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perpetual_motionI threw in the hat last night because my definition of "logic" and Bella's definition of "logic" are very, very different. In short: I own a dictionary and have a working brain. I do not feel the same can be said of Bella.
Having now gotten
I feel I'm ready to finish the eye-gouging, sense-losing experience that is Chapter 7. However, if you're new to the game, allow me to present to you my personal feelings thus far:
That's a 10-minute clip, but highly entertaining. I might be extremely biased, but I do make reading recommendations.
Tonight's beverage is a 12-ounce bottle of Mountain Dew. Because I just finished my hot tea, and it's not late enough for booze yet.
If Edward was a vampire — I could hardly make myself think the words— then what should I do?
First point, and an important one: Meyer FINALLY used em dashes correctly. I know, I'm shocked too. See how she used them to frame a piece of extra information that helps punch up the sentence? THAT'S HOW EM DAHSES ARE SUPPOSED TO BE USED.
Oh, but never fear, this sentence is still a wreck. Because Bella's saying "If Edward's a vampire," when she's already DONE RESEARCH on vampires because SHE THINKS HE IS ONE. And she's basing this on EASILY EXPLAINED INFORMATION AND A TRIBAL STORY FROM A 15-YEAR-OLD BOY.
Up to speed? Oh, good. Carrying on.
Involving someone else was definitely out.
The message? If you think your boyfriend is scary, possibly violent, or actually violent, DON'T TELL ANYONE. That's right, ladies; if you fear that your boyfriend IS THE BAD GUY, you shouldn't TELL ANYONE. And why not?
I couldn't even believe myself; anyone I told would have me committed.
THAT'S RIGHT. Because thinking your boyfriend MIGHT BE VIOLENT OR GENERALLY BAD MAKES YOU CRAZY.
NOW GET IN THE KITCHEN AND MAKE A PIE, WOMAN.
Only two options seemed practical. The first was to take his advice: to be smart, to avoid him as much as possible.
You know how I keep saying that my definition of "logic" and Bella's definition of "logic" are worlds' apart because I have a dictionary? Yeah. This is why. Because she thinks of this as the first option and DECIDES NOT TO TAKE IT.
To tell him to leave me alone — and mean it this time.
Oh, but you can't do that, Bella. That would mean you have a BRAIN and a SPINE and COMMON FUCKING SENSE.
I was gripped in a sudden agony of despair as I considered that alternative.
She's had all of a dozen conversations with the guy, and being away from him is DESPAIR? SERIOUSLY?
That's a stalker drink.
And what's Bella's other option, you ask?
I could do nothing different. After all, if he was something… sinister, he'd done nothing to hurt me so far.
Oh, yes, the "He hasn't hit me, yet", defense. So useful, right? Remember, ladies: It's okay. If he hasn't hit you YET.
I would be a dent in Tyler's fender if he hadn't acted so quickly. So quickly, I argued with myself, that it might have been sheer reflexes. But if it was a reflex to save lives, how bad could he be? I retorted. My head spun around in answerless circles.
Here's an answer for you: STAY THE FUCK AWAY FROM THE GUY WHO TELLS YOU HE'S DANGEROUS.
Okay, I have to stop for a moment. Just, let me breathe a second.
::breathes::
HOW THE FUCK IS TELLING TEENAGE GIRLS TO TRUST THE "BAD BOY" TO SECRETLY BE A NICE GUY ANY SORT OF WAY TO TEACH TEENAGE GIRLS HOW TO TAKE CARE OF THEMSELVES? HOW HAVE SO MANY FUCKING MOTHERS FALLEN INTO THIS PILE OF SHIT AND CONVINCED THEMSELVES THAT IT'S OKAY IF THEIR DAUGHTER WANTS TO DATE A "BAD BOY" BECAUSE EDWARD'S SUPPOSED TO BE ONE, AND HE SECRETLY HAS A SOFT, FLUFFY HEART?!
YOU KNOW WHO DON'T HAVE SOFT, FLUFFY HEARTS? VIOLENT CONTROLLING DOUCHEBAGS. LIKE EDWARD!
::breathes::
Oooh, puppies:
Aaaahhhhh.
And, yes, that's my dog.
Once again, carrying on:
There was one thing I was sure of, if I was sure of anything. The dark Edward in my dream last night was a reflection only of my fear of the word Jacob had spoken, and not Edward himself.
::capslocks:: YEAH ::un-capslocks:: Fucking hell, you all. Just, FUCKING HELL. What do we learn? Ignoring our intuition is good, because then we get a man, and even if he seems evil and scary, he's NOT REALLY.
Even so, when I'd screamed out in terror at the werewolf's lunge, it wasn't fear for the wolf that brought the cry of "no" to my lips. It was fear that he would be harmed — even as he called to me with sharp-edged fangs, I feared for him.
Much like women in relationships with violent men fear those men being arrested or otherwise removed from them, because otherwise they have no sense of self or being. Because those men routinely berate them and harass them into a submissive state wherein they believe their worth is intrinsically linked to the man who treats them so shittily.
Let's be clear: This dynamic can happen in any relationship. It's not the sexual organs that make people assholes, but the will of people to be assholes. I'm making references to heterosexual relationships because that's the relationship that's being discussed. And that, actually, makes it worse. If there are any non-straight teenagers reading these books, they're being given the idea that only opposite sex partners are the ones to fear, and that puts them at a disadvantage, because even if those non-straight teenagers recognize the unhealthiness of the relationship between Edward and Bella, they may not be able to recognize the same unhealthiness in their own relationship--if it exists--because these books have set it up so that the only violent and creepy people are the opposite sex people. The male opposite sex people, to be precise. It's not Meyer's job to write to every possible audience, but to write to an audience and convince them that her way of writing a relationship is healthy and perfectly okay--and to have that audience be teenagers--is disgraceful. THIS IS HOW MEYER SEES RELATIONSHIPS, PEOPLE. SHE THINKS IT'S OKAY FOR MEN TO TREAT WOMEN BADLY AND FOR WOMEN TO BE OKAY WITH IT.
Carrying on:
And I knew in that I had my answer. I didn't know if there ever was a choice, really. I was already in too deep. Now that I knew — if I knew — I could do nothing about my frightening secret. Because when I thought of him, of his voice, his hypnotic eyes, the magnetic force of his personality, I wanted nothing more than to be with him right now.
Too deep? TOO FUCKING DEEP? YOU BARELY KNOW HIM YOU BRAINLESS VOID OF SKIN! YOU HAVEN'T EVEN FUCKING DESCRIBED HIM!
I...you...him...idiot..how...DRINK. A LOT.
INTERMISSION:
Thank you, Joel. You're always great.
Where was I?
Even if… but I couldn't think it. Not here, alone in the darkening forest. Not while the rain made it dim as twilight under the canopy and pattered like footsteps across the matted earthen floor.
Ooh, Meyer, you clever woman. Did you see it, folks? Did you? "dim as TWILIGHT". CLEVER.
And the forest isn't the only thing.
I shivered and rose quickly from my place of concealment, worried that somehow the path would have disappeared with the rain. But it was there, safe and clear, winding its way out of the dripping green maze. I
followed it hastily, my hood pulled close around my face, becoming surprised, as I nearly ran through the trees, at how far I had come.
And Meyer tries to be metaphoric. Meyer? Yeah. NO. You can't even use em dashes properly most of the time, and they're basic punctuation. No metaphors for you. Ever. They probably sparkle.
I started to wonder if I was heading out at all, or following the path farther into the confines of the forest.
SHE DOESN'T REMEMBER WHICH WAY SHE WAS WALKING ON THE TRAIL. Look, there's having no sense of direction [hey, how ya doin'?], and there's being a BLITHERING IDIOT.
It was just noon when I got back inside.
Hell of a dense forest she was in if it looked like TWILIGHT [get it? GET IT?] and it's only NOON.
I settled into outlining a rough draft contentedly, more serene than I'd felt since… well, since Thursday
afternoon, if I was being honest.
What the flying hell happened Thursday afternoon? I can't even be bothered to check, honestly. Look at it this way: If I can't remember what happened all of two chapters ago, and that whatever it was happened on a Thursday, I think this is less reading comprehension and more SHITTY WRITING.
That had always been my way, though. Making decisions was the painful part for me, the part I agonized over. But once the decision was made, I simply followed through — usually with relief that the choice was made.
That's right, ladies; once you agree to STAND BY YOUR MAN, no other decision is even an OPTION. Because we women should always STAND BY OUR MEN. Even if they do show all the signs of being a VIOLENT OFFENDER.
Sometimes the relief was tainted by despair, like my decision to come to Forks. But it was still better than wrestling with the alternatives.
Like NOT PUTTING YOURSELF INTO A SITUATION TO BE VIOLATED? Yeah, that's a hard decision.
And I feel the need to remind you, again, that MEYER THINKS THIS IS A HEALTHY, BEAUTIFUL LOVE STORY.
This decision was ridiculously easy to live with. Dangerously easy.
Which is, of course, how I know my decisions are the right one. I just assume they are instantly. Because then I don't have to think about the consequences.
Charlie came home with a large catch, and I made a mental note to pick up a book of recipes for fish while I was in Seattle next week.
Because what good's a woman if she CAN'T COOK EVERYTHING.
The chills that flashed up my spine whenever I thought of that trip were no different than the ones I'd felt before I'd taken my walk with Jacob Black. They should be different, I thought. I should be afraid — I knew I should be, but I couldn't feel the right kind of fear.
She's NOT AFRAID, but she's also not feeling the RIGHT KIND OF FEAR. THE FUCK.
I woke, for the second time since arriving in Forks, to the bright yellow light of a sunny day.
Of course it is. Because now that she's decided to WUV Edward no matter what, the world is a BEAUTIFUL FUCKING PLACE.
I skipped to the window, stunned to see that there was hardly a cloud in the sky, and those there were just fleecy little white puffs that couldn't possibly be carrying any rain.
First: Skipped? REALLY? She can't look at a tide pool without FALLING IN, but she can SKIP to her window? Secondly: I hate this sentence. It's shittier than the ones surrounding it, and that says a lot. Drink for that sentence.
I opened the window — surprised when it opened silently, without sticking, not having opened it in who knows how many years — and sucked in the relatively dry air.
Oooh, so that's how Edward the stalker gets in to watch Bella sleep. The window is well-maintained. I love Bella's shock at it. She seems genuinely shocked that Charlie would keep up the house while she's gone.
[Charlie] smiled back, his brown eyes crinkling around the edges. When Charlie smiled, it was
easier to see why he and my mother had jumped too quickly into an early marriage.
Because the rest of the time Charlie is such a fucking worthless pile that it's hard to see how anyone would want to bone him. Let's have a drink for Charlie.
Most of the young romantic he'd been in those days had faded before I'd known him, as the curly brown hair — the same color, if not the same texture, as mine — had dwindled, slowly revealing more and more of the shiny skin of his forehead. But when he smiled I could see a little of the man who had run away with Renée when she was just two years older than I was now.
Oh, dear god, where to start? How about with the description of Charlie's forehead as SHINY. I mean, SERIOUSLY? And someone needs to explain to Meyer that MEN DON'T GO BALD ON THEIR FOREHEADS. Also, we have another instance of Bella referring to her mother [the woman who RAISED her] as Renee. THE HELL. She didn't call her Renee to start with; why the fuck does she keep doing it now? Thirdly, why the fuck was Bella so amazed that Jacob's sister was married WHEN HER OWN PARENTS MARRIED YOUNG.
One or other, Meyer: Either young marriage freaks out Bella, or it's completely cool. PICK ONE.
watching the dust moats
Okay, look, my copy of "Twilight" was acquired in a certain...way...that's not...oh, fuck it. I downloaded it, okay? And now I want to know if someone has a fully legit copy and can check the spelling on "moats" in the book. Because "moats" go around castles. "Motes" are what you call dust. It should be somewhere on page 78 or thereabouts.
I hesitated on my way out the door, hand on my rain jacket. It would be tempting fate to leave it home. With a sigh, I folded it over my arm and stepped out into the brightest light I'd seen in months.
It's tempting fate to LEAVE YOUR RAIN COAT WHEN IT'S SUNNY OUTSIDE?
Things Bella does not understand:
logic
making a decision based on facts and evidence
WEATHER
And, I'd like it noted, Bella has just said it's been "months" since she's seen proper sunlight. This implies that she's been in Forks for months. And this means that the spring dance that was supposed to happen TWO WEEKS AFTER THE VAN ALMOST HIT HER has not yet happened. Also, I've peeked ahead. Wanna know what chapter 8 is about? THE DANCE. Won't somebody think of the TIMELINE?
By dint of much elbow grease, I was able to get both windows in the truck almost completely rolled down.
So, her truck has been kept in good kit by Jacob Black and his dad. So good, in fact, that the only major issue is a loud engine. And it takes EFFORT to roll down the windows? COME ON.
I parked and headed toward the seldom-used picnic benches on the south side of the cafeteria.
Because it RAINS ALL THE TIME YOU GUYS. MY GOD HOW DO THEY HANDLE IT. THE RAIN.
My homework was done — the product of a slow social life — but there were a few Trig problems I wasn't sure I had right.
The only reason Bella HAS a slow social life is because, when asked to hang out by guys WHO SHOW A HEALTHY INTEREST AND AREN'T FUCKING CREEPY, she TURNS THEM DOWN.
I took out my book industriously
How does one take out book "industriously"? That's a rule five, violation, and I'm not linking because I hope you lot have internalized it by now.
"Bella!" I heard someone call, and it sounded like Mike.
Or it could be, you know, MIKE. I would think, given Bella's constant reference to how often Mike talks to her [and how ANNOYING it is], that she'd be able to RECOGNIZE HIS VOICE.
"Hey, Mike," I called, waving back, unable to be halfhearted on a morning like this.
Is she just the KINDEST SOUL IN THE WORLD? It's too PRETTY outside for Bella to be her usual PASSIVE-AGGRESSIVE SELF.
He came to sit by me, the tidy spikes of his hair shining golden in the light, his grin stretching across his face. He was so delighted to see me, I couldn't help but feel gratified.
Pardon me, I have to chuck on my shoes.
I love how Mike being happy because of the weather, or the day in general isn't a possibility. Oh, no, he's happy to see BELLA. OF COURSE. That's a SPECIALIST SNOWFLAKE ALERT. Bottoms up.
"I never noticed before — your hair has red in it," he commented, catching between his fingers a strand that was fluttering in the light breeze.
PASSIVE VOICE SUCKS. "catching between his fingers a strand..." is just a fucking lazy writer trying to sound interesting or romantic. Meyer, SUCK IT.
I became just a little uncomfortable as he tucked the lock behind my ear.
But ONLY A LITTLE.
Meanwhile, Edward DRAGGING her across the parking lot BY HER JACKET was COMPLETELY COOL.
"I mostly worked on my essay." I didn't add that I was finished with it — no need to sound smug.
Because Bella's biggest issue is how often she has a right to SOUND SMUG . And how does being DONE WITH A PAPER make her SMUG? It's a fucking PAPER. It's not like she aced a final or something.
"Wednesday?" He frowned. "That's not good… What are you writing yours on?"
"Whether Shakespeare's treatment of the female characters is misogynistic."
OH SWEET JESUS. You can see the justification, too, right? This book isn't misogynistic. The main character CALLS SOMEONE ELSE misogynistic. So THIS BOOK CAN'T POSSIBLY BE MISOGYNISTIC.
Fuck it. Where's the Bailey's?
Never fear: that's the 1-ounce shotglass, and I enjoy the taste of Bailey's too much to chug.
For now.
He stared at me like I'd just spoken in pig Latin.
I'm with Mike on this one. I'd think those words [about Shakespeare] coming from her mouth would be incredibly unbelievable, too.
"I guess I'll have to get to work on that tonight," he said, deflated. "I was going to ask if you wanted to go out."
"Oh." I was taken off guard. Why couldn't I ever have a pleasant conversation with Mike anymore without it getting awkward?
BECAUSE YOU'VE CONVINCED YOURSELF THAT HE ONLY TALKS TO YOU BECAUSE HE WANTS TO HUMP YOU. Seriously, how much easier would Bella be to take if she wasn't constantly convinced that every guy who said two words to her wanted to hump her? Yeah, Mike's asking her out. But you know what he hasn't done for FOUR CHAPTERS? ASKED HER OUT.
And so Bella tells him that Jessica's interested in him. Which, of course, Mike was COMPLETELY OBLIVIOUS to, because the VOID that is Bella sucks in the attention of EVERY MALE EVER.
She, Angela, and Lauren were going to Port Angeles tonight to go dress shopping for the dance
"were going", "tonight". That's grammar fuckery. DRINK. [My brain's so fried from the rage, that I'm not sure if it counts as verb tense fuckery or adverb fuckery, but it's one of them.]
I was indecisive.
Unless, of course, you're deciding to DATE A DUDE WHO SAYS HE'S BAD FOR YOU.
She talked of nothing but the dance on the way to Spanish, continuing as if without an interruption when class finally ended, five minutes late,
I love how Meyer throws in shit like, "five minutes late", and then NEVER FUCKING EXPLAINS WHY. Like it's PERFECTLY NORMAL FOR CLASSES TO RUN LATE. I don't know what kind of high school Meyer went to, but my classes always got out right on time. And if they didn't, the negative response from the students was enough that we were never let out late again.
And she and Jessica head to the cafeteria for lunch. Along the way Bella is thinking of--say it with me now--EDWARD.
And then a different feeling jolted through me —would Edward be waiting to sit with me again?
Note the phrase, "waiting to sit with me", as if to play off the fact that the last time they shared a table, HE BECKONED HER OVER LIKE A DOG AND SHE WAS COOL WITH IT.
As was my routine, I glanced first toward the Cullens' table.
Because having part of your routine being CHECKING A TABLE OF PEOPLE YOU DON'T KNOW is perfectly normal, right?
A shiver of panic trembled in my stomach as I realized it was empty.
Wait for it.
Desolation hit me with crippling strength.
THERE IT IS. A completely rational and understandable response to your NOT ACTUAL BOYFRIEND NOT BEING IN THE ROOM. DESOLATION.
I vaguely noticed that Mike held the chair out politely for Jessica, and that her face lit up in response.
Because, of course, Mike can't ACTUALLY be interested in Jessica. Because BELLA'S AROUND YOU GUYS.
Angela asked a few quiet questions about the Macbeth paper, which I answered as naturally as I could while spiraling downward in misery.
Yeah. That's right. When your not-boyfriend doesn't show up for school, you should feel things like "misery". I don't know about you lot, but the last time I felt "misery" was when my grandfather died. Or maybe it was an hour ago, when I realized this chapter was only getting worse.
I realized I'd been holding on to a last shred of hope when I entered Biology, saw his empty seat, and felt a new wave of disappointment.
The fact that Bella tries to kill herself--more than once--in the second book makes a great deal more sense now. I mean, fuck, if she's feeling DESOLATION and MISERY when EDWARD DOESN'T SHOW UP FOR LUNCH AND BIO, it's no wonder she felt that throwing herself off a cliff when he left her was a perfectly fine response.
THAT MAKES SENSE, RIGHT?
And because I cannot make this clear enough: Bella only starts to feel like the world's ending WHEN SHE GETS TO LUNCH and EDWARD'S NOT THERE. She didn't think, for the rest of the fucking day, to look for Edward, or talk to Edward, or even fucking THINK about Edward. Only when HE DIDN'T SHOW UP WHERE SHE EXPECTED was she upset.
I can't hear you over the sounds of personal standards dropping all over the fucking place.
And they're gonna play badminton in gym. This means, of course, that Bella has to fucking wet herself.
In Gym, we had a lecture on the rules of badminton, the next torture they had lined up for me.
For her PERSONALLY, you guys. Because Bella's SO GODDAMNED SPECIAL that the coach finds PRIVATE TORTURES. That's a drink.
But at least it meant I got to sit and listen instead of stumbling around on the court.
BADMINTON: So terribly difficult for the womenfolk, we STUMBLE AROUND THE COURT.
The best part was the coach didn't finish, so I got another day off tomorrow.
GRAMMAR. GRAMMAR. GRAMMAR. DRINK.
Never mind that the day after they would arm me with a racket before unleashing me on the rest of the class.
God, Bella, just...shut up. JUST SHUT UP. I've played badminton. There's no "unleashing" with a badminton racquet. THEY WEIGH NOTHING. Of course, I'm saying this from the perspective of NOT HAVING SOME HORRIFIC MOTOR SKILL FUNCTION PROBLEM THAT DISALLOWS ME FROM LOOKING INTO TIDE POOLS WITHOUT FALLING.
I was glad to leave campus, so I would be free to pout and mope before I went out tonight with Jessica and company.
That's maturity, folks. Pouting and moping. No wonder Edward and his century-old penis want to get with her. SHE ACTS LIKE A GROWN-UP.
I tried to be happy that Mike had asked her out to dinner
But you're not. Because Mike liking someone else means YOU LOSE SPECIALIST SNOWFLAKE STATUS.
She rescheduled our shopping trip for tomorrow night.
THINK OF THE ADVERB YOU STUPID TWIT.
I had fish marinating for dinner, with a salad and bread left over from the night before, so there was nothing to do there.
Because a GOOD WOMAN always cooks before DOING ANYTHING ELSE.
I had a small collection of books that came with me to Forks
Nice of them to tag along. Did they pack their own luggage? I ask because they are apparently SENTIENT.
the shabbiest volume being a compilation of the works of Jane Austen.
OH DEAR GOD NO NOT THAT. PLEASE NOT THAT. NOT AUSTEN. PLEASE.
folded the quilt in half and laid it out of the reach of the trees' shadows on the thick lawn that would always be slightly wet, no matter how long the sun shone.
What kind of freaky fucking lawn is Charlie growing there? Constantly damp grass? Call the military; this shit is alien tech.
My favorites were Pride and Prejudice and Sense and Sensibility. I'd read the first most recently,
Meyer, YOU ARE NOT AUSTEN. And you know what else? BELLA IS NOT LIZZIE. You know how I know? BECAUSE LIZZIE TOLD THE ASSHOLE TO STEP OFF. You think you're setting up Bella with Darcy. YOU'RE NOT. EDWARD IS THE EQUIVALENT TO WICKHAM. In fact, I would say that WICKHAM would be a better choice than EDWARD.
so I started into Sense and Sensibility, only to remember after I began three that the hero of the story happened to be named Edward. Angrily, I turned to Mansfield Park, but the hero of that piece was named Edmund, and that was just too close.
Refusing to read your favorite books because the names remind you too much of THE GUY YOU'RE NOT ACTUALLY DATING? Perfectly sane. Really. EXCEPT COMPLETELY NOT.
Weren't there any other names available in the late eighteenth century?
Yes. George. George Wickham. WHO IS A BETTER SUITOR THAN EDWARD.
[Apologies if you've not read "Pride and Prejudice". If you have, I think you'll find yourself agreeing and feeling slightly bad for it.]
Since she can't read her favorite books, Bella stretches out on the grass and falls asleep. She wakes up feeling edgy, like she's being watched, and she hears Charlie go into the house.
I ran inside to get some oil heating on the stove, realizing that dinner would be late.
OH FOR THE LOVE YOU STUPID
INTERMISSION. JOEL:
Thank you, Joel.
I watched TV with Charlie after dinner, for something to do.
Because fuck all forbid you SPEND TIME WITH YOUR FATHER.
He seemed happy, though, to be doing something together. And it felt good, despite my depression, to make him happy.
Because, of course, SHE'S NOT HAPPY BECAUSE EDWARD'S NOT THERE.
Charlie, do us all a favor: SHOOT HER. Then, call up Carlisle, offer up some hot lovin', and get him to help you hide the body. PLEASE.
"Jessica Stanley?" he asked.
"And Angela Weber." I sighed as I gave him the details.
He was confused. "But you're not going to the dance, right?"
"No, Dad, but I'm helping them find dresses — you know, giving them constructive criticism." I wouldn't have to explain this to a woman.
DUUURRRRR. MEN STUPID. MEN NO SHOP. MEN NO UNDERSTAND TEENAGE GIRLS GO SHOP. DUUURRRR.
"Well, okay." He seemed to realize that he was out of his depth with the girlie stuff.
DRINK RIGHT NOW. And realize all we know of Charlie is that Bella thinks he's CONSTANTLY DEFICIENT ON EVERY FUCKING LEVEL.
"We'll leave right after school, so we can get back early. You'll be okay for dinner, right?"
"Bells, I fed myself for seventeen years before you got here," he reminded me.
"I don't know how you survived," I muttered, then added more clearly, "I'll leave some things for cold-cut sandwiches in the fridge, okay? Right on top."
The two most talented people I know, in terms of food, are MY FATHER AND MY HUSBAND. But, of course, MEN DON'T COOK IN MEYER'S WORLD. WHATEVER WOULD THE WOMEN DO THEN?
It was sunny again in the morning. I awakened with renewed hope that I grimly tried to suppress.
Because wanting to be happy OUTSIDE OF CLAIMING A PENIS is a useless endeavor.
I dressed for the warmer weather in a deep blue V-neck blouse — something I'd worn in the dead of winter in Phoenix.
BECAUSE FORKS SUCKS YOU GUYS. DID YOU HEAR ME? I SAID THAT FORKS SUCKS. I DON'T THINK YOU HEARD ME. FORKS SUCKS.
I'm not even gonna recap Bella going to school. It summarizes like this: Drove to school. Volvo not there. Sad face. Didn't see Edward at all. Slit wrists.
Except, of course, the wrist-thing didn't happen. Because who wants a dead female character when you can have one who MOPES ENDLESSLY.
The Port Angeles scheme was back on again for tonight
ADVERBS PEOPLE. THINK OF THE ADVERBS. [And drink]
I vowed to myself that I would be in a good mood tonight
ADVERBS.
I left a note for Charlie on the table, explaining again where to find dinner,
Because CHARLIE IS COMPLETELY INCAPABLE OF FINDING FOOD IF BELLA DOESN'T REMIND HIM TWICE.
Here's hoping Charlie spent his night having wicked hot sex with Carlisle and pondering ways to get rid of his asinine twit of a daughter.
And thus ends chapter seven. Hope the intermissions were entertaining.
Having now gotten
I feel I'm ready to finish the eye-gouging, sense-losing experience that is Chapter 7. However, if you're new to the game, allow me to present to you my personal feelings thus far:
That's a 10-minute clip, but highly entertaining. I might be extremely biased, but I do make reading recommendations.
Tonight's beverage is a 12-ounce bottle of Mountain Dew. Because I just finished my hot tea, and it's not late enough for booze yet.
If Edward was a vampire — I could hardly make myself think the words— then what should I do?
First point, and an important one: Meyer FINALLY used em dashes correctly. I know, I'm shocked too. See how she used them to frame a piece of extra information that helps punch up the sentence? THAT'S HOW EM DAHSES ARE SUPPOSED TO BE USED.
Oh, but never fear, this sentence is still a wreck. Because Bella's saying "If Edward's a vampire," when she's already DONE RESEARCH on vampires because SHE THINKS HE IS ONE. And she's basing this on EASILY EXPLAINED INFORMATION AND A TRIBAL STORY FROM A 15-YEAR-OLD BOY.
Up to speed? Oh, good. Carrying on.
Involving someone else was definitely out.
The message? If you think your boyfriend is scary, possibly violent, or actually violent, DON'T TELL ANYONE. That's right, ladies; if you fear that your boyfriend IS THE BAD GUY, you shouldn't TELL ANYONE. And why not?
I couldn't even believe myself; anyone I told would have me committed.
THAT'S RIGHT. Because thinking your boyfriend MIGHT BE VIOLENT OR GENERALLY BAD MAKES YOU CRAZY.
NOW GET IN THE KITCHEN AND MAKE A PIE, WOMAN.
Only two options seemed practical. The first was to take his advice: to be smart, to avoid him as much as possible.
You know how I keep saying that my definition of "logic" and Bella's definition of "logic" are worlds' apart because I have a dictionary? Yeah. This is why. Because she thinks of this as the first option and DECIDES NOT TO TAKE IT.
To tell him to leave me alone — and mean it this time.
Oh, but you can't do that, Bella. That would mean you have a BRAIN and a SPINE and COMMON FUCKING SENSE.
I was gripped in a sudden agony of despair as I considered that alternative.
She's had all of a dozen conversations with the guy, and being away from him is DESPAIR? SERIOUSLY?
That's a stalker drink.
And what's Bella's other option, you ask?
I could do nothing different. After all, if he was something… sinister, he'd done nothing to hurt me so far.
Oh, yes, the "He hasn't hit me, yet", defense. So useful, right? Remember, ladies: It's okay. If he hasn't hit you YET.
I would be a dent in Tyler's fender if he hadn't acted so quickly. So quickly, I argued with myself, that it might have been sheer reflexes. But if it was a reflex to save lives, how bad could he be? I retorted. My head spun around in answerless circles.
Here's an answer for you: STAY THE FUCK AWAY FROM THE GUY WHO TELLS YOU HE'S DANGEROUS.
Okay, I have to stop for a moment. Just, let me breathe a second.
::breathes::
HOW THE FUCK IS TELLING TEENAGE GIRLS TO TRUST THE "BAD BOY" TO SECRETLY BE A NICE GUY ANY SORT OF WAY TO TEACH TEENAGE GIRLS HOW TO TAKE CARE OF THEMSELVES? HOW HAVE SO MANY FUCKING MOTHERS FALLEN INTO THIS PILE OF SHIT AND CONVINCED THEMSELVES THAT IT'S OKAY IF THEIR DAUGHTER WANTS TO DATE A "BAD BOY" BECAUSE EDWARD'S SUPPOSED TO BE ONE, AND HE SECRETLY HAS A SOFT, FLUFFY HEART?!
YOU KNOW WHO DON'T HAVE SOFT, FLUFFY HEARTS? VIOLENT CONTROLLING DOUCHEBAGS. LIKE EDWARD!
::breathes::
Oooh, puppies:
Aaaahhhhh.
And, yes, that's my dog.
Once again, carrying on:
There was one thing I was sure of, if I was sure of anything. The dark Edward in my dream last night was a reflection only of my fear of the word Jacob had spoken, and not Edward himself.
::capslocks:: YEAH ::un-capslocks:: Fucking hell, you all. Just, FUCKING HELL. What do we learn? Ignoring our intuition is good, because then we get a man, and even if he seems evil and scary, he's NOT REALLY.
Even so, when I'd screamed out in terror at the werewolf's lunge, it wasn't fear for the wolf that brought the cry of "no" to my lips. It was fear that he would be harmed — even as he called to me with sharp-edged fangs, I feared for him.
Much like women in relationships with violent men fear those men being arrested or otherwise removed from them, because otherwise they have no sense of self or being. Because those men routinely berate them and harass them into a submissive state wherein they believe their worth is intrinsically linked to the man who treats them so shittily.
Let's be clear: This dynamic can happen in any relationship. It's not the sexual organs that make people assholes, but the will of people to be assholes. I'm making references to heterosexual relationships because that's the relationship that's being discussed. And that, actually, makes it worse. If there are any non-straight teenagers reading these books, they're being given the idea that only opposite sex partners are the ones to fear, and that puts them at a disadvantage, because even if those non-straight teenagers recognize the unhealthiness of the relationship between Edward and Bella, they may not be able to recognize the same unhealthiness in their own relationship--if it exists--because these books have set it up so that the only violent and creepy people are the opposite sex people. The male opposite sex people, to be precise. It's not Meyer's job to write to every possible audience, but to write to an audience and convince them that her way of writing a relationship is healthy and perfectly okay--and to have that audience be teenagers--is disgraceful. THIS IS HOW MEYER SEES RELATIONSHIPS, PEOPLE. SHE THINKS IT'S OKAY FOR MEN TO TREAT WOMEN BADLY AND FOR WOMEN TO BE OKAY WITH IT.
Carrying on:
And I knew in that I had my answer. I didn't know if there ever was a choice, really. I was already in too deep. Now that I knew — if I knew — I could do nothing about my frightening secret. Because when I thought of him, of his voice, his hypnotic eyes, the magnetic force of his personality, I wanted nothing more than to be with him right now.
Too deep? TOO FUCKING DEEP? YOU BARELY KNOW HIM YOU BRAINLESS VOID OF SKIN! YOU HAVEN'T EVEN FUCKING DESCRIBED HIM!
I...you...him...idiot..how...DRINK. A LOT.
INTERMISSION:
Thank you, Joel. You're always great.
Where was I?
Even if… but I couldn't think it. Not here, alone in the darkening forest. Not while the rain made it dim as twilight under the canopy and pattered like footsteps across the matted earthen floor.
Ooh, Meyer, you clever woman. Did you see it, folks? Did you? "dim as TWILIGHT". CLEVER.
And the forest isn't the only thing.
I shivered and rose quickly from my place of concealment, worried that somehow the path would have disappeared with the rain. But it was there, safe and clear, winding its way out of the dripping green maze. I
followed it hastily, my hood pulled close around my face, becoming surprised, as I nearly ran through the trees, at how far I had come.
And Meyer tries to be metaphoric. Meyer? Yeah. NO. You can't even use em dashes properly most of the time, and they're basic punctuation. No metaphors for you. Ever. They probably sparkle.
I started to wonder if I was heading out at all, or following the path farther into the confines of the forest.
SHE DOESN'T REMEMBER WHICH WAY SHE WAS WALKING ON THE TRAIL. Look, there's having no sense of direction [hey, how ya doin'?], and there's being a BLITHERING IDIOT.
It was just noon when I got back inside.
Hell of a dense forest she was in if it looked like TWILIGHT [get it? GET IT?] and it's only NOON.
I settled into outlining a rough draft contentedly, more serene than I'd felt since… well, since Thursday
afternoon, if I was being honest.
What the flying hell happened Thursday afternoon? I can't even be bothered to check, honestly. Look at it this way: If I can't remember what happened all of two chapters ago, and that whatever it was happened on a Thursday, I think this is less reading comprehension and more SHITTY WRITING.
That had always been my way, though. Making decisions was the painful part for me, the part I agonized over. But once the decision was made, I simply followed through — usually with relief that the choice was made.
That's right, ladies; once you agree to STAND BY YOUR MAN, no other decision is even an OPTION. Because we women should always STAND BY OUR MEN. Even if they do show all the signs of being a VIOLENT OFFENDER.
Sometimes the relief was tainted by despair, like my decision to come to Forks. But it was still better than wrestling with the alternatives.
Like NOT PUTTING YOURSELF INTO A SITUATION TO BE VIOLATED? Yeah, that's a hard decision.
And I feel the need to remind you, again, that MEYER THINKS THIS IS A HEALTHY, BEAUTIFUL LOVE STORY.
This decision was ridiculously easy to live with. Dangerously easy.
Which is, of course, how I know my decisions are the right one. I just assume they are instantly. Because then I don't have to think about the consequences.
Charlie came home with a large catch, and I made a mental note to pick up a book of recipes for fish while I was in Seattle next week.
Because what good's a woman if she CAN'T COOK EVERYTHING.
The chills that flashed up my spine whenever I thought of that trip were no different than the ones I'd felt before I'd taken my walk with Jacob Black. They should be different, I thought. I should be afraid — I knew I should be, but I couldn't feel the right kind of fear.
She's NOT AFRAID, but she's also not feeling the RIGHT KIND OF FEAR. THE FUCK.
I woke, for the second time since arriving in Forks, to the bright yellow light of a sunny day.
Of course it is. Because now that she's decided to WUV Edward no matter what, the world is a BEAUTIFUL FUCKING PLACE.
I skipped to the window, stunned to see that there was hardly a cloud in the sky, and those there were just fleecy little white puffs that couldn't possibly be carrying any rain.
First: Skipped? REALLY? She can't look at a tide pool without FALLING IN, but she can SKIP to her window? Secondly: I hate this sentence. It's shittier than the ones surrounding it, and that says a lot. Drink for that sentence.
I opened the window — surprised when it opened silently, without sticking, not having opened it in who knows how many years — and sucked in the relatively dry air.
Oooh, so that's how Edward the stalker gets in to watch Bella sleep. The window is well-maintained. I love Bella's shock at it. She seems genuinely shocked that Charlie would keep up the house while she's gone.
[Charlie] smiled back, his brown eyes crinkling around the edges. When Charlie smiled, it was
easier to see why he and my mother had jumped too quickly into an early marriage.
Because the rest of the time Charlie is such a fucking worthless pile that it's hard to see how anyone would want to bone him. Let's have a drink for Charlie.
Most of the young romantic he'd been in those days had faded before I'd known him, as the curly brown hair — the same color, if not the same texture, as mine — had dwindled, slowly revealing more and more of the shiny skin of his forehead. But when he smiled I could see a little of the man who had run away with Renée when she was just two years older than I was now.
Oh, dear god, where to start? How about with the description of Charlie's forehead as SHINY. I mean, SERIOUSLY? And someone needs to explain to Meyer that MEN DON'T GO BALD ON THEIR FOREHEADS. Also, we have another instance of Bella referring to her mother [the woman who RAISED her] as Renee. THE HELL. She didn't call her Renee to start with; why the fuck does she keep doing it now? Thirdly, why the fuck was Bella so amazed that Jacob's sister was married WHEN HER OWN PARENTS MARRIED YOUNG.
One or other, Meyer: Either young marriage freaks out Bella, or it's completely cool. PICK ONE.
watching the dust moats
Okay, look, my copy of "Twilight" was acquired in a certain...way...that's not...oh, fuck it. I downloaded it, okay? And now I want to know if someone has a fully legit copy and can check the spelling on "moats" in the book. Because "moats" go around castles. "Motes" are what you call dust. It should be somewhere on page 78 or thereabouts.
I hesitated on my way out the door, hand on my rain jacket. It would be tempting fate to leave it home. With a sigh, I folded it over my arm and stepped out into the brightest light I'd seen in months.
It's tempting fate to LEAVE YOUR RAIN COAT WHEN IT'S SUNNY OUTSIDE?
Things Bella does not understand:
logic
making a decision based on facts and evidence
WEATHER
And, I'd like it noted, Bella has just said it's been "months" since she's seen proper sunlight. This implies that she's been in Forks for months. And this means that the spring dance that was supposed to happen TWO WEEKS AFTER THE VAN ALMOST HIT HER has not yet happened. Also, I've peeked ahead. Wanna know what chapter 8 is about? THE DANCE. Won't somebody think of the TIMELINE?
By dint of much elbow grease, I was able to get both windows in the truck almost completely rolled down.
So, her truck has been kept in good kit by Jacob Black and his dad. So good, in fact, that the only major issue is a loud engine. And it takes EFFORT to roll down the windows? COME ON.
I parked and headed toward the seldom-used picnic benches on the south side of the cafeteria.
Because it RAINS ALL THE TIME YOU GUYS. MY GOD HOW DO THEY HANDLE IT. THE RAIN.
My homework was done — the product of a slow social life — but there were a few Trig problems I wasn't sure I had right.
The only reason Bella HAS a slow social life is because, when asked to hang out by guys WHO SHOW A HEALTHY INTEREST AND AREN'T FUCKING CREEPY, she TURNS THEM DOWN.
I took out my book industriously
How does one take out book "industriously"? That's a rule five, violation, and I'm not linking because I hope you lot have internalized it by now.
"Bella!" I heard someone call, and it sounded like Mike.
Or it could be, you know, MIKE. I would think, given Bella's constant reference to how often Mike talks to her [and how ANNOYING it is], that she'd be able to RECOGNIZE HIS VOICE.
"Hey, Mike," I called, waving back, unable to be halfhearted on a morning like this.
Is she just the KINDEST SOUL IN THE WORLD? It's too PRETTY outside for Bella to be her usual PASSIVE-AGGRESSIVE SELF.
He came to sit by me, the tidy spikes of his hair shining golden in the light, his grin stretching across his face. He was so delighted to see me, I couldn't help but feel gratified.
Pardon me, I have to chuck on my shoes.
I love how Mike being happy because of the weather, or the day in general isn't a possibility. Oh, no, he's happy to see BELLA. OF COURSE. That's a SPECIALIST SNOWFLAKE ALERT. Bottoms up.
"I never noticed before — your hair has red in it," he commented, catching between his fingers a strand that was fluttering in the light breeze.
PASSIVE VOICE SUCKS. "catching between his fingers a strand..." is just a fucking lazy writer trying to sound interesting or romantic. Meyer, SUCK IT.
I became just a little uncomfortable as he tucked the lock behind my ear.
But ONLY A LITTLE.
Meanwhile, Edward DRAGGING her across the parking lot BY HER JACKET was COMPLETELY COOL.
"I mostly worked on my essay." I didn't add that I was finished with it — no need to sound smug.
Because Bella's biggest issue is how often she has a right to SOUND SMUG . And how does being DONE WITH A PAPER make her SMUG? It's a fucking PAPER. It's not like she aced a final or something.
"Wednesday?" He frowned. "That's not good… What are you writing yours on?"
"Whether Shakespeare's treatment of the female characters is misogynistic."
OH SWEET JESUS. You can see the justification, too, right? This book isn't misogynistic. The main character CALLS SOMEONE ELSE misogynistic. So THIS BOOK CAN'T POSSIBLY BE MISOGYNISTIC.
Fuck it. Where's the Bailey's?
Never fear: that's the 1-ounce shotglass, and I enjoy the taste of Bailey's too much to chug.
For now.
He stared at me like I'd just spoken in pig Latin.
I'm with Mike on this one. I'd think those words [about Shakespeare] coming from her mouth would be incredibly unbelievable, too.
"I guess I'll have to get to work on that tonight," he said, deflated. "I was going to ask if you wanted to go out."
"Oh." I was taken off guard. Why couldn't I ever have a pleasant conversation with Mike anymore without it getting awkward?
BECAUSE YOU'VE CONVINCED YOURSELF THAT HE ONLY TALKS TO YOU BECAUSE HE WANTS TO HUMP YOU. Seriously, how much easier would Bella be to take if she wasn't constantly convinced that every guy who said two words to her wanted to hump her? Yeah, Mike's asking her out. But you know what he hasn't done for FOUR CHAPTERS? ASKED HER OUT.
And so Bella tells him that Jessica's interested in him. Which, of course, Mike was COMPLETELY OBLIVIOUS to, because the VOID that is Bella sucks in the attention of EVERY MALE EVER.
She, Angela, and Lauren were going to Port Angeles tonight to go dress shopping for the dance
"were going", "tonight". That's grammar fuckery. DRINK. [My brain's so fried from the rage, that I'm not sure if it counts as verb tense fuckery or adverb fuckery, but it's one of them.]
I was indecisive.
Unless, of course, you're deciding to DATE A DUDE WHO SAYS HE'S BAD FOR YOU.
She talked of nothing but the dance on the way to Spanish, continuing as if without an interruption when class finally ended, five minutes late,
I love how Meyer throws in shit like, "five minutes late", and then NEVER FUCKING EXPLAINS WHY. Like it's PERFECTLY NORMAL FOR CLASSES TO RUN LATE. I don't know what kind of high school Meyer went to, but my classes always got out right on time. And if they didn't, the negative response from the students was enough that we were never let out late again.
And she and Jessica head to the cafeteria for lunch. Along the way Bella is thinking of--say it with me now--EDWARD.
And then a different feeling jolted through me —would Edward be waiting to sit with me again?
Note the phrase, "waiting to sit with me", as if to play off the fact that the last time they shared a table, HE BECKONED HER OVER LIKE A DOG AND SHE WAS COOL WITH IT.
As was my routine, I glanced first toward the Cullens' table.
Because having part of your routine being CHECKING A TABLE OF PEOPLE YOU DON'T KNOW is perfectly normal, right?
A shiver of panic trembled in my stomach as I realized it was empty.
Wait for it.
Desolation hit me with crippling strength.
THERE IT IS. A completely rational and understandable response to your NOT ACTUAL BOYFRIEND NOT BEING IN THE ROOM. DESOLATION.
I vaguely noticed that Mike held the chair out politely for Jessica, and that her face lit up in response.
Because, of course, Mike can't ACTUALLY be interested in Jessica. Because BELLA'S AROUND YOU GUYS.
Angela asked a few quiet questions about the Macbeth paper, which I answered as naturally as I could while spiraling downward in misery.
Yeah. That's right. When your not-boyfriend doesn't show up for school, you should feel things like "misery". I don't know about you lot, but the last time I felt "misery" was when my grandfather died. Or maybe it was an hour ago, when I realized this chapter was only getting worse.
I realized I'd been holding on to a last shred of hope when I entered Biology, saw his empty seat, and felt a new wave of disappointment.
The fact that Bella tries to kill herself--more than once--in the second book makes a great deal more sense now. I mean, fuck, if she's feeling DESOLATION and MISERY when EDWARD DOESN'T SHOW UP FOR LUNCH AND BIO, it's no wonder she felt that throwing herself off a cliff when he left her was a perfectly fine response.
THAT MAKES SENSE, RIGHT?
And because I cannot make this clear enough: Bella only starts to feel like the world's ending WHEN SHE GETS TO LUNCH and EDWARD'S NOT THERE. She didn't think, for the rest of the fucking day, to look for Edward, or talk to Edward, or even fucking THINK about Edward. Only when HE DIDN'T SHOW UP WHERE SHE EXPECTED was she upset.
I can't hear you over the sounds of personal standards dropping all over the fucking place.
And they're gonna play badminton in gym. This means, of course, that Bella has to fucking wet herself.
In Gym, we had a lecture on the rules of badminton, the next torture they had lined up for me.
For her PERSONALLY, you guys. Because Bella's SO GODDAMNED SPECIAL that the coach finds PRIVATE TORTURES. That's a drink.
But at least it meant I got to sit and listen instead of stumbling around on the court.
BADMINTON: So terribly difficult for the womenfolk, we STUMBLE AROUND THE COURT.
The best part was the coach didn't finish, so I got another day off tomorrow.
GRAMMAR. GRAMMAR. GRAMMAR. DRINK.
Never mind that the day after they would arm me with a racket before unleashing me on the rest of the class.
God, Bella, just...shut up. JUST SHUT UP. I've played badminton. There's no "unleashing" with a badminton racquet. THEY WEIGH NOTHING. Of course, I'm saying this from the perspective of NOT HAVING SOME HORRIFIC MOTOR SKILL FUNCTION PROBLEM THAT DISALLOWS ME FROM LOOKING INTO TIDE POOLS WITHOUT FALLING.
I was glad to leave campus, so I would be free to pout and mope before I went out tonight with Jessica and company.
That's maturity, folks. Pouting and moping. No wonder Edward and his century-old penis want to get with her. SHE ACTS LIKE A GROWN-UP.
I tried to be happy that Mike had asked her out to dinner
But you're not. Because Mike liking someone else means YOU LOSE SPECIALIST SNOWFLAKE STATUS.
She rescheduled our shopping trip for tomorrow night.
THINK OF THE ADVERB YOU STUPID TWIT.
I had fish marinating for dinner, with a salad and bread left over from the night before, so there was nothing to do there.
Because a GOOD WOMAN always cooks before DOING ANYTHING ELSE.
I had a small collection of books that came with me to Forks
Nice of them to tag along. Did they pack their own luggage? I ask because they are apparently SENTIENT.
the shabbiest volume being a compilation of the works of Jane Austen.
OH DEAR GOD NO NOT THAT. PLEASE NOT THAT. NOT AUSTEN. PLEASE.
folded the quilt in half and laid it out of the reach of the trees' shadows on the thick lawn that would always be slightly wet, no matter how long the sun shone.
What kind of freaky fucking lawn is Charlie growing there? Constantly damp grass? Call the military; this shit is alien tech.
My favorites were Pride and Prejudice and Sense and Sensibility. I'd read the first most recently,
Meyer, YOU ARE NOT AUSTEN. And you know what else? BELLA IS NOT LIZZIE. You know how I know? BECAUSE LIZZIE TOLD THE ASSHOLE TO STEP OFF. You think you're setting up Bella with Darcy. YOU'RE NOT. EDWARD IS THE EQUIVALENT TO WICKHAM. In fact, I would say that WICKHAM would be a better choice than EDWARD.
so I started into Sense and Sensibility, only to remember after I began three that the hero of the story happened to be named Edward. Angrily, I turned to Mansfield Park, but the hero of that piece was named Edmund, and that was just too close.
Refusing to read your favorite books because the names remind you too much of THE GUY YOU'RE NOT ACTUALLY DATING? Perfectly sane. Really. EXCEPT COMPLETELY NOT.
Weren't there any other names available in the late eighteenth century?
Yes. George. George Wickham. WHO IS A BETTER SUITOR THAN EDWARD.
[Apologies if you've not read "Pride and Prejudice". If you have, I think you'll find yourself agreeing and feeling slightly bad for it.]
Since she can't read her favorite books, Bella stretches out on the grass and falls asleep. She wakes up feeling edgy, like she's being watched, and she hears Charlie go into the house.
I ran inside to get some oil heating on the stove, realizing that dinner would be late.
OH FOR THE LOVE YOU STUPID
INTERMISSION. JOEL:
Thank you, Joel.
I watched TV with Charlie after dinner, for something to do.
Because fuck all forbid you SPEND TIME WITH YOUR FATHER.
He seemed happy, though, to be doing something together. And it felt good, despite my depression, to make him happy.
Because, of course, SHE'S NOT HAPPY BECAUSE EDWARD'S NOT THERE.
Charlie, do us all a favor: SHOOT HER. Then, call up Carlisle, offer up some hot lovin', and get him to help you hide the body. PLEASE.
"Jessica Stanley?" he asked.
"And Angela Weber." I sighed as I gave him the details.
He was confused. "But you're not going to the dance, right?"
"No, Dad, but I'm helping them find dresses — you know, giving them constructive criticism." I wouldn't have to explain this to a woman.
DUUURRRRR. MEN STUPID. MEN NO SHOP. MEN NO UNDERSTAND TEENAGE GIRLS GO SHOP. DUUURRRR.
"Well, okay." He seemed to realize that he was out of his depth with the girlie stuff.
DRINK RIGHT NOW. And realize all we know of Charlie is that Bella thinks he's CONSTANTLY DEFICIENT ON EVERY FUCKING LEVEL.
"We'll leave right after school, so we can get back early. You'll be okay for dinner, right?"
"Bells, I fed myself for seventeen years before you got here," he reminded me.
"I don't know how you survived," I muttered, then added more clearly, "I'll leave some things for cold-cut sandwiches in the fridge, okay? Right on top."
The two most talented people I know, in terms of food, are MY FATHER AND MY HUSBAND. But, of course, MEN DON'T COOK IN MEYER'S WORLD. WHATEVER WOULD THE WOMEN DO THEN?
It was sunny again in the morning. I awakened with renewed hope that I grimly tried to suppress.
Because wanting to be happy OUTSIDE OF CLAIMING A PENIS is a useless endeavor.
I dressed for the warmer weather in a deep blue V-neck blouse — something I'd worn in the dead of winter in Phoenix.
BECAUSE FORKS SUCKS YOU GUYS. DID YOU HEAR ME? I SAID THAT FORKS SUCKS. I DON'T THINK YOU HEARD ME. FORKS SUCKS.
I'm not even gonna recap Bella going to school. It summarizes like this: Drove to school. Volvo not there. Sad face. Didn't see Edward at all. Slit wrists.
Except, of course, the wrist-thing didn't happen. Because who wants a dead female character when you can have one who MOPES ENDLESSLY.
The Port Angeles scheme was back on again for tonight
ADVERBS PEOPLE. THINK OF THE ADVERBS. [And drink]
I vowed to myself that I would be in a good mood tonight
ADVERBS.
I left a note for Charlie on the table, explaining again where to find dinner,
Because CHARLIE IS COMPLETELY INCAPABLE OF FINDING FOOD IF BELLA DOESN'T REMIND HIM TWICE.
Here's hoping Charlie spent his night having wicked hot sex with Carlisle and pondering ways to get rid of his asinine twit of a daughter.
And thus ends chapter seven. Hope the intermissions were entertaining.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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on 2009-02-18 02:27 am (UTC)Also? I think you used up your CAPSLOCK quota for the month. Already. :P
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on 2009-02-18 02:30 am (UTC)no subject
on 2009-02-18 03:19 am (UTC)Oh, sweet fuzzy hamster Christ....
***
Charlie grabbed the phone and dialed Carlisle's number. The phone rang a few times, the ringing almost a buzz in his ear. The smell of blood was almost too much to stand.
"Cullen residence," Carlisle answered.
"I will fuck you if you help me hide the body."
There was a long pause, and then Carlisle cleared his throat. "Excuse me?"
"I just killed Bella," Charlie said numbly. "I need to hide the body, and I will fuck your brains out if you'll help me."
"... Aren't you the chief of police?"
"That won't stop my officers from investigating her disappearance!" Charlie protested.
There was another long pause, and then a sigh. "I'll be there shortly."
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on 2009-02-18 03:38 am (UTC)"That's probably best," Charlie said and couldn't help glancing at the street as he closed the door. He turned from throwing the lock and rocked back on his heels as Carlisle surveyed the scene.
Bella was slumped over the table, an entrance wound at the back of her head and seven stab wounds in her back. Carlisle smirked at the knife still lodged in Bella's shoulder. He reached out and carefully removed the knife with his thumb and middle finger. "Bit of overkill, isn't it Chief?"
"I don't know what happened," Charlie started to explain. "One minute she was going on about some boys in her class asking her to a dance and how terrible it was that they asked her because she's not used to being popular, and then--"
"Red," Carlisle interrupted. "Full rage black-out and when you came back to yourself, here you were."
Charlie raised his eyebrows. "Something like that."
Carlisle carried the knife to the sink and started running hot water. "This will have to soak. There's blood caked in the edge of the blade." Carlisle added dish soap to the sink. "Although I recommend we hide the knife with her body." Carlisle smiled when Charlie's hand touched his back.
"Shouldn't you be more concerned?" Charlie asked, untucking Carlisle's shirt and sliding his fingers underneath. "There is a dead body in my kitchen."
"Please, Charlie," Carlisle said, turning and tipping back Charlie's head, "it's Bella. I hardly knew the girl."
no subject
on 2009-02-18 03:58 am (UTC)HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.
I <3 you.
no subject
on 2009-02-18 04:05 am (UTC)no subject
on 2009-02-18 04:33 am (UTC)Hell, I was expecting to get called on the em-dashes, but I guess not?
*hug*
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on 2009-02-18 04:37 am (UTC)no subject
on 2009-02-18 05:10 am (UTC)no subject
on 2009-02-18 04:36 am (UTC)Because, of course, it wasn't noon when she was out in the woods; it was TWILIGHT. We just suddenly had a Dramatic Time Shift.
"so I started into Sense and Sensibility, only to remember after I began three...."
Three WHAT? ::confused::
You rock, BTW.
no subject
on 2009-02-18 04:40 am (UTC)I just re-read that section, and that three leads nowhere. Depending on how my version of the book came about, it could be a typo. But think about what it means that I'm not actually sure.
I do suffer for my craft. "My craft" in this case being snark and rage.
no subject
on 2009-02-18 04:51 am (UTC)I must've missed your TARDIS idea. Or maybe I did read it while sleep-deprived and forgot. But yes, having the Doctor land on her would be complete and total win. That would put everybody out of their misery.
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on 2009-02-18 04:52 am (UTC)"I'm the Doctor."
"I'm Bella."
"All right."
"Don't you care?"
"No, not really. I'm a Time Lord."
"I'm a special snowflake."
"All right."
no subject
on 2009-02-18 04:59 am (UTC)"Hi. I'm Bella."
"Oh, hi. I'm Martha. Doctor, if we don't go right now, the planet will implode!"
The Doctor scurries back into the TARDIS and Bella slinks back to her bedroom to sulk and pout because someone didn't realize she was the specialist snowflake.
no subject
on 2009-02-18 05:04 am (UTC)"Doctor!"
"Yes?"
"I'm Bella!"
"Have we met?"
no subject
on 2009-02-18 05:07 am (UTC)"EXTERMINATE!"
ZAP.
The end.
no subject
on 2009-02-18 05:10 am (UTC)no subject
on 2009-02-18 06:41 am (UTC)How long is gym class, it takes the teacher two whole periods to explain of the rules for badminton?
(I got distracted. Sorry.)
no subject
on 2009-02-18 06:43 am (UTC)no subject
on 2009-02-18 06:49 am (UTC)And has a gym teacher who really, really likes to listen to his/her own voice?
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on 2009-02-23 06:26 pm (UTC)What the fuck, SMeyer? Really? Charlie and Mike and small towns- what have they done to offend you? Every time you randomly and hatefully slam your minor characters, I just want more of them. They're decent people. I dunno, I'm not one with much experience, but Charlie seems like a very sweet sekritly gay dad who cares for his kid but doesn't smother her. SEEMS PRETTY OKAY. And fuck, I had a friend just like Mike in high school and you know what? He was my best friend and if I considered dating him (prior to realizing my rampant ghey, mind you). They are nice folk, damnit, what's wrong with that?
AND I LIVE IN A SMALL TOWN. IT'S VERY NICE AND A GREAT PLACE TO LIVE.
I just... I just can't handle this bullshit anymore. Does the book ever say anything nice about anyone but Edward? This is ridiculous.
:throws a massive hissy fit:
ETA: I just used "nice" way too many times. Still not as often as SMeyer uses "chagrin" though, so I don't care.
no subject
on 2009-02-23 07:00 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2009-02-23 07:10 pm (UTC)I'm kinda sad you're not gonna get to book two. From what I hear, Jacob is a real sweetie. Then again, SMeyer josses that the fuck up in book three when Jacob takes a level is douchebaggery, forces Bella to kiss him, and is then congratulated by Charlie.