They'd had a life, once—a life of turmoil and confusion and love—love proven by making it nearly every night, by winking at one another over breakfast and stealing kisses whenever possible.

She's everything he's not—she's young, vivacious, passionate, artsy, and he isn't—that's all. She tries not to blame him, because she married him, she chose to kiss him that very first time.

It's her fault, she thinks, as she leans over the toilet for the third time this week. It's her fault for making him love her.

It's also her fault for all of those hurried nights, shirts flying and breaths shortening. It's her fault for wanting him, wanting this, because she should have known she'd never be able to live here with him.

The town is dreary, his job is dreary, her life his dreary, and she's got to get out.

But now she stumbles downstairs and tells herself not to sneak a bit of that champagne from last night and not too much chocolate, and she sounds like him.

She sits down fast, nightmares filling her head. She sounds like him. She puts her hand on her stomach and begins to cry. It's her fault. She's turning boring; she's turning dreary like this town, his job, her life.

She can't stay here—she never should have flirted with him, kissed him, married him, made love to him. She should have left well enough alone, as her mother liked to say. But she didn't, and now she's got this responsibility. Now she's tied to him in an impossible way.

But she can't stay. She'll tell him when he gets home from work. She'll tell him she's got to go, she can't stay with him any more. He'll look at her with those eyes—the reason it's her fault in the first place, so maybe it's more his fault anyway—and ask why, why, weren't they happy, weren't they building a life?

And she'll barely crack, she'll tell him she'll stay till her responsibility is in flesh form, and then she'll take it and run.

She plays out the scenario in her head, the tears still falling.

They had a life, once—a life of youth, mistakes, and irresponsibility, and now she's paying the price.


A/N: This is my first-ever Twilight fic, and I actually quite enjoy it. It's short and rambly and random, and I had a blast writing it! Please review—reviews are the only payment fanfic authors like me get. Just leaving a word or two would let me know you passed this way. :D