Midnight Skies - Part 2
Type: Fanfiction
World: Twilight
Status: Multi-Chapter
Title: Midnight Skies
Rating: M
Genre: Drama, Romance
Pairing: Jacob & Bella
Summary: Jacob and Bella are unsatisfied and frustrated with where they are in their lives. When these two strangers meet, they are forced to realize that what they are longing for in their own lives might only be found in each other’s.
start from the beginning
Midnight Skies
2.
Five hours later I stood in front of my best friend's door, drenched from head to toe since the sudden rain had surprised me. I was shivering like a small child that just spent an hour in a swimming pool, lips blue, skin puffy and pale.
Speaking of children - the cheerful, carefree laughter of children welcomed me as Angela opened the door. Her back faced me as she yelled something through her entire house, sighing as it had no effect.
With her warm trademark smile she hugged me, ignoring the fact that I was cold, wet and dripping onto the hardwood floor of her hallway.
"You know, I should get you a real fancy umbrella for your birthday," Angela joked, almost brutally ripping my bag from my shoulder and carelessly dropping it on the floor. It landed next to four colourful backpacks, which very obviously did not belong to Angela's personal collection of fancy handbags.
"Sorry, am I too early? You're still working," I said, feeling a twinge of guilt creeping up inside of me. My shivering fingers tried to peel my trench coat from my shoulders while my chin pointed down towards the bags.
"Oh, that's no problem, Bella. They'll be picked up any minute. Come in, I'd like you to meet them."
I felt a little uneasy as Angela led me through her house (by far the most cozy and warm place I had ever seen from the inside), chattering about these parents always being later than the others.
Hearing Angela talk about her children, as she liked to put it, was almost magical. She had so much adoration for them that it seemed they really were her own. And from what I had heard and given I knew what kind of a loving person Angela was, the children must love her just like a parent.
Being a nanny had been Angela's dream job ever since I met her in high school. Children were what made Angela happy and content and she always had that glow in her eyes whenever she was around them. However, an accident shortly before I met her had made it impossible for Angela to have children herself which had lately become a problem between her and her husband Ben. Being a nanny and having the children around her all day partly outweighed Angela's desire to be a mother herself, it was a momentarily substitute but it also made her craving for own children deeper. Adoption had been an all-present argument in their marriage for a while now. Ben was hesitant and Angela had admitted that she thought he was afraid. But even the thought of Ben leaving his beloved Angela was such a paradox that it was sure to shatter my world and my notions should it ever really happen. They had always been together. It was never Angela or Ben - always Angela and Ben
I had never been good with children, always clumsy and uneasy, almost uncomfortable. Afraid to do something wrong, to scare them or hurt them accidentally. Yet, Angela always tried to reassure me that I would be a great mother. I tried to make myself believe she only said that because she wanted to see me happy, but her concept of happiness did not exist without at least one child around.
"Hey, kids. I'd like you to meet Bella. She's a really good friend of mine, so be nice," Angela said with a huge smile and a playful wink as we entered the huge living room. It was stuffed with more toys than furniture that it reminded me of the play area in IKEA every time I came here. Old memories of my mother parking me there for hours while she bought dozens of wildly patterned knick knacks flashed through my mind.
The four children - two boys and two girls - greeted me with expressions of curiosity and suspicion only children could muster. They quickly refocused on the big white paper on the floor. Countless bowls with paint in all colours scattered across the living room, all furniture covered with white linen blankets to protect them from the wildness of a child's imagination.
"It's this month's masterpiece," Angela explained full of pride, waving towards the bright painting on the floor. It was a mixture of swirls and flowers, houses and suns, lawns and oceans, people and animals, indefinable objects, simple lines and dots, circles or just splashes of paint.
Angela eagerly pulled me closer towards the "artists" and the proud smile on her face made my heart melt. Seeing her this happy always reminded me of how horribly bitter she had been after that fatal car crash - the change in her life, the optimism, the way she actually turned her bitterness into utter happiness making me doubt my own self-pity.
"This is Carla," Angela introduced me to a blonde girl around seven. Her pale face was sprinkled with freckles and her blue eyes were so possessively fixed on the brush between her tiny fingers that the scary thought of a horror movie crept up inside my head, those eyes boring into my brain and I was thankful when Angela continued to speak.
"This is Henry."
The red-haired boy could not be older than three years, although his size seemed younger, coordination and body control rather amusing to look at. He deftly smashed the brush over the paper in mad circles, the pink paint smearing across carefully drawn flowers.
"Hey, Henry, stay in your corner of the paper," Carla's high-pitched, commanding voice stopping him in his tracks. He mumbled a short excuse before dropping his head sadly and half-heartedly pressing dots into what appeared to be his corner of the paper.
I felt a motherly swell of pity in my heart as I watched his tiny face, his green eyes glistering with suppressed tears and I quickly turned my head to Angela. Too late, apparently since she gave me a knowing wink before continuing her introduction round, leaving Henry to cope with his guilt on his own.
"Carla, don't be so harsh to him. You're right, but tell him that politely," Angela told Carla with authority in her voice before she continued to introduce me to the children. "These are Isla and Finley. They're twins."
"That means we should look the same. But I am a boy and Isla is a girl. So we don't," the little boy said full of pride, his arm swaying full of enthusiasm which resulted in a smear of lime green paint on his nose. His skin, just like his sister's, was a light russet-color, their hair pitch-black and their eyes a creamy mix between dark-green and chocolate brown.
"That's why we both have long hair," Finley added, pointing towards himself in agreement while his sister shook her head at him, focusing her attention on a big orange heart she was currently painting.
I smiled at the boy, not much older than four years and eyed his part of the masterpiece: a lime green-coloured house with garden, fence and chimney (which was rather askew, almost making my fingers twitch with the need to straighten it with a little bit of paint).
"Do you have a twin?" Finley asked with curiosity shining in his eyes like a second sun, his fists jumping up and down on his thighs impatiently. The brush splattered some paint onto the paper in the process.
"Oh, no I don't. I don't have any brothers or sisters," I answered, confused by the sudden and foreign feeling of sadness that overcame me at these words.
"Oh… why?"
Both Angela and I started to laugh quietly and it amazed me what kind of silly questions a child could ask - questions that weren't so silly when you left behind your inner adult.
"You know, Finley. Bella's parents don't live together anymore, just like yours. That is why she has no brothers or sisters," Angela explained carefully and I suddenly felt very thankful that she had taken over with the answer.
"Oh…," Finley murmured before his eyes met the brush in his fingers and he suddenly seemed to remember what he had been doing all this time and resumed his genius architectural work.
Before the bitterness could overcome me that there were other children out there who were just like me, who did not know what a real family was like, a ring on the door pulled me back into the cozy living room.
"I'll go check the door," Angela said before she quickly left the room, all four children sitting up straight, ears perked up. The picture was hilarious.
"Carla!" Angela's voice sounded from the hallway and with a bright grin the girl dropped her brush, climbed out of her apron and left the room with an overly excited wave towards the other kids which resembled the Queen's sophisticated wave.
A few minutes passed in which I awkwardly stood next to the children painting full of enthusiasm by my feet and I tried to eye their masterpiece with excitement. I was distracted, though, by Finley, the tiny little boy seemed to stare at me whenever he thought I was not watching, curiosity still beaming from his eyes and a warmth that resembled the one I always felt in this house.
"Sorry, it took a little longer than expected," Angela excused herself as she stepped back into the room. "We had to change the schedule for next week."
I waved my hand indicating that it was no problem and watched Angela as she cleaned Carla's abandoned apron with a tissue before hanging it up on a ladybug-shaped coat hook at the wall.
"Want some tea?" Angela asked softly, not even waiting for my responsive nod before dragging me into the kitchen. I slowly sank into one of her many chairs (none of them matched) and watched her as she rummaged in her cabinets.
"So, how is everything going?"
I sighed silently, my hope to avoid these stereotype questions crushed.
"Well, the usual. Jessica thinks I'm her maid and all I do is filing. But other than that… there was a fire in my neighbours apartment, did I tell you that?"
"What? No, you didn't! What happened?"
And so my goal was reached. It was my usual strategy. Deep down every single person on this planet is lusting for news sensations and it was the perfect distraction.
Sipping my too-hot strawberry-vanilla tea I repeated what I had told what felt like a million times. How the microwave had failed and ignited a small fire which, sadly, had crossed paths with the bag of groceries which also carried a hairspray and from then on the fire went out of control. Unfortunately, the story was not nearly half as dramatic as I wished it was and so it was quickly told, while Angela stirred her tea thoughtfully with a spoon, listening attentively.
"I'm so afraid of a fire in here…," she said more to herself than to me and her eyes stared ahead, straight over my shoulder into nothingness.
I knew this expression. Sometimes, on very rare occasions, the old Angela would break through the surface of the content life she had built up in the last years.
But before I could reach my hand across the table and place it upon hers, a heavy coughing sound from the living room stirred Angela out of her trance; however, the expression of weariness had been replaced by pure panic.
"Oh, no!"
She jumped to her feet, almost knocking her cup off the table and was out of the kitchen in such haste that I barely had time to fully comprehend that she was gone.
I got up confused and stepped back into the living room - the sight momentarily knocking the breath out of me.
Little Henry sat there, his face full of panic, his tiny hands grasping onto thin air as he coughed and desperately tried to get the much-needed air into his lungs. What struck me the most was that Angela was nowhere to be seen.
Feeling the adrenaline rush through my every vein I rushed towards the big paper, Finley and Isla grasping onto Henry's clothes, tapping onto his back, talking to him - helpless.
My knees hit the ground hard as I let myself fall in front of Henry, taking his hands into mine.
"What happened?" I asked, trying to ban the hysteria out of my panic-stricken and helpless voice.
"Nothing, he just started coughing," Isla said, her tiny hand drawing circles on Henry's back.
I tried to gather my nerves and did the first thing that came into my mind. Carefully I grabbed Henry underneath his shoulders and pulled his crouched figure straight, letting his arms dangle my his sides.
"Sshh… Henry. I want you listen to my breath, okay? Try to do it like me," I tried to reassure him, my own voice breaking after every word, downright fear flooding through me.
As I placed my hand gently on his chest, a look of concentration appeared on Henry's face and I knew that he tried to imitate me. Carefully I took his hand in mine and placed it on my own chest, letting him feel the rise and fall of every breath, fighting to keep it calm and steady.
In this second Angela came rushing into the room but before I could open my mouth to say anything she was beside me, holding a spray in her hands and I immediately understood, my immediate panic that Henry had swallowed something momentarily eased, however still not overcome as Angela carefully put the spray into Henry's mouth.
"Henry, sweetheart. Try to take a real deep breath, okay? Just like Bella. Try to breathe like her."
Angela's pure panic from earlier was gone, at least on the surface she acted calm and controlled. That, however, did not last long. After a few intakes of breath, the whooshing sound of the spray started to fade off into silence.
"It´s empty…," Angela whispered, no more panic but nothing but agony and fear in her voice, her eyes wide and I could see her brain working inside of her head.
Within a splint second she had Henry cradled in her arms and stood, the spray still in her hand.
"They're fixing the phone line. I can't make a call right now. But there is a doctor just down the street. Could you look after them while I'm gone and… you know… his mother…," Angela rushed her hands that held Henry awkwardly waving in multiple directions.
"Sure, go!" I urged her on, opening the front door for her as she stumbled down the steps, Henry coughing for his dear life in her arms and panic tears gathered in my eyes as I watched Angela run as fast as she could with the child clinging to her.
I had to remind myself of my own breathing as I closed the door and slowly went back to the living room, the slowly retreating adrenaline leaving a jelly-like feeling in my legs and the dull pain in my knees where they had hit the floor started to send signals to my brain.
Finley and Isla were still sitting in their former places, both looking down to their hands in their laps, their fingers nervously intertwining and loosening again.
"Hey…," I whispered and carefully kneeled next to them, ignoring the sting underneath the fabric of my pants.
They both looked up, their faces full of guilt and fear.
"Hey, it's okay. It wasn't your fault. He is sick. That could have happened anytime," I tried to reassure them, offering a weak smile.
Finley sighed and finally nodded again in agreement, clapping his tiny hand onto his sister's shoulder.
"He needs a doctor," he said wisely and I nodded, adoring the sunny smile that spread across his face in response to my confirmation of his words.
"So, we could not help?" Isla asked shyly, her russet skin blushing slightly as she looked at me, almost a little afraid. I understood that this was a very inappropriate situation given these two did not know me at all. Wrong. There should - must - have been a different solution.
"No, you could not. It's okay. We could not help him, either. Only the doctor can," I explained, hoping to decrease their guilt.
"How come you're not a doctor?" Finley asked, his voice once again downright honest and curious, deadly serious.
"Well, not everybody can be a doctor."
"Why not? Then everybody could help everybody."
"Well, yes. But you said yourself that you are not like your sister, right?" I asked, my brain trying to find a proper explanation. Finley nodded in understanding and shot a curious glance at his sister, who was still watching her fingers but obviously heard what I said.
"Everyone is different and likes to do different things - some people want to be doctors, other people don't."
I could practically see the wheels turning behind Finley's forehead and it amused me to see him thinking that hard. Then, finally, I got what I had been waiting for: a hefty nod.
"What is your job?"
I laughed and answered in the same breath.
"I make copies. All day long."
The confusion on Finley's face was hilarious, his brows rumpled together and his eyes deep in thought.
"That's funny," he finally said.
"You're pretty," he added, his face quieter this time and the faint blush that tinted his cheeks was heart-warming.
I snorted playfully, theatrically declaring how thankful I was for this compliment and when I called him Sir his chest literally burst with pride and his posture suddenly became a lot straighter.
Even Isla smiled now, her shyness slowly ebbing away as she laughed at her brother, nibbling on the inside of her cheek which made her adorable face look much more mature and in a way I felt pity - that children eventually had to grow up.
The doorbell rang shrilly and the bright smiles on the children's faces were priceless. They were up on their feet and at the door quicker than I could even heave myself onto my feet, the itching pain in my knee indicating a burn wound from the fall.
Finley - still in his gentleman posture - proudly opened the door just as I entered the hallway, jumping up and down as he saw the man standing there on the threshold.
"Daddy!" both he and Isla cried full of joy, jumping at their father, wrapping themselves around him until he was barely visible, devoured by those two cookie monsters.
I could not help but smile at the sight, the love radiating from the image almost too much to bear, too far out of reach for myself.
The man in the doorframe was around my age, I guessed. That surprised me a little. Somehow young parents were alien to me, me always trying to picture myself in their place and the last thing I could image were children with me. My children.
He was tall, inhumanly tall, which made the picture in front of me even more queer. His children being so tiny and him such a giant, holding them against him. Looking at him it was quite obvious where Finley and Isla had their skin tone and hair color from - his were identical. His chin-length black hair shimmered in the dim sunlight that escaped the clouds outside now that the outburst of rain had passed and for a splint second the hope for a rainbow flickered in my head. But when the man standing there a few feet away from me looked up from his children and straight into my eyes all ideas of rainbows and bad weather were forgotten. His eyes were black, or at least they seemed to be from my position (they might as well have been a very dark brown) but what struck me more was the expression in them - the purely vicious suspicion punching me in the face, radiating through the entire room, leaving me feeling as unpleasant as I had been in the ice-cold downpour.
It was the kind of expression no child could ever muster up. Something only age and maturity allowed. No curiosity. Only suspicion, prejudices and accusations.
"Who are you?" he asked, obviously trying very hard to keep his voice calm and polite.
"My name is Isabella Swan. I'm a good friend of Angela's," I explained, hoping to escape the rage that parents could conjure when it came to their children's safety.
"And where is Angela, if I may ask?"
"I came over for tea and one of the kids - Henry - had an asthma attack and Angela took him to the doctor down the street. Not ten minutes ago," I said calmly, trying to keep my eyes fixed onto his which seemed more and more difficult. The furiousness and rage in his eyes, suppressed by his good behaviour and care for his children, was the most intimidating look I had ever seen. Not even my boss Victoria with her fiery red hair, ironically-sharp cheekbones and high-pitched, lethal voice could make me want to disappear as much as this man just did.
A sudden flood of guilt washed over me - guilt I should not be feeling at all.
"So, she left my children here alone… with you?" he asked, inconspicuously pulling his children slightly behind his legs, as if to cover and protect them. The way emphasised you stabbed my chest, making me feel like the most horrible and contemptible person in the world.
"I was here and she was quicker without having to take them with her."
"Finn, Isla. You go take off the aprons and hang them up properly, okay?" the stranger said to his children with a fake smile on his face - yet a very honest shine of affection in his eyes that he could not hide - and patted his son on the head as his children jumped back into the living room.
"Let me get this straight. Angela left my children here alone with a stranger?"
He tried real very to maintain a decent and mature level of conversation and I had the uneasy feeling that the only reason he had not called the police or literally slaughtered me already was his trust in Angela - a trust that now seemed shattered.
"Listen, sir. I understand that this is inappropriate and that you are worried. I really understand. But it was an emergency. She had to act quickly, that boy was close to suffocating, and taking Finley and Isla with her would have cost her precious time. So please, can you try to understand her actions? You know she would not do so easily. She is a very responsible person, and I really don't want you to mistrust her now that she may have acted out of line once," I declared, fighting the urge to shrink into myself under the pressure of this man's intimidating gaze.
The children's laughter was audible from the living room and I caught their father's eyes quickly glancing into their direction before his eyes fixed back on mine.
"What was your name again, Miss?"
"Isabella Swan."
I swallowed, hard.
"This is inexcusable behaviour. Don't take this personally, Miss Swan. I don't know you and I won't judge you, but I can't excuse Angela simply leaving my children with strangers. You said she was at a doctor just down the street?"
"Listen, Mr…"
"Black," he finished for me.
"Mr. Black. Just because this happened once due to an emergency I think it would be very unfair towards Angela to punish her for that. She is such a responsible person. I wouldn't want her to have to carry the consequences for such an incident."
"You don't seem to understand, Miss Swan. These are my children and I placed them here because I thought they would be well taken care of. And up until now I thought Angela was doing just that. But this one incident proves to me that the trust I have in her might not be as justified as I thought it was."
"Excuse me, sir. This is clearly unfair of you. I understand that you mistrust me and that your children being here with me is a problem for you. I do understand. But don't blame Angela for something she carries no guilt or responsibility for. As far as I know her working hours ended almost an hour ago. If you had picked up your children in time there would have been no need for Angela to find a substitute. So don´t -"
„Are you trying to blame me, here?"
Guilt washed over me because I knew that I had no right to judge this man who surely was a great father - but this intimidating stare made me weaker and weaker and for once in my life I considered it appropriate to stand up - not only for me but for Angela, as well.
"I'm not blaming anyone here, Mr. Black. I just think that you have no right to blame Angela for this. I only know this entire situation could have been prevented."
I could see his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed, very obviously caging his rage inside of him but his eyes indicated a very different emotion - one that made me feel even worse.
Hurt.
"You don´t know anything," he muttered with venom in his voice as Finley and Isla came jumping back into the hallway and grabbed their coats.
I stood there awkwardly and watched Mr. Black helping his children into their coats, carefully wrapping them up in their scarves and caps, playfully putting their backpacks onto their backs, kissing both of them on the head before he gently pushed them out of the door without a look back at me.
Finley, however, turned around with a bright grin on his face and waved enthusiastically, a wave I half-heartedly responded to with a sad smile on my face.
"Bye, Bella!" he said before his father pushed him a little more sternly and I sighed as they disappeared from my field of vision.
The enormous lump in my throat made my chest ache; I could not explain why I felt such guilt and despair now that for once in my life I had stood up for myself and my friend.
This had felt right while doing it - but so wrong afterwards. Somehow I felt a strange mixture between guilt, frustration, and the foreign feeling of a missed opportunity boiling inside of me - neither of which I was capable of explaining.
Okay, I figure this needs some kind of clarification. My beta for this clearly pointed out her dislike of the happenings in this chapter.
First: I am NOT Bella. So, nothing of what Bella is saying in any way represents my own opinion. Her explanations and her blame on Jacob are, of course, nothing but crap. She is wrong, period.
Second: I know that pretty much everything Angela did in this was wrong and irresponsible and would cost her her license. Of course, I know that. But it was an emergency and although what she did was dead wrong I would not judge her entire self over this. Also, there will be a Jacob/Angela back story that will hopefully resolve some things later on.
Both Bella and Angela make terrible mistakes in this, I am aware of that. I would neither do nor say any of the things they do in this.
So, I hope I didn't offend anyone with this.
continue with part 3
World: Twilight
Status: Multi-Chapter
Title: Midnight Skies
Rating: M
Genre: Drama, Romance
Pairing: Jacob & Bella
Summary: Jacob and Bella are unsatisfied and frustrated with where they are in their lives. When these two strangers meet, they are forced to realize that what they are longing for in their own lives might only be found in each other’s.
start from the beginning
Midnight Skies
2.
Five hours later I stood in front of my best friend's door, drenched from head to toe since the sudden rain had surprised me. I was shivering like a small child that just spent an hour in a swimming pool, lips blue, skin puffy and pale.
Speaking of children - the cheerful, carefree laughter of children welcomed me as Angela opened the door. Her back faced me as she yelled something through her entire house, sighing as it had no effect.
With her warm trademark smile she hugged me, ignoring the fact that I was cold, wet and dripping onto the hardwood floor of her hallway.
"You know, I should get you a real fancy umbrella for your birthday," Angela joked, almost brutally ripping my bag from my shoulder and carelessly dropping it on the floor. It landed next to four colourful backpacks, which very obviously did not belong to Angela's personal collection of fancy handbags.
"Sorry, am I too early? You're still working," I said, feeling a twinge of guilt creeping up inside of me. My shivering fingers tried to peel my trench coat from my shoulders while my chin pointed down towards the bags.
"Oh, that's no problem, Bella. They'll be picked up any minute. Come in, I'd like you to meet them."
I felt a little uneasy as Angela led me through her house (by far the most cozy and warm place I had ever seen from the inside), chattering about these parents always being later than the others.
Hearing Angela talk about her children, as she liked to put it, was almost magical. She had so much adoration for them that it seemed they really were her own. And from what I had heard and given I knew what kind of a loving person Angela was, the children must love her just like a parent.
Being a nanny had been Angela's dream job ever since I met her in high school. Children were what made Angela happy and content and she always had that glow in her eyes whenever she was around them. However, an accident shortly before I met her had made it impossible for Angela to have children herself which had lately become a problem between her and her husband Ben. Being a nanny and having the children around her all day partly outweighed Angela's desire to be a mother herself, it was a momentarily substitute but it also made her craving for own children deeper. Adoption had been an all-present argument in their marriage for a while now. Ben was hesitant and Angela had admitted that she thought he was afraid. But even the thought of Ben leaving his beloved Angela was such a paradox that it was sure to shatter my world and my notions should it ever really happen. They had always been together. It was never Angela or Ben - always Angela and Ben
I had never been good with children, always clumsy and uneasy, almost uncomfortable. Afraid to do something wrong, to scare them or hurt them accidentally. Yet, Angela always tried to reassure me that I would be a great mother. I tried to make myself believe she only said that because she wanted to see me happy, but her concept of happiness did not exist without at least one child around.
"Hey, kids. I'd like you to meet Bella. She's a really good friend of mine, so be nice," Angela said with a huge smile and a playful wink as we entered the huge living room. It was stuffed with more toys than furniture that it reminded me of the play area in IKEA every time I came here. Old memories of my mother parking me there for hours while she bought dozens of wildly patterned knick knacks flashed through my mind.
The four children - two boys and two girls - greeted me with expressions of curiosity and suspicion only children could muster. They quickly refocused on the big white paper on the floor. Countless bowls with paint in all colours scattered across the living room, all furniture covered with white linen blankets to protect them from the wildness of a child's imagination.
"It's this month's masterpiece," Angela explained full of pride, waving towards the bright painting on the floor. It was a mixture of swirls and flowers, houses and suns, lawns and oceans, people and animals, indefinable objects, simple lines and dots, circles or just splashes of paint.
Angela eagerly pulled me closer towards the "artists" and the proud smile on her face made my heart melt. Seeing her this happy always reminded me of how horribly bitter she had been after that fatal car crash - the change in her life, the optimism, the way she actually turned her bitterness into utter happiness making me doubt my own self-pity.
"This is Carla," Angela introduced me to a blonde girl around seven. Her pale face was sprinkled with freckles and her blue eyes were so possessively fixed on the brush between her tiny fingers that the scary thought of a horror movie crept up inside my head, those eyes boring into my brain and I was thankful when Angela continued to speak.
"This is Henry."
The red-haired boy could not be older than three years, although his size seemed younger, coordination and body control rather amusing to look at. He deftly smashed the brush over the paper in mad circles, the pink paint smearing across carefully drawn flowers.
"Hey, Henry, stay in your corner of the paper," Carla's high-pitched, commanding voice stopping him in his tracks. He mumbled a short excuse before dropping his head sadly and half-heartedly pressing dots into what appeared to be his corner of the paper.
I felt a motherly swell of pity in my heart as I watched his tiny face, his green eyes glistering with suppressed tears and I quickly turned my head to Angela. Too late, apparently since she gave me a knowing wink before continuing her introduction round, leaving Henry to cope with his guilt on his own.
"Carla, don't be so harsh to him. You're right, but tell him that politely," Angela told Carla with authority in her voice before she continued to introduce me to the children. "These are Isla and Finley. They're twins."
"That means we should look the same. But I am a boy and Isla is a girl. So we don't," the little boy said full of pride, his arm swaying full of enthusiasm which resulted in a smear of lime green paint on his nose. His skin, just like his sister's, was a light russet-color, their hair pitch-black and their eyes a creamy mix between dark-green and chocolate brown.
"That's why we both have long hair," Finley added, pointing towards himself in agreement while his sister shook her head at him, focusing her attention on a big orange heart she was currently painting.
I smiled at the boy, not much older than four years and eyed his part of the masterpiece: a lime green-coloured house with garden, fence and chimney (which was rather askew, almost making my fingers twitch with the need to straighten it with a little bit of paint).
"Do you have a twin?" Finley asked with curiosity shining in his eyes like a second sun, his fists jumping up and down on his thighs impatiently. The brush splattered some paint onto the paper in the process.
"Oh, no I don't. I don't have any brothers or sisters," I answered, confused by the sudden and foreign feeling of sadness that overcame me at these words.
"Oh… why?"
Both Angela and I started to laugh quietly and it amazed me what kind of silly questions a child could ask - questions that weren't so silly when you left behind your inner adult.
"You know, Finley. Bella's parents don't live together anymore, just like yours. That is why she has no brothers or sisters," Angela explained carefully and I suddenly felt very thankful that she had taken over with the answer.
"Oh…," Finley murmured before his eyes met the brush in his fingers and he suddenly seemed to remember what he had been doing all this time and resumed his genius architectural work.
Before the bitterness could overcome me that there were other children out there who were just like me, who did not know what a real family was like, a ring on the door pulled me back into the cozy living room.
"I'll go check the door," Angela said before she quickly left the room, all four children sitting up straight, ears perked up. The picture was hilarious.
"Carla!" Angela's voice sounded from the hallway and with a bright grin the girl dropped her brush, climbed out of her apron and left the room with an overly excited wave towards the other kids which resembled the Queen's sophisticated wave.
A few minutes passed in which I awkwardly stood next to the children painting full of enthusiasm by my feet and I tried to eye their masterpiece with excitement. I was distracted, though, by Finley, the tiny little boy seemed to stare at me whenever he thought I was not watching, curiosity still beaming from his eyes and a warmth that resembled the one I always felt in this house.
"Sorry, it took a little longer than expected," Angela excused herself as she stepped back into the room. "We had to change the schedule for next week."
I waved my hand indicating that it was no problem and watched Angela as she cleaned Carla's abandoned apron with a tissue before hanging it up on a ladybug-shaped coat hook at the wall.
"Want some tea?" Angela asked softly, not even waiting for my responsive nod before dragging me into the kitchen. I slowly sank into one of her many chairs (none of them matched) and watched her as she rummaged in her cabinets.
"So, how is everything going?"
I sighed silently, my hope to avoid these stereotype questions crushed.
"Well, the usual. Jessica thinks I'm her maid and all I do is filing. But other than that… there was a fire in my neighbours apartment, did I tell you that?"
"What? No, you didn't! What happened?"
And so my goal was reached. It was my usual strategy. Deep down every single person on this planet is lusting for news sensations and it was the perfect distraction.
Sipping my too-hot strawberry-vanilla tea I repeated what I had told what felt like a million times. How the microwave had failed and ignited a small fire which, sadly, had crossed paths with the bag of groceries which also carried a hairspray and from then on the fire went out of control. Unfortunately, the story was not nearly half as dramatic as I wished it was and so it was quickly told, while Angela stirred her tea thoughtfully with a spoon, listening attentively.
"I'm so afraid of a fire in here…," she said more to herself than to me and her eyes stared ahead, straight over my shoulder into nothingness.
I knew this expression. Sometimes, on very rare occasions, the old Angela would break through the surface of the content life she had built up in the last years.
But before I could reach my hand across the table and place it upon hers, a heavy coughing sound from the living room stirred Angela out of her trance; however, the expression of weariness had been replaced by pure panic.
"Oh, no!"
She jumped to her feet, almost knocking her cup off the table and was out of the kitchen in such haste that I barely had time to fully comprehend that she was gone.
I got up confused and stepped back into the living room - the sight momentarily knocking the breath out of me.
Little Henry sat there, his face full of panic, his tiny hands grasping onto thin air as he coughed and desperately tried to get the much-needed air into his lungs. What struck me the most was that Angela was nowhere to be seen.
Feeling the adrenaline rush through my every vein I rushed towards the big paper, Finley and Isla grasping onto Henry's clothes, tapping onto his back, talking to him - helpless.
My knees hit the ground hard as I let myself fall in front of Henry, taking his hands into mine.
"What happened?" I asked, trying to ban the hysteria out of my panic-stricken and helpless voice.
"Nothing, he just started coughing," Isla said, her tiny hand drawing circles on Henry's back.
I tried to gather my nerves and did the first thing that came into my mind. Carefully I grabbed Henry underneath his shoulders and pulled his crouched figure straight, letting his arms dangle my his sides.
"Sshh… Henry. I want you listen to my breath, okay? Try to do it like me," I tried to reassure him, my own voice breaking after every word, downright fear flooding through me.
As I placed my hand gently on his chest, a look of concentration appeared on Henry's face and I knew that he tried to imitate me. Carefully I took his hand in mine and placed it on my own chest, letting him feel the rise and fall of every breath, fighting to keep it calm and steady.
In this second Angela came rushing into the room but before I could open my mouth to say anything she was beside me, holding a spray in her hands and I immediately understood, my immediate panic that Henry had swallowed something momentarily eased, however still not overcome as Angela carefully put the spray into Henry's mouth.
"Henry, sweetheart. Try to take a real deep breath, okay? Just like Bella. Try to breathe like her."
Angela's pure panic from earlier was gone, at least on the surface she acted calm and controlled. That, however, did not last long. After a few intakes of breath, the whooshing sound of the spray started to fade off into silence.
"It´s empty…," Angela whispered, no more panic but nothing but agony and fear in her voice, her eyes wide and I could see her brain working inside of her head.
Within a splint second she had Henry cradled in her arms and stood, the spray still in her hand.
"They're fixing the phone line. I can't make a call right now. But there is a doctor just down the street. Could you look after them while I'm gone and… you know… his mother…," Angela rushed her hands that held Henry awkwardly waving in multiple directions.
"Sure, go!" I urged her on, opening the front door for her as she stumbled down the steps, Henry coughing for his dear life in her arms and panic tears gathered in my eyes as I watched Angela run as fast as she could with the child clinging to her.
I had to remind myself of my own breathing as I closed the door and slowly went back to the living room, the slowly retreating adrenaline leaving a jelly-like feeling in my legs and the dull pain in my knees where they had hit the floor started to send signals to my brain.
Finley and Isla were still sitting in their former places, both looking down to their hands in their laps, their fingers nervously intertwining and loosening again.
"Hey…," I whispered and carefully kneeled next to them, ignoring the sting underneath the fabric of my pants.
They both looked up, their faces full of guilt and fear.
"Hey, it's okay. It wasn't your fault. He is sick. That could have happened anytime," I tried to reassure them, offering a weak smile.
Finley sighed and finally nodded again in agreement, clapping his tiny hand onto his sister's shoulder.
"He needs a doctor," he said wisely and I nodded, adoring the sunny smile that spread across his face in response to my confirmation of his words.
"So, we could not help?" Isla asked shyly, her russet skin blushing slightly as she looked at me, almost a little afraid. I understood that this was a very inappropriate situation given these two did not know me at all. Wrong. There should - must - have been a different solution.
"No, you could not. It's okay. We could not help him, either. Only the doctor can," I explained, hoping to decrease their guilt.
"How come you're not a doctor?" Finley asked, his voice once again downright honest and curious, deadly serious.
"Well, not everybody can be a doctor."
"Why not? Then everybody could help everybody."
"Well, yes. But you said yourself that you are not like your sister, right?" I asked, my brain trying to find a proper explanation. Finley nodded in understanding and shot a curious glance at his sister, who was still watching her fingers but obviously heard what I said.
"Everyone is different and likes to do different things - some people want to be doctors, other people don't."
I could practically see the wheels turning behind Finley's forehead and it amused me to see him thinking that hard. Then, finally, I got what I had been waiting for: a hefty nod.
"What is your job?"
I laughed and answered in the same breath.
"I make copies. All day long."
The confusion on Finley's face was hilarious, his brows rumpled together and his eyes deep in thought.
"That's funny," he finally said.
"You're pretty," he added, his face quieter this time and the faint blush that tinted his cheeks was heart-warming.
I snorted playfully, theatrically declaring how thankful I was for this compliment and when I called him Sir his chest literally burst with pride and his posture suddenly became a lot straighter.
Even Isla smiled now, her shyness slowly ebbing away as she laughed at her brother, nibbling on the inside of her cheek which made her adorable face look much more mature and in a way I felt pity - that children eventually had to grow up.
The doorbell rang shrilly and the bright smiles on the children's faces were priceless. They were up on their feet and at the door quicker than I could even heave myself onto my feet, the itching pain in my knee indicating a burn wound from the fall.
Finley - still in his gentleman posture - proudly opened the door just as I entered the hallway, jumping up and down as he saw the man standing there on the threshold.
"Daddy!" both he and Isla cried full of joy, jumping at their father, wrapping themselves around him until he was barely visible, devoured by those two cookie monsters.
I could not help but smile at the sight, the love radiating from the image almost too much to bear, too far out of reach for myself.
The man in the doorframe was around my age, I guessed. That surprised me a little. Somehow young parents were alien to me, me always trying to picture myself in their place and the last thing I could image were children with me. My children.
He was tall, inhumanly tall, which made the picture in front of me even more queer. His children being so tiny and him such a giant, holding them against him. Looking at him it was quite obvious where Finley and Isla had their skin tone and hair color from - his were identical. His chin-length black hair shimmered in the dim sunlight that escaped the clouds outside now that the outburst of rain had passed and for a splint second the hope for a rainbow flickered in my head. But when the man standing there a few feet away from me looked up from his children and straight into my eyes all ideas of rainbows and bad weather were forgotten. His eyes were black, or at least they seemed to be from my position (they might as well have been a very dark brown) but what struck me more was the expression in them - the purely vicious suspicion punching me in the face, radiating through the entire room, leaving me feeling as unpleasant as I had been in the ice-cold downpour.
It was the kind of expression no child could ever muster up. Something only age and maturity allowed. No curiosity. Only suspicion, prejudices and accusations.
"Who are you?" he asked, obviously trying very hard to keep his voice calm and polite.
"My name is Isabella Swan. I'm a good friend of Angela's," I explained, hoping to escape the rage that parents could conjure when it came to their children's safety.
"And where is Angela, if I may ask?"
"I came over for tea and one of the kids - Henry - had an asthma attack and Angela took him to the doctor down the street. Not ten minutes ago," I said calmly, trying to keep my eyes fixed onto his which seemed more and more difficult. The furiousness and rage in his eyes, suppressed by his good behaviour and care for his children, was the most intimidating look I had ever seen. Not even my boss Victoria with her fiery red hair, ironically-sharp cheekbones and high-pitched, lethal voice could make me want to disappear as much as this man just did.
A sudden flood of guilt washed over me - guilt I should not be feeling at all.
"So, she left my children here alone… with you?" he asked, inconspicuously pulling his children slightly behind his legs, as if to cover and protect them. The way emphasised you stabbed my chest, making me feel like the most horrible and contemptible person in the world.
"I was here and she was quicker without having to take them with her."
"Finn, Isla. You go take off the aprons and hang them up properly, okay?" the stranger said to his children with a fake smile on his face - yet a very honest shine of affection in his eyes that he could not hide - and patted his son on the head as his children jumped back into the living room.
"Let me get this straight. Angela left my children here alone with a stranger?"
He tried real very to maintain a decent and mature level of conversation and I had the uneasy feeling that the only reason he had not called the police or literally slaughtered me already was his trust in Angela - a trust that now seemed shattered.
"Listen, sir. I understand that this is inappropriate and that you are worried. I really understand. But it was an emergency. She had to act quickly, that boy was close to suffocating, and taking Finley and Isla with her would have cost her precious time. So please, can you try to understand her actions? You know she would not do so easily. She is a very responsible person, and I really don't want you to mistrust her now that she may have acted out of line once," I declared, fighting the urge to shrink into myself under the pressure of this man's intimidating gaze.
The children's laughter was audible from the living room and I caught their father's eyes quickly glancing into their direction before his eyes fixed back on mine.
"What was your name again, Miss?"
"Isabella Swan."
I swallowed, hard.
"This is inexcusable behaviour. Don't take this personally, Miss Swan. I don't know you and I won't judge you, but I can't excuse Angela simply leaving my children with strangers. You said she was at a doctor just down the street?"
"Listen, Mr…"
"Black," he finished for me.
"Mr. Black. Just because this happened once due to an emergency I think it would be very unfair towards Angela to punish her for that. She is such a responsible person. I wouldn't want her to have to carry the consequences for such an incident."
"You don't seem to understand, Miss Swan. These are my children and I placed them here because I thought they would be well taken care of. And up until now I thought Angela was doing just that. But this one incident proves to me that the trust I have in her might not be as justified as I thought it was."
"Excuse me, sir. This is clearly unfair of you. I understand that you mistrust me and that your children being here with me is a problem for you. I do understand. But don't blame Angela for something she carries no guilt or responsibility for. As far as I know her working hours ended almost an hour ago. If you had picked up your children in time there would have been no need for Angela to find a substitute. So don´t -"
„Are you trying to blame me, here?"
Guilt washed over me because I knew that I had no right to judge this man who surely was a great father - but this intimidating stare made me weaker and weaker and for once in my life I considered it appropriate to stand up - not only for me but for Angela, as well.
"I'm not blaming anyone here, Mr. Black. I just think that you have no right to blame Angela for this. I only know this entire situation could have been prevented."
I could see his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed, very obviously caging his rage inside of him but his eyes indicated a very different emotion - one that made me feel even worse.
Hurt.
"You don´t know anything," he muttered with venom in his voice as Finley and Isla came jumping back into the hallway and grabbed their coats.
I stood there awkwardly and watched Mr. Black helping his children into their coats, carefully wrapping them up in their scarves and caps, playfully putting their backpacks onto their backs, kissing both of them on the head before he gently pushed them out of the door without a look back at me.
Finley, however, turned around with a bright grin on his face and waved enthusiastically, a wave I half-heartedly responded to with a sad smile on my face.
"Bye, Bella!" he said before his father pushed him a little more sternly and I sighed as they disappeared from my field of vision.
The enormous lump in my throat made my chest ache; I could not explain why I felt such guilt and despair now that for once in my life I had stood up for myself and my friend.
This had felt right while doing it - but so wrong afterwards. Somehow I felt a strange mixture between guilt, frustration, and the foreign feeling of a missed opportunity boiling inside of me - neither of which I was capable of explaining.
Okay, I figure this needs some kind of clarification. My beta for this clearly pointed out her dislike of the happenings in this chapter.
First: I am NOT Bella. So, nothing of what Bella is saying in any way represents my own opinion. Her explanations and her blame on Jacob are, of course, nothing but crap. She is wrong, period.
Second: I know that pretty much everything Angela did in this was wrong and irresponsible and would cost her her license. Of course, I know that. But it was an emergency and although what she did was dead wrong I would not judge her entire self over this. Also, there will be a Jacob/Angela back story that will hopefully resolve some things later on.
Both Bella and Angela make terrible mistakes in this, I am aware of that. I would neither do nor say any of the things they do in this.
So, I hope I didn't offend anyone with this.
continue with part 3