Disclaimer: I do not own the Twilight Series. And I never will.

A/N: For those of us who've read the first chapter of Midnight Sun, you know that at the end, Edward is debating which path he should take. Strength or weakness. Alaska or Bella. This is what would have if Edward takes that wrong turn, and Bella pays the price.

-Lisa

A Different Decision

By: Twilighter

I added the chopped peppers and onions to the frying pan, which was already heating the oil. There was a hissing sound as they met the hot bottom. I raised the spatula, idly flipping the contents of the pan as they sautéed. It smelled good, but I wasn't hungry. I hadn't exactly had the best of days.

My mind went back to the lunchroom, to when I had openly stared at the striking boy who sat across the room, surrounded by his beautiful family. When he looked at me then, there was only curiosity, as well as a slight boredom – but hey, it was school.

Then I thought ahead to biology, to his menacing, hateful glare that had been both unwarranted and unprovoked. And I wasn't just seeing things; Mike had noticed it as well. What had I done to him? Nothing.

I decided that he wasn't worth the trouble. If he wanted to hate me for no apparent reason, well, then that was up to him. I wouldn't care.

And yet I did.

I really did. I didn't like it when people hated me. I hated fights; I avoided confrontations at all costs. I went out of my way to be nice and polite to everyone I knew.

And it didn't help that I was, in fact, attracted to the perfect, bronze-haired boy. It didn't help that I was now forced to sit by him in biology. It didn't help that I was so irrationally fascinated with him, and that I cared what he thought, more so than the others who had befriended me today.

I sighed, moving the food around, flipping it, and lowered the heat on the burner. I put the spatula down and turned away from the stove.

And I abruptly found myself face-to-face with someone none other than Edward Cullen.

The boy I hardly knew. The boy that hated me. "What –?" I staggered backwards a step, nearly banging into the stove, my mouth opening in shock and confusion. Was Forks driving me crazy, in the literal sense of the word? Why would he be in my house? How did he even get in?

I knew that Charlie wouldn't be home for another hour. I knew that the closest neighbors on either side of the house were over a half-mile away, and they would never hear me scream. Not that I could. I couldn't even breathe. I was frozen as I stared up into those cold, hateful eyes. His strong jaw was clenched tightly, the muscles of his cheek straining. His nostrils were flared, and his lips were pulled back into an evil grimace that marred his pale, handsome face.

I could see some sort of indecision raging behind his flat-black eyes. "Just a girl," he whispered to himself, a look of deepest loathing in his eyes. "Just a girl." Did that help me or hurt me, in his mind? But the conflict was almost over; his better half was about to lose. He would hurt me, that much was plain. And I didn't even know why.

It was then that my survival instinct kicked in. I found myself running for the archway that led to the hall, to the front door, to my car, to safety. I knew I had no hope of getting there. Even at my best moment, I was still unable to run without falling.

But I didn't even make it a few feet before stone arms wrapped themselves around my waist in an unbreakable and immovable grip. That was when I knew for sure that this was no hallucination. He felt too solid and cold not to be real. The chill from his skin seeped through the thin cotton of my shirt, colder than any human skin should be. I kicked and struggled, but he effortlessly twisted me around to face him.

His eyes once again captured and held mine, and I became mesmerized by them, drawn in by the lure the presented. My mind knew I should run, but I couldn't. My movements slowed and my body wouldn't respond to the urgent commands that my mind issued.

His expression changed, and he looked at me with softness in his eyes, a desire, a hunger – a thirst. He pulled me closer, holding me to him, as if he were trying to absorb my heat, to bring life to his cold body. He was a statue, his surface unyielding under the pressure that my form placed on his.

He let out a soft sound, almost like a purr, which snapped me out of my trance. Was he here to murder me? Or to rape me? My struggle resumed and I thrashed, trying to pull away from him. But I gained no leeway. He didn't flinch, didn't move an inch as I attempted to get away. I was too panicked to scream, but my mind shouted for him to let go over and over again.

One arm ensnared my waist, securing my arms to my sides, unbending as an iron clamp. The other hand reached up to my shoulder, to my neck, sweeping my hair from my throat, cradling the back of my head. He tilted my face away with inexorable force.

I squirmed, trying fruitlessly to make him let go, even less coordinated as my body trembled from fear. But he detained me in such a way that I could barely move. He lifted me off of the ground effortlessly, pulling me towards him. His nose skimmed my jaw, inhaling deeply. He pressed his lips to my neck, and they too were just as cold and hard as the rest of him.

The feel of his lips was suddenly gone, instantly replaced by a sharp pressure and pain. There was a slow pulling sensation that spread throughout my body, and I was suddenly lightheaded. There was a pounding in my skull, and dark spots filled my vision.

I finally found my lips, too late. "Please, stop. Please…" I begged pathetically. My mouth formed the words, but I was unsure if I actually made the sounds.

I felt his hand move to cradle the back of my head, gently stroking my hair, as I fought to stay conscious, like he was trying to comfort me, or to quiet me. I felt as if razor blades had punctured deep into the skin at the junction between my neck and shoulder. The pull, I realized, was my blood leaving my body.

My body was completely limp, fully leaning into him. There was no fight left in me. I was going to die.

As the darkness closed over me, I heard a sound – wood splintering, and shouts coming from the direction of the hall, I thought. It sounded far away, muffled, as if I had pulled a pillow over my ears to drown out the noise. It seemed out of place in the warm kitchen. I had accepted death, and the calm, peaceful silence had been welcoming me towards the end.

I could feel the stone chest I was leaning into quiver as a deep growl made its way to my ears, similar to that of a dog when someone tries to take away its food. The arms around me tightened painfully.

My eyes closed. I no longer had the strength to keep them open. My heart was beating sluggishly, and I grew closer to death with each beat. To my surprise, the pulling sensation stopped along with the pain, and I felt Edward's head pull away from my neck.

"You don't have to do this, Edward. Don't kill her." The voice was soft, male and unfamiliar. It was hard to hear over the continued growling, which was louder now. It sounded like the person was in the room with us. The unknown man did not say anything more, and I again felt a pain in my neck, the numbness gone.

I thought at first that Edward had bitten me once more, but this was different. It felt like someone had pressed a hot poker to my wound, stabbing me with it. I let out a weak, involuntary cry of pain. The feeling was focused, pinpointed on the area where I was bitten, a flame burning my skin, traveling inward, searing along my veins. Another moan escaped my lips.

The arms that had been gripping me so possessively loosened slightly. I could feel his breathing. It was shaky, coming in short gasps, fighting for control. I could feel his muscles tense with indecision and I could sense his unwillingness to let me go. His trembled with the effort it took not to give in. He wanted to take all of me to satiate his own twisted thirst.

And I wanted him to. I couldn't think about anything besides the fact that I was desperate for him to finish what he'd started, to kill me and grant me an escape from the pain that was beginning to spread like wildfire. The flames seeped into my throat, making it hard to breathe. My choking breaths seemed to loosen Edward's hold even more.

"Please, Edward. Let her go."

My body tensed, trying to ride out the newest wave of pain that was flooding me. The unbearable heat and my struggle against it had brought a sheen of sweat to my face. My eyes opened as the blaze flared again, and I screamed. I heard a heaving sob, one that was not mine, but one I could feel.

Edward. The boy I hardly knew. He was crying. He was sorry for what he'd done. Why couldn't he just kill me? Why was he letting me feel this pain, if he regretted his decision to hurt me? Why couldn't he just end it?

Tears started to fall, blurring my already-clouded vision. I writhed in his arms, which were no longer restraining, but supporting. I felt another pair of arms lifting me, carrying me, balancing me as I cringed in agony. There was no way out. I just hoped that the flames would consume me sooner rather than later, killing me as fast as possible.

Burned alive…it now had my vote as the most painful end imaginable.

As I was pulled away by this second person, I glimpsed Edward's face. What I saw was shocking. His eyes were now a frightening, demonic shade of crimson, the color of freshly spilled blood. I know I should have been scared. But I only felt sorrow – his features were twisted in pain and regret. I tried reached out an arm, unthinkingly wanting to stop the agony of something so beautiful…but my body tensed, my arm going rigid and my hand curving into a fist, fingernails cutting deeply into my palm.

Suddenly all I could do was scream.