Hit By Destiny by ocdmess.pdf

Hit By Destiny by ocdmess

http://www.fanfiction.net/s/5463682/1/

Preface

The screeching noise is what made me turn around. And it was the sight of the

oncoming car that made me freeze in place. I couldn't find it in me to move, and

although the car seemed to be moving in slow-motion, and I could make out

every little detail of the shiny Volvo's front, I still stood my ground, and watched

it come. I could have made it if I wanted too.

But the truth is that I didn't want to.

You would think that the collision would have hurt, that I would have screamed in

pain as I hit the windshield with a deafening crash, before rolling down on the

ground and landing under the moving car. But no. It didn't hurt, and I didn't

scream.

I didn't have time to scream.

I was unconscious long before the car stopped dead.

The only sound was the scream from the driver…

Chapter 1- Envious

Isabella Swan POV - Four days before the accident

Hiding out in the girls' bathroom during gym had become one of my daily rituals.

I wouldn't be surprised if Coach Hunter thought that I was dead or that I changed

schools, since I hadn't made it to gym for almost three months now.

I really wished she was right, though.

I splashed my face with cold water and stared at my taunting reflection in the

mirror. My brown hair was sticking to the water on my face, and I looked like a

complete mess. My reflection stared back at me with condescending eyes and I

had to look away. Wasn't it enough that I had to endure those looks from the rest

of the student body? Why did I have to look at myself the same way?

I should treat myself with more respect. I deserved better. If I didn't treat myself

better, then who would? I had no friends and no one who really cared about me.

People say that often but, those who do are not truly alone. They have a few

acquaintances to smile with while walking through the halls of their schools, or

maybe a sibling to relate to. In my case, though, it's true. I really have no

friends. I am an only child. But I can honestly say that that doesn't bother me. I

don't mind having no friends. Having friends means you are setting yourself up to

get hurt. Trust me when I say that I have gone through enough betrayal and pain

to last a lifetime. I know better than to try getting to know people since everyone

thinks I'm crazy, anyway. I couldn't even count on my family to be there for me.

They still blamed me for what had happened…

I shook those thoughts away. It was definitely not the time to think about that

right now.

The door to the bathroom swung open, and Tanya Denali walked in with Jessica

Stanley and Lauren Mallory hot on her heels. I don't think I've ever seen Tanya

without Jessica or Lauren standing behind her like a couple of pathetic

cheerleading bodyguards. I suppressed a scoff as all three of them turn to glare

at me.

"Excuse me, but this bathroom is for normal people. The mentally unstable pee

behind the gym," Tanya said to me in a sickly sweet voice. Jessica and Lauren

giggled and I stared at them, my eyes expressing no emotion whatsoever. I had

this look down pat and memorized by now. I couldn't let them get to me. I

couldn't let any of them get to me.

"Then what the hell are you doing here?" I asked, veering my gaze away from

her and her posse.

Tanya looked confused for a moment. I guess it took her a second longer than it

should have before she understood what I said. I resisted the urge to roll my

eyes. How was it even possible to be so dense?

"Freak," she spat when she couldn't come up with a good enough comeback,

before storming into one of the stalls.

I grabbed a paper towel from the dispenser and patted my face dry. Lauren and

Jessica were watching my every move through the mirror. I glared back at them,

but they didn't even flinch. I threw the paper towel in the trash and left the

bathroom.

The hallways were empty – apart from the occasional outcast like me, who

roamed the halls when the rest of the school was busy in class.

I walked up the stairs to the second floor and steered my feet towards the

closed-off wing. Nobody ever went there. That was the reason why I loved it so

much.

I slipped under the caution tape that marked the restricted area and walked over

to the abandoned music room. The door opened with a loud creak and I tried my

best to close it silently behind me before making my way over to the grand piano,

which was covered with a dusty white sheet. My steps echoed through the big,

empty room. The piano was the only thing in the room. The seat was as dusty as

the white sheet was, as were the floor and the rest of the room.

Everything was so dirty, but that was to be expected considering how long it had

been since anyone, other than me, had been up here.

This wing had been closed off for almost a year now. It was first closed down due

to renovations. But I guess the school couldn't afford to finish them, because the

contractors only stayed for a week. Ever since then the wing had been a

restricted area and classes were no longer scheduled there, because of the

danger from construction.

The danger of the room is one of the main reasons I kept coming back. Each

time, I hoped that something would happen to me, but each time I left the room

disappointed. Nothing ever happened.

I looked down at my hands in my lap and tugged at my sleeve to make sure that

my scars weren't exposed. I didn't feel ashamed about them; I just didn't want

people to know about them. That would only fuel the fire, the taunting.

Don't go getting the wrong idea about me: I'm not a cutter. I just have scars – a

lot of them. And it's not my fault they are there. I didn't put them there.

Someone else did. And the scars are one of the reasons why I refuse to go to

gym. If I did, people would be bound to take notice of them, and they would

never let me forget it. That was something I tried to do twenty-four seven. I want

to stop thinking about it! An impossible goal, for sure. But I had to at least try,

because it was the only thing keeping me sane, while the whole school made me

out to be insane.

I squeezed my eyes shut and rubbed the heels of my hands against my eyes.

Three months had passed, but I could still hear the screaming. Every time I

closed my eyes, I would see his murderous gaze and my dreams were forever

haunted by the memory. There was no way for me to get over this. The mental

pain was slowly driving me insane and killing my will to live.

The physical pain I could handle. My wounds had been serious, but I didn't

complain. With my wounds, I could see what hurt me. Plus, after a couple of

months, the wounds had turned into pink scars. I was no longer broken. My body

was fixed, but the wounds in my mind and in my heart would never heal. They

would never diminish into pink scars.

Three months - and the pain was just as excruciating now as it had been back

then. That would never change.

Why didn't I die that night?

I stood up and walked over to one of the dusty windows and jumped up to sit on

its ledge. The window faced the parking lot where my big red truck stood out like

a big red zit would stand out on a super model's pristine, pore-free forehead. It

was bigger and older than any other car on the parking lot – and not to mention

it was loud. People always stared at me when I came a-clunkin' to school every

morning.

But I wasn't sure whether that was because of the loud roar of the engine, or the

fact that I was a loser in their eyes, and they needed to put me down before

starting their day.

A shiny, silver Volvo caught my eye. It was moving fluidly down the parking lot,

before parking in the Principal's assigned spot. I raised an eyebrow at the sight,

since I knew that that particular car didn't belong to the Principal. It belonged to

none other than Edward Cullen.

I watched him as he climbed out of the car and slammed the door shut, before

pushing a button on his keys, pointing it towards the car. The lights flashed,

indicating he had locked the car, and he walked off with his hands in his pockets.

He slouched his shoulders, like he always did. I don't think I'd ever seen him walk

with his back straight. He slouched and kept his eyes down, not meeting anyone's

glance, as if he was trying to hide. This was pretty odd, seeing as everyone knew

who he was and everyone looked up to him. The guys wanted to be him, and the

girls wanted to be with him. You know the type. Yet, still, he always walked like

he didn't want any of it. It was as if he just didn't want people to see him, or

notice him.

Even more ironic, he was the sluttiest guy I have ever encountered. He had slept

with the entire female population of the school. Actually, I wouldn't be surprised if

he slept with a few of the guys too when he was getting short on girls. I was

definitely not one of the girls he had slept with, though. I was still as virginal as

the day God had created me.

I remember once, last spring, when I thought he had tried to flirt with me.

I was sitting in the library, during study hall, when he walked up to me. He stood

across the table and leaned down on his arms as his eyes focused all his power

on me.

"Isabella Swan…," he said with a husky voice. "You're looking pretty today."

I blushed and looked down, embarrassed. I was not used to getting compliments

from guys, or talking to guys at all for that matter. Getting a compliment from

Edward Cullen was like being told by Simon Cowell that you were good at singing.

Both situations were equally rare, and equally amazing.

"Thanks," I muttered. He chuckled.

"So what are you studying, pretty Bella?" he asked. I could still feel his eyes on

me.

"Advanced algebra…," I replied quietly, without looking at him. Why did he even

bother asking? My algebra books were the only ones on the table in front of me

and I was busy scribbling down equations and answers in my notebook.

"Oh, really? I was too, but I don't understand question four… do you?" He asked

innocently.

I nodded weakly; I didn't have any trouble with AP algebra. Math was a cakewalk

for me.

He leaned in closer towards me, over the table, and I could feel his breath on my

face.

"Mind helping a guy out?" he breathed, still with that husky tone.

I glanced up and my breath caught in my throat as his beautiful emerald eyes

stared back at me, barely inches from my face. I bit my lip and pushed my

notebook to him.

"I… I– I solved it by using the method on page sixty five…," I stuttered nervously

and pointed to the page without breaking the lock with his eyes.

He smirked and leaned back before snatching the notebook. He looked at the

page and nodded, seemingly content.

"Thanks," he said, ripping the page out and throwing the notebook back down on

the table, walking off without a second glance. I flushed as I reached for my

notebook and frowned when I noticed that he had managed to get away with the

whole assignment, while it had taken me over an hour to solve the problems. I

was forced to do it again.

I shook my head at the memory. I had been so naïve back then. How could I

have possibly thought that Edward Cullen would ever consider me pretty? Or that

he would ever bother flirting with me in the first place unless he had something

to gain from it? I was not pretty. My appearance was plain. Everything about me

was either plain or broken. I had been naïve and I had let him get away with

stealing my homework. Because of him, I had gotten in trouble for not managing

to finish the homework again. Of course I got in trouble for not completing the

assignment, while Edward got an A on his homework… or should I say my

homework?

I jumped back down on the floor and the dust whirled around my feet. Some of it

came up to my face and I sneezed, the sound echoing through the almost empty

room.

I walked back to the piano and pulled back the sheet, exposing a part of the

piano in the process. I wanted to admire the beautiful, black piano. The finish was

still smooth and shiny. It was a pity that no one ever got to use it anymore. I had

often wondered why it had never been brought down to the new music room next

to the cafeteria. Instead, they had just brought the guitars and drums, along with

the smaller woodwind and percussion instruments. Maybe the grand piano was

simply too big and heavy to move. It wasn't worth the effort since they had

planned on getting the music room back up here when the renovations were

finished, anyway.

As if that were ever going to happen.

I put the sheet back, sheathing the piano back into hiding.

It was at times like this that I really wished that I had any musical talent

whatsoever. It could really benefit in getting my emotions out in the form of

music. It would be such a beautiful way of expressing myself; as opposed to

writing countless pages of worthless days in my journals about how bad I have

felt recently and how I have been wishing for the relief of death.

It wasn't like I could go to a therapist and talk about what happened. I wasn't

allowed to talk about what happened at all– not with anyone. Not even with the

people involved. Well, it wasn't like I could talk to them, anyway…

Instead, I had to live in a lie and pretend it never happened. If someone asked

about it, I was to give them the lousy cover-up story. The same one we gave the

hospital when they took care of my wounds.

A cover-up story that made me responsible for everything that had happened.

I absentmindedly pulled up my sleeve and was about to scratch my arm, but

when my fingers touched the scars, I flinched and looked down. I stared at the

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