Changing by RachelHB
Summary: One shot. Edward witnesses Bella's first "changing," but it's not quite what you would expect. Rated tastefully adult. Takes places sometime during Eclipse.
Author's note: Characters all belong to Stephenie Meyer. I just like to move them around for my own enjoyment (and hopefully, yours as well). No copyright infringement intended. This came to me today during my Spanish final. It's the first fan fic I've done in a long while, so let me know what you think.
For once in as long as I could remember (which was a long, long time indeed), it was a rainless night in Forks, Washington. Cloudless, to some extent, as well. I could count a few stars through the small holes in the cloud cover. On this particular night, I stood outside Bella's house, as I usually did, waiting for the moment when Charlie's counting sheep would shift into dreams. But this was to be a different night, indeed.
Looking up, one would notice that Bella's window is not a flat hole in the wall. Underneath is a short outcropping of shingles that overhangs the front porch, and the rain gutter. Like a roof over the porch, the perfect place to grab on from the thick oak tree branch also in front of her window.
With one lithe movement, I jumped silently, gracefully, into the tree. I swing my legs up and over, and then onto the roof. I crouched there, watching her feather light curtains ruffle in the breeze.
So that was where I sat, unbeknownst to her. She thought I was out hunting, but I was just enjoying a rare moment of silence. It seemed that the past few weeks were full of talk. So I was quiet. Or, really, I was thinking. Thinking about the violent killings ravaging Seattle; thinking about the Volturi, and their intentions on "dealing" with our family. I felt a breeze ruffling my hair, and in the passing air I was bombarded with her sent. All of the sudden, my mouth began to water, my eyes began to smolder… I wanted to go inside to see her, to touch her… and one day, to taste her. But I didn't. I needed a few more moments of peace.
But one peek… I thought with a smile. So I shifted my weight, and leaned over. I was still hidden by the curtains that fluttered around the open window. And then, I saw her.
She was standing before the mirror, pealing off her shirt. I froze. I hadn't been gambling on peeking in on this. This… this was quite unexpected.
I saw the snow colored pale of her ribcage. I could see the outline of her ribs, and her tiny waist. My breath caught. I was so sure she'd be able to hear me nearly panting from inside, but she didn't turn. I wanted to beat my head in for acting so boyish, but I couldn't stop.
And then, she was standing shirtless. And I felt every bit the seventeen year old boy I was, looking at a girl for the first time. It was like the past 80 years hadn't made me at all more mature or worldly. I felt as if these drives had been in me, waiting to explode. Like I was frozen hamburger, chilling over in a freezer; I was now thawing out now; I'd been forever preserved in the cold. A feverish heat that I knew was biologically impossible felt like it spread over every inch of my skin. I think I was blushing, but of course my pale skin never changed its hue.
Then she eased her denim shorts off of her perfect legs. I wasn't breathing. The sent of her—and all that bare skin—would have been far, far too much for any one person to bear. So I held my breath. I couldn't move, I couldn't even blink.
She was standing there, pale perfection, in bare slips of white cotton. I imagined ripping them off of her in one agile movement, my hands, my lips, on her smooth skin. She was still in front of the mirror, a concentrated look on her face. I would have traded anything in my possession to know what was running through her mind. Was she thinking she was not thin enough? Not beautiful enough? I implored the higher forces to assure her that it wasn't so—that she was the most beautiful and tempting creature I'd ever seen in my too many years on this planet.
Slowly, she peeled off her remaining garments. As those bare slips of cotton fell to the ground, I had an unobstructed view of her bare, ashen curves. It was physically painful; it was akin to the first time we'd met, which her sent hit me with such brute force it was all I could do to keep from killing her. Now, my self control was better tested; I had just enough restraint to keep from ripping her to shreds.
It was a war in my head—I alternately wanted to take her, ravish her, make her mine in the way I knew her human hormones made her want me—and I wanted to kill her, drink her blood. I clenched my fists because I couldn't risk holding on to anything, I would surely make a hole in the roof. Turning away from the window, I tried to compose myself. I blinked a few times, I rubbed my temples. I took a deep breath, filling my lungs with the clean air. Once I'd composed myself, I tried to push it from my mind.
I heard her angel's voice then, which almost pushed me back to the brink. It was from inside; she had her pajamas on and was expecting me.
"Edward?" she whispered, but she knew I would hear it clear as a bell.
"Yes, love?" I asked, and gently slid through the window. I took her small frame up in my arms, reveling in the touch I'd so fiercely craved just a few moments ago. Silently, I touched my stone cold lips to her forehead.