FF rec....read it NOW!
This is a new story by ooohlalaaa on ff.net. She's one of those writer's the can't finish one story without starting something new, but so far I've loved a lot of stories she's come up with. This may be her best descriptive piece I've read yet. And it's dark with smut, so I love it already. It's a short story, probably less than ten chapters, and she just posted the first chapter today. Read it NOW!:
"Discommode" by ooohlalaaa
http://www.fanfiction.net/s/5310963/1/
This was originally intended to be a one shot and I got way out of hand and it ended up being too long to enter it into the contest. So, I discussed it with a few people and made it into a short story. It moves really fast, isn't told from first person POV, which is different for me, and is a totally different style of writing. It is completely finished though so it is NOT effecting my other updates (chill out, Unexpected will be updated soon), but just as a warning it's super dark, so if that's not your cup of tea, just stop reading now. There aren't many chapters, so I'm thinking I may just update it once a week until it's over, depending on the reaction I get. It's a weird story, so I don't know. Tell me what you think. Whatever.
SM owns Twilight.
She leaned her head against the brick wall of the alley as she blew a puff a smoke through her lips. The night was young, the air warm. A siren wailed in the distance, voices roared from inside the bar, and she dreamed of far off places. She closed her eyes, took one last drag, and pictured herself standing in crystal blue waters, the ocean breeze whipping through her hair.
She wasn't aware of it at the time, but it was her last night as a young, innocent woman with everything to look forward to. For with him came love; passion; an all-consuming, vicious need; but most importantly, happenings and hardships that she would eventually wish she’d never taken part in.
"Someone so tiny shouldn't be in such a dark place all alone."
The voice was melodious, yet gritty somehow. Her eyes shot open to meet his. Dark hunter that smoldered so intensely, she felt his gaze ripple throughout every cell of her body.
She recognized him instantly. Her eyes had fixated themselves on the promotional poster on more than one occasion the previous week, while she filled the glasses of rowdy college students, stockbrokers, and all who fell in between. There had been bigger, more established acts perform there in the past, but that was the first night she’d ever been star struck. His face hypnotized her, on paper and in person.
"I can hold my own," she assured him. Pushing herself off the wall, she accidentally brushed his arm with her own and felt the flesh of her cheeks ignite. "Excuse me."
He grabbed her wrist and spun her toward his body gently as her heart began to race. "Your blush," he noted, running a thumb up her cheek. "It's stunning."
"It's a curse," she retorted.
His harmonious laugh filled her ears, and it was even more beautiful than his voice.
"It's real," he said quietly, letting his hand fall to his side.
She was surprised that he hadn't heard her heart pumping for him. It roared in her ears. If he had heard it, he hadn't mentioned it.
He was almost too intense; it startled her. She faked a smile and backed slowly toward the door, still holding his gaze.
The smell of stale liquor and sweat entered her nose with each heavy breath she took as she returned to her place behind the bar. He remained in the front of her mind, overshadowing her every thought, trapped there beyond her control. Little did she know, he'd remain there forever.
She was mesmerized by his melodies and the sight of his fingers deftly brushing the guitar strings with each strum. Every sweet lyric that fled from his lips left her dumbfounded. She convinced herself that no matter how many times he'd performed the same set, that tonight, he was playing specifically for her. Their eyes met countless times, the corner of his mouth raising slightly in recognition.
It was over fast- too fast for her. She refused to let him vanish from her life, knowing that if she didn't confront him, she may never see him again. The thought was excruciating.
The crowd dwindled slowly, and she spotted him standing from his private table, preparing to leave. He glanced toward the bar, catching her eye, and she called him over with a simple curl of her index finger.
"What's your name?" she questioned as he leaned over the bar.
"Edward."
"Your music is breathtaking, Edward." She blushed again as a wide grin stretched across his picturesque face. "I'd wish you good luck in the future, but I doubt you need it."
"There's no such thing as luck," he informed her, circling the rim of a discarded glass with his fingertip. "Just fate."
"Well than, I hope your fate includes lots of success."
"Success is irrelevant to me. I play because I love to, not for the money or the fame."
She laughed quietly and nervously fiddled with a bottle cap, unsure of what to say to the perfect being standing before her.
"That's admirable.”
"Thank you. You didn't tell me your name."
"It's Bella," she answered, sticking out her hand. Instead of properly shaking it, he pulled it to his lips and brushed them against her fingertips.
"It fits you perfectly."
He let go of her hand suddenly as a younger woman coyly approached him. She handed him a copy of the band's CD and asked for his signature. He obliged, exchanged a few words with her, and slid a napkin towards himself that someone had initially been using as a coaster.
"Mind if I use this for a second?" he asked the woman, referring to the marker she'd handed him earlier.
He scribbled something down on the napkin, folded it in half, and gave the woman back the sharpie as she bid him farewell.
"It's just an invitation," he assured Bella, placing the napkin in the front pocket of her apron. "I won't take it offensively if you have other plans."
With those words, Edward migrated back to his entourage. Her heart hurt when she registered the fact that he had gone. She unfolded the napkin frantically and flattened it on the bar, trying to make sense of his handwriting.
It was an address, a room number, and a name.
She took a taxi to the posh hotel, her body betraying her with nerves the entire way. The doorman eyed her suspiciously as she looked around the extravagant lobby, unsure of where she was going or why she was going there. Her father's initial reaction when she informed him that she'd landed the bartending job at the venue included some cliché advice about her clientele.
"Just remember what they say about musicians," he warned. "They usually have a girl in every city."
She didn't doubt that her father was right, but she felt powerless when it came to her draw to him. Any morals or values she usually followed were suddenly irrelevant. She believed there came moments in time when you felt you had to do things that were spontaneous to feel alive; she recognized then as one of those times.
"Do you need assistance, Miss?"
The concierge's voice echoed across the silent, marble lobby, causing her to jump in her skin.
"How do I get to room 22A?"
"I’m sorry Miss, but floor 22 is private. We can't let you up unless you know the name on the reservation-"
"Cullen," she said, repeating the name from the napkin. "How do I get there?"
22A was not just a room. She realized this when the elevator doors opened and she walked off into a luxurious hallway containing a single door.
She knocked, waited, shook in her heels. He yanked the door open and her heart caught in her throat when she realized she wasn't just building him up in her mind, imagining his beauty. It was right in front of her, radiating from his every pore.
"Did they give you a hard time?"
She shook her head as he opened the door enough to let her in. Her chest grazed his and she flushed at the sensation.
"I don't know why I'm here," she admitted. "I never do things like this."
"Believe it or not, neither do I."
She didn't know why, but she believed him.
She glanced around the grandiose penthouse, wondering where the rest of his band mates were. She'd seen him leave with the brawny, tattooed drummer; the handsome, blonde keyboard player; a middle-aged couple; two young, beautiful woman.
"No one is here," he spoke softly, as if he could read her mind. "The label is spoiling us. Everyone’s out taking advantage of the perks."
She knew what the “perks” were without him explaining. The upscale bars, the throngs of women, the service people waiting on their every move.
"So why aren't you?" she inquired.
"Those things are material. They don't appeal to me."
After getting a closer look at him, she grinned, knowing what he claimed wasn't the honest reason he was cooped up in his hotel room, all alone. "Edward, how old are you?"
"I'm 21," he answered quickly. Too quickly.
"Honestly?"
"I'll be 18 next week." She giggled and his face grew solemn. "I could go out with them if I really wanted to. I do it sometimes. I just don't like to be a burden. Besides, when they’re all out and I’m alone, it’s when I get some of our greatest material written.”
He was far from any 17 year old that she'd encountered. He was so intelligent, eloquent, charismatic, dignified. She wasn't certain if the fact that he was so old for his age was a curse or a blessing.
"How old are you?"
"Ancient compared to you,” she joked. “I’m 19.”
"Age is a form of measurement, not a state of mind. I think we're on equal footing. Don't you?"
In all honesty, she'd never felt so inferior when being compared to another human being. He was the epitome of perfection in her eyes. His personality was captivating. His appearance was faultless. He had the world at his fingertips.
And he was only 17.
She leaned back against the mirrored wall in the foyer and smoothed the skirt of her tiny dress nervously. His eyes focused on her lips. She bit the bottom one when she caught him staring, and he took a timid step in her direction.
"Bella? Do you ever just feel something that you can't explain?"
"Yes," she breathed. "Right now. That's why I'm here."
His fingers slid down the side of her neck, resting on her clavicle. Yearning pumped through every vein in her body and spread deep into her bones.
She was fairly inexperienced when it came to intimacy, but her gut pulled her to him, like a magnet.
“I’m glad you feel it too,” he murmured, his pink lips brushing against her jaw line, smooth as silk against her skin.
Her breath caught in her throat, the sensations which resulted from their contact speeding up her heart. All was silent in the vicinity besides for the quiet mumblings of a television streaming from a distant room.
"I want you to touch me," she whispered, giving him permission to dominate her body.
And so he did. Few words were exchanged, but the communication between them ran deep. Edward spun her around and forced her up against the mirror. His dynamism was necessary; their feelings were too intense for subtlety and politeness.
His hands rode up the back of her dress and clawed at her underwear, leaving fingernail scratches on the small of her back. She cried out in hunger as he slid them down her legs to her ankles, reaching between her legs from behind to pleasure her deftly. She felt no regret at being so intimate with a stranger so soon. Their immediate connection comforted her beyond reason. It was illogical, immoral, completely irresponsible. But it was them, and it was the way they would remain.
She felt her left shoulder slam into the cold mirror as he bent her forward and pulled her by her hips so she was flush against his hardness, the warmth and smoothness of him sending an conflicting chill through her body. He reached around her neck and tilted her chin up, his eyes burning into her reflection.
“I want you to watch me,” he requested. She felt self-conscious, but didn’t dispute it.
With one thrust he filled her completely, his head lolling backward as she tightened around him. She flattened her palms against the mirror and pushed backward into every one of his movements, trying to push him deeper and deeper. She craved his physicality so greatly, it almost wasn’t enough. He reached around and caressed to complement his actions, but it wasn’t necessary. The simple sight of his reflection being so pleased by her was more than enough satisfaction for her.
His movements became more vigorous, and his breathing heavier. Her forehead hit the mirror once, but neither acknowledged it. She felt a drop of sweat roll down the nape of her neck as his free hand gripped her shoulder and forced her against him once last time, before she felt him twitching inside of her, spilling all of himself into her. He pulled out and turned her back around before pinning her against the mirror and covering her face with an onslaught of kisses for the first time.
“You’re like a dream,” he whispered, still breathless. “Stay with me.”
She agreed, without question.
He dressed her in his clothes and sat across from her in the unfamiliar hotel bed, their legs entwined, as he strummed inattentively on his guitar.
“How do you handle it?” she asked him, referring to his newfound fame. “It’s so much pressure for someone so young.”
“I can barely handle it,” he answered, suddenly glowering. She felt a vibration at the foot of the bed and he leapt for his phone, carelessly tossing his guitar to the side. “Where are you?” he asked without a greeting.
His face seemed tense, and his hands jittery. He tapped them on his knees as he listened to the voice on the other end, and she studied him intently, knowing he wasn’t paying attention to her. The change in his demeanor seemed odd to her, but the mystery only deepened her attraction.
“So how much longer?… Fine, just hurry. Please, just hurry… Bye.”
He hung up and his attention immediately switched back to her, his face softening as his eyes met hers. He apologized for the interruption and kissed her lips repeatedly.
“It’s just business,” he explained, and she didn’t pry any further.
She slipped her fingers into his chaotic, copper hair as they discussed their lives up until that point. She didn’t have much to contribute; a typical suburban upbringing, divorced parents, public school, a meaningless relationship or two, and the start of an uneventful college education.
He, on the other hand, had brilliant tales of his atypical upbringing that made her feel unworthy. An only child raised by rich, restless parents, he’d been home schooled and traveled all over the world. He randomly met his band mates on the streets of Chicago when he was only 15 and played his guitar in parks and busy corners out of boredom. Within two years they had a recording contract and a nationwide tour planned, all thanks to his charisma and undeniable, natural talent, which carried the rest of the band.
He seemed slightly jaded, but wasn’t ungrateful in the least. He enjoyed what he did, but was clearly overwhelmed at the demands that came along with their fame.
“I love it so much,” he told her. “There’s no other feeling like when you’re up there performing. I feed off of it. I just despise getting off the stage. It’s too much for my psyche. I can’t get used to it.”
“So, stop,” she suggested. “It’s your life.”
“I’m bound by a contract. I was stupid and blinded by the positives, unaware of all the negatives that came along with them.”
“I wish there was something I could do,” she said regretfully. He smiled, his face lighting up with an idea, and he slid closer to her.
“You can. Stay with me.”
“I’m with you right now.”
“Not just tonight,” he clarified. “I love your company. Just pick up and come with me. You seem slightly bored- it could be exhilarating.”
She scratched the back of her head as she considered his proposition, desperate to agree and continue to be impulsive with him, still high on the excitement her brought to her life.
“I can’t… my father, I live with him. He’d never allow it.”
“Don’t tell him. Just come, and let him know where you are when you’re already gone.”
“I have nothing with me,” she said, holding up her palms to emphasize her point.
She didn’t know what she would’ve brought with her even if given the opportunity to go home and pack. For some reason, her material items seemed useless when she could’ve been focusing all her concentration on the heavenly being sitting before her.
“Does that matter? We can get you new things. This may be the best time of your life. Do you want to risk missing out on it?”
Unsurprisingly, he ended up being right. The time she was about to spend with him in the future would be the best time of her life.
And the ending would be the worst.