Chapter 2: Unbelievable

Chapter 2: Unbelievable

BPOV

I collapsed back onto the bed in my hotel room. I had just had quite possibly the most tiring 24 hours of my entire life. It had passed in an almost constant series of magazine interviews, television interviews, photo shoots and screaming crowds of fans. My cheeks hurt from smiling so much, and I felt like I was about to pass out.

The week that had passed since the final had been filled with what I considered to be utter madness. I could barely leave my hotel without the bodyguards assigned to me by the TV station, because there were so many people hanging around. Photographers, news crews, magazine reporters; everyone wanted to talk to me, see me, get as close to me as possible.

To my intense surprise, I loved it. I was never one to be comfortable in the spotlight, but for some reason, the feeling I got from singing over-rode all my insecurities. The music flowing through me gave me new confidence in myself and what I was capable of. And then there was the drive, the drive that first set me on this course, though the goal had been very different when I started.

I remembered Jacob telling me how listening to music helped him feel better when he missed his mom or his sisters, and wondering if it might help me too. I remembered him talking me out of ripping the stereo out of my truck. I remembered him suggesting I try learning to play the guitar. I remembered him saying I had a nice voice when I was singing along to the radio. I remembered him showing me the ad in the paper, and coming with me to the auditions, and going with me to the airport when I flew out to L.A., promising to vote for me every week. Jacob was right; music did help me. Only, it didn't help me in quite the way either of us imagined.

At first, I wanted to forget him, forget them, forget any of it ever happened. I thought the music would help me let go and move on. But it didn't. It helped me get closer, and I found I could move past the bad things. Sure, I still cried. I still had nightmares. I still sang sad songs, and I still ached in my chest, and it still hurt that they had abandoned me. But all of a sudden, I remembered all the good times. I remembered his smile, his face, the way he looked in the sun, and it didn't crush me. I could think his name without the hole opening up. I could think of all of them; Edward, Alice, Emmet, Esme, Carlisle, even Jasper and Rosalie. I could picture all their faces and remember all the fun we had. The way we danced at prom; the movie he took me to in Port Angeles two weeks before we went back to school; the shopping spree Alice dragged me on, and he came too. He carried all the bags, and put up with his sister bossing him around all day, just to be with me. I smiled at the memories.

I could smile. I could laugh. I could sing happy songs as well as sad ones. I was part way to being alive again, and this competition – and my victory, though I never expected it – was just one more step down that road. Now, I sang for a different purpose.

I sang to be seen. To be noticed.

When I sang, every time I sang, I felt like I was holding up a giant, neon, flashing sign telling Edward that I still cared, that I was still here, and I would always be here, whether he loved me or not. On every stage, I opened myself up to the world and showed them everything about me. That was another goal of mine. I had two.

One, send Edward a message, if he cared enough to watch me.

Two, be nothing but myself for the people who did watch. I would by-pass the fakery and smokescreens of Hollywood and just be me.

A knock on my door jolted me out of my musing.

“Yes?” I called.

The door opened and the balding head of the hotel manager peered around it. He smiled at me, and I smiled politely back.

“Good evening Miss Swan. I’m sorry to bother you so late, but I have a small request to make. You are quite free to refuse if you wish, and I will completely understand.”

My smile dropped into a frown; I was exhausted, and I didn't know how much more I could do before I collapsed.

“What kind of request?” I asked.

“Well,” he took out a large red handkerchief and mopped his forehead. “We were wondering if you would do us the honour of singing in the lounge this evening. Just a song or two, of course, I can see you are quite tired. As I said, you are welcome to refuse. But you are leaving us tomorrow, and we have yet to be graced with a live performance, and I know our guests would like to hear you without the filter of television speakers.”

I pursed my lips for a moment. It would be nice to do a song or two just for fun. I hadn't actually done any singing since the night of the final, though I had done plenty of talking.

I smiled. “Of course. I would love to sing for you.”

Ten minutes later, I had changed into a fresh set of clothes, ditching my jeans and t-shirt for a new skirt and a sequinned tank top. I even risked possible injury by wearing a pair of heels; Alice would have been proud.

The hotel manager met me at the entrance to the lounge, smiling and thanking me profusely for 'bestowing such an honour on his humble establishment' - otherwise known as a five star hotel in central Los Angeles- before leading me into the backstage area.

I brushed off his irritating behaviour, focusing on preparing myself for the performance. The house band knew the song I wanted to sing – just the one, as I was very tired – and all I had to do was do what came naturally.

The host for the evening stepped up on stage as the previous act finished; it seemed the hotel was having a sort of open mike night tonight.

“Wasn't that lovely?” the woman cooed. She was blonde, with far too much make-up and an obviously enhanced cleavage that made even the hotel uniform look lewd and trashy. “Next up, we have a real treat for you. Fresh from her monumental victory on American Idol, ladies and gentlemen, Miss Bella Swan.”

There was a loud round of applause as I stepped onto the stage, and a few people cheered. I smiled and waved once as I carefully adjusted the microphone to my height.

“Good evening everyone. It's lovely to see so many of you here tonight. Please don't expect too much from this; I’ve been going all day and I can't guarantee that my voice will be any good. But, I’ll do my best.”

I smiled as more people cheered.

“This song is called 'The Only Exception'. Hope you enjoy it.” I said, then nodded to the band, who began to play.

“When I was younger I saw

My daddy cry

And curse at the wind.

He broke his own heart as I watched

As he tried to reassemble it.

And my momma swore that she would

Never let her

Self forget.

And that was the day that I promised

I’d never sing of love

If it does not exist.

But darling
You are
The only exception
You are
The only exception
You are
The only exception
You are
The only exception.

Maybe I know somewhere
Deep in my soul
That love never lasts.
And we've got to find other ways
To make it alone
Or keep a straight face.
And I’ve always lived like this
Keeping a comfortable
Distance.
And up until now I’d have sworn to myself that I’m content
With loneliness
Because none of it was ever worth the risk.

But you are
The only exception
You are
The only exception
You are
The only exception
You are
The only exception.

I’ve got a tight grip on reality but I can't
Let go of what's in front of me here.
I know you're leaving in the morning when you wake up
Leave me with some kind of proof it's not a dream.

You are
The only exception
You are
The only exception
You are
The only exception
You are
The only exception

You are
The only exception
You are
The only exception
And I’m on my way to believing.
And I’m on my way to believing.”

The crowd applauded even louder than they had before, and there were whistles and shouts and cheers from every corner. I smiled and bowed, then left the stage and hurried back up to my room. I really needed to get to sleep if I was going to get any rest at all tonight.

As I approached my room, I realised there was light coming from under my door. Strange, I was sure I had turned off all the lights before I left. Perhaps one of the hotel staff had been in and didn't switch it off before they left. My heart leaped into my throat as a very frighting and very real possibility came to mind; Victoria. Jacob, now a werewolf like the men in the stories of his people, had told me she was hanging around Forks, and I knew she was looking for me. I had no one to protect me here; had she decided to come after me when I was alone?

I crept towards the door. I heard no movement on the other side, but that didn't guarantee that there was nobody in there. As quietly as I could, I slid my key card into the lock and opened the door.

The room was empty, as it had been when I left. But the doors to the small balcony were wide open, revealing the LA skyline, and the faded stars in the velvet night sky.

I frowned, wondering why. I noticed my laptop – one of the many gifts from my new label - sat open on the bed. Strange, I hadn't even had it out before.

I went over to look at it... and gasped. The internet browser was open, showing a YouTube video of my final performance at the Idol finale. Whoever was watching it had paused just as I finished the song and smiled at the audience, and placed a little yellow post-it note next to my face.

I remember too
E

My head spun, wondering what it could possibly mean. Because it couldn't be... could it? Had he seen me perform? Heard me singing about him and to him, baring my soul for the world to see? I suddenly felt even more light headed than before. All I could contemplate was the thought of going to bed and sleeping until someone woke me up.

So I did. I closed the computer, hibernating it rather than shutting down, pushed it into my bag and changed into my pyjamas. Then I curled up under the covers and sank into my dreams.

“Bella... Bella... where are you?”

The voice was calling to me. His voice.

“I'm here!” I heard myself shout, but I hadn't opened my mouth. My voice came from someone else, somewhere else. I turned, looking for the source of the noises.

Bright light broke through the darkness, washing over me and revealing a very familiar scene: Charlie's kitchen. I saw myself, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt with my hair tied back, standing at the sink washing dishes. Unusually bright sunlight streamed through the windows, and music flowed from a little radio on the sill. My dream-self swayed her hips to the beat and hummed softly, breaking into song every now and then.

Edward appeared at the kitchen door, and a sharp pang of longing went through me at the sight of him. He was smiling widely, the look in his eyes adoring as he stared at dream-me across the room. His skin sparkled as he crossed the floor, glittering like diamonds and casting patterns of light over everything in the room. His beauty was almost too much to bear.

“You have a wonderful voice my love. I don't know why you don't want to share it with the world.”

Dream-me scoffed. “I'm not that good. Besides, I have nothing to sing about. And if I shared my 'talent' with the world...” she turned around, smiling at him, “I wouldn't be able to spend time with you anymore.”

“A tragedy,” he agreed, putting his arms around her waist and dipping to kiss her.

My heart broke. This should have been how things were. This should be us. This would have been us, if there was no such thing as monsters and we were a normal couple. But then... if there was no such thing as vampires, Edward would have died in 1918 and we would never have even met. That thought made me shudder.

I watched as the couple before me laughed and played while they finished the dishes, flicking water at each other. The glaring sparkle of Edward’s skin steadily dimmed to a ruby red glow, then vanished all together, just as Charlie returned, smiling for once. The three of them chatted animatedly over dinner, then Charlie went to watch ESPN and the youngsters moved upstairs. I didn't want to watch anymore, and yet I couldn't stop. It was a perfect day – my dream day – that could have happened any time during that glorious summer before the disaster of my birthday, but it never had. Of that I was sure; this heaven was entirely the work of my subconscious. And so I was left to watch as the fictitious Edward sang the dream Bella to sleep, and held her until the first rays of sun peeked through the curtains and made him start sparkling all over again. He kissed her forehead and slipped stealthily from her window, the contented smile on his face matching hers.

I came out of my dream more gently than I had in months. Despite the pleasant subject matter, I just felt more dejected, thinking of what might have been. My teeth gritted together and I frowned. I realised I was angry. Not just angry; murderously furious... at him. I had never, in all the time since he left me, been angry at Edward for what he did. I had always blamed myself. I was too weak, I wasn't enough to hold his interest, I made the mistakes, he deserved better than me. Now I began to feel that perhaps that wasn't true.

If Edward had really taken the trouble to get into my hotel room and leave that note, why hadn't he stayed? Why hadn't he waited for me, talked to me, attempted to explain? Did he care enough to bother contacting me, but not enough to actually see me? I didn't know.

I did know that I still loved him no matter what, but I decided then and there that getting back in my good graces wasn't going to be easy for him. I wasn't going to fall at his feet as soon as he turned up; he would have to work if he wanted me back. And if he didn't, well...

His loss.