Under The Apple Tree (White Background) by Danieller123 COMPLETE.pdf

Under The Apple Tree

By Danieller123

Summary: Love that hurts can sometimes heal. Ever wish you could go back and change something

you did in life? Bella does.

Chapter One ~ I am

Bella Swan

Monday.

The tile floor is cold. I don't know why I am here. I promised myself last time was the last time. Yet,

here I am. My mouth is desiccant. There is a ringing in my ears accompanied by a pulsing that

reaches right to my gut; churning whatever is in there.

What did I eat last?

Did I eat today?

What is today?

My breathing is slow and it feels like I am suffocating. There's an imaginary weight on my chest that

I can't push away. Sitting up doesn't help. Fuck, my head is throbbing. My stomach ushers me to the

rim of the bowl and I expel food I don't remember eating. The smell is putrid and I can't seem to

care as I rest my cheek to the dirty porcelain.

It's cool and finally cold feels good on my face.

Yeah, cold feels good.

Blackness falls and I am gone.

I am gone.

Tuesday.

He's working me from behind. I am still. I am a robot. I am pleasure. I am pain. He's done in no time

and slips a twenty into my hand. I ignore his wedding band and he ignores me, slipping out of the

room.

I walk around Mike's house a while and admire all the pictures, the décor, the life that fills this

space. He is an amazing architect. So smart. His house is lovely. His wife is lovely. I am a robot as I

eat the leftovers in the fridge. She's a good cook too. He leaves me her robe on the edge of the tub,

same as always. I use her shampoo, her shaving gel to shave my legs and of course, her razor.

My hair smells clean and delightful.

It is all a lie.

Wednesday.

I sit on the edge of the bed and stare at a well-concealed spot on my leg. I am closer, but not there

yet.

Thursday.

There is a preacher on TV in my motel room. His face is a little blurry and in black and white. His

voice can be heard and it is clear as day. I agree with him and I curse at him all the same. He is

wrong. He is right.

I blow smoke in his face and pour a shot, toasting to sin.

It burns on the way down.

Friday.

When I walk out on stage, the crowd howls. They should. I'm showing a lot of fucking skin. I tease

not. I'm the real deal. My tips prove it. My hand slides down the pole and I don't think about who

was here last or why it is slick. I just do .

My body moves on its own accord. It dances to a beat I only hear in my head. It might match the

music from the speakers, but I am not sure. The men don't seem to care. Their faces are blurry and

with every spin around the metal pole, they get fuzzier and fainter and the pulsing is back in my

ears.

A sour taste floats on my tongue. Acid burns my throat and I bend over, giving them a good show. I

swallow and start to gyrate my hips towards the pole, tipping my head back. My arm feels weak, but

I hold on and dip myself down and up and down and up.

They call my name. One of them.

The stage is littered with their money and I stomp over it, taking off my top to coax them into giving

more.

Mike is here tonight. Odd.

He gives me a hundred and whispers our plans for the week ahead in my ear. There is a rose on my

dressing area when my set is done.

I wish his wife knew how sweet he is. Was.

As I walk towards the train, I hand the rose to a child standing with her mother as I pass by. She

smiles. Her mother pulls her closer. It's cold tonight and I hug my arms around myself. It does

nothing to sway men from staring at me as I continue my way towards the train.

Now , I feel naked.

Chapter Two ~ Carnival Town

Sunday

There are too many leaves upon this grey plaque. My feet nervously step towards it. I try not to trip.

There is no one to catch me if I do. I stay on the outside of the square. I am dirty, but respectful of his

space. The grass is cold on my knees and I am going to be dirtier, but it's worth it. My hands push

the leaves away and reveal my name. His name. I want to cry, but I just smile.

"Hi Daddy."

He doesn't speak back.

My hands cup my face and I just stare at it.

Yeah, I just stare.

Monday

The food is good. The atmosphere is elegant and posh and so far beyond me, but no one notices. I

am dressed appropriately and there are pins holding my hair back. I get no sauce in it as I bring the

fork to my lips. Mike looks pleased. He hates to be embarrassed. A foot rubs mine under the table

and smiling eyes meet mine as he sips slowly at his wine.

"How did truffles taste for the first time, Isabella?" He inquires.

I wipe my mouth and place my napkin back into my lap. I am a fucking lady, tonight. I smile and

finger the rim of my glass. My foot gives a rub to his.

"Delicious."

His eyes are pleased and he refills my glass.

"Stay with me tonight?" His voice is low and he doesn't look at me.

"Can we get dessert?"

Mike settles the bottle of wine down and reaches for my hand. His gesture is not unlike any other

mans would be for his lover. The table across from ours; there is a couple doing quite the same. His

lips press into my fingers.

"Anything you like."

His generosity won't go unnoticed tonight.

Tuesday

I hold my purse snug, as though it has a million dollars in it, not three hundred. I try to remember

all the things I needed. I should have made a list. My lip is sore from the constant chewing on it.

Chapstick. I need chapstick. I pace the aisle nervously, trying to get in and out of here as fast as

possible. The owner still remembers me and I am not welcome, but it's the closest store to my motel

and I need things.

There is only a small selection of items in the refrigerated section. Cheese, hot dogs, milk and some

other things people will buy at 2am from a convenient store. They'll have to do. I drop them into my

basket and walk towards the end of the aisle, reaching for a few bottles of shit that will make the

other shit taste dull and not matter and head towards the front.

There are three people in front of me; one of them is having an issue with finding their ID. Fucking

kids. I tap my foot nervously and shift the heavy basket on my hip. I feel weak and hungry and eye

the display of candy bars, but reach for nothing.

He's arguing with the clerk and I can't take it. I need to go. The money in my purse makes me

nervous. The bottle of shit is getting warm and I want them to be cold. A wave of shakes rolls over

me and my sugar is low. It's hot and I am sweating and this kid has no idea how lucky he is that

someone is stopping him from ruining his life.

"Fuck! There are others here, you know!" I scream and it is like someone else's voice. The people in

front of me - men – turn around and stare. The kid at the counter is pissed. It's clear. He was already

embarrassed and I just made it worse.

"Fuck you, Bitch. This is America and I have a right to do whatever the fuck I want." He's pointing

and I am shaking. I cannot control my mouth.

"You also need to be twenty-one to buy alcohol," I raise my basket and look at the clerk, "I have ID,

can I just fucking pay?"

"Hey, I'm next not you ," The guy in front of me argues. "If this guy will ever move ."

"Fuck you, Bro! I'll take my time."

Great, now there was mass chaos.

I drop my basket and walk out of the store, leaving them to argue. I'll just grab something off the

street vendors to eat. Fuck, I needed chapstick. I pause and debate for a moment, but never look

back. Fuck, the bottles . It was a long walk to a liquor store. I clutched my bag and walk quickly,

tryingtomakemywaybacktowardsmymotelIcouldhidethemoneyunderthemattressorMike

willbesoangryifIloseitIshouldjuststayintonightButImhungryand

Someone grabs me from behind and I spin quickly, slapping and backing away.

"Don't fucking touch me! Don't fucking touch me!"

He holds up his hands. "Whoa. Whoa. I was calling for you, but you didn't hear me. Sorry, I didn't

mean to scare you."

I clutch my bag and take another step backwards.

"The kid left," his thumb points back towards the store. "It seemed like you needed these things." A

plastic bag is extended to me. I look at it and then him and then it and then him. My hand snatches it

away and I shove it inside of my shoulder bag.

He is still standing here, but says nothing.

"What do you want?" I ask.

"Oh, it was just twenty bucks," he shrugs.

"I mean, what do you want ?" I move my body in a way that men understand.

NonoImnotImmarriedhestammers

I laugh. "You're all married, Sweetheart."

He shakes his head. His hands shove themselves into his pockets. I eye him, noticing his clothes are

rather nice. His shoes are even shiny.

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