Twilight's not mine.
Prologue
~.~.~.~.~.~
Every year it's the same.
A script in which Edward is an unwilling participant.
So he knows what will happen when she comes back home.
"Who are you?" she'll ask, coming to a halt quickly, panic setting in. "Why are you in my house?"
Edward will close his eyes, knowing.
"Get out! Get out or I'll—!"
His hand will land her shoulder. "Sweetheart. Calm down."
And Edward will hate him. And hate him. And hate him. But he won't do anything. He never does anything. It's become a habit, born of fear and the tainted stains of worship.
Edward will open his eyes and force a smile, his teeth grinding into each other. The sound will hurt his ears.
"This is Edward from work. He'll be staying with us for awhile."
"Hello," he'll say tersely, feeling her father's cold stare.
"Edward?" she'll say, her wide eyes on him, searching, wondering.
And he'll be fooled. Every time he sees it coming in her eyes.
Recognition.
He'll picture himself pushing at her wall of memories.
Remember, he'll think, remember.
But she won't.
She never does.
~.~.~.~.~.~