In Vain by Bratty-Vamp, E - I
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In Vain by Bratty-Vamp
I sat in my window seat pulling a brush through my long, wet hair. I frowned as I
hit a tangle, and grabbed my hair in my fist to help ease the tugging I felt on my
scalp as I worked the nylon bristles through the knotted strands near the bottom.
It was too long. And I wished, not for the first time, that I could cut it.
But I was not allowed.
Yeah. You heard me right. I was nineteen years old and not allowed to cut my
hair.
Then again, I wasn't allowed to do much of anything. I wasn't allowed to smoke.
I wasn't allowed to drink. I wasn't allowed to have boyfriends.
Sure.
I could have done any of those things. And from time to time, I sneaked
indulgences that weren't strictly on my list of allowed activities. The little daisy
tattoo on my hip was a perfect example of my silent rebellion. But like the tattoo,
I always had to keep those forbidden acts carefully hidden from my mother.
My mother, who was without a doubt, one-hundred percent out of her damn mind
if she thought that I could live that way for much longer.
Not that I would ever repeat that sentiment out loud. I wasn't allowed to curse,
either.
She cared for me. She spoiled me. She raised me in a life of complete luxury and
comfort. I never wanted for anything, as long as I adhered to the rules that were
set.
If I strayed… well. She never exactly threatened me with what would happen if I
didn't follow her rules. It was like, living my own life was not even an option.
And at nineteen years old, my inner-rebel wanted out… badly. But the smart
inner-me knew that I needed to wait. I would take all she offered and bide my
time. Two more years of school. Two more years and I would be supplied with the
age, knowledge, and credentials to try to make it on my own without her.
Sure. I'd have to learn to live without the lifestyle that my mother had provided
me with. And frankly, the idea of that scared the shit out of me. With my brush in
my lap, I rubbed the smooth scar on my hand with my thumb, while I considered
how badly I still wanted to try.
I stared out the window at the carefully manicured lawn below, and watched as
our gardener wiped a work-blackened glove across the perspiration that beaded
his forehead. Manual labor was a concept I didn't understand. I never had to
work a day in my life. That was part of what kept me prisoner, in my gilded cage.
"Isabella?" My mother called from my doorway. I turned my head to look at her
standing there, looking perfectly polished and remote. Her eyes held their typical
glassy sheen. My mother was a pill-head. Not that I was overly critical about it.
She'd suffered from paranoia and nervous tendencies for as long as I could
remember. The pills calmed her.
"Yes, Mother?" I asked, finally coming out of my inner-musings to offer her just
as much chilly formality with the title.
"Get dressed and come down for lunch. Our guests will arrive soon."
I nodded and left her there, while I stepped into my dressing room to finish
preparing for the day.
Classes had let out only a week before, and already I missed the relaxed get-
togethers that I was able to attend with the few friends that I'd made. Some kids
from school this year had started calling me 'Bella.' I liked it. It was the first time
that we had lived anywhere long enough for me to actually make friends who
deemed me worthy of a shortened name. My mother still refused to use it. Pizza
in crowded restaurants. Study-sessions in small apartments. Discussions about
literature while sitting on ratty, over-stuffed furniture in the bustling quad on
campus. My mother's idea of socializing was far, far different and stifling by
comparison. I sighed, imagining a very long summer filled with luncheons and
stuffy dinner parties.
Dressed in a skirt, nice shirt, and low heels, I walked quietly downstairs to join
my mother and the guests she had invited to join us.
At least I was pleasantly surprised to see that one of my mother's acquaintances
had brought her children along to lunch. A boy and a girl, my age, stood in the
foyer of our home. They were twins… blonde and gloriously sun-kissed by the
Southern sun under which they had been born and raised.
"Isabella?" My mother began her introductions. "You remember Mrs. Hale?" I
nodded at the stately woman whom I'd met before at a fundraiser. "She's
brought her children with her today. Rosalie, and Jasper."
"How do you do?" I asked politely. I remembered the girl from campus. It was
hard to miss such beauty even surrounded by hundreds of other students. She
shone.
"Hey," Rosalie smiled, ignoring the formality my mother thrived upon. "Weren't
you in my British Lit class?"
"I think so," I smiled in return, happy to know that today's lunch would be less
awful than I'd imagined. I peeked bashfully up at her taller sibling, who was
curiously looking at me as well.
"Do you take classes at the university, too?" I asked him. I was certain I'd never
seen him before.
"No," he shook his head. "West Point, Military Academy. I'm just home for the
summer."
"Lovely," my mother nodded at his career ambitions, or perhaps it was a grateful
acknowledgment of the fact that he wouldn't be around for long. I nodded too.
Only the 'lovely' I internally-referred to was the color of his stormy-blue eyes as
they not so subtly traveled down my body. The corner of his full mouth pulled up
in a hint of smile as he noticed my returned interest. My mother must have
noticed too, because she cleared her throat and insisted that we all be seated for
lunch.
And I was seated far, far, away from Jasper Hale.
Four other women completed our table, and everyone quietly chatted as we ate
from china plates and sipped from sparkling glasses. I wished for a glass of white
wine that the older guests enjoyed, but sipped my water instead while Rosalie
told us about her recent engagement to a boy named Emmett. Her parents
planned a large wedding, two summers still away. Rosalie blushed under the
attention of the women who hemmed and hawed over her large engagement
ring.
"What about you, Isabella?" Jasper asked down from his place at the foot of the
table. "I noticed that you don't have a rock weighing your hand down yet."
Mischief danced in his eyes, and he looked pleased about his observation.
"Isabella doesn't have time to date," my mother sniffed delicately, thwarting his
attempts at flirtation. "She'll finish school before she considers anything of the
sort."
Even though her comment wasn't made to me, I felt like I had been suitably
reprimanded in front of them all.
"Maybe you could come over to our place sometime," Rosalie smiled, trying to
ease the awkwardness I felt. "We could hang out by the pool."
I looked down at the pallid skin of my arms and nodded, knowing that my mother
would figure out a way to shut-down those plans. It was another of my rules. Too
much sun wasn't good for my complexion. I know it sounds extreme, but she
always insisted that every rule she'd given me was made with my optimal health
and happiness in mind.
"Or… we could go into town. Have lunch, and shop?" I offered instead. I could see
my mother nod slightly, in my periphery. It was an acceptable compromise. I
breathed deeply, satisfied that my suggestion met with her approval. I wanted to
know Rosalie. She seemed really nice.
And I really hoped I'd get a chance to get to know her brother, too.
"We'll have to see what your schedule is like," my mother said lightly. "Isabella
will be traveling this summer."
I looked over at her. She was studying the chicken on her plate with a slight
frown on her face. It wasn't the time to question her statement, in front of her
guests, but it was the first she'd mentioned of it. I wondered where we'd be off
to, this time.
My mother never liked to stay in one place for long. We moved from home to
home every few years. And even when we were comfortably living in one
location, she still liked to plan vacations that she claimed help me to know and
appreciate the world and cultures around me. We visited France when I was ten.
Japan when I was fifteen. We went to Africa just after I graduated high school.
Foreign cities and locations were easy to visit when you were afforded the luxury
of not having to work, and nearly-limitless funds to travel.
"Why do we travel so much?" I asked my mother once, long ago.
"I want you to see everything," my mother had told me. "I don't want you to
miss a thing."
Later that night, when all of our guests were gone, I dressed in my pajamas and
thought about our afternoon. Rosalie had given me a hug before she'd departed,
and vowed to call so that we could make plans to get together. Jasper slyly
brushed the back of my knuckles with his own while my mother was occupied
saying her good-byes, and his eyes twinkled when he promised that he'd 'see me
around.'
I walked quietly down the long hall to my mother's room, and knocked before I
pushed her door open. She sat at a desk, looking down at a letter while she read
under the golden light of a small tiffany lamp.
"Yes?" she asked, tucking her pages beneath a book and turning to look at me. I
entered the sanctuary of her room, and sat tentatively on the edge of her bed.
My fingers smoothed the soft material of her duvet under my legs, and I longed
for the easy mother-daughter comfort that we used to share. The days when I
used to crawl up into her big bed, and she'd cuddle me and read me stories.
My mother loved me. I knew she did. She was ever watchful, and took very good
care of me. But through the years, something had shifted between us. She
became more and more withdrawn, deliberately putting space between us that I
felt like an ache right now.
"Why didn't you tell me that you were planning a vacation for us?" I asked
quietly. "Where are we going?"
"I didn't say that we would be traveling, Isabella," my mother said, sounding
weary. She rubbed her fingers across her forehead as though pushing away a
headache. "I said that you would be traveling."
My brows lowered in confusion as I looked over at her. Her shoulders bent
forward, and her posture made her look older than she was.
"Where am I going?" I asked. This was a first. I'd practically had to beg to get her
to let me take university courses, rather than have my education delivered by
private tutors. And it was absolutely not even to be considered, when I suggested
that I would like to stay in the college dorms. My mother never had me far from
her side. And yet… she was planning for me to leave, alone, on a vacation?
"Italy," my mother said then. She turned her back to me and studied the papers
on her desk. "Aro has asked that you come to visit."
Aro.
I knew very little of the man, though I knew his name well.
My mother met him when she had traveled to Italy with me, as barely more than
a toddler. She described him as having dark hair, dark eyes, and un-earthly
beauty that immediately entranced her. She fell in love with him. Or maybe, she
fell in love with his power and fortune. She explained to me once, that his wealth
and position were far beyond anything that anyone might dream. In some ways,
she had told me, he was royalty.
"Why didn't you marry him?" I asked her with the naivety of youth.
"He… didn't love me," she said then. "It just wasn't meant to be."
But I figured that he must have loved her. Because he had been the sole
benefactor of the lifestyle in which I'd lived, ever since she met him that summer.
In my mind, that sort of devotion couldn't be attributed to any less.
Every year after, he stayed in touch with my mother through mailed
correspondence. And I'm sure that the occasional whispers I heard late at night,
were conversations that she had with him on the phone. He provided her with
money and gifts of homes, jewelry and cars. My own sleek convertible had been
delivered from Italy for my sixteenth birthday, along with a beautiful pair of
diamond stud earrings. A gift from the man who supported us.
Yes. He must have loved her. She must have had something… that inspired him
to take such good care of us through the years.
I'd always been curious about that summer, that I'd been too young to
remember. And the thought of returning to Italy now excited and enthralled me.
But I was nervous about the request, that I meet him alone.
"I want you to go with me," I said stubbornly. Even detached company would be
better than none at all.
"It's not open for discussion," my mother returned, still looking away.
"When will I leave?"
"He'll let me know."
The tone of her voice dismissed me, and so I left her room and walked back to
mine.
As I crawled under the cool covers of my bed and turned out my light, my
thoughts tumbled around in my head, refusing to let me relax.
I was nervous about the idea of traveling so far away. And yet… the idea
intrigued me. Italy. I would be far, far away from my mother and her over-
bearing rules. I would be free to warm my skin in the sun, and sip fruity wines. I
could smile, and flirt, and dance with attractive young men.
I let my imagination take me away to all of the wonderful possibilities, and sighed
and shifted into my mattress while my hand stole its way beneath my pajama
pants. Warmed by the thoughts of freedom and by my fingers that pressed
between my legs, I bit my lip and closed my eyes, and imagined a beautiful boy
above me. It was Jasper's face that I saw when my release came sparkling
behind my eyelids.
~*~
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