Prologue

The incandescence of the vast moon was endless, shining down onto the drivers-side window when I threw open the door so that even though the reflection was smudged and unclear, I was still noticeably fuming. Despite being only a glimpse, I knew what I must look like. Disheveled hair, wild eyes, red, blotchy skin—an unalterable mess. In that second, though, my anger was a thick fog settling over my judgement and I couldn't even care. And for once, I didn't want to. The last few months had been building up to this moment. I had felt it in the air, in the comments said and, more importantly, the ones not said. This was the storm we had both been unconsciously waiting for. The preceding calm had been palpable.

I only realized how cold it was when I forced the key into the ignition and read the blinking light: 18 degrees Fahrenheit. What surprised me wasn't the frigidly low temperature, it was early January after all, and in a part of the country that averages mid 70's in July nonetheless. What took me back was how I hadn't feel it on my way out, how I hadn't instantly recoiled from the bite of the frosty wind as it nipped at my overly exposed body, bare in comparison to what my forgotten coat would have covered. I had been so sensitive to the cold this entire unforgiving winter, but then again, I had just been in the heat of an argument. My skin still stung in recollection. I put my forehead down on the steering wheel, taking a deep breath so I would have time to let my racing heart calm down.

Okay. I said to myself. It's okay. That was a lie. It's going to be okay. That probably was too.

White puffs of ice had begun covering my windshield when I looked back up, my shoulders leaving the uncomfortably hunched position they had previously been in. I flicked my headlights on, starting the windshield wipers. As they awoke with a start, clearing away the snow, I was able to see a figure standing on the porch of the house. His hands were in the front pockets of his jeans, a hand running through the tangled mess atop his head. I made eye contact with him, his eyes wide and alert and staring with the same intensity they always did. Those eyes whispered promises and secrets, echoes of the past I no longer wanted to remember. They said I've seen your soul and I've read your thoughts. I know you better than you know yourself.

He called my name. His hands were cupped so that his shouted words reached me through the surrounding darkness. "Bella, come back! Don't be ridiculous!"

Don't be ridiculous. Images of the past conversation rushed like a poorly constructed slideshow throughout my head, his last fraise running like cold water down my spine. Any composure I was just able to collect immediately disappeared, replaced by unadulterated fury. Don't be ridiculous.

The seat belt made an audible click. I threw the vehicle into reverse and backed out of the long driveway as quickly as I could. From my marginal vision I saw him dart from the front steps, ready to chase me. Although muffled, I heard him continue to shout. My foot beat down hard on the accelerator, my right hand turning a knob so that the sound of the blasting hot air would tune out his already fading voice. I had yet to feel a chill.

My massive truck weaved through the streets, thrusting me deeper into the whiteout. The head lights shot beams of light ahead, distinguishing the individual snowflakes. They fell diagonally across the road, carried that way by the audibly howling wind outside. I heard my cellphone start to ring; I didn't answer.

I passed a familiar sign, one for the town park. Greene's Park. I could faintly make out the outline of the jungle gym, the swing set, the monkey bars. There was once a merry-go-round we would spin on until we got sick, its wheels underneath in great need of some oil. I could still hear the incessant squeaking in the background as we would beg Emmett to spin us again—one more time! One more time! He was strong even then.

It didn't matter, though. Not really. That merry-go-round was a only a memory, since a few years back it was taken down after some elementary kid my mom taught fell off. Nothing serious, just a sprained wrist and some bruises. But his parents of course had a fit and got the city-council to authorize its removal from the park.

Ring, ring, ring! My cell phone went off again, and even though I was furious, I answered it.

"Damn it, stop calling me! Obviously I don't want to talk to you."

His voice cracked into the speaker. "Oh, thank god." He muttered under his breath. "Bella, listen to me, you have to come back. I'm sorry—god I'm so sorry. The news is calling for a blizzard. There's ice everywhere. It isn't safe—"

I was about to reply, to tell him to leave me alone and snap that I was almost home anymore. But suddenly my phone wasn't in my hand anymore, it was on the ground. I could barely hear his frantic squeaks from the floor. And there was a blinding light ahead, clouding my view and leaving dots of color to clutter my line of vision. My body was falling forward, suspended by the seat belt. My eyes were closed, but then they weren't, and I opened them just in time to witness the road ahead fall away from view. From grasp. Blood pulsed through my ears, someone was screaming. I was the one screaming.

My hands attacked the wheel, turning it aimlessly so that it would make some kind of movement that was within my control. There was no point, I knew it, but yet I couldn't stop. Through the window, behind the rapid flurry, I could see the moon rising away, the ancient Wickery Bridge sign, nothing. I was airborne. The clock read 11:17 when I finally splashed into the icy waters below. I seemed to go headfirst, judging by the way I stayed held by the seat belt. It hurt, digging into my collar bone. I knew it would bruise.

In one final action, the truck landed in such a fashion I could almost feel my brain shake inside my skull. My back slammed into the seat as water began to spill in on all sides' only seconds later. Trying to break free from my restraints, I beat against the window. Instead of letting me out, it only let more water in. "Help!" I tried to scream, but instead of the air I needed, only water entered my lungs. Burning like an inferno. "Edward!"

Weakly, I fell back into the seat, a thick fog of confusion cloaking itself over me. The water was so cold my whole body felt paralyzed. I could see blurs of my dark hair float out in front of me, but nothing further. Screaming from underwater, bubbles flew from my mouth. "HELP!" I tried, screeching obscured things that would never resurface. "HELP!" I scratched against my seat belt, using all my strength to free myself. I was trapped.

A feeling of heat seeped into my head. I felt hotter than before, weighed down by the fire. Nobody will hear me. That much I was able to understand. But instead of the thoughts being urgent like they should have been, they started to come calmly. It wasn't a last cry for help, it wasn't even a motivator to get free. It was a realization I unexpectedly had no intention of fighting. A sense of peace drifted over me. I couldn't even remember who I had previously been arguing with, let alone what it was about. It was so far away now, meaningless; things have a way of losing importance with distance. As if I had just finished a marathon, I was exhausted. Giving up against my yelps, I sunk into my seat, waiting for sleep to take me.

I was ready for it to all end when I felt something. A tugging sensation, like when a pesky child is pulling your arm in the morning, but you don't want to wake up just yet. I vaguely felt hands pushing against my chest. Up and down, up and down. They were murmuring quietly but incessantly, fear and pain in their voice. It was annoying. Just let me go, I wanted to say, but something seemed to get stuck in my throat, and I coughed it out. I couldn't stop coughing. It hurt. Just let it end.

My eyes flickered and all I saw was green. A brilliant emerald green.

And then everything went dark—but not before I had an instant thought of the merry-go-round again. I loved it, I did, but then it was gone, and I never even thought about it long enough to miss its absence. And it's because things don't matter after their no longer around. Importance isn't just lost with distance. It tends to disappear. Even the best things have a way of blurring; the shiniest rocks eventually become dull. Everyone knows that all good things must eventually come to end.

I just wished I had figured that out sooner.

A/N

Hi guys! I know Twilight is super old now, but something about the fanfictions still manage to intrigue me. An idea for a story just popped into my head the other day, so I thought I'd write out a quick prologue and just see where it went…it will be ALL HUMAN with CANON PAIRINGS.

I really wasn't sure what to rate this story, so I went with T because it's probably closer to being rated as PG-13 than as R. That said, there will be some mature themes in the future with only occasional cursing and/or violence. The romance and sex will be implied, but not too heavily described. I'm sure you'll be fine, just remember to view at your own discretion.

Also, I'm only going to say this once.

DISCLAIMER: I obviously don't own Twilight. All characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. What they do in this story, however, completely belongs to me.

Please enjoy and review :) Interest brings updates!