Authors Note: I'm back, writing my first love.

I've been through hell and back..and I think there's talk of a restraining order lol

I haven't written anything in almost 4 years.

Anyway enough about me...here goes nothing.

As always I own none of the characters, just the plot bunny.

Edward scratched his pen across the bleached paper of his diary,

Forget the Past, it is what it is and no amount of wishing on a star was going to change that.

Deal with the Present, because when life throws you a lemon and you're out of Tequila you just gotta deal with it or become the proverbial ostrich that buries one's head in the sand.

Edward had chosen the latter.

The Future... he sat back in his wheelchair and looked at the two words in front of him. How could two simple words mean so much, yet at the same time hold so little hope.

He flexed his cramping hand and looked at his daily entry to his diary once again. The diary he had been keeping since arriving home from the hospital after almost nine weeks in ICU then another three months in rehabilitation after the accident.

An accident caused when a man foolishly decided that he would have a whole hell of a lot more than just 'one for the road' and instead of getting a taxi home, he got behind the wheel of his Range Rover, ploughing through a group of students, students who had just finished their last show of their Final Major Performance, students who had, aspirations of West End musicals and dancing on Broadway.

Students whose families' lives were ripped apart and shattered into a million pieces within a blink of an eye.

Marcus Stanley age 52, fell asleep at the wheel of his 4x4 after consuming over five times the legal limit, seriously injuring three of Edward college friends, and killing his girlfriend of two years Angela, and almost crippling Edward.

The doctors refused to use the term 'cripple' as he still had feeling in his battered legs, but the 4x4's bumper had pinned his right side so hard against the dry stone wall of the college grounds that most of his skin had been damaged along with a femoral shaft fracture, leaving his right leg pinned amongst other injuries that part of his body scarred and weak.

Dropping his pen onto his desk, he pushed his hands through his unruly dirty blonde hair, causing him to wince from the tightness of his scarred skin. He hadn't allowed his mother to apply his cream, pathetically enjoying the pain he felt he deserved from being one of the survivors.

Survivor?

Why would anyone call him a survivor when his life was over?

The hospital had told him to count his blessings like Mike and Tyler, their extensive skin grafts they had, had made them able to walk again and lead normal lives. The tyres of the vehicle had given them third degree burns on both their legs.

His parents told him he was one of the lucky survivors.

There was that word again, Survivor! He had actually googled it; Survivor: To live, exist or remain usable.

He looked down at his legs, even his left leg was looking weak now due to lack of movement his muscle tone looking more like an elderly man rather than a healthy eighteen year old boy.

He sighed leaning his head against the back of his wheelchair; he hated it weighing him down like an anchor, but what was the point of him trying to get out of it only to sit out his days in just a different chair?

He knew he'd also let his appearance suffer, his usual clean shaven face was now sporting a not so designer fluff and he didn't need to look in the mirror to know he was in desperate need of a haircut, he could feel the edges of it on his bare shoulders.

With the heels of his hands against his eyes he attempted to rub away the bad memories that plagued both his sleeping and waking moments, Bright blue eyes that once had a spark within them now looked pitifully back at him every day in the mirror.

His body ached constantly, as he had evaded any help for physiotherapy, deeming it a waste of time. He had also scared off most of the carers his father had employed.

He looked around his now stark bedroom, the theatre posters ripped from their places leaving stained shadows of their past existence were disposed of, certificates filed away. This had been his self-made prison for the past five months.

After he trashed his room for the third time the leading specialist in the rehab centre apologised profusely and deemed there was nothing they could offer him any more. So he was sent home. Same prison cell, different room, he had thought to himself.

His indifference had been a cruel blow to his parents who had tried so hard to make it his home again, spending far too much money on 'refurbishments' to help him fit back in.

It was the Psychologists idea for him to keep the diary as he was less than verbose in their meetings, usually sulking, laid out on the bed, as he declined the offer to visit their office. He looked back at the word 'Future' it was taunting him, and he laughed bitterly to himself.

Reminiscing his final group therapy session, ones he had been forced to attend to be allowed back out in the world of the 'living'.

"Morning everyone, it's great to see new faces here today." Paulthe perky group therapist smiled as he turned his chair to sit on it backwards, his long dirty blonde hair fell at his shoulders and his ankle bashers gave everyone a peek at his character socks and worn converse.

"Well I'm sure we're all glad to be fucked up enough to be here." I said under my breath.

"Charming as ever Edward, have we had our pain medication today?" He gloated already knowing the answer.

I grunted, folding my arms across my chest.

"So." he continued ignoring my murderous stare. "Today I would like to move the group forward, talk about where we think we may be in say...five years?"

Therewas an assortment of responses, some shrunk further into their seats, others sat taller, eyes bright...

"I have no future." he whispered closing his diary and wheeling himself over to his bed.

He closed his eyes for a moment then as usual found himself drifting off ; falling asleep in his chair and more than once waking on the floor of his room as he had thrashed about in his dreams.

Edward knew he'd disappointed his family he could tell from their expressions when they frequented his room. His therapist Garrett required him to fill out the diary saying it would 'get rid of the underlying guilt' of the accident.

He stared at the date on his watch something he rarely took notice of as each day melted into another. It was almost a year since the accident how could he have forgotten? The day he lost his friends and a sob broke from his throat, Angela oh how he had wanted to take that beautiful raven haired girl in his arms, guilt consumed him as he remembered the final words he had said to his girlfriend, they were lies all lies telling her they should break for a while to concentrate on their futures after college with auditions looming when in reality he was in lust with someone else, if she'd known it would have broken her heart.

Jessica Stanley was beautiful, full red lips that pouted, crystal blue eyes, the roundest ass that wiggled when she walked.

He'd dreamt about kissing her, especially when she teased him when Angela wasn't looking, however since the accident he couldn't even say her name, he wouldn't answer her calls he gas lighted her so she doubted their flirtatious teasing, she had moved to London to live with her mother.

They had barely registered the car until the thumping of tyres mounted the curb, that was the last thing he remembered.

Edward woke with a start; to cool hands caressing his forehead.

"Ssh baby." his mother's soft voice cooed as she helped Edward onto his bed, he turned to face his window.

"I'm fine Mother, don't fuss." he mumbled.

"You were screaming?"

"Nothing new there then." he replied a little more bitterly than intended closing his eyes again.

The bed dipped beside him, Esmes scent invading his senses.

"Talk to me?"

"I can't."

"Why?"

He turned his face towards her, eyes red and puffy mirroring his own, he hated how he had hurt her, hurt Carlisle...hurt everyone around him.

"Because it doesn't change anything," he sighed.

Esme patted her son's arm and stood from the bed .

"Do you even know what today's date is?" he challenged.

She inhaled a long breath before speaking, not bothering to turn to face him "Yes I do; it's the date we lost our son." She sniffed and left.

"Dammit!" he slammed his hands on his bed "I'm such an idiot."

Carlisle Cullen passed his wife on the stairs as he took his son's medication up to him, he sighed when he saw her eyes full of unused tears.

"Don't be too hard on him darling, he's hurting too." She smiled sadly patting his arm.

Carlisle nodded his brows knitted together, not bothering to knock he entered his sons room.

"Did you have to be an ass today of all days?" he said bitterly as he placed his tablets and a bottle of water on his sons bedside table. Edward didn't answer yet another day of disappointing everyone he loved, another day of punishment for wanting something he shouldn't have wanted.