. It's called SWEAT. RULE SIX
And, oh, by the way, until the Bio teacher actually pricked a dude's finger, I didn't realize that they were messing around with blood. Maybe you caught that thanks to the AWESOME description of all the lab equipment, but as I didn't go to a high school that was cool with STUDENTS BLEEDING ON THINGS, I'm not up on what kind of supplies are needed for such an activity.
Secondly, any high school cool with LETTING STUDENTS JAB POINTY THINGS INTO THEMSELVES should probably be closed for health code violations.
[EDIT: The Husband informs me there are high schools that actually do this lab. Whether or not those high schools also house sparkly vampires isn't certain.]
[Mr. Banner] demonstrated, squeezing Mike's finger till the blood flowed.
Of COURSE it's Mike that gets stuck with the pointy thing by the teacher. Because he is officially the whipping boy. Because HE HAD THE NERVE TO LIKE BELLA FIRST. And this: "flowed"? Really? Jesus H., Bio teacher, how hard did you prick him?
Hee..."prick him". [No, I'm not drunk; I'm just perverted.]
holding up the dripping red card
Seriously, how much blood did Mike just lose? Should we call an ambulance? The card is "dripping" people. DRIPPING.
Okay, so the reason for this lab? The Red Cross is doing a blood drive in a DIFFERENT TOWN in the next week, and the Bio teacher thinks the kids should know their blood type. Bio teacher, dude, THE RED CROSS WILL TELL YOU YOUR BLOOD TYPE.
"Those of you who aren't eighteen yet will need a parent's permission — I have slips at my desk."
Bio teach says the kids need permission slips to donate blood. Um, what? I gave blood at seventeen without any parental permission. Are laws different in Washington or is Meyer an idiot [rhetorical question]? Also, there is no damned reason to use an em dash between "permission" and "I". They're completely separate sentences, and the em dash is wasted when a period will work. DRINK.
[If you care to know, em dashes are supposed by used in a manner similar to parentheses--they visually explain that a section of a sentence should get special attention--and they should be used sparingly.]
All around me I could hear squeals, complaints, and giggles as my classmates skewered their fingers.
Skewered? SKEWERED? The only thing skewered here is Bella's idea of how much blood someone loses when they PRICK THEIR FINGER. And if she's got such a massive issue with blood, why wasn't she this squicked out when Tyler was BLEEDING NEXT TO HER AT THE HOSPITAL?
His voice was close to my head, and it sounded alarmed.
Because a high schooler with her/his head on their desk is a rare thing.
"Can someone take Bella to the nurse, please?" he called.
I didn't have to look up to know that it would be Mike who volunteered.
Because Mike, having been REJECTED BY THE SNOWFLAKE will not waver in his attraction. Because he's a STUPID BOY WITH A PENIS THAT TELLS HIM WHAT TO DO. DRINK.
Mike seemed eager as he put his arm around my waist and pulled my arm over his shoulder. I leaned against him heavily on the way out of the classroom.
What an asshole, being eager to get you to the nurse so you don't pass out. Mike, you douche.
So they're headed to the nurse, and Bella asks to sit down, and then she says this:
"And whatever you do, keep your hand in your pocket," I warned.
Because Mike, HAVING SHOWN INTEREST IN A RESPECTABLE WAY is totally waiting to get Bella alone so he can TOUCH HER. Or something. I don't fucking know. The implication, of course, is that any boy that shows A HEALTHY INTEREST IN YOU THAT IS NOT CREEPY BUT RATHER SWEET is secretly waiting to feel you up.
"Bella?" a different voice called from the distance.
No! Please let me be imagining that horribly familiar voice.
"Horribly"? HORRIBLY? It's Edward's voice [of fucking course], and Bella's all a-twitter because he may see her having the goddamned vapors. Because she's been such a bastion of strong, interesting personality before this.
I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping to die.
If only.
Suddenly the sidewalk disappeared from beneath me. My eyes flew open in shock. Edward had scooped me up in his arms, as easily as if I weighed ten pounds instead of a hundred and ten.
YOU FATTIE. It's so terribly impossible for an average-sized guy in high school to pick up a whopping 110 pounds. I WAS 110 pounds in high school; the smallest guy in my class [5 feet even, 130 pounds], could pick me up like I was a fucking leaf. DUDES CAN LIFT THINGS.
Edward ignored him. "You look awful," he told me, grinning.
He's amused that she looks and feels so bad. I'm surprised I got this far into tonight's recap before the first spotting of CoV. Drink up!
"So you faint at the sight of blood?" he asked.
No. SHE DOES NOT. Because TYLER WAS BLEEDING IN FRONT OF HER AND SHE WAS FUCKING FINE.
"And not even your own blood," he continued, enjoying himself.
But she's magically fucking immune to TYLER'S BLOOD which she SAW FOR MINUTES AT A TIME WITHOUT SO MUCH AS A QUEASY FLUTTER. I'm half-and-half on Edward's snark. On the one hand, I know plenty of people in healthy relationships who tease one another when something makes the other person nauseated. On the other hand, this is Edward and Bella, and there's no sign of a healthy relationship. We'll call it a half of a CoV. Take a sip.
I don't know how he opened the door while carrying me, but it was suddenly warm, so I knew we were inside.
You know, if Meyer hadn't written it, I probably wouldn't have thought about it, but how the hell did Edward open the door? I mean if he's got his hands full with Bella, with which appendage does he open the door? And is it a door that pushes open [so that he could easily enter using his body weight], or is it a door that pulls open [so that the door opening would be more of a mystery]?
And am I, perhaps, putting too much thought into this? Hell, I've probably put more thought into this one sentence than Meyer put into the ENTIRE BOOK. Oooh. Burn.
The grandmotherly nurse looked up from a novel, astonished,
She's just realized she's in a terrible, terrible book.
as Edward swung me into the room and placed me gently on the crackly paper that covered the brown vinyl mattress on the one cot.
Swung you? SWUNG YOU? Is there a pulley system or something? Definite violation of Rule Five. I'm calling drink.
"She's just a little faint," he reassured the startled nurse. "They're blood typing in Biology."
The nurse nodded sagely. "There's always one."
He muffled a snicker.
Because Bella feeling sick and woozy? FUNNY TO EDWARD. COV. DRINK.
"Does this happen a lot?" she asked.
"Sometimes," I admitted. Edward coughed to hide another laugh.
BUT NOT IF IT'S TYLER BLEEDING THREE FUCKING FEET AWAY.
"I'm supposed to stay with her." He said this with such assured authority that — even though she pursed her lips — the nurse didn't argue it further.
Because Edward is a MAN, and the nurse KNOWS HER PLACE.
"I'll go get you some ice for your forehead, dear," she said to me, and then bustled out of the room.
Again with the batshit emphasis. I'm calling it a grammar error because how hard is it to read things out loud to see if they sound dumb? Seriously, read that sentence out loud with the emphasis in the spot is it and try to make it sound right. Also, drink.
"You were right," I moaned, letting my eyes close.
"I usually am — but about what in particular this time?"
"Ditching is healthy." I practiced breathing evenly.
First two lines? CoV. Drink. And, yet again, were this a better written novel with characters with PERSONALITIES, I'd probably have found those first two lines charming. The last line? CHEESE. Although it is properly emphasized cheese.
I still had my eyes closed, but I was feeling more normal every minute.
Oh, Bella, you'll never be normal. You're the WORLD'S SPECIALIST SNOWFLAKE.
"Poor Mike. I'll bet he's mad."
"He absolutely loathes me," Edward said cheerfully.
"You can't know that," I argued, but then I wondered suddenly if he could.
"I saw his face — I could tell."
Oh, now I see the attraction: Edward is also WORLD'S SPECIALIST SNOWFLAKE. JUST EVIL. Drink! And horrible abuse of an em dash. DRINK AGAIN!
I heard the door and opened my eyes to see the nurse with a cold compress in her hand.
Wasn't the nurse going for ice? ::checks:: Yeah. The nurse was going for ice. I guess when she got away from Edward and Bella her brain switched back on and she realized that bringing a compress would make better sense than bringing ice.
I hopped down to free up the cot for the next invalid.
I handed the compress back to the nurse. "Here, I don't need this."
WHAT THE FUCK IS WITH MEYER AND HER SINGLE SENTENCE PARAGRAPHS? The entire goddamned book is littered with the damned things like dirty confetti at a skeezy party. Every time I think I've picked up the last piece of slightly soggy, footprinted confetti, another piece falls from the ceiling.
Hmmm...that simile seems to have gotten away from me. Timey-wimey and all that.
So then, another guy shows up, all messed up because he's bleeding.
"I smelled the blood," I said, wrinkling my nose. Lee wasn't sick from watching other people, like me.
"People can't smell blood," he contradicted.
WHAT
<.<
>.>
WHAT
"Well, I can — that's what makes me sick. It smells like rust… and salt."
He was staring at me with an unfathomable expression.
"What?" I asked.
"It's nothing."
Oh, oh, I get it. Only Bella can smell blood because she's THE SPECIALIST SNOWFLAKE. Drink up! And be happy to know that WE CAN'T SMELL BLOOD. [WHAT]
Mike came through the door then, glancing from me to Edward. The look he gave Edward confirmed what Edward had said about loathing.
Yup, double bonus WORLD'S SPECIALIST SNOWFLAKE. Double drink!
"Just keep your hand in your pocket," I warned him again.
"It's not bleeding anymore," [Mike] muttered.
Ooooh. Apparently, the whole "hand in your pocket" thing was because Mike's hand was bleeding. THANKS FOR MAKING THAT CLEAR, MEYER. YOUR ABILITY TO BE CLEAR ON THINGS IS REALLY IMPRESSIVE.
While he spoke, he flashed another glare toward Edward, who was standing against the cluttered counter,
motionless as a sculpture, staring off into space.
Yeah, I heard it too. Here's some music. [Rather obscure "Simpsons" reference. Couldn't help it.]
A swell of sympathy washed over me. I pondered seeing [Mike's] disappointed face again… in Gym.
AHEM:
I was always pale, and my recent swoon had left a light sheen of sweat on my face.
Jesus H., Meyer actually used SWOON. But, apparently, not that the "DRAMA" is over, calling sweat, "sweat" is perfectly fine.
Fainting spells always exhausted me.
Bella's put more effort into this fucking fainting spell than she's put into ANYTHING ELSE IN THE BOOK. She stalked Edward less than she had this SINGLE FAINTING SPELL.
His voice was like melting honey. I could imagine how much more overwhelming his eyes would be.
Compared to WHAT? Yeah, his voice is like "melting honey" [VOMIT], but that doesn't assume OVERWHELMING.
"Do you need to be excused, too, Edward?" Ms. Cope fluttered. Why couldn't I do that?
WHY WOULD YOU WANT TO DO THAT?! WHO THE FUCK WANTS TO FLUTTER?!
"Can you walk, or do you want me to carry you again?" With his back to the receptionist, his expression became sarcastic.
EPIC DOUCHE. That is all.
He held the door for me, his smile polite but his eyes mocking.
EPIC. DOUCHE.
"Let's you and I not push poor Mike any further this week. We don't want him to snap."
SPECIALIST SNOWFLAKE DOUBLE-TIME. DRINK.
"Mike-schmike." I muttered, preoccupied by the way he'd said "you and I." I liked it more than I should.
Bella's spent four-and-a-half chapters STALKING Edward and THINKING about Edward and NOT EATING IF SHE DOESN'T SEE EDWARD, and now she's all worried because he's starting to show interest? COME. THE FUCK. ON.
We were near the parking lot now. I veered left, toward my truck. Something caught my jacket, yanking me back.
"Where do you think you're going?" he asked, outraged. He was gripping a fistful of my jacket in one hand.
I was confused. "I'm going home."
"Didn't you hear me promise to take you safely home? Do you think I'm going to let you drive in your condition?" His voice was still indignant.
And then he hit her.
Okay, he didn't, but it certainly sounds like he's about to. CoV. Drink.
He was towing me toward his car now, pulling me by my jacket. It was all I could do to keep from falling backward. He'd probably just drag me along anyway if I did.
"Let go!" I insisted. He ignored me. I staggered along sideways across the wet sidewalk until we reached the Volvo. Then he finally freed me — I stumbled against the passenger door.
"You are so pushy!" I grumbled.
Pushy? PUSHY? Guy grabs you by the BACK OF YOUR COAT and DRAGS YOU ACROSS A PARKING LOT and you're calling him PUSHY? How about OVERBEARING? How about ABUSIVE? How about DANGEROUS?
I was mentally calculating my chances of reaching the truck before he could catch me. I had to admit, they weren't good.
"I'll just drag you back," he threatened, guessing my plan.
THREATENED. JESUS TAP DANCING CHRIST ON A CYCLE OF VIOLENCE CRUTCH.
"[My mom] looks a lot like me, but she's prettier," I said. He raised his eyebrows. "I have too much Charlie in me.
Firstly, it should be, "I look a lot like my mom, but she's prettier", because her mother came first. Secondly, I'm starting to think Charlie-bashing should be a new part of the drinking game. Because it looks like it's gonna be a theme.
Also: Where's my Charlie/Dr. Cullen slash? Someone pony up!
"I'm seventeen," I responded, a little confused.
"You don't seem seventeen."
So it's totally cool that a dude who's supposedly a hundred is into her. Because he doesn't THINK she SEEMS seventeen. Nothing creepy about that. Not at all.
Oh, and before anyone points out "Buffy" [and it's a fair point], I'd like to point out "Buffy" was better written, and that can do a lot of convincing.
"Would she extend the same courtesy to you, do you think? No matter who your choice was?" He was suddenly intent, his eyes searching mine.
Would her mother, who married a perfectly nice guy [from what tiny bit we know about him], want her to be with an EPIC DOUCHE who has SAID HE'S A BAD GUY? Now THERE'S the question.
I grinned in response. "What do you mean by scary? Multiple facial piercings and extensive tattoos?"
"That's one definition, I suppose."
"What's your definition?"
A guy who shows AN INTEREST IN YOU THAT IS HEALTHY. I mean, fuck, it seems to fucking terrify Bella.
"Are you frightened of me now?" The smile vanished, and his heavenly face was suddenly serious.
"No." But I answered too quickly. The smile returned.
CYCLE OF VIOLENCE. "Do you think I could be scary?"/"Yeah, probably."/"Are you frightened now?"/"No! Of course not! Why would I be, with all your MASSIVE MOOD SWINGS?"
The helplessness had faded as he spoke
Yeah. Sure. Bella's not helpless anymore, folks! And the sky is green! And dogs speak French! And I like this book! Maybe that last one was too far.
The book still blows goats, but we're back to trainwreck-amused, so chapter six may get a go-round. Maybe.
That being said, if you'd like to remember were we last left off, we were here.
Tonight's drink of choice is a 1 ounce shot of Bailey's Irish Cream. I like to sip it slowly, and it felt like a proper choice for these "festivities". And, also, so no one fears for my liver, let it be known that I'm not actually throwing back booze every time I recap. Given the amount I suggest others drink while reading the recap, I thought it would be best to make that clear.
"I'm not going to class today," he said, twirling the lid so fast it was just a blur.
Okay, fine, it's been previously mentioned that Edward's holding Bella's lemonade bottle, but that was THREE PARAGRAPHS AGO. THIS IS NOT PROPER CONTEXT, MEYER.
"It's healthy to ditch class now and then." He smiled up at me, but his eyes were still troubled.
"Well, I'm going," I told him. I was far too big a coward to risk getting caught.
Things that scare Bella: Skipping class, playing sports, driving her truck, being liked by boys WHO LIKE HER, dancing, talking to her father
Things that do not scare Bella: WANTING TO DATE A GUY WHO SAYS HE'S A BAD PERSON.
As I half-ran to class, my head was spinning faster than the bottle cap. So few questions had been answered in comparison to how many new questions had been raised. At least the rain had stopped.
So, she can't play basketball and think of Edward, but she can "half-run" and think of Edward. Bella really is a spectacular kind of stupid, isn't she? Also: WHO GIVES A FUCK ABOUT THE RAIN.
I was lucky; Mr. Banner wasn't in the room yet when I arrived.
"wasn't in the room yet when I arrived. It's technically not a grammar flaw, but it violates rule six because "yet" is a needless word. That's the first drink of the night!
Mike looked resentful; Angela looked surprised, and slightly awed.
Of COURSE they look resentful and awed. The WORLD'S SPECIALIST SNOWFLAKE got attention from the GUY SHE WAS STALKING. Drink up!
[Mr. Banner] put [the boxes] down on Mike's table, telling him to start passing them around the class.
"put [the boxes] down", "telling him". VERB. TENSE. DRINK.
The sharp sound as the gloves snapped into place against his wrists seemed ominous to me.
The sound of her Bio teacher putting on rubber gloves skeeves her, and yet she's still okay DATING A GUY WHO ADMITS HE'S A BAD DUDE.
Okay, I just quoted from this paragraph, but it turns out that it's so bad you have to see the whole thing:
"Okay, guys, I want you all to take one piece from each box," he said as he produced a pair of rubber gloves from the pocket of his lab jacket and pulled them on. The sharp sound as the gloves snapped into place against his wrists seemed ominous to me. "The first should be an indicator card," he went on, grabbing a white card with four squares marked on it and displaying it. "The second is a four-pronged applicator —" he held up
something that looked like a nearly toothless hair pick "— and the third is a sterile microlancet." He held up a small piece of blue plastic and split it open. The barb was invisible from this distance, but my stomach flipped.
I think I speak for all of us when I say, "MY EYES OH GOD MY EYES". Also, verb tense and pronoun fuckery in the final sentence ["The barb was invisible from this distance"]. Drinky-drinky!
Sidenote: Is anyone actually boozing when they read these? I'm curious to know what the buzz is like, as I haven't re-read while having a drink in hand.
Clammy moisture broke out across my forehead.
SWEAT. It's called SWEAT. RULE SIX
And, oh, by the way, until the Bio teacher actually pricked a dude's finger, I didn't realize that they were messing around with blood. Maybe you caught that thanks to the AWESOME description of all the lab equipment, but as I didn't go to a high school that was cool with STUDENTS BLEEDING ON THINGS, I'm not up on what kind of supplies are needed for such an activity.
Secondly, any high school cool with LETTING STUDENTS JAB POINTY THINGS INTO THEMSELVES should probably be closed for health code violations.
[EDIT: The Husband informs me there are high schools that actually do this lab. Whether or not those high schools also house sparkly vampires isn't certain.]
[Mr. Banner] demonstrated, squeezing Mike's finger till the blood flowed.
Of COURSE it's Mike that gets stuck with the pointy thing by the teacher. Because he is officially the whipping boy. Because HE HAD THE NERVE TO LIKE BELLA FIRST. And this: "flowed"? Really? Jesus H., Bio teacher, how hard did you prick him?
Hee..."prick him". [No, I'm not drunk; I'm just perverted.]
holding up the dripping red card
Seriously, how much blood did Mike just lose? Should we call an ambulance? The card is "dripping" people. DRIPPING.
Okay, so the reason for this lab? The Red Cross is doing a blood drive in a DIFFERENT TOWN in the next week, and the Bio teacher thinks the kids should know their blood type. Bio teacher, dude, THE RED CROSS WILL TELL YOU YOUR BLOOD TYPE.
"Those of you who aren't eighteen yet will need a parent's permission — I have slips at my desk."
Bio teach says the kids need permission slips to donate blood. Um, what? I gave blood at seventeen without any parental permission. Are laws different in Washington or is Meyer an idiot [rhetorical question]? Also, there is no damned reason to use an em dash between "permission" and "I". They're completely separate sentences, and the em dash is wasted when a period will work. DRINK.
[If you care to know, em dashes are supposed by used in a manner similar to parentheses--they visually explain that a section of a sentence should get special attention--and they should be used sparingly.]
All around me I could hear squeals, complaints, and giggles as my classmates skewered their fingers.
Skewered? SKEWERED? The only thing skewered here is Bella's idea of how much blood someone loses when they PRICK THEIR FINGER. And if she's got such a massive issue with blood, why wasn't she this squicked out when Tyler was BLEEDING NEXT TO HER AT THE HOSPITAL?
His voice was close to my head, and it sounded alarmed.
Because a high schooler with her/his head on their desk is a rare thing.
"Can someone take Bella to the nurse, please?" he called.
I didn't have to look up to know that it would be Mike who volunteered.
Because Mike, having been REJECTED BY THE SNOWFLAKE will not waver in his attraction. Because he's a STUPID BOY WITH A PENIS THAT TELLS HIM WHAT TO DO. DRINK.
Mike seemed eager as he put his arm around my waist and pulled my arm over his shoulder. I leaned against him heavily on the way out of the classroom.
What an asshole, being eager to get you to the nurse so you don't pass out. Mike, you douche.
So they're headed to the nurse, and Bella asks to sit down, and then she says this:
"And whatever you do, keep your hand in your pocket," I warned.
Because Mike, HAVING SHOWN INTEREST IN A RESPECTABLE WAY is totally waiting to get Bella alone so he can TOUCH HER. Or something. I don't fucking know. The implication, of course, is that any boy that shows A HEALTHY INTEREST IN YOU THAT IS NOT CREEPY BUT RATHER SWEET is secretly waiting to feel you up.
"Bella?" a different voice called from the distance.
No! Please let me be imagining that horribly familiar voice.
"Horribly"? HORRIBLY? It's Edward's voice [of fucking course], and Bella's all a-twitter because he may see her having the goddamned vapors. Because she's been such a bastion of strong, interesting personality before this.
I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping to die.
If only.
Suddenly the sidewalk disappeared from beneath me. My eyes flew open in shock. Edward had scooped me up in his arms, as easily as if I weighed ten pounds instead of a hundred and ten.
YOU FATTIE. It's so terribly impossible for an average-sized guy in high school to pick up a whopping 110 pounds. I WAS 110 pounds in high school; the smallest guy in my class [5 feet even, 130 pounds], could pick me up like I was a fucking leaf. DUDES CAN LIFT THINGS.
Edward ignored him. "You look awful," he told me, grinning.
He's amused that she looks and feels so bad. I'm surprised I got this far into tonight's recap before the first spotting of CoV. Drink up!
"So you faint at the sight of blood?" he asked.
No. SHE DOES NOT. Because TYLER WAS BLEEDING IN FRONT OF HER AND SHE WAS FUCKING FINE.
"And not even your own blood," he continued, enjoying himself.
But she's magically fucking immune to TYLER'S BLOOD which she SAW FOR MINUTES AT A TIME WITHOUT SO MUCH AS A QUEASY FLUTTER. I'm half-and-half on Edward's snark. On the one hand, I know plenty of people in healthy relationships who tease one another when something makes the other person nauseated. On the other hand, this is Edward and Bella, and there's no sign of a healthy relationship. We'll call it a half of a CoV. Take a sip.
I don't know how he opened the door while carrying me, but it was suddenly warm, so I knew we were inside.
You know, if Meyer hadn't written it, I probably wouldn't have thought about it, but how the hell did Edward open the door? I mean if he's got his hands full with Bella, with which appendage does he open the door? And is it a door that pushes open [so that he could easily enter using his body weight], or is it a door that pulls open [so that the door opening would be more of a mystery]?
And am I, perhaps, putting too much thought into this? Hell, I've probably put more thought into this one sentence than Meyer put into the ENTIRE BOOK. Oooh. Burn.
The grandmotherly nurse looked up from a novel, astonished,
She's just realized she's in a terrible, terrible book.
as Edward swung me into the room and placed me gently on the crackly paper that covered the brown vinyl mattress on the one cot.
Swung you? SWUNG YOU? Is there a pulley system or something? Definite violation of Rule Five. I'm calling drink.
"She's just a little faint," he reassured the startled nurse. "They're blood typing in Biology."
The nurse nodded sagely. "There's always one."
He muffled a snicker.
Because Bella feeling sick and woozy? FUNNY TO EDWARD. COV. DRINK.
"Does this happen a lot?" she asked.
"Sometimes," I admitted. Edward coughed to hide another laugh.
BUT NOT IF IT'S TYLER BLEEDING THREE FUCKING FEET AWAY.
"I'm supposed to stay with her." He said this with such assured authority that — even though she pursed her lips — the nurse didn't argue it further.
Because Edward is a MAN, and the nurse KNOWS HER PLACE.
"I'll go get you some ice for your forehead, dear," she said to me, and then bustled out of the room.
Again with the batshit emphasis. I'm calling it a grammar error because how hard is it to read things out loud to see if they sound dumb? Seriously, read that sentence out loud with the emphasis in the spot is it and try to make it sound right. Also, drink.
"You were right," I moaned, letting my eyes close.
"I usually am — but about what in particular this time?"
"Ditching is healthy." I practiced breathing evenly.
First two lines? CoV. Drink. And, yet again, were this a better written novel with characters with PERSONALITIES, I'd probably have found those first two lines charming. The last line? CHEESE. Although it is properly emphasized cheese.
I still had my eyes closed, but I was feeling more normal every minute.
Oh, Bella, you'll never be normal. You're the WORLD'S SPECIALIST SNOWFLAKE.
"Poor Mike. I'll bet he's mad."
"He absolutely loathes me," Edward said cheerfully.
"You can't know that," I argued, but then I wondered suddenly if he could.
"I saw his face — I could tell."
Oh, now I see the attraction: Edward is also WORLD'S SPECIALIST SNOWFLAKE. JUST EVIL. Drink! And horrible abuse of an em dash. DRINK AGAIN!
I heard the door and opened my eyes to see the nurse with a cold compress in her hand.
Wasn't the nurse going for ice? ::checks:: Yeah. The nurse was going for ice. I guess when she got away from Edward and Bella her brain switched back on and she realized that bringing a compress would make better sense than bringing ice.
I hopped down to free up the cot for the next invalid.
I handed the compress back to the nurse. "Here, I don't need this."
WHAT THE FUCK IS WITH MEYER AND HER SINGLE SENTENCE PARAGRAPHS? The entire goddamned book is littered with the damned things like dirty confetti at a skeezy party. Every time I think I've picked up the last piece of slightly soggy, footprinted confetti, another piece falls from the ceiling.
Hmmm...that simile seems to have gotten away from me. Timey-wimey and all that.
So then, another guy shows up, all messed up because he's bleeding.
"I smelled the blood," I said, wrinkling my nose. Lee wasn't sick from watching other people, like me.
"People can't smell blood," he contradicted.
WHAT
<.<
>.>
WHAT
"Well, I can — that's what makes me sick. It smells like rust… and salt."
He was staring at me with an unfathomable expression.
"What?" I asked.
"It's nothing."
Oh, oh, I get it. Only Bella can smell blood because she's THE SPECIALIST SNOWFLAKE. Drink up! And be happy to know that WE CAN'T SMELL BLOOD. [WHAT]
Mike came through the door then, glancing from me to Edward. The look he gave Edward confirmed what Edward had said about loathing.
Yup, double bonus WORLD'S SPECIALIST SNOWFLAKE. Double drink!
"Just keep your hand in your pocket," I warned him again.
"It's not bleeding anymore," [Mike] muttered.
Ooooh. Apparently, the whole "hand in your pocket" thing was because Mike's hand was bleeding. THANKS FOR MAKING THAT CLEAR, MEYER. YOUR ABILITY TO BE CLEAR ON THINGS IS REALLY IMPRESSIVE.
While he spoke, he flashed another glare toward Edward, who was standing against the cluttered counter,
motionless as a sculpture, staring off into space.
Yeah, I heard it too. Here's some music. [Rather obscure "Simpsons" reference. Couldn't help it.]
A swell of sympathy washed over me. I pondered seeing [Mike's] disappointed face again… in Gym.
AHEM:
I was always pale, and my recent swoon had left a light sheen of sweat on my face.
Jesus H., Meyer actually used SWOON. But, apparently, not that the "DRAMA" is over, calling sweat, "sweat" is perfectly fine.
Fainting spells always exhausted me.
Bella's put more effort into this fucking fainting spell than she's put into ANYTHING ELSE IN THE BOOK. She stalked Edward less than she had this SINGLE FAINTING SPELL.
His voice was like melting honey. I could imagine how much more overwhelming his eyes would be.
Compared to WHAT? Yeah, his voice is like "melting honey" [VOMIT], but that doesn't assume OVERWHELMING.
"Do you need to be excused, too, Edward?" Ms. Cope fluttered. Why couldn't I do that?
WHY WOULD YOU WANT TO DO THAT?! WHO THE FUCK WANTS TO FLUTTER?!
"Can you walk, or do you want me to carry you again?" With his back to the receptionist, his expression became sarcastic.
EPIC DOUCHE. That is all.
He held the door for me, his smile polite but his eyes mocking.
EPIC. DOUCHE.
"Let's you and I not push poor Mike any further this week. We don't want him to snap."
SPECIALIST SNOWFLAKE DOUBLE-TIME. DRINK.
"Mike-schmike." I muttered, preoccupied by the way he'd said "you and I." I liked it more than I should.
Bella's spent four-and-a-half chapters STALKING Edward and THINKING about Edward and NOT EATING IF SHE DOESN'T SEE EDWARD, and now she's all worried because he's starting to show interest? COME. THE FUCK. ON.
We were near the parking lot now. I veered left, toward my truck. Something caught my jacket, yanking me back.
"Where do you think you're going?" he asked, outraged. He was gripping a fistful of my jacket in one hand.
I was confused. "I'm going home."
"Didn't you hear me promise to take you safely home? Do you think I'm going to let you drive in your condition?" His voice was still indignant.
And then he hit her.
Okay, he didn't, but it certainly sounds like he's about to. CoV. Drink.
He was towing me toward his car now, pulling me by my jacket. It was all I could do to keep from falling backward. He'd probably just drag me along anyway if I did.
"Let go!" I insisted. He ignored me. I staggered along sideways across the wet sidewalk until we reached the Volvo. Then he finally freed me — I stumbled against the passenger door.
"You are so pushy!" I grumbled.
Pushy? PUSHY? Guy grabs you by the BACK OF YOUR COAT and DRAGS YOU ACROSS A PARKING LOT and you're calling him PUSHY? How about OVERBEARING? How about ABUSIVE? How about DANGEROUS?
I was mentally calculating my chances of reaching the truck before he could catch me. I had to admit, they weren't good.
"I'll just drag you back," he threatened, guessing my plan.
THREATENED. JESUS TAP DANCING CHRIST ON A CYCLE OF VIOLENCE CRUTCH.
"[My mom] looks a lot like me, but she's prettier," I said. He raised his eyebrows. "I have too much Charlie in me.
Firstly, it should be, "I look a lot like my mom, but she's prettier", because her mother came first. Secondly, I'm starting to think Charlie-bashing should be a new part of the drinking game. Because it looks like it's gonna be a theme.
Also: Where's my Charlie/Dr. Cullen slash? Someone pony up!
"I'm seventeen," I responded, a little confused.
"You don't seem seventeen."
So it's totally cool that a dude who's supposedly a hundred is into her. Because he doesn't THINK she SEEMS seventeen. Nothing creepy about that. Not at all.
Oh, and before anyone points out "Buffy" [and it's a fair point], I'd like to point out "Buffy" was better written, and that can do a lot of convincing.
"Would she extend the same courtesy to you, do you think? No matter who your choice was?" He was suddenly intent, his eyes searching mine.
Would her mother, who married a perfectly nice guy [from what tiny bit we know about him], want her to be with an EPIC DOUCHE who has SAID HE'S A BAD GUY? Now THERE'S the question.
I grinned in response. "What do you mean by scary? Multiple facial piercings and extensive tattoos?"
"That's one definition, I suppose."
"What's your definition?"
A guy who shows AN INTEREST IN YOU THAT IS HEALTHY. I mean, fuck, it seems to fucking terrify Bella.
"Are you frightened of me now?" The smile vanished, and his heavenly face was suddenly serious.
"No." But I answered too quickly. The smile returned.
CYCLE OF VIOLENCE. "Do you think I could be scary?"/"Yeah, probably."/"Are you frightened now?"/"No! Of course not! Why would I be, with all your MASSIVE MOOD SWINGS?"
The helplessness had faded as he spoke
Yeah. Sure. Bella's not helpless anymore, folks! And the sky is green! And dogs speak French! And I like this book! Maybe that last one was too far.
The book still blows goats, but we're back to trainwreck-amused, so chapter six may get a go-round. Maybe.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
on 2009-02-15 10:06 am (UTC)*hug*
And dude, totally. The only trouble is, if I were to write Charle/Dr. Cullen, it would be movie-verse, where Charlie isn't bashed on by Bella being a twat?
no subject
on 2009-02-15 08:12 pm (UTC)This book doesn't blow goats, because I don't think the goats want to be blown by this book?
Please continue to be this awesome. Because the world needs this much awesome.
Comment Fic, just for you?
on 2009-02-15 08:23 pm (UTC)If I were a goat, I would rather be blown by Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows?
***
"I shouldn't..." Carlisle whispered, looking up into Charlie's dark brown eyes and finding himself unable to move. All of his life as a vampire, he'd used his compassion to help people heal. He'd refused to give into his bloodlust, but the scent that tickled his nose was making him think things that were dangerous. Not only for himself and the treaty he had with the Quileute tribe, but for this tall, dark stranger.
Charlie wasn't a stranger -- they had known each other for years before Charlie's daughter had come to live in Forks -- but the way that Charlie was looking at him now, dark eyes glittering, hands braced on either side of him on the desk that Charlie used for work....
"You could," Charlie whispered, tilting his head just a little. "I don't know what's happening, but this feels... right."
"The drug that you confiscated from the crime scene must have done something to you," Carlisle said quickly, seizing on the strangeness of the words Charlie had spoken. Because Charlie never looked at him this way, never spoke this way.
Think of Esme, Carlisle told himself. She's waiting at home for you....
But Esme knew about him, had known for years that his... tastes... tended toward tall, dark and handsome as well as the love of his life. She never blamed him -- had in fact encouraged him to indulge in his primal nature more often, with the exception of feeding. What would she say now, staring at the two of them in Charlie's office, Charlie leaning in, his breath warm against Carlisle's lips?
What would she say to Carlisle closing his eyes, and letting a kiss that he'd wanted for three years finally happen?
Re: Comment Fic, just for you?
on 2009-02-15 08:50 pm (UTC)::stashes this away::
This alone will get me through chapter six.
Re: Comment Fic, just for you?
on 2009-02-15 08:53 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2009-02-15 11:58 am (UTC)::snicker::
"Hmmm...that simile seems to have gotten away from me. Timey-wimey and all that."
HAHAHAHAHAHA!
Have more vodka.
Oh, and the video clip ... priceless.
no subject
on 2009-02-15 08:10 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2009-02-15 05:27 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2009-02-15 08:13 pm (UTC)