I am running.

The dark whips around me, the wind stealing my breathless scream.

"Help!" I try again. Desperately, I look over my shoulder. It's a miracle I don't trip. I make it out of the alley and slam into a warm body. Tears run down my face.

"Oh my god, you have to help me, this guy just attacked me, and I don't know where I am ... " I descend into mindless babbles. Numbly, I feel my body shaking. I should be ashamed my pretty, pretty party dress is ripped across my stomach, disgusted by the blood dripping out of my cheek, hysterical right now. But I'm not.

"Is he behind me?" I clutch at the body in front of me. "You have to help me."

Warm hands encircle my wrists. "Calm down. What's your name?"

I shudder. "Isabella. What's yours?"

"I'm James. I'm here to help you, okay? What did the guy look like?"

I close my eyes and try to picture him. "Um, bronze hair. Green eyes. Pale. Kind of skinny. A little shorter than you are. Freckles, I think."

I don't think there are freckles, I know there are freckles. I memorized that face in the first few seconds I saw it.

I stare up at James, tears in my eyes. "Can you take me home?"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," James says. "We need to call the police. Get this guy."

"No!" I shriek. I'm tempted to claw at James' chest, but I refrain. "I can't face this guy again. I just ... " I shudder. "Please, just take me home."

-:-

James blasts the heat in his car. I lean my face against his window and watch as my breath fogs it up.

"Interesting ring you got on there, Isabella." James takes his eyes away from the road for a second to nod at my right hand. "Is that real ruby?"

I stare at the ring on my right ring finger. "I don't know. I think it is." Nervously, I sit on my hand and hide the ring from his view. I don't want him looking at it.

"Is it too cold in here?" James says. "Here," he mutters, twisting a knob on the dashboard all the way to the right. "Better?"

I nod, even though I don't feel a difference. "Make a right here," I tell him. We're almost at my house.

It's quiet for a few more minutes. "Do you mind if I turn on the radio?" James asks me hesitantly. I nod and watch the tree whiz by the car. Some random song plays in the background as the singer croons about the ups and downs of love. She sounds angry.

"And I swear sometimes I hate you, but I can't stop loving you. Loving and loathing, they're one in the same. But darling, I'm always stuck on the wrong side of the line."

"The red one is mine," I whisper to James. He nods, and pulls up the curb.

"Are you sure you don't to call the police?"

I clutch at the door handle. "No." I shake my head so hard my glasses almost fall off. "No police." I throw my door open and jump out of his car into the fresh air. I take off my heels and dig my feet into the ground. Its just something I do, something that makes me feel like I'm anchored to the earth, even when I feel like I'm floating and numb. I trudge to my front door, James following behind me, actually worried about me. I almost laugh. He shouldn't be worried about me at all. I'm safe now.

"You fucking bitch!" "Leave me alone!" "What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

I stick my shaking hands into my bag and manage to fish my key out of that mess. I fumble to unlock my front door as James looks on from behind. The red door swings open, but I don't step in.

I throw my bag into the front hall and don't even wince at the sound of glass breaking.

"Thanks, James," I whisper to him. I turn to face him and I see my blond hair reflected back from his glasses. I step forward, pressing my body against his.

I crush my lips against his, just for a second, just so I know.

Then I smile as I step back.

"Bye, James."

And then I watch as Edward, my beautiful Edward, my terrifying Edward, slits James's throat with a knife. I giggle as he falls down.

-:-

Edward rips the wig off my head.

"I can't fucking stand blond hair." He presses his nose against my hair. "You look much better with brunette." I tilt my head to the side as I watch him in the mirror.

I scrunch up my face. "I don't like these glasses."

Edward grabs them off my face and snaps them in two. "There, Bella. You don't have to look at them again."

I giggle. I love Edward.

He swipes a hand over the cut in my dress. "I love you in disguise," he whispers against my skin. His rough voice reverberates through my body. I shudder. "So fucking sexy. My little Bella."

I laugh, exhilarated from the fresh blood on my hands. I dance away from his hands and throw my hands up in the air. I feel like dancing, I feel like screaming, I feel like living, I feel like dying.

I feel like I always do.

"Let's dance!" I laugh as Edward scoops me up in his arms. He waltzes around the big empty room, as I hum a tune. I try not to think of the blood staining the porch, or the blood I'm going to get all over me as I drag my newest guest to where we put all of our guests.

-:-

Blood is my drug.

It used to sicken me; make me pass out from the smell of it. But when I met Edward, I realized I was wrong.

Blood is what keeping all humans alive. We need it, we thrive on it - hell, Elizabeth Bathory bathed in it, killed for it.

And so do I.

I realized that I didn't have enough blood in me, so I decided to "borrow" some from others.

I stare at the blood on my hand from James. The red is so vivid against my pale skin. I raise one up - the hand with the ring on it - and inhale.

Sweet, sweet bliss. I lick a drop off.

Blood is my adrenaline rush, blood is my life, and blood is my drug. I'm addicted to it and there's no coming back from it.

-:-

A tearful redhead stutters and stammers on the morning news. "We were supposed to go out to dinner, and we were meeting up at the dinner, but he never showed. James isn't like that, but I waited a while before trying to call him. I waited at the dinner until closing, and one of the waitresses was waiting with me because I told her what happened. Her name was Charlotte. She walked me to my car and told me she'd call if anyone that looked like James would show up."

She chokes on a sob. "I went to sleep and woke up to my phone ringing. It was the police - "

She dissolves into sobs. A somber, yet gleeful looking reporter thrilled at getting this on their channel, rubs her back. "We'll be right back."

After a commercial break, the camera cuts back to the new anchor, but not to the tearful redhead.

"Today marks the two year anniversary of the disappearance of Forks resident, Isabella Swan."

My high school graduation picture pops up on the screen and I almost crush the couch arm behind my iron grip.

"Only a month away from her wedding to Jacob Black Isabella disappeared before she was supposed to meet with Mr. Black on Halloween. Here today, we have Charlie Swan, Isabella's father."

Dad smiles weakly at the camera, then his face falls into misery again.

The woman leans forward, a frown on her face. "Is today harder for you than other days?"

"I manage on other days," Dad whispers. "But today, I can't even do that. After my wife died in the car accident, Bella was all I had left. But, then I had nothing, and it was just me."

"Bella, you shouldn't be watching this."

Edward takes the remote from my numb hand and changes the channel.

"I want to go out," I tell him.

"I'll go get the car."

-:-

Edward loves the color red. The ring he gave me is red. Our house is red. All of our walls are painted red. Most of my clothes are red. I dyed a red stripe in my hair because he loves red.

He told me once he loved it because of its meaning. Red is color of fire and desire, of war and love, of power and danger, of energy and strength, of determination and passion. But I know he loves it because it's the color of blood.

Edward made me realize the error of my ways when I thought that blood was sickening. He made me realize that it was good, that it was life-giving, and that I needed more of it.

That night, I killed my first person. It was not my last kill either.

-:-

I head to the back of the smoky bar and my sights find me a dark skinned man looking absolutely miserable. I sit down as graceful as I possibly can on the stool next to him and stare at his out of the corner of my eyes. He almost looks familiar somehow. I order a drink, a strong one, and down it in three gulps. The man next to me looks at me for a second before gasping.

He leans forward, staring at my face intently, but then falling back as he gulps down another mouthful of the alcohol in front of him.

"Sorry, miss, thought you were someone I knew."

His husky voice is familiar. I adjust myself, crossing my pale legs, and watch as his eyes linger on where my short red dress has ridden up.

"I'm Isa." I hold a hand for him to take. He shakes it, finishes he drink, and mutters his name.

"You can call me Billy," he mutters.

I lick my lips as I stare at him. "Billy it is." I bit my lip and smile widely at him when I notice Billy staring at me. Perfect.

-:-

The alcohol barely affects me; I'm used to it by now. Edward loves to drink with every meal we eat together. But Billy, however, is barely standing straight. I adjust my red wig in the bathroom and fix my lipstick. I purse my lips, strike a silly pose, and giggle into the mirror. I stick a hand down the top of my dress and stroke the knife nestled between my breasts.

I manage to convince Billy to share a cab with me, but the "cab" is actually Edward. I don't ask him who he killed to actually get a real cab. Once we get into the cab, I start kissing Billy with vigor. Since he's going to die, I should at least make his last few minutes memorable.

"Oh, Billy," I moan. I crush my lips against his and his hands roam up my back.

Edward laughs. "Fool," he says, not even bothering to control the volume of his voice. "You're too good at this, you know?"

We pull up in front of our house, and I drag Billy out of the car. His face looks different in the moonlight, and I know that I know him, but I don't know who he is. Oh well.

"Oh, Billy, the things you do to me."

"Oh, Jacob, the things you do to me."

I reach in between my breasts and moan for Billy's show. He groans and his head lolls back. Edward laughs as he leans against the door. He crosses his arms against his chest and watches me.

I launch myself at Billy and we land on the grass. He laughs drunkenly, slurring his laugh even. I grind against his hips, and his hands attach themselves to my waist.

"Don't stop," he slurs, making it sound like "Donn sup"

The knife flashes in the moonlight as I plunge it down.

I see Billy's face for the first time the second before the knife goes in. Sure, I had seen Billy's face before now, but I hadn't really looked at it. And now I am. The dark skin, the hair that used to be long and straight, the freckles I used to make fun on.

The knife slides in between his third and fourth right rib and he gasps. "Wha?" he whispers. Blood bubbles up. And I throw myself off his suddenly still body as my stomach contracts with useless heaves.

"Jacob," I whisper before I start throwing up everything in my system.

I just killed my fiancé.

-:-

I lay on my side in the red bed that is Edward's and mine. Edward is being angry. He realized who Jacob is too.

"That mother fucker!" he shrieks into the emptiness of our house. He launches a glass bowl at the space above the bed. Glass shatters and rains down on me. I push myself up and ignore the sudden bleeding in my hands.

"Why are you upset over that asshole?" he rages. Edward grabs my arms and drags me over to the closet. He throws the doors open and shows me the pictures he has up. "This is what that fucker did to you! Why are you so upset you killed the fucker?"

It used me creep me out that Edward had candid pictures of me I had never realized he had taken. But then he told that it was a just a symbol of our love.

My eyes trail over the picture of me in hospital ERs, waiting for my latest broken bone to be set. It wasn't always Jacob's anger that did it to me; sometimes it was my own clumsiness. But I had never told Edward that. Edward's finger sudden grab my chin and yank me over to the other side of the closet. "That fucker used to make you cry. He made you hate yourself!"

No, he didn't. He only lost his anger a few times, and I cried because I hated it when he did. He only broke a few of my bones. And he was drunk when he did it.

Jacob had always had trouble with his temper when he was drunk; he used to seem transform into an angry, spitting wolf that didn't recognize anything.

"Bella, I saved you from that asshole, and now you're crying over him?"

I'm crying? I use the hand that's bleeding less to wipe away the tears.

"I saved you from everything in this world that you hated, made you safe, and you repay me by crying over him?" Edward shrieks into my face. Then before I know what's happening, I'm on the ground, my head spinning and my lip is bleeding.

Instantly, Edward's face changes. The monster rage in him transforms into such repentance I almost forget that he just backhanded me across the face.

My cheeks throb.

"Oh, baby, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to, I lost control of my temper..."

I ignore the throbbing of my cheek, and pick myself up. I wrap my arms around his neck, and kiss him harder than I ever have.

My blood leaves a bloody imprint on his lips. I lick it off.

He groans. "You are so fucking sexy, my Bella."

I laugh.

-:-

When I was seventeen, my family moved to Forks. Before then, we had lived in a small town in Vermont, so the cold weather, the small population, and the greenness of it all were not unknown to us. I situated myself quickly with a small but tight group of friends.

When I was eighteen, I met Jacob Black, who I thought was the love of my life. He was only a few months younger than me, but he lived on the Native American reservation close by, so he went to a different school than I did. We started going out, and fell in love. We ended up going to the same college, University of Vermont.

When I was nineteen, Jacob got drunk for the first time while he was around me. He was a scary sight, and he left bruises from where he grabbed my arm when we were walking to the beach, but he didn't remember in the morning, so I didn't say anything.

When I was twenty, Jacob proposed. I accepted, though I wasn't sure if I was actually happy with him.

When I was twenty-one, Edward kidnapped me a month before my wedding.

When I was twenty-two, I killed my first man.

When I was twenty-three, I killed Jacob.

-:-

Edward understands when I throw out the dress I had been wearing when I killed Jacob. He doesn't understand though, when I say that I don't want to go out anymore. I don't want to kill anymore. I don't want anymore blood on my hands.

If there is a hell, I am going to one, I know that much. But I refuse to make my list of reasons why I'm going to hell any longer.

I start to carry the knife that killed Jacob around. Edward doesn't know it. And then, before too long, I start plotting ways to kill Edward.

-:-

When he first kidnapped me, I fought. I fought, I tried to escape, I tried everything I could. I even thought of ways to kill him.

He used to make me make his meals. It wouldn't be too hard to slip poison or something in it.

When that didn't work, I thought of how it would feel to stab him, feel his blood running down my hand.

That's when my obsession with blood started. I imagine the way it would feel as it ran down my bare arm. I imagine how it would smell. I imagine its texture. I imagine everything about it. I cut myself one to see what it would feel like when I did it to Edward, and it was as if I was drunk and high at the same time.

Edward found me hunched over my bleeding arm, smelling it and rubbing my fingers in the blood, congratulated me on my achievement, and taught me how to kill that night.

-:-

Angrily, almost, our mouths fight each other. Lips crashing against each other, teeth glinting in the moonlight, it's almost a fight between us. Except neither of us cares who wins.

The open window lets the moonlight flood in, and I arch my back and watch my shadow stretch and arch with me.

"Edward," I moan. I trace my hands over his muscles, his muscles earned by killing. Sometimes I wonder what it was like to be sane, not to be crazy. But I can't remember. I only remember being miserable almost my entire life, feeling trapped.

Edward freed me from that and showed me how to escape.

He thrusts his hips up. "Fuck, Bella," he says.

I close my eyes and reach down the red shirt he gave me this morning.

"Fuck," he mutters, watching me. He doesn't realize what I'm doing.

The knife is cold in my hand, the blade extra sharp. I hide it in my hand, clutching the blade so hard a line of blood bubbles up and bursts in the middle of my palm. I enjoy the pain, and moan even louder.

Edward can't see the knife in my hand. I stretch my arms up and let him enjoy the show for a moment before I open my hand.

He realizes what's happening too late.

The knife plunges down too quickly for him to move out of the way. My weight on top of him hinders him, also.

The blade goes in without a problem and Edward laughs.

"I knew I had taught you too well," he tells me, blood welling up out of his chest. Blood dribbles out of his mouth. He laughs again, and says, "I always knew you would kill me."

"I always knew too, darling," I tell him. I kiss him one last time, just to savor the taste of his blood, just so I know what it tastes like to kiss a dying man.

Once his chest stops moving, I trail my fingers in his blood. I bring my fingers up to my mouth and taste Edward's blood for the first time.

Even better than I had imagined.

Elizabeth Bathory: crazy countess, thought to have killed over 650 girls, rumored to have bathed in their blood. She was bricked up in a tower (not kidding) until she died.

Yeah, yeah. I'm a sick person sometimes. Tell me something I don't know.

Happy Halloween!

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