Summary: The lovely Ms. Meyer, for all of her wonderful accomplishments, did in fact skip over quite a bit of material in New Moon right after Edward's departure. This is how I see it.

Disclaimer: I may own a lot of nice things, like my yellow-green superball and the mismatched aloe-vera socks on my feet, but Twilight is not one of them. No copyright infringement intended.


It was a reoccurring thing, this pain.

Fantastically, it seemed to be triggered by the very things I was surrounded by. Rain shot agony through my bones, a sharp quiver that rattled my insides and set my tendons to flames. The sunshine forced memories of luminescent sparkles dancing mockingly on my skin, teasing me with their knowledge that I wouldn't always get to enjoy their beauty. My own room, once my safe haven, broke the vile little beast in my chest out of its fragile cage, letting him happily devour the shattered pieces of my heart.

He delighted in my pain, reveled in my dour memories, knowing each leaf on the ground, each rumble of a rusted, withered truck, each period spent in an increasingly depressing classroom, gently and lovingly tore me to shreds.

The forest I was surrounded by, the trees, the bushes, the animals. They all conspired against me, invoking a violent recollection of the end of my sanity.

I could feel myself slipping in and out of my own conscious being, ever so fleetingly seeking the numb relief that came from leaving my war-torn body and floating so effortlessly above the clouds, if only for awhile.

It became harder and harder, though, to find my peace. I would sometimes let my lovely little terror come out and wreak havoc on my soul, scratching and tearing, and oh the pain, so welcome, if only to feel.

I could lust for it, for awhile, until it grew and became too much, as it did each time.

I knew I screamed in my sleep, because it was agony in my dreams. I couldn't get away from my traitorous thoughts there. No matter what I tried, I couldn't escape the vicious unconsciousness that took over my head so maliciously.

It always started with a kiss. Every night, as soon as the darkness overcame my wavering self-control, and I could no longer force my eyes to stare blindly at the wall, I felt his lips, ghosting over mine in a taunting embrace. I yearned for him, still, wanting so badly to believe that I would open my eyes and he would be sitting in my chair, in his gloriousness, my favorite smirk so eloquently gracing his pale and flawless face.

He could do no wrong in my dreams, until they changed. I saw then, what I had failed to notice before.

The lovely, attractive, more engaging women flitting past my view. I tried to look away as I saw his eyed wander, but alas, my depraved unconscious could not grant me even that small reprieve. I was compelled to watch as he slowly lost interest in pale, listless dream self, and could not help but heap the blame on my self as she blissful ignored all the signs.

We had known all along we weren't good enough for him. From day one it was apparent we had nothing to offer, but he insisted, and we were delusional enough to believe it.

We let go of rational thought, knowing so naively that as long as we had his love, it mattered little. Every time we came to this conclusion, we gladly joined the beast in his slow, torturous destruction, tearing ourselves apart.

We did this.

I did this.

I made myself go through all this pain.

And in the morning, when the agony made itself known, we started over, from the top, lamenting on the fact that the littlest things seemed to set off my tauntingly accurate memory.

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