A/N: Yes! Here it is! My first attempt at a Twilight fanfic is officially complete. (Well, the first chapter at least)
Please tell me what you think. Your opinions matter and will give me the boost needed to continue on.
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters mentioned from the fantastic Twilight saga (though I wish I did). Stephenie Meyer does; I only use her characters to devilishly compose my stories.
Summary: As much as she tries, Bella cannot escape the nightmare that has haunted her dreams every night since her mother was murdered. Then one day, she finds herself face-to-face with Edward and the dark realization that they can never be together. Will her love for him push past the doubt she has? Will he be able to save her dwindling soul?
BPOV
I walk into the cold, dark room. I walk slowly and deliberately trying not to make a sound. I see a door up ahead; the dark, mahogany door is familiar and I recognize it immediately. I make my way towards it, still quiet. I hear a hushed whisper from the room beyond the entryway. I feel something pulling me back, as if pulling me away from danger, but I stubbornly continue.
I slowly place my hands on the door. I hold my hands against the cold wood contem-plating whether or not to continue on. A nagging voice in the back of my head urges me to turn around, but I slowly push it open. The whispers quickly turn into a muted weeping. I walk towards the sound.
There, standing over a humped figure, is a man. I gasped as I realize what he was standing over: a woman. The woman is crying softly, begging for mercy. Her shirt is lying on the floor by the man's feet. Her face is soaked in tears, and her torso has a thin layer of blood - her blood- flowing from the fresh, open wounds. I step forward trying to get a better view of the woman. Her face is embraced by the shadows, but as if by cue, the moonlight streams in through the window to reveal her face.
"Mom."
She looks up to see me standing behind her assaulter.
"Bella."
The man turns around to look at who my mother is addressing. Me. He is looking directly at me. A smile forms on his face. He turns around to face my mother as if I was not there. He grips the knife in his hands tighter and raises it above his head. Almost instantly, I realize what he is planning on doing.
I run towards him, and I lunge at his legs hoping to knock him down before his knife comes in contact with my mother's porcelain skin. I fall on my side just a few inches away from him, and I watch as he brings the knife down.
"No!" I yelled. My eyes opened, revealing a thin layer of darkness. I lifted myself up onto my elbows. I checked the time on my alarm clock: 3:46. It was a lot earlier than normal, but after years of being haunted by my nightmare, I knew there was no way for me to fall to sleep again. By now, my father and I were accustomed to my problem, and I no longer bothered with checking on my dad and seeing if I woke him from my yelling.
The first night I had the dream, I woke up with sweat beads forming at my brow. I couldn't erase the image from my head: the image of my mother and her last moments. I remember yelling at the top of my lungs. My dad rushed in with a bat, and when he saw me bundled up in my blankets, dropped it on the floor with a large thud. He rushed to my side and held me close to him, rocking back and forth with me in his arms. He let himself go, crying into my shoulder, but I didn't care.
This was the way it was every night for five months straight, but eventually he didn't bother to come. I remember when that happened. I laid there waiting for his comforting arms to wrap around me and hold me together, but he didn't come. I was left to pick up the pieces myself.
"Shit!" I quietly yelped after ramming my toe into the doorframe. I went to my desk and grabbed my flashlight. I turned it on and let it illuminate my path.
I moved slowly to downstairs and into the kitchen. I poured myself a cup of coffee. After letting it cool, I slowly sipped it. After I consumed the last drop, I took the cup and washed it in the sink. I moved into the living room and turned on the television. The image on the screen was blurred by the tears forming in my eyes. I wiped them from the brim of my eye, and turned off the TV, bored with what was on.
Eight years. Eight years since my mother was murdered. I was eight at the time. I witnessed it, but as much as I tried, I couldn't remember what the man looked like.
After turning the television off, I went upstairs and into the bathroom. I turned the water in the shower on. I turned the dial for the hot water all the way up. After a few minutes of letting the water warm up, I undressed in the steam, and I stepped under the hot water.
I slightly jumped back as the sweltering water came in contact with my skin. After getting used to it, I inched under the stream of water. I slowly washed myself. After finishing, I turned the water off and stepped out of the tub onto the soft rug. I wiped the condensation off of the mirror, and I looked at my reflection.
Brown hair, brown eyes. Simple, plain, but my mother made me feel beautiful. The dark circles underneath my eyes, obviously cause by my lack of sleep, proved otherwise. I wasn't beautiful. I hadn't felt beautiful in a very long time.
And that is the very first chapter. I'm pretty proud of it.
So, what do you guys think? Please be truthful.
Should I continue on with it?
R&R
Hugs & kisses, twifanatic15