Issues From Outsiders

Hadley's POV

'Just another fucking day,' I thought to myself as I slammed the front door behind me. The loud bang echoed through the long hallway, the sound traveling into the kitchen to my left and the living room to my right, moving up the stairs and into the empty rooms on the second floor. No other noises followed.

I was alone, as always.

After a little moment of solitude by the front door, I finally dropped my bag on the floor and moved into the kitchen to warm up some leftover pizza from last night. I ate alone by the kitchen table and smoked a cigarette after that, watching the smoke dance under the ceiling light quietly.

Had I had a British accent, I would have talked to myself, I thought sullenly.

Sighing, I took my phone out of my pocket. No new messages. No calls. The clock was nearing 9 PM and I figured I might as well take a shower – I had absolutely no plans for tonight, and no one I knew wanted to go out. Believe me, I'd asked plenty. They were all such boring fucks.

Damning Forks and environs for being such a shithole, I stood up and made my way down the dark hallway and to the bathroom.

The floor felt icy against my bare feet and I felt goosebumps pop all over my exposed skin as I took off my clothes in the chilly bathroom. I made sure to take my name tag off my shirt and put it away so it didn't end up in the hamper. Hadley, it simply read, with the music store logo next to it. I didn't see the need of a name tag when the store was so damn small and we were only three employees working besides the boss – and never at the same time. Fucking stupid.
I turned on the water in the shower so it could heat up while I prepared to get in, and as I leaned over, my hair got into my face – it smelled strongly of pot, and for a little moment I wondered if my co-worker had smelt it on me too while I was at work.

Fuck it, it wasn't like he thought of me as an angel anyway. I mean, I fucked him in the back room a few weeks back, for fucks sake.

The sound of streaming water filled the room and I sighed before standing in front of the mirror again. I made eye-contact with my reflexion: pale, tired skin. Long, over-bleached and dyed hair. Smeared, dramatic makeup.
But strong, piercing green eyes. I squinted them slightly, making me look more menacing than I already did. The piercings added to that dangerous look.
I loved giving people that look. Made them stay away from me. Good times.

But as soon as another long day was over and I was alone again, I could finally recognize who was standing in front of me in the mirror. A fake cunt who covered up her face with dark colors, pierced her skin to show that she wasn't afraid, and partied every other day to fill the empty nights – like this one.

With a sneer, I started taking out my extensions. What would it help to think like that? I had no one to have sympathy for me.

I mean, I hadn't seen those bitches I go to school with since summer vacation started. I avoided my co-workers as much as possible (with the exception of when I needed a quick, angry fuck), Chris and I weren't together anymore (or whatever we were...) and I had no idea what the hell was up with Delilah.
Probably running after that Jake guy again. I couldn't believe she couldn't see how he was using her to get whatever he wanted. Yes, I had thought he was in love with her, but that quickly changed when I saw how many times he threw her back out on the pavement again. No one that loves you would treat you like that...

I frowned at my reflection again. Don't you even dare... I thought to myself as Chris popped into my mind. So I shook my head quickly, putting away my black extensions.

Besides, I hadn't heard much from her since the day Bella woke up from her coma. Ha, that girl was even more pathetic than I was – she worked in the store across from mine (“Newton's Olympic Outfitters”) and I often saw her depressed expression through the store windows. If her eyes ever caught mine, she would quickly look away again and preoccupy herself in the empty sports store. I think she knew what I thought of her – that I thought it was completely ridiculous and weak to put everyone around her in agony just because her pretty little boyfriend had dumped her.

But then again, if I was as .. bleh as her, and someone as hot as that Cullen guy had fallen for me, I would feel pretty bummed about him moving on as well – though she should have seen it coming. I mean, come on...

I moved on from that train of thought – she really wasn't worth thinking about. A small, but very selfish part of me felt she was stealing Delilah away from me and that it was her fault she hadn't contacted me in so long.
Though another part of me actually thought that Delilah was probably spending more time chasing after Jake than taking care of her sister.

I couldn't decide if thinking of my best friend like that was fair. She had been through shit, though I didn't know exactly what.

But life is a bitch and so I became one too.

I bit the insides of my cheeks as I stared at myself in the mirror once again. Steam slowly filled up the small bathroom and my goosebumps disappeared from my white skin. I slowly ran my fingertips over the tattoo I'd gotten over my right ribs as the skin smoothed out again. It was an anchor. I couldn't quite remember why I'd gotten it since I'd been pretty stoned, but it was somewhat beautiful against my skin.
It had flowers and rope all around it with a thin piece of parchment across, meant for some words. I had no idea what to put on it, which was the only thing I found stupid. Nothing meant enough for me to put it on my skin permanently. I didn't know what that said about my life other than it was painfully sad.

I curled my hand into a fist and finally broke away from my reflection. I stepped into the shower and the warm water had somewhat of a calming effect on me. Or maybe it was numbing. I couldn't really tell.
At least it was better and it got me thinking if this was the way Delilah felt all the time, since she took the medication. I knew she complained about nausea, memory loss and dry throat and mouth, but all that seemed like a small price to pay for numbness, if you asked me. I would do anything to get rid of the pain...

I turned off the water and sighed angrily. This was so fucking unfair. I had lost everyone I ever cared about – my parents, my uncle, my friends and now my boyfriend – everybody leaves – and no one came to offer me drugs or even company.

Yeah, first world problems. I don't care.

I stepped out of the shower and avoided another look in the mirror – without the makeup and the big hair, I could hardly stand myself. I looked so young, so vulnerable.
So instead, I wrapped myself in a towel that smelled a bit of weed, rapidly brushed my teeth and then opened the door so the steam rolled out into the hallway. I followed its path and walked into my bedroom, quickly finding something worth sleeping in, since the room was cold and the goosebumps started growing on my skin again.

It wasn't until I'd turned off the lights that I realized I needed my phone so I could set the alarm for another boring day of work tomorrow. Grumbling to myself, I pushed the sheets off me and trudged downstairs and into the kitchen. My steps were as silent as the rest of the eerie house.
I didn't bother to turn the lights on, so as I walked through the kitchen doorway, I easily spotted my phone lying on the kitchen table – it had a green light flashing, signaling I had a text waiting.

In three long strides, I had reached the table and in the next second, I was rapidly tapping the touch screen to get to the message.

I almost dropped the phone.

In case you deleted my number, it's me. I know you don't wanna hear from me and that you probably don't care, but I wanted to be the one to tell you that we're leaving again.

I felt as if my stomach was being stretched out to fit around my ribcage, pressing against my lungs and making it hard to breathe. We're leaving. The words echoed through my head again and again until it only sounded like static.

Chris was leaving.

Taking a deep, calming breath, I typed with trembling fingers:

He found you.

It wasn't as much a question as a statement. I felt tears gathering in my eyes and tried desperately to tell myself that they weren't there just for him. I slowly sat on a chair by the kitchen table, staring down at my phone for answer. He took so long to answer that I thought he was ignoring me. But then:

I thought we got rid of him last time, but the fucker tracked us down.

The next question I had for him was useless. I knew he wouldn't tell me, but I felt an inexplicable urge to try anyway.

Where will you go?

Something gathered in my throat. My head spun.

I don't know.

As predicted, he wouldn't tell me. I knew I needed help as soon as I considered following his car so I could find out where he was going. The thought of knowing where he was comforted me even though we were long over. It was calming to know that I could always visit him in his apartment whenever I wanted to. That I could talk to him, see him smile, kiss him whenever – not that that was an option since we broke up and I swore to kill him one day, but the thought always lingered in the back of my mind. Now, the thought of him disappearing made me into that mess in the kitchen that I was right now.

I ran a hand through my hair as small tears started running down my cheeks.

And I couldn't help it when I wrote:

Will you come back?

If he wouldn't...
The thought made something inside me burst. It felt like my heart. Like he made a small crack in it and the poison inside seeped out and made ropes appear around my ribs, locking them around my lungs and made acid burn the rest of my insides, killing me excruciatingly slowly.

I pursed my lips to keep in my sobs, holding the phone tightly in my hands. I didn't know what I was wishing for. It felt like I had my life on the line. But, I thought to myself, he's just a boy...

I don't know, he repeated.

And I felt like I wanted to take all the drugs in the world.

The sobs finally broke through my sealed lips and I wrapped my arms around my torso – it almost felt like I was holding myself together, like I was falling apart – as I squeezed my eyes shut and wondered if I would be able to glue myself back together again after this or if I was beyond repair. It certainly felt like it.

I cried for such a long time. I knew I was hurting myself for nothing when my nails raked over my skin and thought to myself that I wanted to die right at this moment. But then I realized that I was hurting myself for him, which made it even worse – the mere thought of putting a guy over me...

But my pride didn't mean anything anymore. I'd lost every care. I just wanted him.

The phone, which I'd discarded on the table, vibrated in the darkness. I felt my breath hitch and my body stiffen before I carefully reached out and pulled it closer to me. He'd sent another message.

Will you be there?

The crying stopped. Everything stopped. My thoughts, my shaking, my breathing, my heart... even time.

And right there, in the darkness of my kitchen on a lonely Saturday night, Chris told me in his own words that he loved me, right after disaster hit.

He showed me that he needed me. Chris never needed anyone.
My heartbeat picked up again and the trembling got even worse.

I was barely able to type in the single word:

Always.

Meaning, 'I love you too'.

He could tell.

He always could.

And that night I went to sleep, still crying, but with a will to carry on and not give up, in the hopes of him returning to me again when the fire had died out.