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Bullets and Black Roses!!!!

January 28, 2010

A/N: I DO NOT own Twilight. Stephenie Meyer owns the saga and its characters.I just borrowed Edward and turned him into ….Not a Vampire but something equally as dangerous and more…

As Edward is 23 and Bella just turned 19, It’s  Rated: M  for Inevitable lemons in future chapters.

Sometimes in life you feel like you are not yourself anymore. You feel like some wooden puppet in a show that was being maneuvered by two dark sinister hands of fate. Just in a pull of string you laugh, another pull makes you cry. You ought to suggest trying and break free from those strings?

Yeah well, I’ve got news for you. One attempt and they will cut the strings on their own accord. Just one attempt and they will let you go…..for good. The consequence of that stupid effort is Death. And in my world there is no place for stupidity.

I am Edward Cullen. Cullen? Yes, that’s my code. My code matters more than my name because you leave your identity behind along with your soul and sanity to enter my world. To live a life where, sex, drugs and violence eclipse nouns like love, health and happiness.

I looked at the snoring man. A toddler no more than three was asleep, snuggled at his side. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from that kid. He had light gold hair, his chest rising up and down slowly in deep slumber. One of his arms was loosely curled around a purple stuffed dinosaur. This child will never see his dad leave this bed. Tomorrow he’ll wake up and find his father dead beside him. I wondered how long it will take him to realize that Daddy is never gonna play with him again?

I almost felt bad for the kid. Almost. And again, in my world words like feelings, kindness and sympathy are just meaningless words. I sold my soul to the devil long ago so Im quite used to this now.

I positioned the muzzle of my gun right at center of his forehead. There won’t be no struggle, there won’t be any sound. My gun has a silencer.

Just a sharp jab of sudden pain and ‘Bang Bang you’re dead again’

My cell started to vibrate in my jacket pocket. Emmett. He’s waiting downstairs for me to finish off in here.

I took a last look at the sleeping child and pressed the trigger. The body gave a tiny jerk and all was quiet once again. The child was still sleeping peacefully nothing had changed except now there was a split, scorched slightly blackened contact wound in between his eyes that was soiled with particles of partly burned gun powder.

I told you, I sold my soul to the devil…at a really low price but I don’t regret it. Because what I did was for my own survival.

I Fucking Regret Nothing!

Okay….That was the preface. Now onto whats actually goin on….


So here Is the first chapter. Enjoy!  

Bullets and Black roses

Chapter 1: Chocolate brown

Thunder cracked loudly outside. The windows of my room trembled. I could hear strong whooshing of fierce wind playing havoc with trees outside along with frequent lightning that tore them apart and uprooted them with a hideous, sickening growl as if they had a mind of their own. As if they were holding a grudge against those trees since forever for just being there and tonight is the night when they finally decided to let out all these decades of repressed rage all at once.


I heard her call my name again. I tried not to care. I have to try not to care. I rolled over, grabbed two more pillows, pulled my comforter over my head and added the pillows. But the unvarying whooshing of rain and the thunder wasn’t helping my case much.

Tonight is so much like that night. The night I had lost the one person I who loved, the one person who loved me back more than anything. Another earsplitting crack echoed throughout the place. Along with the sound of shattering of glass somewhere …..Somewhere downstairs. Yes, exactly like that night.

A part of me was telling me to stop freaking out over something as common as a thunderstorm and to get my ass downstairs, check what has been broken. But the terrified part of me was telling me stay right where I was, in the comfort of my warm bed and ignore the thrashing of my heart.

I waited there for a moment, lying still as a stone before I suddenly shot up from my bed. Yanking the layers of comforters and sheets off me.

“NO! I will not let this go on any longer. I’m braver than you think. I can’t possibly find again what I found downstairs nine years ago. You can’t lose anything that you don’t have anymore” I was screaming in my mind as my drifted towards the door. I took in a deep, slow breath and finally my bare feet touched the polished wooden floor of my bedroom. I turned and flicked on my bedside lamp first so I could check the time. It’s 3:15 in the morning. So, I’ve been lying- tossing and turning -in my bed, wide awake for almost three hours, punishing myself? Yes, once again, exactly like that night.

 I stood up slowly, as if my deliberate movements would cause the storm outside to die down. I felt like running out side, eyeing the furious sky directly and shout “I come in peace” see if that calms down the clash of thunders a bit. I laughed quietly at my own notions. I must be losing my mind. What’s left of it to lose, anyway!

I could almost picture the headlines in the gossip magazines now_ “Supermodel gone mad?”

I shuddered at my own thought. That’s it. Enough! What is past is past. I don’t want to go back. Not for excuses, not for justification, not for happiness. I am what I am. This world is what it is. I can’t change the past or prepare for the future. I am not going to bother trying. I mean, sure I’ve got talent. I know what I’m doing, what I’m capable of doing.

My train of thoughts running wild as I opened the white wooden door of my bedroom. The two different handprints- a small blue one and a slightly bigger yellow palm vivid against the ivory paint- still glistened as the low light coming from my lamp hit them. I stared at them for a while. My hand reached to touch the yellow one; I pressed my own palm against it, seeing if the shape matches mine yet. Yes, a perfect fit. I remembered the day when I dipped my hands in blue paint and made her dip hers in yellow so that we could decorate my door with a colorful personal touch. It was my idea. She was even more ecstatic then me, thought it was brilliant. I was only ten then. It was September, just a couple of weeks before … that night.

I cringed, my fingers curling into a fist. I pushed the door open with a little more force than needed. My corridor was dark. I remembered turning off all the lights before going to bed. But it hardly matters. I know my house like the back of my fucking hand. You could blind fold me and I could still move around the house effortlessly. 

I did a bit of a half walk-half ran down the stairs and stepped into the kitchen. I flicked the lights on and out of nowhere something pressed hard against my feet and almost fell over but steadied myself by clutching the doorframe at the last second.

I looked down and a chocolate brown Labrador was trying to hide behind me, making disturbing sounds as if someone has kicked it in the guts.

I bent down and picked my dog up in my arms as I was mentally kicking myself for forgetting about Brownie’s fear of Thunder. It’s ironical really that my dog should be frightened of thunder as much as I was.

He usually slept in his basket in the living space or my sofa. I should have brought him upstairs with me tonight considering the circumstances. But in my defense, the storm was not so bad when I went to bed tonight.

I crouched down and ran my fingers across its back.

“Hey boy! Bella’s so sorry she left you alone tonight. I’m so sorry. Bad Bella, isn’t she?” Brownie gave another low whimper and jumped into my arms. He wasn’t heavy.

 My dog ‘Chocolate Brown’ is chocolate brown. I got him as a puppy two years ago when my neighbor Mrs. Thompson’s dog had five puppies and she didn’t know what to do with them. One day I was coming home from the local mini mart and two puppies jumped in front of me, aiming for the shopping bag full of food in my hand. Mrs. Thompson came dashing after them in a heartbeat, apologizing furiously, muttering how hard it is, keeping an eye on the lot all the time. I asked her if I could have one and she looked as she would burst into tears of gratitude. So, I told her I wanted the one which was still dangling from my bag. I brought him home and Brownie and me have been friends ever since. I never travel without him.

 I carried him into the living space and set him down on my Charlie’s old sofa. I started searching for a sign of broken glass. I didn’t have to look for long; I found glass splinters on the floor beside the coffee table. Aww… Fuck! There went the vase Alice gave me for Christmas. Alice is my Friend/ Stylist/Agent by the way. We have known each other since I went to New work for the first time. While I was auditioning for the modeling agencies, Alice was an apprentice under a famous stylist and we lived in a shithole one room apartment. Eventually things worked out for both of us. I am an International model now. I mean, sure I am not found in gossip columns on a daily basis (because I had never been seen dangling from the arms of a famous actor, I don’t do drugs. I’m not a party animal; I never ran over somebody or made a sex-tape. And I’m not even a lesbian) but I’ve worked with designers like Dan Salvatore and Victor Marks and not to mention, I’ve walked NY runways for brands like Dior,FCUK, Chanel and a few other famous names. As for Alice, She is a successful celebrity stylist now. We each have our own luxurious apartments now in NY. I like my place in the big apple but I fly to Washington every and any time I get a chance. I was born here in Forks and it’s my home. The things I learned, loved and lost here in this very house made me the person who I am today. I like to come here often spend my breaks and holidays. Sometimes Alice accompanies me, and sometimes it’s just me and Chocolate Brown.

I walked over to the closet and grabbed the Small but powerful vacuum cleaner off the self and cleaned up the mess in the living room. I know I could have waited till the morning but surely I’ll be the one to trod on them the first thing in the morning because I have this habit of walking around the house bare foot and secondly when you get paid because you have beautiful limbs, you don’t want to get a nasty mark on the pretty skin and

Jeopardize your carrier.

I flipped the back cap open and emptied the vacuum tank into the already full trash bin which reminded me to take out the trash before I go back to NY in the noon. I glanced at the clock. 4:45. well, it’s already morning and since there’s no probability for me going back to sleep today I better get on with it. I took the bag out and stepped on the porch. Every thing is dark and freezing. The rain seemed to have called it a night for now. I walked over to the dumpster across the road and into the alley, dumped the bag and walked back inside. Just as I was about to go upstairs, I heard the Bell. “Who the fuck died this early?” I muttered to my self as I jumped the last three steps.

I peered through the peephole. It was dark and I couldn’t see anyone.

“Who is it?”

No answer.

“Who is there?”

No answer.

“Is this some kind of a fucking joke?” I yelled into the darkness as I opened the door. “Alice?” hoping she flew down here to surprise me. But she wouldn’t do that. I just talked to her last night. She is in NY, getting things ready for my Nina Ricci photoshoot tomorrow.

“That’s odd” I muttered but then I looked down at my feet and saw it. It was a beautiful black rose.

“Eeesh! Its just you. Fuck, you scared the living hell out of me!” I bent down and picked up the rose.

I know what people think about speaking to inanimate objects and not being surprised at incidents like this but my relationship with black roses are prehistoric. On the morning of my sixteenth birthday a single black rose showed up at my doorstep. And ever since then I have been receiving a rose everyday. And the funny thing is the roses stop turning up as soon as I leave the house and accompanies me whenever I’m staying in Forks. I thought It was creepy at first and got pissed every time I laid my eyes on one. But then when I moved to New York, I missed them. And weirdly enough, Black roses are my favorite flowers now.

I sighed as I closed the door and smelled the flower.

“I’m going back today. I guess I won’t be getting another one of you in next few weeks. I have a got a lot to do this month”

I have been trying to solve the mystery of the roses since ages. Whoever delivers them is good. He never leaves a note, sometime between midnight and the crack of dawn he comes silently, places a single rose on my doorsteps and leaves as silently.

“The bloody storm scared Brownie and he knocked down my vase. Its broken so you’re gonna have to manage in a glass this time” I whispered to the rose as I walked back into the kitchen and filled the biggest glass I could find with water and dipped the thorn less flower in (whoever he was, always took care of the thorns beforehand)

“Thanks to whoever’s garden you came from. I’ll miss you” I scooped up a sleeping Brownie from the sofa and headed upstairs to do some last moment packing.  






“Mom” I ran into the other room, thought the voice was coming from there. “Mom?” my eyes searching the kitchen and the dining area so thoroughly as I ran. I even looked under the dining room table. I looked everywhere, under the beds, insides the closets, the bathrooms, our basement. Every fucking where.

“Mom?” I screamed again, my voice growing more panicked by each second. Where could she be?

“Bella?” My mother’s voice rang in the air. “Bella? I’m right here honey” My mother chimed in an enchanting voice; I could hear her giggle and her soft footsteps across our living room. Her feet made the softest most familiar sounds across the polished wooden floor. How I could tell it was her? Those are the footsteps; I grew up hearing every other day of my life. The way she moved, the way her single anklet made the sweetest jingles when she walked over to the sofa to scoop me in her arms and carry me upstairs to tuck me in my bed. As most of the nights I used to fall asleep on the sofa, playing video games.


But I could always tell it was her. When she tucked me in, She would always whisper “Bella, My beautiful girl” in my ears, touching the tip of my nose with her own. And I would be dead to the world just in a matter of seconds, with the happiest smile on my face that a 9 year old could ever muster.

“Bella!” her voice rang again. She was calling me. Her beautiful girl, Bella.

“Mom?” My heart was beating so fast. My throat hurt as I screamed for her again

“Mom ! Where are you? Please come out …I am scared” My voice broke in the end.

I looked around frantically. The living room was empty too.

“Mom? This is not funny… I am scared, mom. Why can’t I find you?” I bellowed, tears running down my cheeks.

“Bella! I’m here” I heard her footsteps again, more soft jingles of the charms of her anklet. I followed the jingles like mad. I ran upstairs and just saw the hem of her snowy white gown disappeared into my dark room with a whooshing sound of fabric and more soft jingles.

I looked at my door. It was slightly ajar. I slowly pushed it open soundlessly and stepped inside.


And everything was over. There was blood and a chair was toppled over near her feet. I wanted to help but I was petrified and it felt like the floor was eating me alive. I didn’t move. I couldn’t move. I wanted to scream but I couldn’t seem to locate my orifice.


I must scream for help. I must.


“CHARLIE !!!”  My blood chilling scream shook the walls.



“Miss, are you all right?” I was being shaken awake, violently by a pair of firm hands.

My eyes snapped open. I sat up a look around furiously.

“Who… whoa … Hey!” I blinked rapidly at the flight attendant.

”Its OK, Miss. You are safe. We’ll be landing in NY in 15 minutes. You dozed off a bit ago. Been having a nightmare, I suppose?” she said in a British accent. This time I looked at her properly. She was either at her late twenty’s or at her early thirty’s. She had brilliant blue eyes, sleek silver blonde hair that only came down to her neck. She looked smart and crisp in her flight attendant uniform.

“Uh, Yes, I’m sorry. It was long day yesterday and I couldn’t sleep at night” I smiled at her. She smiled back and handed me a glass of orange juice.

“It’s all right, Miss. You are traveling first class with us, aren’t you?  You can moonwalk on your seat if your heart pleases for your money’s worth. As long as its safe. She added with a wink.

“OK. I’ll remember that next time” I laughed. But she looked a bit frustrated as if she was concentrating hard, trying to remember something.

She just stared at me for next five minutes. As soon as the pilot announced that we’re landing, she couldn’t hold it anymore.

 “Miss please, pardon me but I think I’ve seen you somewhere before. I just can’t recall where… In a magazine, I daresay? Or perhaps, TV…. “ she trailed off.

I smiled “Well, er…” I remembered I didn’t get her name. My eyes searched a name tag but she beat me to the punch.

“It’s Opal, Miss…”

“ Opal, picture me with glossy curls that come down to my hips, me wearing nothing but a ivory satin sheet wrapped around my torso and an electric blue perfume bottle shaped like a pyramid on my palms”  I added to her benefit.

“Good lord! You are that model from the Elizabeth Arden advertisement, aren’t you? I knew it. I saw you in Harpers Bazaar the other day. But you looked different there. It was Chanel, I believe. I was totally in love with that clutch you were holding. You looked like an angle. Not that you are not insanely beautiful in person. Its just two different kinds of beauty” she blurted out with a shy smile.

“Yes, I understand. Those pictures were airbrushed. I’m Isabella Swan by the way” she took my hand and gave a gentle squeeze before letting go.

“It’s delightful to meet you, Miss Swan. I have you say, you are a truly a beautiful young lady in every aspect”

“Er.. Thanks” I muttered as I checked my watch warily.

“In hurry, miss swan?” she asked politely.

“Yes, Umm… I have a photo shoot for Nina Ricci this after noon and it’s already 12:30 now. Alice is going to kill me if I’m late. She hates it when she doesn’t get enough time to dress, undress me and re dress me at least 10 times before finalizing her decision” I chuckled darkly at that thought.

“Well, Good luck with that” she smiled as we felt the plane’s wheels on the tarmac.

  “Thanks I’ll need all the luck. Something tells me today is just not my day” I whispered as the busy airport came sliding into my view.

Something was telling me to prepare for a mad dash.

Leave me some love and reviews. Please 🙂

love ya all, sempre.

Sabrina (RobstenWish)

Also view the Fic in FFN here

7 Comments leave one →
  1. January 28, 2010 1:41 pm

    hi guys…….i am happy to see you here….. U want buy Dining Table ? I Has New Product On Cheap Price & Free Shipping For U . Please Let Go >>>> Dining Tables Modern

  2. January 28, 2010 9:27 pm

    I love it!!! It’s intriguing to say the least!! I’ll be following if from!!! 🙂

  3. Aylin permalink
    January 29, 2010 5:23 pm

    It´s awesome like always. You can write so well you should be a writer and create your own characters;D But I still miss your lovely Robstens ffs ❤

    love Aylin

    • January 31, 2010 9:16 am

      Thank you babe, Im a 18 year old Deviant from L.A. Its nice to hear ppl think I should be a writer.

  4. destiny permalink
    January 30, 2010 7:47 pm

    THAT WAS GREAT KEEP IT UP! I added you to my fav authors and stories. I have a story its not great but id like you to check it out. heres the link . im only 12 so its not the best and i only have the first chapter so far.but tell me what you think.

    • January 31, 2010 9:12 am

      Of course hun, I checked it out. You get an ‘Exceed Expectations’ on your fanfic for a 12 year old.
      hope to see more from you in the future ❤ Sabrina

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