Chapter 1

Edward's POV

I awoke to the lyrical genius of James Hatfield screaming 'My World' through the clock radio on my night stand.

"The mother fuckers got in my head, trying to make me someone else instead. It's my world now. Mama, why's it rainin' in my room? Cheer up boy, clouds will move on soon. Heavy fog got me lost inside. Gonna sit right back and enjoy this ride. It's my world. You can't have it."

The song was completely appropriate, considering it was Monday morning and the beginning of yet another week of school and its methodical indoctrinations.

I slowly sat up, reclining against the headboard, mumbling curses at my empty room. My throat burning, dry from the large quantity of pot I had smoked the night before, I picked up the half empty coke bottle sitting on the floor beside me and took a swig. It was hot and flat and tasted like ass, but soothed my blazing esophagus just the same.

The clock read 6:30am and I huffed at the thought of having to start the day.

Maybe I could feign a sickness.

My brain immediately began searching for a plausible illness, when suddenly a belch rose up from my gut and out of my mouth. As I tasted last night's meal on my breath, a light clicked on above my head.

A slight case of food poisoning would be a perfectly feasible cover.

Mom knew I had eaten at the diner last night and also knew its reputation for rancid burgers and undercooked tuna casserole.

"Fucking brilliant," I complemented myself, before rising to my knees with a celebratory air guitar solo.

With my excuse decided, I sank back into my pillow, smiling at my clever inventiveness and the ensuing jerk-off session I was about to award myself.

"Hmmmm." My thoughts drifted to a certain female classmate that had been the inspiration of many a good fist fuckings. She was a sure thing. I could always count on her to have my dick hard and throbbing in under 5 seconds.

An image of her eyes came to mind and immediately I could feel myself pulse and twitch with need. It was then that I was forced to abort my mission of a slow and pleasurable experience, to begin the necessary course of action of relieving myself of the spasming steel that was tenting my pants.

My hand had already made its way inside my flannel pj's, and was aggressively stroking, when Esme burst through the door. Light suddenly assaulted me from every direction as she made her way in, flipping on switches and turning up blinds.

"Edward Mason Cullen! I have been calling you for the last 30 minutes. You're going to be late for school if you don't get your hind end up and in the shower."

Before I knew it, she had thrown back the blankets, revealing me at my most vulnerable state. I laid there with my hand down my pants, not bothering to hide what she had so rudely interrupted. She deserved the embarrassment, considering she just walked into a teenage boy's bedroom without knocking.

"I'm sick," I groaned, throwing my free arm over my eyes while the other held on to a sad deflated version of my once vibrant dick.

"I can see that," she mumbled disgustedly.

Quickly, she averted her eyes to the wall and took a deep breath. "But not too sick to go to school, so get off you lazy bum and high tail it to the bathroom. You've got 20 minutes."

With a menacing growl, I rubbed my eyes and face furiously with the palms of my hands and scraped my frustration through my hair with my nails. I could tell by her voice that my sudden case of food poisoning wasn't going to be enough to ensure my day of rest. School was inevitable.

God, I hated high school. It wasn't that I was academically challenged… by far. I was really quite astute. I hungered for learning and had a thirst for knowledge, but found that school didn't offer the kind of real life wisdom I truly craved. The idea of sitting in a classroom full of robots, listening to monotonous lectures being given by less than qualified professors, was unsettling. It irritated me that I had to waste my time with unimportant drabble, when I could be out on the road, living a real life, amongst real people, doing something… real.

As soon as I graduated, my plans consisted of:

1. Getting the fuck out of this Podunk town.

2. Getting a job.

3. Never looking back.

I got out of bed, letting out a loud growl to accentuate my distaste for mornings, and stumbled my way to the bathroom. I started my usual routine with a shit and a shower, bypassing the shave due to its needlessness. Whisker burn wasn't a concern of mine, considering the fact that I was absolutely pathetically without a girlfriend at this juncture of my painful life.

Don't get me wrong... my ability to get a girlfriend was not in question. I wasn't completely lacking in the looks department and could have had my pick of the skanks at school, but that's not what I wanted. There was only one girl that had caught my eye and, as far as she was concerned, I was no better than the dirt on the bottom of her shoe. If we were desserts, she would be creme brulee and I would be... jello.

Sifting through the dirty clothes on my bedroom floor, I pulled out a wrinkled pair of jeans and my favorite vintage Iron Maiden 'Killers World Tour' concert T-shirt... circa 1981. The cotton material had been overly washed in its many years of existence, to the point that it was as thin as onion paper and stretched just enough to fit me both perfectly and comfortably. My dad, Carlisle, had handed it down to me, his eldest and only son, along with his collection of playboy magazines from the same era. There was definitely something to be said for bare tits and spike collars.

As I descended the stairs and entered the kitchen, I was met by a wet dishtowel being thrown in my face.

"What is this!" Esme questioned accusingly, pulling it to my nose, forcing me to smell the offensive stain that darkened the previously bright yellow sunflower print.

I shrug my shoulders, the typical teenage response to any accusatory question.

"It's … bong water, isn't it?" She said it like it was a dirty word, as if she had just blurted out the "F" bomb.

My eyebrows furrowed, confused by her anger. "Isn't that what it's for?"

Did I not use the towel for its purpose?

I had gotten in late last night after spending a few hours at my buddy Jasper's house, smoking myself into oblivion. When I arrived home, unable to sleep, I sat in front of the TV and continued my conquest of seeing how much weed one could smoke without losing consciousness. I packed my trusty side-kick 'Tonto' with some of my best ganja and hit it until I completed my mission and dozed off into a pot-induced slumber. When I woke, sometime after the Andy Griffith Show, I saw that my bong had fallen on its side in my lap. And there, at the foot of the chair, was a puddle of brown ooze absorbing into the cheap tan carpet. I grabbed the first thing I could find, which happened to be the ornamental Sunflower dishtowel that had been hanging over the oven door for the last year, and began sopping up the stinky mess. If I had known the turmoil it was going to cause, I would have just used my shirt.

Mom had known about my recreational herb use for a while now, since my diagnosis of Generalized Anxiety Disorder about a year ago. I had always suffered from anxiety and found that I stressed over even the most insignificant things. It wasn't until my first Panic Attack, that I was taken to be evaluated by a psychiatrist who put me on anti anxiety medication along with antidepressants. I wasn't depressed and the only thing the meds accomplished was to make me feel like a zombie with no emotions, happy or sad. Pot, on the other hand, simply mellowed me out and made it almost impossible to focus on one subject long enough to over think it. Mom saw the difference it made in my day to day life and accepted my self-medicating, as long as (and I quote), "You don't end up like your cousin Sam, smoking crack and telling the cops that you're a werewolf that hunts and kills vampires."

The way I see it, if it comes from the earth then God put it there for our enjoyment, right? Right.

With my mother still berating me about that fucking dishtowel, I walked out the door and into the pouring rain. My head raised to the sky, eyes closed tight, I willed the relentless drops to wash away the day and the aching in my balls from the delicious dream I had last night staring me and a beautiful brown eyed girl tangled in sweat and...

Damn it! Why couldn't I have slept in just another 10 minutes? I shivered as I adjusted myself, shaking the thoughts from my head.

Soaked in the cleansing baptismal water, I slid into my '75 Chevy Malibu, my wet jeans fighting their way along the worn vinyl bench seat. The bobble-head Buddha sitting on the dash, smiled as I rubbed its belly wishing the car to start. Remarkably, it started on the first try and only slightly sputtered when I gave it more gas.

"Hopefully the rest of the day will be this easy," I thought to myself, taking a deep breath before throwing the car in reverse.

With a feeling of apprehension, I traced the sign of the cross on my chest and spun out of the mud and onto the highway. It wasn't that I was a religious guy, per say, but was willing to do whatever it took to get through another day in my own personal hell that was high school.

As I pulled into the parking lot and scanned the social spawning grounds, I couldn't help but notice the cornucopia of cliques grouped from one end to the other. At the far left, better known as 'Ft Knox', were the Jockstraps and Pom-poms with their Cadillacs and BMW's that mommy and daddy bought the rich fuckers. Next we had the parking lot for Nerds-R-Us where the geek-tards parked their more economically friendly vehicles. Passing them, you entered 'The Land of the Lost', which was a couple of rows dedicated to those for whom a social title did not exist. Because, really, no one knew they existed or gave a shit if they did.

As my car rumbled further down the lot, I couldn't help but smile at the familiar scent of stinking exhaust that signaled I was home. Mi casa was appropriately named the 'Junk Yard' and was filled with older modeled cars scattered haphazardly down the rows. The black ozone-eating smoke, pouring from their exhausts, undulated to the music that was pouring from their speakers and inviting me in.

As I cruised past, I saluted the losers, stoners and dirtbags for their part in the rebellion against the fucked up establishment and its even more fucked up code of conduct. Here we were, the home for wayward boys, the brotherhood of rejects and revolutionists alike.

I drove up and maneuvered my massive automobile into one of the parking spaces beside Jasper's fossil. Giving him a slight nod, I took a hit of the roach I had found in the ashtray, reciting, "Heavenly weed, Oh, how I've missed thee and thy intoxicating fumes."

I sat there, stoically stoned, dreading the day ahead and what it held for me. Would I be able to make it through another one of Mr Purdy's less than insightful lectures? Would I be able to overlook the jocks and their idiotic displays of male dominance?... Would I be blessed with the presence of my angel?

The later, got my blood rushing and my heart punding. If she would only notice me.

I stepped out of my car, releasing a long sigh, and made my way over to Jasper.

"Dude, you look like someone just stole your stash," he said, laughing at my misery.

"It's this!" I whined, waving my hand around like a mad man. "These people, the teachers, this institution… They're slowly sucking the life out of me. I'm smarter then most of the faculty here and annoyed by the fact that I have six more months before graduation. Maybe I should just drop out and get a full time job so that I can leave this town in a cloud of dust. I mean, why do I continue to subject myself to this kind of torture five days a week?"

At that moment, Jasper looked off in the distance and smiled a knowing smile. With his arm draped across my shoulders and a nod of his head, he answered knowingly. "Because of her."

As I followed his stare, my heart stopped beating.

There she was in all her glory, MY girl and star of my wet dreams, Bella Swan.