A World that Never Existed: Chapter 1

Whenever I shut my eyes, I see five images, playing in my mind like a broken recorder, like a perfectly clear PowerPoint slideshow. The first was of him, my Jacob, the handsome russet-skinned man who had never truly belonged to me. The second was of Leah, the beautiful goddess-like woman Jacob had chosen over me, the one whose glossy black hair looked like silk in the gentle breeze. The third was of my mother, Bella, telling me that she didn't want this family anymore, and that tall fair-haired man taking her away from us. The fourth was of my father, Edward, shouting in agony as Bella left him forever to be with another man, and some of the others, Carlisle, Rosalie, Emmett, and Jasper, dragging him out the back door in order to escape this house, escape this world where they had brutally committed murder. The fifth was of my darling grandmother, Esme, pleading and begging on her knees for mercy while Jasper held a gun to her forehead.

My aunt Alice and I had watched from a corner, both in anger and pain. Whilst Alice had tears silently running down her cheeks, I was banging my fists against the wall in a childish fit, screaming and wailing even though it would not help Esme. My uncle Jasper had mercilessly abused Aunt Alice for years, but she kept silent now, and for some reason Jasper and the others, Carlisle, Rosalie, and Emmett, saw no need to take the life out of this innocent human being, though they were doing it right now before my very eyes to my beloved grandmother. Edward was somewhere outside the house, I could not see him but I could still smell the faint scent of his usually overpowering cologne, signaling that he was probably just outside the door. Perhaps Jasper saw me as a frail, weak child, merely sixteen years old, with no one to protect me from the outside world but myself. Perhaps he'd left Aunt Alice to me as an act of mercy, after all I was his niece. But then I remembered what he'd done to Grandma Esme. His own mother.

Of course my aunt Alice and I, we had to try, to keep Esme's life with her, just this attempt. But how was that possible? Surely Rosalie's spiteful, biting remarks, which would usually insult one to tears, would not deter us. But what about those strong men, Jasper keeping Esme locked in place while Carlisle and Emmett shoved us roughly up against the wall and reduced us to a mess of bloody skin and tears?

What had happened to the blissful family I had been born into sixteen years ago, where peals of laughter rang in the halls every single minute people were in the house? I had used to find that annoying, I admit. But now I wonder how I could possibly feel that way after all that had happened, tearing our family apart…and bringing us into this state. Was murder the only option?

We lived on the outskirts of the town, where the state officials hardly ever bothered to reach us, and I thought for a moment that perhaps Carlisle, Rosalie, Emmett and Jasper had been waiting, all along, for the perfect stage. I remembered when we still lived in a big house in the heart of the city, and every day of my life had seemed a perfectly normal day, except for those rare times when a quarrel would break out between members of the family. But all those little quarrels would be resolved in an hour, the most, and all of us went on with our lives as peaceful as before.

Now that I really thought about it, I realized that it might be the truth that had been hidden from me. Had I just discovered it, or did all the adults know about it already? Well, I certainly wasn't going to ask. I remembered that it was Carlisle who had first brought up the idea of moving to a quieter, more meditation-worthy house on the outskirts of the town. He was the head of the family, after all, and so we agreed. We moved to our new home four days after my tenth birthday. Everyone had always referred to it as my "late birthday present".

All the abuse, the screams, the torture behind the closed doors, started then. I hadn't noticed much at first. I had always thought of it as more frequent quarrels, but being the innocent young preteen that I was then, I never thought more about it. I never discussed anything, my being an only child and I would never talk about sensitive issues with grown-ups.

I only started to take notice the year I turned twelve, screaming, and shrieking all night prevented me from getting any sleep. In the morning, I was finally prepared to complain to my family, but all thoughts of irritation, annoyance and complaints were washed out of my mind when I saw my aunt Alice and Esme. I got black circles beneath my eyes from the sleepless night, but my two relatives had suffered much, much worse.

Aunt Alice had a streak of blood on her cheek (which had soon turned into a permanent scar), and both of them had bruises and cuts all over their bodies. I realized that their nightgowns were dirty and torn, and they hardly ever spoke anymore.

Then my own mother. Bella. Walking out of her room without looking at anyone but Edward. The worst part was that she didn't even look pained or regretful. She was practically smirking at him, rubbing it in his face. Behind her walked out a tall man, that tall man, the fair-haired one, still fondling her and rubbing her shoulders. They were both undressed.

Where was I? Oh, yes. I was just about to tell you about Jacob. There's nothing about him that you wouldn't love. It still pains me to think about him. Funny how the pain in your heart can always overshadow any pain, even physical pain.

The worst part was that he didn't even bother to dump me. Now I know, I have never meant much to him, and probably never will. I don't even think I'll see him again. All I have to remember him by is that old photo of us on the beach near his house. Both of us smiling at the camera, his arms around me, looking like nothing could ever separate us. Leah, yes, it was Leah, she was the one who had taken that photo.

I haven't made it clear, have I? I haven't been sure of this ever since left, but I'm sure now. Being dumped by him would have been better than not even getting dumped at all. It's cowardly for a man to just run away from me, because he can't face me to tell me that we're breaking up. But I still love him, even though I blame him, yes, I know that deep in my heart I still love him, and I'm grateful to my heart that memory has stored him, and his lips, in perfect condition, not even the passage of time could erase that. Not even Leah, who's black-haired, fair-skinned and beautiful.

I first met Jacob in school, on the night of the Spring Dance. We were supposed to change partners every two dancers, and for that fateful two dances, we were together. It was like immediate, snap attraction. You just knew that this person in front of you had to be in your life.

Gradually, we formed a strong bond. It started out as just acquaintances, then buddies, then friends…eventually we became a couple.

I didn't notice Leah watching us particularly, because I didn't even notice anyone anymore. My life was about Jacob. I had given my heart to him, and…the virginity of my lips to him. He might just as well have never known that I wanted something more, because we never talked about how our kids would look like. I know it's childish to be waiting for an old love that would never come back. It's already been five years now. I'm turning 21. Yet not a single text, email, call…no nothing. I'm just storing that last little shred of hope in my heart and wish that he'll come back. But what use is it wishing for something that you know will never come true?

Aunt Alice always told me that I wasn't those type of girl whom nobody wanted. She said that people could admire me, could love me. In other words, she was telling me to move on. To toss that last shred of hope and flush it out. But I stubbornly refused to let go of Jacob, and eventually she gave up. I didn't attend university, not at all. I could wait for Jacob forever. So what if he wasn't planning on ever coming back? I had given him my heart, my hopes, my dreams, my future. I had given him everything I owned. I had given my life to him in trust that we could spend our next fifty years together. So what? Face reality, Renesmee: He doesn't want you anymore. Who needs anyone to spend their life with me, anyway? I can survive on my own.

Could I?