Authors Note: I was listening to Mono "Life in Mono" while writing this, if you'd like to experience it the way I did.
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters represented in this work. All rights belong to Stephanie Meyer of the Twilight series.
I woke up in a daze.
The moonlight was streaming through the openings of the blinds dancing on his skin. I could still smell Chambord on his breath. 3 am. It meant that I had to leave. I brushed my hair into a ponytail and slid on my silk dress. It felt cool against my bruised and bloodied skin, and I exhaled in relief. In the dark I could only manage to fumble a few buttons closed, but I didn't care. I felt dirty.
Twenty minutes and a thousand pounds richer, I was on my way home. The cab smelled faintly of cigarettes and leather, soothing in a nostalgic way. This is the way I have been living my life for the past two years. The brakes squealed and I was lifted out of my sleep, peering out of the window to see that we had arrived at my flat. I tipped the cabbie and tried to slip out of the car with as much dignity as possible. I was home.
My name was Eve in their world. I liked the name, she was the first temptress there ever was. I was every fantasy they could dream of, every pinup they'd secretly adored while their wives and girlfriends lived in utter oblivious bliss. I have to admit, it did send me on a power trip, realizing how foolish men were. Awing over tits and such. Quite hilarious when you think about it actually.
"Today was a good day." I announced to no one.
I bundled the cash into a paper bag and put it in the crook between the floorboards and the wall. I had nearly 40,000 American dollars saved all over my apartment. For the one bedroom hellhole that it was, it was a veritable goldmine.
My flat had but one wrought-iron bed and a chaise lounge by the window for reading. Hardly much to look at, but cozy. And it was my home. What could have been mine and Edward's.
A sharp pang ran through my chest thinking about him again.
It had been five long years since I had seen him, and we had not parted well. Life was too difficult with him, and without him. I started to feel my face get hot, and the all-too familiar feeling of tears brimming at my eyes. It was too late for this. I stepped out of my dress and left it in a red pool on the floor. The sheets felt good against my bare skin. Cold and soft, enveloping my body while I drifted off into my slumber. Just as I shut my eyes, an early morning rain pitter-pattered against my foggy window pane, lulling me to sleep.
Morning came too quickly, and I couldn't sleep through the uncharacteristically blinding March sunlight that came in through my window. I was barely aware of anything when I sensed it. He had been here last night. I couldn't explain how or why. But I knew.
A million thoughts ran through my head in panic. Was he in London? Why was he here? How could he have found me?
I walked around the perimeter of my flat looking for any evidence of his presence, but as always there was none. He was too careful. My mussed hair hung in my face as I stared at the ground, almost as if it was admitting defeat. I was a mess. If not for him, I might have been happy. I might have been a normal 22 year old. I felt the tears well in my eyes once more, and this time I surrendered to them in the shower. Cleaning off the remnants of last night's client, my salty tears blended in with the fat droplets of water that fell in the shower around me. As insignificant as the emotions they represented.
I couldn't continue to live in my own self-pity and remain in this sorrowful state for long. It would lead to my own demise. I had never thought so much as to cutting myself, but if I could die, I suppose I would in that way. Feeling the life literally drain out of me as I watch myself fade into the next life.
Over the past couple years, I had entertained the thought of suicide four or five times. The first was after the rape, the second after Edward's departure, and subsequent times in near-madness longing for his touch. But I had made it thus far, and I gathered the determination to trudge on another day.
My belly thanked me for a thick slice of crispy toast with strawberry jelly, most of what I would be eating for the day. My appetite hasn't been the same as of late either, but I try to maintain a curvy figure for my clients. They don't like playing with sickly little things, and my body was turning into more of wiry frame.
Today I would meet with Howell, my only friend here in London, who offered me advice about this business and treated me as her sister. Howell was 32 going on 20 with a shock of short, bright, blonde hair and dark opal eyes. She was taking slow drags on an expiring cigarette when I came upon her at the cafe, dressed most conspicuously in a red backless jersey dress that accentuated her full hips.
"Feeling alright love?" She cooed.
I could already smell the alcohol on her breath. Howell was never one to deny her indulgent instincts, and she had already begun the day with a sickeningly sweet tiramisu and vodka-infused coffee.
"Yeah, just had a bad dream." I lied.
"Don't mind that, dreams are what they are. Just funny little workings in the back of your brain, they don't mean anything you know?"
I wish I could agree. I guess she could see the confusion on my face, because she sat up all of a sudden and touched my shoulder.
"Bella, I'm here."
"I know." I replied, somewhat surprised and comforted by Howell's unusually motherly instincts. I slumped on the velour chair and closed my eyes, resting my head on her shoulder. I opened them only to see two golden eyes peering back at me through the café window, across the street. Or so I thought. As soon as I thought to run out, he had already been gone.
