Alrighty, so I've decided that I need to let some creative energy loose. The concept for this story is a bit iffy as of right now but I'm sure it will develop into something more concrete as time goes on.

Here's the gist of the story: Edward and Bella were childhood friends when he was human. They were exceptionally close and Edward had planned on proposing to her – even though they were not officially in a relationship – because he knew he loved her. Sadly, Edward never got the chance because of the influenza that "took his life." Edward has come to terms with whatever death she may have faced, knowing that she is long gone, and he just has to get over her. Well what happens when the new girl at Forks High is none other than Isabella Swan – what happened? Who changed her? What will Edward do when he sees her again?

BTW: Renee and Charlie don't exist in this story – they died in 1918 along with Edward's parents from the influenza.

No copyright infringement intended. SM owns all, I own nothing.

BPOV

Deep breath Bells. Remember your story.

I mentally went through my list again in my head. Books? Check. Money for, ew, lunch? Check. Backstory? Check. Cloudy day? Most definitely, check. I knew I would rarely have to worry about sunny days in this town. After all, that's why I picked it. Forks, Washington – miniscule, surrounded by forest, and overcast 350 days of the year – the ideal for any vampire trying to blend in and be a little more... human.

As I made my way downstairs, I took the time to admire my new home. It really was very pretty, but also welcoming. The colors of the walls were bright and alive – blues and greens and soft plums. Squashy couches that never would serve a purpose, a sleek black baby grand piano that I had yet to touch, a full kitchen so I could cook – something I still loved to do regardless of the fact that I would never consume anything I made. Beyond my house there was a small pond, filled with brightly colored fish and plants. Everything looked so peaceful, so at ease, so comforting and serene. I wanted my house to look like someone happy and pure of soul lived there. I am far from pure of soul – my actions in the past are not something to be looked upon with a faint heart, but I believe that if I try to live my life in a more positive manner, maybe I can be forgiven for the terrible things I have done, maybe I can truly be happy.

Before I leave, I make a stop at the mantel above the fireplace. Along with paintings and works of art, there stands one small frame with an even smaller picture inside, withered and worn from touch and time. I was laughing so hard that I wasn't even looking at the camera when the photo was taken. He, however, was staring straight into the lens, his green eyes piercing and deep, full of life and joy. The sharp lines of his jaw were prominent and his smile shone brighter than the sun. His copper hair, always in a constant state of disarray, was blowing every which way in the wind. A smaller version of the picture is hanging around my neck, encased in the locket he gave me for my 16th birthday. Problem is, I can't open the locket without fear of breaking it. I had lost the key, along with the rest of my mementos, during those dark years – I was stripped of my memories, and given new, harsh ones in return. My kind may not scar physically, but the mental injuries are difficult to heal.

He had the spare key, just in case I lost my own. But that point's moot now. Edward Masen, my best friend, the man I loved but was too afraid to tell, is gone forever. He was and is the only one that can make me truly happy. No amount of cheerful colors and comfortable couches can change that. When he died, my heart died with him.

EPOV

I was almost done, just one last box to go. Cleaning my room had been my "mother," Esme's idea, but it was proving to be cathartic and cleansing. My room had been just shy of a war zone for weeks – papers and books littering the floor, records and CDs covering every inch of my leather couch, boxes of useless junk taking up space in my closet – clearing every unneeded item out of my life felt good, detoxifying even, after a particularly stressful few weeks.

This box, however, made me feel anxious. How long has it been since I've looked through the contents of this particular box? Even the box itself tugged at my dead heart. Hand carved with precision and care. Carvings of vines and flowers and patterns adorned the box – bringing back memories I wasn't ready for. She made this for me, for my 17th birthday. She worked on it for months, she said, wanting to give me something that served a purpose, so that I would always have a need for it in my life. Her clumsy hands worked day and night on this, to make it as perfect as possible, but the imperfections were what I loved the most – those little mistakes made it her gift for me. No one else would ever have this exact box – it was unique.

As I opened it up, the onslaught of memories hit me like a sentimental wrecking ball, knocking the wind right out of me. My mother's wedding ring, my father's pocket watch, newspaper clippings – mostly about the war, and one small key wrapped in a velvet cloth. This little key held so many memories, so many regrets - it was almost unbearable. The key to her locket, the one I gave her for her 16th birthday, with our favorite picture inside. I still remember that picture. We were in the center of Grant Park – her favorite park in Chicago, when a photographer snapped a picture of us. She was laughing the entire time after a particularly aggressive duck tried to attack me, but I was looking straight at the camera, wanting to convey just how much I loved the woman beside me. I made my mind up that day that I was going to propose to her on her 17th birthday, a few months away. I went home that day and told my mother my plan, she was overjoyed and immediately handed me her wedding ring, instructing me to give it to Bella – the love of my life.

That day never came. Carlisle saved me a month before her birthday, and while I know that even if he didn't change me, I still wouldn't have been alive to propose, I now live with that regret every day of my existence. Carlisle is the only one who knows about Bella, that she was my best friend. After he changed Rosalie and soon realized that we would never love each other the way he had hoped, I told him my heart would always belong to Bella. No one else in the family knows about her – there's really no need to bring up the past, especially when it hurts this much to even think about her. I hope she lived a full life, but I can never truly be happy without Isabella Swan by my side.

"Edward! It's time to go! Get your ass down here!" my loving, and exceedingly patient brother, Emmett, yelled, snapping me out of my memories. As I put the contents of the box away, I came to the conclusion that while I knew I would never again find love, I hoped Bella had – and I hoped that she didn't change from the happy woman she was when I knew her – I hoped her soul was never tarnished.

Okie dokie, so how did I do? I know I'm far from a brilliant writer, but I hoped it wasn't too bad! Please R&R! I will respond to every one I get (as long as it's not anonymous). I love suggestions and questions!

XOXO

Oh and btw, I am envisioning this story to have lemons at some point – and Bella has gone through things that require a Mature rating so you guys are warned!