Before I begin, I would like to point out that this particular story has been on my mind since I first saw the deleted scenes of Twilight. Since then, I was inspired to write about the contents of these journals of his that he seemed to want to keep a secret from Bella. This is really based on the movie since I don't remember the journals in the book, however FanFiction doesn't have any category about the movie Twilight so I had to put it in the book section. Please note that I'm not particularly good at writing sex scenes, plus I don't particularly enjoy reading them, however in some cases it can be an important factor in stories so instead, whenever you see this page break: ~~~/~~~ know that sex is implied (not to be confused with the ... that only means a break from the blurb and the story, be mindful my lovely readers). Also another important thing I'd like to point out is that this story comes from 3 points of view: Edward's (which the preface is written in), mine (as an all-knowing narrator) and Edward's from his journal entries. After the preface, I will signify this by bolding journal entries, italicizing Edward's narration and keeping all the dialogue and my narration in normal font. Anyway, it appears complicated but when it happens, you'll understand. Please, please, please comment and I hope you enjoy.

...

It's been nearly fifteen years since I first met Bella. We've been married and had our daughter Nessie and we've been exceptionally happy. That is, of course, up until about three months ago. We took an extended trip to Carlisle's old apartment in Cobble Hill. Just us three. Nessie wanted to see the city and how could we possibly refuse that precious face?

But since then, Bella has been different. She came home at ungodly hours of the night, if at all. She smelled as if she was with others and she never told me what she did. So one night, I asked Jasper to come over for the night to watch Nessie. Then, I followed her. I never thought I would ever distrust my wife enough to need to follow her when she goes out at night but it happened. And what I saw... it was worse than I could've ever imagined.

She was murdering innocent people. Drunks at nightclubs, people passing near alleyways, couples strolling in the park late at night. It must have been three or four people whom would never see the light of day. Then she would take what's left of them and burn it, throwing the ashes in the East River. She looked so pleased with herself. She would smile as they burned, like a demented child. When I got home, I told Jasper to take Nessie back to Washington, it didn't matter what he said to explain, I just wouldn't stay in that poisonous city any longer. I packed all of our things and sent it with Jasper. Only the keys to the front door stayed behind. I waited for her, patiently, when that small knock came I was calm enough to sit with her and talk about this like rational adults. When I opened the door, it all disappeared.

There was one thin streak of blood going down the side of her lips. It was so small, barely noticeable to a human. But it sent me off.
For hours, we yelled and screamed at each other. I told her that she's setting a bad example for Nessie; she told me that she was only indulging herself. I told her that I saw her and that if she enjoys it that much, she won't be able to break the habit. She told me it was in her nature. I told her that it is not in the Cullen nature. To my surprise, she fell silent. She reached into a pocket in her small jacket and took out a vile, filled to the brim with a thick, red liquid. She took off the cap; the scent of fresh blood permeated the room.
"Come on..." she whispered, coming closer to me." It's what we were meant to do." She chuckled and dipped a finger in the vile. "It's why we're here." She moved her finger close to her mouth.
"We're going home... everything is packed and already on its way home, Nessie is with Jasper, there's nothing you need to do. Bella, love, let's just get out of here. This was a mistake." She was chest to chest with me at this point. She had scraped her finger on the side of the vile and brought it to her lips.

"If you drink that, I will force you into the car." She raised an eyebrow and brought it closer. "Stop!" It was at her lips, "GODDAMN IT BELLA, STOP!" She downed it like a shot and let out a small moan as she drank it, almost as if it was an erotic experience. I grabbed her and brought her to the car, kicking and screaming.
It just hasn't been the same after that.
Everybody's spoken to her, telling her that it's not fair to people that they should die so we are fed and she has promised to never do it again but we are different. I can't trust her as I used to. She apologized to everyone, she begged for forgiveness from me and Nessie. And we acknowledged her apology. But it was reluctantly so. She felt so guilty that she nearly starved herself to death. Ten days she went without a drop of blood. Human or not. She was slow and weak. Carlisle begged her to stop and took her with him and Esme to Vancouver. They were to spend a long weekend to relax and hunt. This is the first night they're gone. This morning, I simply stared out the windows, waiting to see one of them walk back into the house, followed swiftly by the other two.

"Please stop." Rosalie told me after a little while, "You look like a depression patient." She walked off and I sighed and walked upstairs to my room. I looked around, slightly disgusted with myself.
It was a mess.
I took a minute to straighten it out a little and I saw something I haven't thought of in years. There, on the floor was a fallen stack of medium sized leather-bound journals. There were ten, of course. I knew that already. They were black, all of them. They all had a dark red ribbon as a bookmark. They were all filled with my most sacred memories of a time of complete happiness and bliss. I picked one up, the familiar smell dancing in my nose. I opened the book to the marked page. There was just one word that caught my eye. It was a name. A name I hadn't heard since my wedding day but hadn't swooned over guiltlessly for over a century.

Cara.
The name flooded me with memories, my happiest memories. I smiled, remembering her.
Cara.
It still amazes me how perfect she made my life. Yes, if my life had been perfect, it was because she was with me for most of it.
Cara.
Cara is where my story starts.
I grabbed the other nine journals and picked up the oldest one. I was eight years old when Cara gave me this journal. She had only been living next door to me for about four months, but she and I were already best friends.
I opened to the first page, sucking in a breath, unsure of what I had just gotten myself into but it was okay. Whatever I wrote, I could handle it.
Here I am, talking about Cara without explaining her. Cara is my best friend. Cara is one of the reasons why I am the kind of person I am today. Cara is, without a doubt in my mind, the most selfless and caring person I've ever met in all my years. Cara is many things. But above all, she is my first love.