Equinox

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Stephenie Meyers owns it all.

Authors Note: This has been floating in my head for a while. I've recently gotten in to the books and felt like indulging the plot bunnies that hop through my brain. This story will be a role-reversal but told a little differently. I'll have both Bella and Edward POV's. It will be Twilight with a twist.

I was a normal girl once. I had a father and mother. I was loved.

I had a future… a dead end one….but a future, no less. I wasn't going places per say, but I was a promising prospect to my parents.

One moment changed everything. My eyes met a pair of strange, unfamiliar ones.

Frightening eyes.

And yet when he leaned in to me, his heavenly scent floating through me, dazzling me…his mouth descending on to my neck, his eyes a blood red, boring in to mine… I was not afraid. It was as if I knew I was dying.

Most of my human life I can scarcely remember. My tenth birthday… the smell of my mothers hair… what color eyes my father had…. All gone.

But not all things can be erased by time.

--

Bella

London, England
December 1872

I was sixteen and as klutzy as a newborn calf. My father would laugh about it but my mother was completely baffled. How would I attract a suitor if I wasn't graceful?

I was not the most beautiful of girls. My hair was a dull brown and I had eyes that matched them but my father always said I had a cute nose and my mother's full lips. I was somewhat of a catch, you might say. No breathtaking beauty, but certainly above average.

My father was a police officer which made him somewhat of an important man, especially when he was rising in the ranks. We were having a gathering… a party for him. It was his birthday…yes, that was it.

It wasn't the social event of neither the year nor the month but my mother was hopeful I would attract some man of importance to (eventually) propose to me. But in all actuality, it was my mother who spent the night attracting men. She was exuberant and a flirt, whereas I was nothing of the sort. I was shy… almost painfully so. I enjoyed living in the fairytales and compelling stories that lie in the books I read, rather than actually engaging in my life. I did what I was told and only dreamed about what other lives I could have lived. My life was planned out… marriage and children. Dead end.

I never thought of it as a dead end at the time. It was simply what I was supposed to be. There was no way around it and no use in moping over it. And… maybe it wouldn't be so bad. My mother seemed to enjoy it. I followed the rules quite well and had no acts of rebellion in mind because this was just how life was. There was no other way.

My mother threw herself in to the party, like she usually did with these kinds of things. The house was spotless, the food was delectable, and the music was above par. She loved being center of attention, soaking up every glance. I remember watching her in awe, wondering how I came from a woman so different from myself.

The usual guests were there except one who was not, in any sense of the word, usual.

He was beautiful. You don't casually call a man beautiful. Handsome, yes… But beautiful is not so commonly used. That is the only word to describe him. Most everyone stared at him as he waltzed through the room with a rare grace. He was tall, with broad shoulders and a sturdy, muscular body. His hair was an exceptional form of blonde, almost like sun-kissed barley. His skin was porcelain. As I walked uncomfortably around the familiar faces of my parent's acquaintances and friends alike, I watched him. I wondered who he was and what on earth he was doing here. A small party in an unimportant family's home…he seemed so out of place. He was impeccably dressed with an upper-class air about him.

Then, as fate would have it, our eyes met. His eyes were the most unusual eyes I had ever seen. A dark red. It frightened me at first, as I stared so lost in his molten eyes. Like a black lava. Suddenly, he was beside me, towering over me.

"Hello," He smiled graciously but his eyes were mischievous.

I could not form a thought. This god, this Adonis, was speaking to me. I had talked to young men before but, this was no young man. He was perhaps in his mid to late twenties…making him reasonably ten years older than any other boy I'd ever spoken to. "Hello," I murmured, my breath returning momentarily.

"What is your name, love?" His eyes never left mine.

What was it again? "Isabella." I could feel the blood pumping in my veins.

He smiled a most wicked smirk. "Beautiful name for a beautiful girl."

I had no words. How does one respond to that, really? As I stared at him, he winked and was off and out the door. I felt a pout form on my face. Where was he going? I took a step to follow him when a strange, unsettling feeling sat heavily in my stomach. Somewhere in my brain a voice told me to stay put. The voice was frightened. I took a deep breath and felt my heart jumping in his direction. Another part of my brain begged me to follow him. What risks had I ever taken in my life? None. And how harmless could this be?

I politely scurried through the people, their voices blurred in to one. I couldn't get out of my home faster; I could scarcely stop myself from running. It's ironic how quickly I hurried to meet my death. How very foolish.

I stepped in to the darkness and turned in every direction, looking for some sign. A shadow passed me, behind the house. I followed it without question.

It was darker in the back, no light but the moon. I stopped following and turned to the moon. My heart was jumping still, seemingly searching for my mysterious companion. He stepped toward me. The moon bounced on his pale skin and he looked like an angel. I took a sharp in take of breath, and let it out shakily. He smiled.

"Isabella…" He was in front of me quickly, almost too quickly.

His frozen hands caressed my face. His eyes skimmed my features and his icy hands slid around my neck and then down to my waist. I was fairly aware that I wasn't breathing. He leaned in, his scene intoxicating. He smelled like a summer night on a meadow, surrounded by thousands of flowers. I stared up at him. He drew me toward him and lowered his lips to mine. The kiss was a shock of hot and cold, fire and ice. My skin was in flames as his tongue traced my lower lip. When he drew back, he chuckled as I gasped for air.

"Yes, Isabella." He said, almost as if I asked a question.

Then, his hands were at my throat, stroking it. I closed my eyes.

"Keep them open," He whispered in my ear, his lips grazing my ear lobe. His voice was delighted.

I watched as he smiled genially and descended upon my neck, his teeth barred.

After that, there was only pain.

--

Edward

Forks Washington
September 2008

"Well, here we are."

"Oh, Edward it's lovely! We'd never find this in the city!"

"Yes, Elizabeth… I thought you'd like it."

"Like it? The pictures hardly did it justice!"

Please. Spare me the juiced-up excitement Mom; it's just a goddamn house. Sure, it's bigger than the apartment in Chicago, but we're in Forks. FORKS. A place named after numerous dinner-utensils. I'd rather live in a box in Chicago than in a mansion in a town named after silverware.

My mother turned to me, beaming with zeal. "Honey, what do you think? You'll have so much more room now!"

For what? What do I need room for? "It's great, Mom." My response was less than enthusiastic. Her face fell.

"Oh, you… you and your eternal pessimism. You'll see that this will be a great move!" And she's up again. If I could describe my mother in one word it would be exclamation point. Okay, that's two words but you get my point. I feel like they were invented for her to use at will.

My mother's enthusiasm was rubbing off on my father. He smiled at me in the rearview mirror. "C'mon Junior, perk up! You start school tomorrow."

Thanks, Dad. That's exactly the reminder I need when I'm already in a bad moon. I skulked at his happy face in the mirror.

My father was a popular doctor in Chicago, a revered man whose skill had led him to top positions and with that top dollar. But, as the years went on my mother grew restless of my fathers late night working and round-the-clock beeper and cell. I knew that he also was tired of being too busy. He barely spent time with either of us. That's when they thought of the worst idea ever. My mother proposed we move to a small town where my father can work as he pleases and I can get away from troubling city life. Hah! I had never gotten in trouble with the "city life" ever. It was all a big ploy to get out of Chicago.

Anyway, my mother found Forks and my father found the house. And so… new school, new town, new house.

We all vacated the car, bags slung over our backs. My mother had already arranged the furniture (all new, top brand stuff) to be delivered and moved to the exact point she liked. It wasn't a huge house but it was above average. It was white with tall pillars out front and a wrap-around porch. It had an old air about it with a fresh coat of paint. I sighed. I missed our swanky apartment.

That night I couldn't sleep and not because of the whole new town, new room, new bed situation but because it was so silent. Years of living in the city I learned to fall asleep to the sound of cars passing by, honking… people yelling and laughing below me. Here, there was no sound. Not a single noise.

School in the morning… I groaned as I turned on to my back, staring at the pale ceiling. This was the worst move my mother had ever made.

--

I woke up early with barely five hours of sleep under my belt. I heaved a sigh and ventured through the new house. My mother, Elizabeth, was already awake. She was humming a show tune and making breakfast. Blueberry pancake smiley faces. My favorite. I sighed again, knowing she was just trying to make this day better for me and I was only making it harder for her.

"Your favorite, Edward! I even made some bacon and scrambled eggs, just the way you like 'em." Her smile was nearly infectious. If I hadn't been thinking about the day ahead of me I might've smile.

"Thanks, Mom. You really didn't have to do all this." It wasn't unusual that my mom would make breakfast. With my father bringing in such a large income, she never had to get a job, which I figured leaves ample amounts of time for whatever the hell you want. She liked to cook.

"Oh, don't be silly. I always make you breakfast. And it is your first day, after all. I want to make it special." And with that she slid a plate in front of me with five huge blueberry smiley-faced pancakes (I still don't know how she gets the blueberries to form the smile), a handful of bacon, and a large serving of eggs. I was not nearly hungry enough for this but I figured it was the least I could do to eat it all. With a smile/grimace, I dug in.

I'm not very social. Actually, I'm barely social at all. I had friends in Chicago, yes, but those were acquired through years and years of school. And here I am now, the new kid. I had never been the new kid before but I knew it wasn't going to be pretty.

First day of school here I come.

Pretty please review. With a cherry on top. I'm dying to know if anyone will read this. Tell me what you think!