Love. The one feeling that was so passionate, so easily manipulated and spotted, even without my powers, which simply intensified the whole ordeal of watching from the sidelines, the hurt that pulsated through my whole body every time Carlisle set his eyes upon the round face of Esme, every time Rosalie and Emmett decided to pass the night time in a more...colorful fashion.
And yet, I was here, hurt, dazed, and confused. When sorry wasn't enough. When patience wasn't enough.
My knees sunk into the soft plush of the carpet in my room, the passion permeating from the right of me, in Emmett's bedroom, and below me, diagonally left, in Carlisle's bedroom. Never before has the love been this strong with myself in such a horrid state. So afraid was I to leave the house and lose myself in the wonders of human blood.
"It's harder for you." His velvet voice alluring, I slowly look up at his figure in my doorway. It wasn't a question, it was a statement, an all knowing statement from the thoughts floating around my head. Sadly, I nodded, and he stepped into the moonlight.
The unneeded oxygen in my lungs was squeezed out the second I laid eyes on him. The soft countours of his body was plainly put on display, in fitted jeans with no shirt. His soft bronze locks that shimmered red in the sunlight lay flat for once, interrupted from its casual disarray from his shower, in which rogue droplets of water ran trails down his chest. I yearned for his comfort, his gentle touch, tired of being the strong one. Tired of being the dominant.
"You want me." It wasn't a question. It was a statement.