I lay on my back on a bed that is not mine, staring at a ceiling that does not belong over my pathetically undeserving head. It is all too easy for me to visualize Bella's image in the completely random ridges of plaster. It is all too easy for me to visualize Bella period. Regardless of where I am or how preoccupied I seem to be, her likeness is forever ingrained in every aspect of my existence.
Perhaps that is because Bella Swan is my existence; the seemingly insignificant girl who defines me. She fills my long dead, frozen form with life that I greedily bask in. My eyes trace the soft slopes of her face before shifting inside the imaginary boundaries to correctly place her eyes, her nose, her lips...
Much more of this and I would be attempting to caress Bella's bedroom ceiling. I could only imagine what she might say, emerging from the relaxing hot water of her shower to find me with my hand cupping thin air, reaching upward as I stare longingly at what she would perceive as nothing.
Smiling to myself, I force the fantasy to disappear by focusing on the reality of the structure. The protruding, crooked ridges all in varying sizes and groupings do remind me of something else. Yes, even when I am not organizing them into the sole fixation of my imagination, they truly do resemble something.
Something… It is very rarely a word I use. Usually my mind will supply me with whatever answer I seek instantaneously. Why should this one evade me now? Surely there would be no harm in unearthing this information. I furrow my brow in concentration and whatever was blocking this realization evaporates swiftly. Immediately I wish I had remained oblivious.
Veins. The ridges of the ceiling appear to my monster's eye as veins.
My scorched throat burns with a familiar intensity. I turn away quickly, but not quickly enough. I am already seeing the sweet, wet, hot liquid flowing in those nonexistent veins. Not the barely appealing juices of the beasts I feed upon, but human blood. The only thing that could ever really quench the savage thirst I house like a disgusting disease.
Usually I am able to banish these vile notions to the deepest, darkest recesses of my thoughts, but I am so desperately thirsty. It was undoubtedly foolish of me to come here tonight. To be with Bella who not only possesses the drink every cell of my predatory body craves, but possesses a unique variation of it that cries out horrendously louder than any other I have ever encountered.
I rise swiftly to my feet. I will write Bella a message explaining I have gone to hunt and exit silently out the window. Her safety cannot be chanced. Especially not by the likes of me. If I were ever to-
I hear her. She is on her way to the room. The mere seconds I have before she makes her appearance are more than enough time for me to complete my tasks. If I moved now, I could be miles away from the limits of the Swan property when she reached the doorway. If I moved now, everything that mattered to me would be out of the danger I so unwillingly embodied.
But…If I moved now, I would miss seeing Bella with beads of water caught in her long, chocolate locks… The moist feel of her freshly cleansed skin… The renewed essence of strawberry mingled tantalizingly with her freesia scent…
The door opens. My feet stay stubbornly, idiotically rooted in place.
"Edward!"
The exclamation, although soft due to the presence of her father just down the hall, was so saturated with joy I found myself grinning in unison with her. Bella hurls herself at me, leaving me totally befuddled yet again at her complete and utter trust in me.
The contrast between her temperature and mine is even more startling than usual. I carefully wrap my arms around her, returning her enthusiastic embrace. To my distorted perception it is like grasping flames. The burn I feel, though, is undeniably pleasant. My body holds her tighter instinctually as it tries to transfer some of her heat on to itself.
So warm.
Of course, this action also drowns me in a thick cloud of her intoxicating odor. It feels as though a bomb has just detonated in the back of my throat. It would be so easy to turn my head toward her fragile neck and-
No. Not Bella. Not any human ever again.
"You came," Bella continues happily. All of these reactions had played themselves out in a matter of seconds.
"Of course," I say before admitting, "It's impossible for me to stay away."
She shudders. I realize how unpleasantly cold I must feel to her. Disgusted, I release my hold on her and return to the other side of her room to sit back down on the bed. My attempt to distance myself from temptation falls flat, however, as she follows suit and seats herself at my side. I close my eyes; finding the venom flooding my mouth shamefully difficult to ignore.
"I have to leave," I confess to myself and Bella simultaneously.
Bella's heart stutters before picking up double time. Panicing.
"What?" she asks shakily.
I reopen my eyes, and turn to face her. It is evident she is trying to hide how very horrified she is by this idea, but she is far from successful. This is why I had let myself get to this point of unbearable need. Because I could endure the raw, screaming torture of my thirst infinitely better than I could withstand upsetting her.
I knew it was not wise, but I pulled her to me anyway. I pressed my face into her hair –still wet- and sucked the strawberries and freesia deep into my lungs. Damn if the pleasure wasn't more powerful than the pain.
"Just to hunt," I reassure her, "I won't be long."
Her rich brown eyes appraise my face for a moment. I watch them take in my black stare until, finally, Bella nods. How I wish this was not a necessity.
"I'm sorry, Bella. I shouldn't have come at all. I shouldn't have endangered you this way, but I-"
"Shhh," she interrupts, "I'm glad you came. More than glad, actually. I missed you today."
Even after the knowledge of my current state is made clear to her, she shifts closer and burrows her head lovingly into my chest.
"Have you no instinct of self-preservation?" I ask in disbelief.
Her response is a peaceful smile, "None."
I sigh.
"Will you wait until I'm asleep? Before you leave I mean?"
It isn't a wise idea, I know that. Every second I remain here is putting Bella's life on the line. I open my mouth to tell her this… and make the mistake of meeting her pleading gaze. Damn it.
"All right," I hear myself say without conscious permission.
*
Approximately two hours later I am racing through the wilderness. Emmett and Jasper had gone last weekend, Carlisle with Esme and Alice a few days after that, and Rosalie…is Rosalie, so I'm hunting alone. That's fine with me. In my animalistic state of mind I barely notice the lack of company.
The wind blows into my face. I inhale deeply, preparing for the welcome scent of prey, and am instead assaulted by something much, much stronger. Real prey. Not a deer, or an elk, or a bear, or even a mountain lion, but a human. My body charges mindlessly forward the instant this registers. I am unprepared to fight the automatic response, no matter how used to fighting I may be.
When I finally gain enough control to bring myself to a halt, the human is standing just a few feet away. It is a man wearing the clothes expected of a hiker with the gun of a hunter in his hands. His expression is one of fear. His eyes shift uneasily around him.
Where is he? Where is he? Where the hell is he?
The man's thoughts are frantic. I scan the area for his pursuer, an image ingrained in his head, but find no one. I suck in a scorching breath and detect no other human close by.
"No! No! No!" the man shouts in spite of my findings.
A sob escapes his lips and he falls to his knees. The gun previously held securely in his hands drops…and unpredictably fires. The man did not even have the chance to gasp. The bullet pierces straight through the middle of him as if it were aimed to do so. Blood projects out of the wound as he falls forward and the light vacates his still-open eyes.
Dead.
Liquefied crimson leaks out of him quickly, seeping on to the ground and soaking his shirt. The shock, the suddenness, and the thirst; it is all too much. It overwhelms me. The monster takes control. And I am lost.
Even with my infallible mind, I cannot tell exactly what I am doing. My food- for I can no longer think of him as a man- is beneath me. My teeth are tearing into his flesh. Wild, angry sounds are bursting out of me. But none of that matters. It is all secondary to the blood.
The first taste is like diving off the top of a mountain that you have spent your entire life climbing. As if you had let go; had finally given into the gravity that you and you alone fought against. It isn't like losing, because it is a battle that would never cease. You could climb as high as you wanted, but the pull downward would always be there. It would always be yanking at you, exhausting you, ready to take advantage of any moment of weakness.
The fight is pointless. This is what I am. This is what I am meant to do. No matter how long I resisted I wouldn't ever stop craving this. It isn't an addiction; it's worse. It is part of me, entwined with me in such a way that I have no hope of escaping.
And I am so very, very tired of trying to deny the inevitable.
So I embrace the fall. I let gravity have its' way with me. I fill my mouth again and again, and, although I know it is the ground I am falling to, each sip lifts me higher and higher. It is absolute ecstasy, this pleasure that I indulge in.
I drink until the corpse is dry, then retreat a few yards from it and lay down on the forest floor. I stare up at the cloudy sky, feeling fully satisfied for the first time in decades. There is no pain in my throat. It is not merely lessened, but completely absent. I can feel the fluid trickling through my veins. It makes me strong, powerful. But I have no desire to do anything other than lay here. None.
None.
The word echoes in my head only it is not in my own voice. It is in Bella's. I jolt up instantly.
Bella.
Bella.
Bella.
She trusted me when I did not trust myself. She looked me in my unnatural eyes and told me I was good, that I was not a monster, until I began to believe it myself. And here I am proving her wrong. Here I am proving Carlisle wrong. Here I am proving myself wrong.
With heavy feet I return to the body. I did not kill him, that is true. I can find some small comfort in that. Even if I had not been hunting in these woods, the gun would still have fired and he would still be lost to his loved ones. Who were the loved ones who would be grieving now? Who was this man who had died here alone in a strange fit of panic?
I rummage around until I locate his wallet. His name was Mark Louis Wilson. He was 36 years old. He lived in California before he came here to…to visit a psychiatric hospital? Yes, that is what the crumpled paper stuffed to the side of his credit cards says. According to this form he suffered from severe paranoia and delusions. What little I had observed of him makes sense now.
I find nothing concerning his family, and I admit I am grateful for that. I drop the worn piece of leather by Mark's side before walking away from him. I stare down into one of the many puddles soaking the mossy forest floor into my reflection.
I hate the menacing ruby eyes.
I hate the repulsed monster's face.
I hate me.
