Chapter 5: Enchanted Shadows and Enchiladas
"Some people fall for illusions. Others walk through them like smoke."
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Forks High had its usual charm: a wet parking lot, a warm truck that smelled vaguely of duct tape and ambition, and the same suspiciously friendly students still orbiting me like I was the new novelty which I guess I am. That doesn't make it any less irritating.
Day four and counting.
The Cullen's, minus Edward, were their usual graceful and aloof selves. They were silent shadows slipping through the crowd like they were being filmed in a different frame rate. Emmett nodded at me today much to his siblings dismay. In a surprising twist of fate Rosalie didn't glare at me today, which is practically a love letter. Jasper on the other hand remained an emotional brick wall, and Alice...
Alice's eyes lingered on me again.
Not for long because that would be to obvious. But it was just long enough that I caught her glance from across the courtyard, while I gnawed on a bruised apple and tried not to look like I was cataloguing vampire behavior for fun.
Spoiler: I was.
"Hey Bella!" Mike bounded up to me like a golden retriever on a sugar rush. "A bunch of us are heading to La Push this weekend. Wanna come?"
Going to La Push meant going into wolf territory.
Wolves meant I didn't have to deal with a certain sparkly stalker following me around for the day.
Hmm... decisions, decisions.
"Sounds fun," I said with a smile. "But I've got some stuff that I have to take care of this weekend. Can I get a rain check?"
"Sure!" he said too brightly, disappointment curling the edge of his grin. "Next time."
I watched him leave, then returned to my internal plotting. I was playing the part of sweet uninformed Bella Swan. I had to be. Because one slip-up, one ill-timed hint of knowledge I shouldn't have and the story might unravel.
And if it unraveled, I wasn't sure I could put it back together again or keep myself alive.
Classes passed in a blur. Mr. Banner assigned us a cell reproduction poster yesterday. I drew mine during lunch, complete with tiny angry mitochondria. Angela declared it "horrifyingly adorable." While Jessica said it gave her anxiety.
So naturally I deemed it a resounding success.
By the time the final bell rang, my brain was soup and my stomach was growling. Which meant I had to make a grocery run due to the abysmal state of my fathers pantry. Only then could I make the best dinner the old man has had the pleasure of tasting. With my plan in place I started my truck so she could take my domestic ass to the store to buy some food that didn't come from a box.
Clementine rattled to life like a dragon clearing its throat, and I headed toward the Thriftway just outside town.
There was something comforting about grocery stores. Maybe it was the routine of walking up and down the aisles. Maybe it was the lighting that made everything feel slightly unreal. Or maybe it was just because I got to have full control over the cart and what I put in it with nobody questioning me.
I wandered the aisles with a purpose.
Tortillas... Check.
Cheese... Sharp cheddar and Monterey Jack, because we were doing this right.
Enchilada sauce... Two cans, check. I wasn't risking a mid-cook panic.
Chicken, onions, green chiles, garlic... Check, check, check and check.
I paused in front of the spice rack, fingers hovering over cumin and chili powder. A smile tugged at my lips as a conversation I once had with my Grandma played through my head.
"Your mom burns pasta," Grandma Marie had once said while guiding my teenage hands through the motions of sautéing garlic. "So I'm going to teach you how to feed yourself like a queen."
God, I missed her.
Cooking had become my form of remembering. My way of keeping her close, one spoonful at a time.
I added limes and sour cream to the cart as I shook off my melancholy. Then in went a pint of rocky road because I had earned it.
Back at home, I beat Charlie there by ten minutes. Which was just enough time to chop everything, preheat the oven, and accidentally drop a fork trying to shred chicken with one hand while texting Angela back with the other.
Charlie walked in, sniffed the air, and blinked. "What smells incredible?"
"I'm making my homemade Enchiladas, and don't worry I made them mild. Because we both know you're weak."
He set down his keys. "You calling me out in my own kitchen?"
"If the apron fits," I teased.
Charlie cracked a rare grin and washed up, then sat at the table while I assembled the pan, layering sauce, filling tortillas, topping them with gooey cheese. When I slid it into the oven, he whistled.
"You're full of surprises," he muttered.
"You act like I didn't survive years of Renee's cereal-for-dinner diet. I had no choice but to learn to cook or I was going to be stuck eating cardboard quesadillas for life.."
Dinner was quiet but warm. Charlie complimented the food twice, which was high praise from a man who considered pizza rolls gourmet. We cleaned up together, then I flopped onto the couch while he picked a John Wayne movie and tossed me a throw pillow.
"You gonna mock this one too?" he asked dryly.
I yawned. "I'd never disrespect The Duke. I'm just saying he walks like he's got a horse permanently wedged up there."
Charlie chuckled. "That's the swagger of justice."
I rolled my eyes and let myself relax into the cushion. The hum of our home wrapped around me making me feel all safe and cozy.
But when the credits rolled and I finally went upstairs, sleep wasn't the gentile embrace of dark nothingness I has hoping for.
The dream, if I could even call them that at this point, came at me like a soft exhale.
It wasn't as jarring or disorienting as it was the first few times. It was like I closed my eyes and when I opened them I was here in this new place.
I could smell the scent of roses, tobacco, and honeyed bourbon hanging in the humid Virginia air.
I stood in the manicured gardens of the Salvatore estate with the sunlight above bathing the stone paths in a molten golden color. The sound of crickets chirped faintly in the background as the melody of a piano played from somewhere inside. It was a soft tune that was low, and deliberate. The notes carried on the wind like secrets wrapped in velvet.
Damon was sitting on a bench beneath the gazebo, half-shadowed, dressed in a tailored black waistcoat and white linen shirt.
He looked softer this time compared to the hardened solider I had seen on the battlefield.
But his eyes were tired.
And then she entered the garden.
Katherine, with her dark curls and red lips, swaying hips and laughter like bells.
She was dressed in a violet gown that clung like a second skin, her parasol twirling casually as she strolled toward him.
He looked up when she neared, lips twitching into a practiced smile.
But his eyes...
His eyes flicked past her.
To me.
He saw me.
Thankfully Katherine didn't.
Katherine prattled on and on... something about the Founders Ball, Stefan's hesitance, the new dress she'd be wearing. Damon responded on autopilot, words like honey-laced venom meant to charm but never commit.
All the while, his gaze kept drifting to where I stood beneath the arbor.
Our eyes locked.
And in that moment, I felt it... the quiet click of his own recognition.
He remembered me as more than just a figment of his imagination, just as I had remembered him.
This wasn't just a one-off dream anymore.
This dream like meeting was about us.
Whatever "us" meant.
Katherine leaned down to press a kiss to his cheek, murmuring something in his ear. He nodded, but his posture didn't change.
She left as quickly as she came, vanishing down the path like smoke.
When she was gone, he stood up slowly and walked toward me.
He stopped a few feet away.
"You keep showing up," he said softly.
"I told you I would."
He nodded, fingers brushing the edge of the stone archway. "She didn't see you."
"I don't think she can."
He studied me, something like awe flickering behind his guarded expression. "You're not like any other woman I've met."
"You're not like any man I've met either."
That earned me a crooked grin. "Careful. You'll make me think I'm interesting."
"You seem to already think that," I teased.
He laughed, it was warm and full of life. Then, after a beat, "I don't know if I should be terrified of this."
"Are you?"
"No." He said before his voice dropped to almost a whisper. "That's the scariest part."
We stood in silence, sunlight threading through the space between us.
"I'm don't think I'm here to stop anything," I said quietly. "I think I'm able to be here so that I am able to understand you better. At least that's what I was able to piece together so far."
He tilted his head. "Then you're already ahead of me. Because I have no idea why I keep seeing a gorgeous mystery woman that apparently no one else can see."
I didn't know what kept bringing me to him but I could feel the start of a bond forming between us. It was like a tether that kept pulling me back to him when he needed me most.
"I won't tell Katherine or anyone else about you," he added, voice low and sure. "She'd ruin it and I think my father would have me committed."
I nodded. "That's probably for the best. I won't tell anyone about you either."
The dream began to fade, with the colors draining away like watercolors under rain.
I took one last look at him, at the softness still clinging to the corners of his mouth, and at the war with himself starting to build behind his eyes.
"Goodnight, Damon."
His reply came like an echo in an empty room.
"Come back to me soon."
I woke to the smell of coffee and the sound of Charlie cursing at a sports recap.
The world felt real again. Not that my dream world didn't feel real. No, it felt to real but it always left me feeling like I was just one step off from the rest of it. It was kind of disorienting until I was around Damon then things settled down.
But back here in my reality my chest ached like it had been hollowed out and stitched back together with thread made from my memories.
I may not know why this is happening to me and apparently Damon but I can't say that I'm mad about it.