Preface
This is agony.
It's not exactly the shattered limbs or the mangled skin or the semi-broken heart or the lost trust.
It's not exactly the despair of the situation. It's not exactly the knowledge that he shredded my last glimmer of hope.
It's not exactly the urge fueled by rushes of burning fury to go and massacre him and his band of friends like he did to me.
It's the endless stretch of time that lays before me, that lays between me and my escape to eternal peace, and that is agony.
Disclaimer: Would I really be here if I were Stephenie Meyer and owned Twilight? No, I'd be writing Midnight Sun and New Moon and Eclipse and Breaking Dawn in Edward's point of view, and possibly a sequel to The Host or something crazy like that.
a/n: Sorry I abandoned this for a while. I started writing the third chapter and I was just like, "No way," so then I started again with a new concept. (Don't eat me.) Tell me if you're confused. I want feedback! (And I'm being vague on purpose.)