Disclaimer: Twilight or it's characters belong to Stephanie Meyer. I own this plot.
A/N: I would kindly request every minor reader not to read this story. There are excellent stories for all of you. Please let the M rated stories for later.
Wooden Swords and Ballet Shoes
Summary:
"You were born to torture me," she said.
"No...I was born to be with you...in every way..." he stated adding "...till the end of my existence."
A different kind of addiction.
Chapter one : Prologue
The rain was wild. It was one of those nights you feel there is a hostility in the drops of water, like a sense of waiting for some kind of punishment, instead of the poetic purification. Bella was curled on the sofa in a fatal position. She was in the same state for about three days.
The room was intentionally dark. No lights on, no screens, no candles, just a red small dot flashing on the phone machine. Bella had already disabled her cell phone. The only thing connecting her with the world outside was that red small dot. She was in debate about disconnecting the wire or let the red dot live. She wanted to disappear. An image of her closet in her old bedroom was tantalizing her mind.
"Would I fit in there now? Would anybody search for me there?" she thought, and tighten her hold of the soft blanket around her, her basic kind of clothing for the last 72 hours. Her mind traveled miles away, in that old closet, searching for a particular rectangular, dark green box. She could almost imagine the feeling of touching the hard expensive paper, always with hesitation.
Every time she opened that box was like a ritual. It's first contents had the exact opposite texture of the container. Ivory satin and lace and black satin and lace. Two pairs fighting in the same box.
The first was a gift from her mother in order to exorcise her clumsiness.
The second was a gift from her past.
That past was sitting in a car outside her apartment under the dim light of the street lamp and…waited.
Bella had lost the track of time. Slowly moving, she almost crawled from the couch on the floor.
She wanted to make sure he was still there. No, she needed to make sure he was still there.
In a state of blur she managed to stand up. Her curtain combined with the rain was a good coverage. Not that he did not know she was there. He always knew.
In the car the driver had, despite the rain, the window open. He needed the air.
"I know you are there," he thought and laid his head on the drivers wheel. " It's getting worse."
Nausea, his faithful companion. No drug could work on it. Nothing except a certain smell, a certain female presence. He could not even drive away. He could barely think.
The feeling was excruciating. He had tried everything. No medical treatment or therapy had worked.
Permanent state of nausea.
Only her presence was enough to make the dizziness go away and...she knew it.
A/N: Please review, keeps me out of nausea and makes me type sooner.