IT WAS RAINING THE NIGHT EVERYTHING WENT TO SHIT FOR EMERSON VALE. The storm hadn't let up for hours, but Emerson couldn't find it in herself to care. The sound of thunder had been drowned out by the pounding bass of the party, and the rain felt like nothing more than an accessory to the chaos. But now, walking up to her house, soaked to the bone and carrying the stench of cigarette smoke and cheap alcohol, the storm felt personal, like the universe was determined to make her night worse.

      She pushed the kitchen window open with practiced ease and slipped inside, her sneakers squeaking against the floor. Rainwater pooled beneath her, and her soaked curls clung to her face. She was careful as she closed the window, hoping to sneak upstairs without incident. As soon as the latch clicked into place, the kitchen lights flicked on.

Her father and Davin were sitting at the table, staring at her.

Davin's expression was a mixture of anger and disappointment. He shook his head, his gaze dropping to the pack of cigarettes Emerson clutched in her damp hand. She tried to slide them into her pocket, but it was too late. His lips curled in disgust as he took in her too-low jeans and soaked crop top, now clinging transparently to her skin.

Her father, Jefferson Vale, was different. His face was blank, unreadable. That was worse. He didn't have his usual beer in hand, and his sobriety made him seem taller, more imposing. He rapped his knuckles twice on the table and stood, his boots echoing on the floor.

      "Late, aren't you?" her father asked, his tone sharp.

      Emerson froze for a moment, then forced a smile. "Only a few minutes. No harm, no foul."

      Jefferson stood, his movements slow and deliberate. "Where were you?"

      "Nowhere," Emerson replied quickly. She shifted her weight, trying to hide the fear that coursed through her body. "It doesn't matter. I'm home now."

      His eyes narrowed as he stepped closer, his hand latching on Emerson's arm tightly. "Where. Were. You?"

      Her heart raced, but she refused to let it show. "I told you. Nowhere important."

      The slap came without warning, sharp and unforgiving. The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth as she stumbled, her hand flying to her cheek. Jefferson's grip on her arm tightened, his knuckles white as he held her in place.

      "Where the fuck were you, Emerson?"

      She bit back the pain, her voice steady despite the tremor in her hands. "None of your business."

      Jefferson's face twisted in rage, and he shoved her backward. She hit the counter with a dull thud, barely catching herself. His hand ran through his hair, his chest heaving as he glared at her.

      "Get out," he said finally.

      "What?" The question left Emersons mouth just as it did Davin's.

      "You heard me," Jefferson growled, his voice low and dangerous. "Get out of my house. You will not disrespect me in my own house, so get out."

      For a moment, Emerson stared at him, stunned. She wanted to argue, to throw his words back in his face, but she knew better. Instead, she wiped the blood from her lip with the back of her hand and turned on her heel, heading for the stairs.

The glass shattered next to her head, shards slicing into her skin. Emerson froze, her heart hammering in her chest. She looked back at her father, who stood with his hand still raised from throwing the glass. His face was red, his chest heaving. "I said, get out!"

Emerson swallowed hard. She wanted to scream at him, to throw something back, but her body moved on autopilot. She grabbed her jacket from the hook by the door and stepped out into the rain. The door slammed shut behind her with a force that seemed to reverberate through her entire body.

The rain hit her like a wave, soaking her all over again as she made her way down the gravel road. Her outfit—low-rise jeans with too many holes and a thin white crop top—did little to shield her from the cold. She shivered as she walked, her arms wrapped tightly around herself.

By the time she reached the motel just past the treaty line, her teeth were chattering, and her legs ached. She booked a room with cash, relieved when the clerk didn't ask questions about the blood on her lip or the bruise forming on her arm. But instead of heading straight to her room, she wandered into the bar tucked in the corner of the lobby.

"We're closed," the bartender said before she could even sit down.

"What?"

He didn't look up from the glass he was polishing. "It's past midnight."

She glanced at the clock on the wall. It read 11:55. "Seriously?"

The bartender shrugged. "Nearest bar's across the street. Open 'til 2."

She rolled her eyes and turned on her heel, heading back into the storm. She didn't bother checking for cars as she crossed the street, her mind too clouded with anger and exhaustion to care.

The bar was dimly lit, its air heavy with smoke and stale beer. She stepped inside and paused, taking in the sparse crowd. Most of the patrons were from the reservation like her, or from Forks. The bar sat in what her family called a middle zone. Most patrons sat hunched over their drinks in silence. But one man stood out.

He sat at the far end of the bar, his posture relaxed but his presence commanding. His chestnut hair was tousled in a way that seemed effortless, and his pale skin stood out against the dark fabric of his shirt. His golden eyes—striking and unnervingly sharp—locked onto hers the moment she entered.

Emerson felt her breath hitch, but she quickly looked away and slid onto a stool a few seats down from him.

"What can I get you?" The bartender asked.

"Whatever's strong," she muttered.

"You got ID?"

Emerson hesitated, then forced a smile. "Forgot it at home. Long night."

The bartender raised an eyebrow, but poured her a drink anyway. Either not caring to call out the lie or didn't notice. She took a sip, letting the burn distract her from everything else.

"You don't look old enough to drink." The voice was smooth, low, and almost musical. Emerson turned her head to find the man from the end of the bar now sitting beside her.

"And you don't look old enough to judge," she shot back.

His lips curved into a faint smile. "Fair enough."

Up close, he was even more striking. His features were sharp, almost too perfect, and there was an intensity in his gaze that made her shiver.

"You look like you've had a rough night," he said, his tone softer now as his eyes ran over each bruise and cut that lined her face.

Emerson laughed bitterly. "You could say that."

He tilted his head, studying her with an expression she couldn't decipher. "Rough enough to make you walk in the rain alone?"

      "What's it to you?"

      "Call it curiosity."

      Emerson threw back her drink, taking the liquid courage as a sign. "How about curiosity finds me in my room across the street in five minutes?"

      She didn't wait to see his response, as she tossed the few bills she had left on the bar before sliding down and stepping away from the mystery man. She almost ran out of the bar, crossing the street quietly as she rain pelted at her skin once more. Emerson feared she would never be dry when she finally entered her hotel room. Only then did she realize that she hadn't even told him her room number.

      This was the most reckless she had ever been. Her father had gotten mad and took his anger out with force, but he had never gone as far as kicking her out. She had never gone as far as inviting a random man to her hotel room—she had had sex before, but that was with her one and only boyfriend ( and he broke up with her right after ). But that was a one time thing.

      Someone knocked on the door, and Emerson swallowed. She took in a deep breath and swung the door open. Mystery man stood outside her room, Emerson having to crane her up to meet his eyes. Closer than she had been at the bar, he looked like had had been handcrafted from marble.

For a moment, she hesitated, gripping the edge of the door. She wasn't sure if it was the alcohol, the adrenaline, or something else entirely, but she felt as though she was teetering on the edge of something she couldn't take back.

"You found me," she said, her voice quieter than she intended.

"I don't think you made it hard," the man replied, his voice smooth and rich, laced with amusement.

She stepped back, letting him into the room, though it felt as though she were letting him into something far more vulnerable. He moved with an easy grace, his presence commanding yet strangely comforting. He scanned the room, his gaze lingering on the peeling wallpaper and the mismatched furniture, but if he judged it, he didn't say so.

"You didn't even ask for my room number," she said, trying to keep her voice light.

He turned back to her, one corner of his mouth lifting in a faint smile. "I didn't need to."

Emerson blinked at him, a shiver running down her spine. There was something about the way he said it, as though he knew things he couldn't possibly know.

"So. . .what now?" She asked, folding her arms over her chest.

The man's gaze softened, and for a moment, he looked almost uncertain. "You invited me here. I assumed you had something in mind."

She let out a soft laugh, though it sounded a little nervous even to her own ears. "I didn't think you'd actually show up."

"I tend to surprise people," he said, his voice low and even.

The air between them was heavy with unspoken tension, the kind that made Emerson feel like the walls were closing in. She could feel her pulse pounding, and she wasn't sure if it was from fear, excitement, or both.

"I should warn you," He broke the silence, his tone shifting. "I'm not. . .like other people."

Emerson tilted her head, frowning. "What does that mean?"

"It means that being here—being with you—it's complicated." He hesitated, his golden eyes locked on hers. "For me. And maybe for you, too."

Emerson's chest tightened at the weight of his words. Something about him had felt off from the start, but she couldn't bring herself to pull away. Instead, she stepped closer, drawn to him in a way that defied logic.

"Complicated how?" She asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, she thought he might turn and leave. But then he reached out, his fingers brushing against her cheek. His touch was cool, almost startlingly so, but it sent a thrill through her all the same.

"Complicated in ways I can't explain," he said, his voice quiet but firm. "But if you want me to leave, say the word, and I will."

Emerson swallowed hard, searching his face. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes held something—an intensity, a longing—that made her stomach flip.

"Stay," she said finally.

The word hung in the air, and for a moment, she thought he might refuse. But then he nodded, his lips curving into the faintest smile.

"Alright," he said softly. "Would you like to know my name first?"

Emerson all but blurted out the word: "No. No names. One night and that's it."

He nodded slowly, as if he seemed to be fighting against something in his mind. A smile curved on his lips, "alright. No names. Any other rules."

"If you're going to laugh, you can leave." Emerson crossed her arms, stepping backwards as the man took deliberate steps towards her.

"Oh, laughter is the one this I don't intend on hearing from
you tonight." It was all he said before smashing his lips to hers. Emerson didn't know what would happen next, but for once she didn't care. For once in her life, she wasn't going to think about the consequences.

She was just going to let herself feel.

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KENNEDY SPEAKS :

welcome to bad idea!! my babies have met and i
am writing edward a little differently, but its okay.
i also don't feel comfortable writing smut so...sorry
babies!

i also almost wrote elodie AND aurora so many frickin
times so if you see one pls tell me. but it's so fun to
write a 'bad' girl after writing my two perfect babies.