Her Name is Bella: Masen Days Prequel for Fandom for Texas Wildfire Relief

Her Name is Bella, the prequel to Masen Days, was written for the Fandom for Texas Wildfire Relief. Simply donate a minimum of $5 to one of the organizations listed on the site by Novemeber 1st. After donating, email your receipt to Fandom4Texas@gmail.com. For your donation, you will receive Her Name is Bella in a compilation of twific one shots and outtakes. I will post this on my fanfiction profile when I'm allowed per the fundraiser's instructions. 


***The following is unbeta'd. Please forgive any errors.


Her Name is Bella by Purelyamuse
Summary: Masen Days prequel. Masen places a rare phone call to Alice. She remembers enjoying summers with him, watching him grow and learn to withstand his troubled childhood. Time Frame: Before Masen Days leading into the first chapter. POV: Alice Rating: M Warning: Contains talk of domestic violence and drug use.

Excerpt . . . 

Edward and I take a walk to our neighborhood park. On the way there, James passes us up with some of his thug friends on skateboards. They nearly take us out, the jerks.

When we get to the park, the gang is already there, skating and throwing tricks. I’m trying to engage Edward in a real conversation to see how things are at home, but he’s not paying attention. He’s too focused on the too-old-to-be-at-the-park teenagers and their fancy skateboarding.

After several attempts to get his attention, I give up. “Do you want to try?” Edward shakes his head. “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you,” I say, hinting that I hate his nonverbal communication, though I understand it. I wouldn’t say anything either if I was constantly worried about saying the wrong thing and getting hit for it – something he confided in me our last summer during his stay.

It seems belittling leads to pushing, which leads to hitting. I know this to be fact since I watched it happen in my own home – first with James, then my mother, and finally me. Lucky for me – if there is luck involved – my mother said goodbye to James’s dad the day he took his first swing at me. He left everything behind: his clothes, his tools – even his son – and never looked back.

“I’ll fall,” he says quietly.

I shrug this time. “You’ve had worse. Come on.”

Holding Edward’s hand, I drag him behind me until we reach the skaters. “James, let me use your board.”

“No way,” he says.

“Edward wants to try.”

“So, find your own board.”

“Just let him try.”

“It’s fine. I don’t really care,” says Edward, cowering behind me.

“It’s not fine,” I huff, letting go of his hand and placing my own on my hips.

“You give him your board right now, or I’ll tell mom.”

“Tell your mom what?”

“I know about the pot . . .”

James curses and pushes the skateboard to us. We scoot away from the crowd and take turns trying to ride it, though each time it’s Edward’s turn he suggests we give it back. Not a chance. After I’ve fallen too many times to count, and Edward has pulled me back up, one of James’s buddies takes pity on us.

I wave him away when he tries to lend me a hand. I sit off the side of the basketball court and watch as Edward takes to the skateboard like he’s done this a hundred times. By the time we leave he’s managed to stay upright, flip the board, and do a spinny thing. He’s really good. He smiles the whole way home. I’m so happy to see a genuine smile on his face again. I feel like I haven’t seen one for so long.

Over the next few weeks, Edward and I frequent the park, and James is almost always there, willing to show Edward some trick. One evening, we arrive and instead of pushing Edward his board, James hands him an extra one – and just like that, Edward the skater is born. 

“People still fooled by your skating bruises?”

“I guess. Most just assume . . .”

“They’re stupid.”

“Not all. Some know—at least, I think. I’m not exactly—“

“Talkative?” He doesn’t respond. “Honestly, I don’t know how you have friends with how closed off you are like this. Masen sucks.”

“Thanks.”

“I’m serious; he never says anything.”

“I say plenty.”

“Edward says plenty. Masen . . . not so much.”

“You make it sound like I’ve got a disorder or something.”

“Well, maybe . . .”