For years, the bed on Isle Esme was left alone. Its sheets were perfectly pressed, the blankets spread smoothly across the mattress, the pillows fluffed to premium comfort. The bed spent its days admiring itself for its perfect symmetry, its utter perfection. For all intents and purposes, it was content with its life.
That is, until Edward Cullen and Bella Swan decided to spend their honeymoon on the island.
The moment the bed foresaw the end of the world was when the couple, giggling and kissing, crossed the threshold and chucked their luggage onto the bed. The bed cried out in what could only be described as pure and primal rage, but neither of the lovers seemed to hear its agony.
What insolence was this that they had such disregard for this poor, poor bed? What right did these two children have to come in and ruin all it had worked for in its life? And—
Oh thank god. The boy was leaving now, saying, "I was wondering if…first…maybe you'd like to take a midnight swim with me?" The bed let out a long sigh of relief. Thank the lord. "The water will be very warm. This is the kind of beach you approve of."
The girl, looking ill at ease, deadpanned, "Sounds nice." Was she trying to deadpan? Her voice was flat, devoid of all emotion. Was she all right?
It doesn't matter, the bed reminded itself. They're leaving.
"I'm sure you'd like a human minute or two…It was a long journey." The man—more like a boy—crossed the room and kissed the girl on the throat and he laughed. "Don't take too long, Mrs. Cullen."
Any hopes of the couple leaving drained instantly out of the bed. No. What are they going to do?
With that the boy left, leaving the girl frozen in the middle of the room. Again, the bed wondered fleetingly if the girl was even half alive, but its thoughts returned to the luggage, which was ruining the bedclothes more and more the longer it sat there.
Finally, the girl moved, dragging her suitcase off of the bed but leaving the other. She rummaged through the suitcase, groaning as she pulled out a few pairs of lingerie, further solidifying the deluxe bed's doom.
With a sigh, the girl went to the bathroom, leaving the bed to speculate what fresh horror this couple had served up for it.
Several agonizing moments later, the girl flew back into the room, naked except for a towel. Nope, nope, nope, was all the bed could think as she watched her dash through the room. She was out the door just as quickly as she had entered.
Now, all the bed could do…was wait.
…
Just as the bed thought its imagination couldn't get any worse, the couple reentered, soaking wet and just as naked as they were the day they were born.
They collapsed onto the bed, entangled in each other's arms as they shoved the other suitcase onto the floor.
How dare you! the bed thought as the lovers tumbled and rolled along its comforter, with no regard as to how perfectly the blanket had once been…until the two of them had ruined everything. And why did they have to be naked on top of it all? Why?
And holy shit what were they doing now? Was he—oh god. He was biting one of the perfect down pillows and tearing it open. Feathers flew everywhere, raining down like fluffy white flakes of snow. It looked only like death and despair to the bed. That was its lifeblood, everything it had… and this couple, this sickly young couple in love…they were taking it all away.
The bed thought it might almost be over, but no. Not yet. They hadn't caused it enough pain yet, apparently.
The boy's hands grasped the headboard tightly.
No, the bed thought. This can't be.
He pulled on the headboard. The wood beneath his hands creaked and groaned with the stress.
No.
With that, the headboard shattered. The bed cried out, feeling nothing but sheer, white-hot agony.
The boy collapsed next to the girl and slowly, she drifted off to sleep.
As the bed lay, broken and bleeding out its once pristine feathers, the final thought that came to mind was, "I hope those bitches got pregnant."