Breaking Point--Chapter 1
Bella's POV. Takes place in the later months of New Moon. Edward had been away for about half a year and Bella never became involved with Jacob.
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Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight, Bella, or Edward. If anything, they own me.
It's snowing. I turn my head slowly to the right and stare out the window blankly, watching the snowflakes melt into raindrops before touching the grass. My teacher is saying something, but it sounds like mush. Like the words were put in a blender and smushed together before he spoke them.
"Romeo and Juliet was Shakespeare's most…"
Shakespeare. So that's what he's talking about. I try to grasp what's happening, but nothing makes sense anymore. The figures in the room blur and I feel like I'm trapped in a tiny room with no oxygen. I grip the desk and close my eyes, trying to keep from hyperventilating. I can feel every pair of eyes on me, like throbbing pulses all over my body. I turn to the left, trying to escape…
And something happens that has never happened before.
He's sitting there, just as he always was before the end. He's perched gently atop the stool, a pencil dangling off the tips of his long fingers. One of his feet rests on the bar halfway down the stool, the other suspended several inches above the tile floor. His elbow is placed on the table, and the sleeve is partly rolled up. His skin is impossibly white and looks as smooth as glass. Beside his arm is a single sheet of paper, and he's writing. His hand is wavering back and forth gracefully, flawless handwriting flying across the page.
But I can't see his eyes. They're hidden; soft bronze hair is tumbling across the icy planes of his face, rolling gently.
My hand begins to lift off the table, quivering wildly in the air. I'm reaching, reaching for the lock of hair concealing his eyes. My fingers feel heavy, like there are weights tied to them. And I extend my arm out slowly…
Someone snickers. My teacher stops mid-sentence. The squeaking of the chalk against the blackboard disappears.
I can't see anything but him. I can't feel anything but him.
Edward continues writing. His mouth is moving, but no words are coming out. A couple of girls in the back are giggling under their breath, but the sound feels miles away.
And my fingers are inches from his face…
Someone grabs my arm. My eyes rip themselves away from him, looking down at the hand around my wrist in shock. Angela Weber is standing beside me, her eyes larger than I've ever seen them, her face pale. The entire class is motionless; every pair of eyes is staring at me intently, and the silence is unnatural.
I snap back to look at him, and he's gone. There is no sign that he was ever there. No sheet of paper, no pencil. The stool is pushed halfway beneath the desk.
Angela loosens her hold on me and I feel myself paling, suffocating. I lift my arm again and everyone gapes at me with open mouths and eyes as big as saucers as I reach through the air…
The air is empty. I wave my hand through the place where his face was, trying to grasp him with my fingers. My hand falls gently to the stool, and it's empty. Cold. And then there's darkness.
