A/N: This is a story I came up with for the anon contest over at my lovely FFA group on Facebook. It ranked third in both judge's choice and public vote, so thank you to those who voted!

I have decided to continue this. It was originally a one-shot (chapters one and two together), but I have split them up into two and will continue on with the story. Updates may not be relatively frequent since I still have school, but I'll do as best I can!

My picture prompt for the contest and a banner I created for this story can be found on my profile.

Thank you to AsktheMagic8Ball and Feral for editing this.

Enjoy!


"Hello there, the angel from my nightmare

The shadow in the background of the morgue

The unsuspecting victim"

-Blink-182: I Miss You


b.p.o.v

I sit on the edge of the stage, leaning back on my hands as I tilt my head up toward the high, vaulted ceiling. I cross my ankles one over the other, swaying them languidly as I try to drown out the sound of my boss' irritated voice.

Esme Everett, the owner and producer, is on her sixth lecture of the night, outlining what she expects of us and how we are to deliver our performance with the utmost sincerity, how we are supposed to perform at rehearsal like we would on opening night.

I blow my bangs from my eyes and yawn, utterly bored with the monotony of her speech, because this is a lecture I have come to know. I have heard it thousands of times before, if not more.

Her words are slightly repetitive as she speaks, but she gets her point across: she won't accept anything less than our best. When she's finished with her shrill rant, she proceeds to scald the new guy, Michael, for screwing up his lines for the fourth time in a scene that's no more than two minutes long.

"We can't do this on opening night," Esme says matter-of-factly. "We either do it right, or we don't do it at all. The reputation of this theatre has grown from our dedication, and I plan to keep it that way," she looks directly at Michael, "got it?"

Michael nods ruefully and bows his head, probably ashamed, which he should be.

Because really, I know his lines...and I'm not even in his scene.

Esme dismisses us for the night, waving her hand in a flourish as she descends the stairs to the stage and leaves through the main doors at the back of the theatre. I can't recall ever seeing her so irritated after a rehearsal in all the four years I've been working for her, and I shake my head, rolling my eyes as the rest of the cast sighs in relief.

Sometimes I wonder if I'm the only one who takes this job seriously.

I understand why some of them hate her; I do. I love the woman for being so passionate about theatre, but when she gets on a roll like that, it's hard to see her redeeming qualities. I know they're there, though. I have known her long enough to see she's simply trying to make us better, even if she does sound like a raving bitch.

I haul myself up, stretching my back as Rose stands and shakes her long, blonde hair out of its bun. She combs her fingers through the silken curls, tilting her head. "So, drinks tonight?" she asks.

I shrug, following her to our bags which sit on the seats in front of the stage. "Sure," I reply, "want me to ask Angela and Ben if they want to come?"

"Go for it," Rose says uninterestedly. I gather my things as she slips off her ballet flats and strips from her rehearsal outfit. Although Esme assures us we aren't required to rehearse in our costumes until a few days before production, a lot of the actors do to get into character.

While Rose undresses, I take off my own flats and stuff them into my bag, slipping on my comfortable sneakers. I flip my hair over my shoulders and my eyes travel down a few seats, to where Michael is standing, dumb as a post, completely mesmerized.

It takes me a moment to realize he's staring past me at a half-naked Rosalie.

Newton is the new guy – he doesn't understand yet. Dressing and undressing in front of the cast is something you just do. There is nothing to hide and nothing to be ashamed of; nobody even bats an eye anymore when someone strips down to their underwear.

But, Newton is new, and since he hasn't seen Rose's goods yet, he is ogling her like she's a turkey dinner.

I cough discreetly to keep from smiling and say loudly enough for her to hear, "Looks like you have an audience."

She turns her head slowly, glancing over at Michael before she shoots me a subtle wink. I watch in amusement as she adjusts her bra, rakes her hair over her shoulders, and saunters over to him. She stops at the chair next to his with her hand on her hip and smiles.

"Hey, Mike," she says in an attractive drawl, "how's it going?"

I watch the bob of his Adam's apple as he swallows apprehensively and finally tears his eyes away from her provocative attire.

"Uh-h..." he stutters, at a loss for words. Rose laughs and slips her fingers under her thong, intentionally snapping the flimsy material against her hip.

"Well, good talking to you," she says, giving him a sweet smile before she walks away.

She bursts out laughing when she reaches me, covering her mouth with her hand to stifle the sound. "What an idiot," she whispers with a shake of her head. I laugh in agreement before I slip on my jacket and wait for her to get changed.

We find Angela and Ben on our way out and convince them to join us for drinks. We leave the theatre together, chatting idly on our walk down the windy streets of Chicago to the local bar. I draw my jacket up tighter, clutching my bag close, and duck my head against the biting chill of the night. It's unusually cold for early October, but to be honest, I kind of like it.

Fall is my favourite time of year.

I follow Rose inside when we get there, holding the door open for Ben and Angela behind me. I revel in the dense warmth of the bar and the overwhelming smell of alcohol, drawing in a deep breath as I smile at the familiarity of the place, the feeling of comfort. Rose walks purposefully to a table in the middle of the room, unzips her jacket, and drapes it over the back of one of the seats. I do the same, tucking my bag underneath the table as I rub my hands over my exposed arms.

We sit down for a few minutes, going over the drink menus before a perky waitress by the name of Alice comes to serve us. She's bubbly, energetic, and way too happy to not be on something. She smiles enthusiastically, prattling on about drink choices and asking us whether or not we'd like to see a food menu.

We quickly decline, and when she bounces away to bring us shots of tequila and a pitcher of beer, I decide whatever she's on must be a strong stimulant. The walls of the bar can barely contain her bizarre exuberance.

After Alice returns with our drinks, we sit comfortably and enjoy them for a while. We knock back tequila and beer, talking about work because it's really the only thing we all have in common. We laugh at Newton's expense, making bets on when he'll finally get the boot, because with Esme as our boss, we know it's bound to happen.

I shake with Ben that Newton will be gone by the end of the week.

I tip back a fourth shot of tequila, wincing at the potency as I slam the glass down on the table and shove the lemon wedge into my mouth. I squint at the sour flavour; shivering at how deliciously disgusting it is as I stuff the shrivelled lemon into the shot glass.

I lean my head back, putting my hands on either side of my face as heat rushes to my cheeks. I can feel the effects of the alcohol warming my entire body, prickling my arms and shoulders, trickling up my neck. I tip my chin down, and when I focus, I find my gaze drawn to another pair of eyes, on the other side of the room.

It's then I realize the tequila isn't entirely to blame for the heat that consumes me.

It's him.

A dark mess of hair catches my attention before I take in the rest of his face – the unnaturally pale skin, the thin, soft-looking lips, the hypnotic, penetrating eyes. His features are slightly illuminated by the dim lights, casting perfect shadows over his high cheekbones and the sharp, clean lines of his jaw.

He's leaning back casually in his seat, one arm draped across the top of the booth, his other resting on the table. His pose is comfortable, languid, and I stare...gawk, maybe, at how ridiculously perfect he looks.

I'm conscious of the fact I've been watching him for over a minute now, but for some reason, he doesn't seem to mind. He doesn't move...he doesn't blink, he simply stares back at me, studying me with eyes that won't allow mine to look away.

My chest tightens the longer I look at him and my breathing changes. I feel the flush of warmth, the heat spreading over my arms and my chest, as the handsome stranger carefully eyes me from across the room. I swallow anxiously, and when I lick my lips to moisten the skin, his mouth curves up at the corners, forming the most attractive half-smile I've ever seen in my life.

The air in my lungs whooshes out in a breathy sigh, causing my cheeks to redden instantly in sheer embarrassment. I quickly look away from the beautiful man, sinking back into my seat as I flip my hair over my shoulders to cover my face.

I can't believe I just did that.

I don't look back over at him, too mortified to even take a breath. I sip on my beer instead, resigned to the fact that I've had too much to drink, and I don't need any more. I toy with the coaster, tearing little pieces off while I listen to Angela and Ben discuss something that doesn't really interest me. Rose has gone off on her own, maybe to dance, or what is more likely the case, to flirt with the hot bartender.

Thankfully, my skin cools after a while. The humiliation I feel slowly seeps away, and I sit up straighter, downing the last mouthful of my beer before I decide to take my chances again. I turn slowly, glancing over my shoulder toward the back corner. I'm met with the same eyes as before, not as overly intense, but still just as breathtaking as the first time.

To make up for my idiotic behaviour earlier, I don't stare. I look away, push my chair from the table, and stand up. I stretch my arms and jut out my chest a little, not enough to be deemed slutty, but enough to warrant the attention of a certain onlooker.

I bend down, grabbing my bag from under the table before I gather my hair into a ponytail and put on my coat. I bid Angela and Ben goodnight, and as I walk to the door, I do my best to keep my gaze on my destination.

I don't look back over into the corner, but God, do I want to.

I have enough self-restraint to leave the bar without casting another glance to the most beautiful man in Chicago.

.

.

Later on, when I curl up in bed with a book, my thoughts stray. I stare at the pages, losing myself between the lines as I think about the man from the bar and how ridiculously attractive he was. I can't seem to shake the brief encounter we had or the way he was looking at me, the undeniably intense gaze that sent shivers rippling up my spine.

With a sigh, I shut the book. I toss it onto the nightstand and lean over to shut off the light, and when I lie back down, I thread my fingers methodically through my hair in an attempt to clear my mind. It's hard to fall asleep with so much to think about, but eventually, I do.

And it's the first night I wake up screaming.

I'm short of breath and sweating, lying awake in bed like I've been electrically shocked. I stare at the ceiling, raking my eyes over the plain, white expanse when I try to recall the dream. I can't seem to piece it together, and I swallow uneasily, pulling the blanket up around my chin as I turn on my side.

I close my eyes, pursing my lips tightly until I fall back into a restless sleep.

.

.

"You look like shit," Rose says the next evening at rehearsal.

I yawn, lethargically taking off my jacket as I slump down in the seat next to her. "Hello to you, too," I reply sarcastically. Rose snickers at my response, and I admit, "I didn't sleep very well. Bad dream or something." I pause to remove my shoes and change the subject. "So, how was your night? Finally seduce the bartender?"

She squeals loudly, a sound that is completely girly and not at all Rose. "Yes," she gushes, turning to me as she elegantly crosses her legs, "and it was..."

She trails off, probably reliving her orgasm-infused night, and I shake my head. "Magical, amazing...best sex of your life?" I offer jokingly.

She cocks her brow at me with a sly smile. "All of the above," she agrees.

I laugh, and just as I'm about to ask her for the steamy details, the doors to the theatre fly open. Esme storms in, possibly more irritated than the night before, which is certainly saying something. I sit up attentively, watching as she makes her way to the stage and stands at the top of the steps. The entire theatre falls silent, every member of the cast fearful to take a wrong breath on Esme's watch.

She begins with a warning: she's not in a generous mood and will not tolerate incompetence tonight. I glance around, looking for Michael among the crowd of actors – the only one I expect to screw up. I find him about ten seats away, nervously biting the inside of his cheek while his leg jiggles in unease.

Once Esme's finished with her icy greeting, we promptly begin rehearsal. I'm one of the four lovers in A Midsummer Night's Dream, hopelessly in love with Ben's character even though he has been tricked to fall out of love with me.

The practice is running smoothly, all the lines are delivered to Esme's liking, and the blocking is falling into place. Esme smiles when she's supposed to smile and stops the performance to offer tips and suggestions, sometimes changing a certain pose or stance in a scene.

I exit to the side of the stage, rolling my shoulders as Rose passes me and heads out with Michael and a few other cast members. Another scene begins and I watch, crossing my fingers that he won't screw up, just this one time.

But apparently, it's too much to ask.

I curse under my breath when Michael fumbles with his words, stammering like he's lost his vocabulary in the span of three seconds.

"Cut!" Esme yells from the red velvet seats. She beckons Michael down the steps, speaking to him in a tone so hushed I can't make out her words. He nods intermittently, sighing as he trudges back up to the stage and takes his place next to Angela.

I wish that was the extent of his misfortune, but sadly, it's not.

It happens again a few minutes later. Michael stumbles over his words, Esme calls for a cut, and they speak quietly. She stands up this time when he walks away, pacing the area in front of the stage as Michael gets back up there and starts over.

Two more painful times after that, and Esme's had enough. She's so furious with his performance she fires Michael right on the spot.

I sigh from my position offstage even though I won the bet; rehearsal is done for the night.

I'm a little annoyed it's been cut short – again – so I keep to myself. I head down to my bag and toe off my flats before I quickly shove my sneakers onto my feet. I sit back in the seat, watching as the rest of the cast changes and gets ready to go home.

"Wow," Rose comments as she starts getting redressed, "I can't believe how badly Newton sucks."

I shrug, "Yeah, well..."

My irritation must be palpable because Rose makes a face at me. "Who pissed in your corn flakes?" she retorts in offense.

I shake my head, "It's just...nothing, never mind. I had a bad night."

She sits down beside me, putting her hand on my knee and squeezing affectionately. I would have felt comforted, you know, had she not been sitting there in her bra and jeans.

"Come on," she says with a nod toward the doors, "let me buy you a drink."

.

.

Rose doesn't even have to twist my arm when she offers to pay. We go to the same bar as the night before, without the company of Angela and Ben because it's their three year anniversary and they want to celebrate alone.

I don't really mind that it's just us. Rose is a good friend.

When we get to the bar, I find myself distracted. I impulsively look for the beautiful man, searching the booth he had occupied the previous night. I'm disheartened he's not there, but not entirely surprised.

I don't exactly expect to see him here two nights in a row. I was just...hopeful.

"So, what'll it be?" Rose asks, not-so-discreetly looking toward the bar and craning her neck.

I smirk at her lack of subtlety as we sit down, "The usual, I guess."

"Uh-huh," she replies absently.

I laugh quietly to myself before I regain my composure. "I love your giraffe imitation," I jibe, "although, you might get a kink in your neck if you do that for much longer."

She turns her head, glaring at me before she scans the bar once again. "I just want to see if he's here," she replies. She stops for a moment, still as a statue, then turns and sighs, "He's here."

I smile, "So...what's his name?"

She bites her lip, resting her elbows on the table as she replies, "Emmett. He's such a...sweet guy. I really like him." Rose opens her mouth to continue, but Alice shows up, just as vivacious as the night before. I smirk at her positive attitude even though it is a tad annoying; she seems like a nice girl.

Rose and I order a round of shots to start off before we each grab a beer – the usual, for us. She doesn't bring up Emmett again, but she keeps glancing in his direction, watching him as she tries to stay in the conversation. I don't blame her for being sidetracked, but I start to feel invisible after a while, like she isn't even paying attention to me anymore.

I huff and sit back in my seat when Rose excuses herself to use the bathroom. I chug the rest of my beer, setting my glass on the table before I let my gaze travel the busy bar. My eyes scan the booth that was empty when we came in, but to my elation, it's now occupied.

Hello, beautiful.

I smile involuntarily, catching a glimpse of him just when he sits down. He doesn't see me so I take advantage of his obliviousness, watching as he sets his coat on the seat and exchanges words with Alice, unleashing his gorgeous smile on her. I marvel at how damn pretty he is, biting my lip as my eyes roam his slim, strong frame. His muscled arms peek out from his dark t-shirt, and if I wasn't staring before, I certainly am now.

All I can think about is licking those muscles.

I look away quickly, fearful that I might actually drool over his ridiculous perfection. I turn back when Rose sits down and I know she can sense my change in demeanour – it's written all over my flushed cheeks.

"You okay?" she asks bemusedly.

I clear my throat, "Yeah, peachy."

She doesn't believe me in the least, but she lets me be.

We order another round of shots. We talk and we laugh. My eyes wander, like Rose's do, and they eventually meet those of the beautiful man. I try not to stare, but with such an intense gaze, it's hard to look away.

Rose coughs suggestively when I'm particularly distracted and she laughs, "Find a little something for yourself, there, did yah?"

I blush at how obvious I'm being. "I...don't know," I reply, "he's-"

"Gorgeous?" she offers. "Sexy? Damn, Bella, go get him!"

"Rose!" I chastise, like he would somehow be able to hear her through the distance and noise. "I can't just...go over to him."

"Why not?" she counters. "I totally would if I were you." I shrug self-consciously because I've never been particularly confident in that aspect. At least not as confident as Rose is when it comes to men. "Okay," she sighs, knowing when she shouldn't push me. "Since you're preoccupied, do you mind if I go talk to Emmett for a bit?"

I purse my lips and shake my head. "Nah," I say nonchalantly, "go ahead."

After Rose leaves, I don't really drink anymore. I relax and uninterestedly watch a football game on one of the flat screens, often casting a glance to the beautiful man. Warmth tickles me each and every time he meets my eyes, and although I expect it to go away, it doesn't.

It seems to be a natural reaction to him.

I'm about to get up to 'break the seal' when Alice sets a martini glass in front of me, filled to the top with a soft, cream-coloured liquid. I look at her quizzically, catching her smile when she takes a step back. "Compliments of the gentleman in the corner booth," Alice says, holding out a white cocktail napkin.

Curiosity and interest nag at me, so I take it. I straighten out the creases, feeling the heat in my cheeks as they flame with my blush.

Someone so beautiful shouldn't be sitting alone

I smile down at the napkin, entirely flattered by his kind words. I comb my fingers through my hair, wondering acutely how I should respond. I'm not sure if I should take this as an invitation to join him or play hard to get. When I look up and meet his eyes, when I see his devilish half-smile, I decide to go with the latter.

"Alice, wait!" I call as she walks away. She bounces back, perky as ever, and I say, "Um, can you give something to him for me?"

She smiles, "Sure."

I write a response on a napkin, fold it, and slip it into Alice's hand. She gives me a subtle wink before she weaves her way through the bar and drops the napkin off on his table without pausing for his reaction. I bite on my nail, watching as he smoothes it out.

He shakes his head at my reply with a ghost of a smile on those perfect lips.

Thanks for the drink

He nods in my direction, holding the napkin up between his fingers. I smile in return and pick up my drink, fingering the straw before I use it to swirl around the ice cubes. I take a tentative sip and hum in surprise when it's perfectly sweet and delicious. I have no idea what it is, but I like it.

I sip on my drink for a while, glancing at the beautiful man intermittently, eyeing him from across the room as he watches me back. I try to refrain from making myself so apparent in my perusal of him, but I can't seem to catch him off-guard. Every time I look over, he's looking at me in return.

It's making me a little hot.

I fan my face with the tiny napkin and tilt my head back, trying to circulate the stifling air around me. It's impossible to get cool knowing he's watching me, so I give up, tossing the napkin back onto the table.

"Is there anything else I can get you?" Alice asks sweetly when she passes by.

I tip back the last of my drink and shake my head. "No thanks, I'm good." She responds with a friendly smile, and just as she's about to leave, I ask, "Hey, Alice, what's this drink called?"

I hold up the glass and she smirks. She leans in closer and lowers her voice, her bright, baby blue eyes on mine, "It's called a screaming orgasm."

Flustered doesn't even begin to describe what I'm feeling.

Alice leaves me, and I sit there, stunned, staring at the empty glass while my entire body prickles with excitement and anxiety. I carefully set the glass down and twist my torso, looking over my shoulder into the back corner.

The beautiful man is gone.

.

.

Hard rain pounds down around me, filling the darkened streets. I trudge through it, sloshing water into my shoes in my attempt to run. The heavy storm obscures my vision, and I squint against it, pushing my legs as fast as they will take me.

I can't seem to recall what I'm running from, but I keep going. I need to get away.

Street after street passes but they're all the same – nameless, generic. Store windows blur by, lamp posts appear in the exact same place. With each block I push my legs against the wretched burning in my thighs, nothing changes.

I run for miles on the same street, until I can barely breathe, and it's then that I stop.

Because it's then that I see him – a man.

And it's the second night I wake up to the sound of my own scream.

.

.

"Uh...Bella?"

"Yeah, what?" I reply dazedly.

"Are you with me?" Rose asks as she picks at her sandwich. "You look a little out of it."

I shake my head and take a bite of my chicken Caesar wrap. "Sorry," I say dejectedly, "I didn't sleep again last night." I look up at Rose as she cocks her head to the side with concern.

"Are you having nightmares?" she inquires.

I shrug. "I'm not really sure. I just...for the past two nights, I've woken up-" I pause abruptly, staring out the window, watching as the rain falls down outside. It reminds me of my dream and I swallow hard, trying to forget the way I screamed. Rose clears her throat, and I snap my attention back to her. She prompts me to continue my explanation with an impatient wave of her hand.

"Well, I've woken up...screaming," I say quietly, "and it's not just some tiny, nothing of a scream. It's like this horrible, blood-curdling scream."

My skin ripples with goose bumps, and I sink down into my seat, rubbing my fingers over my eyes because I'm thoroughly exhausted from my lack of sleep.

"That's really weird, Bella," she comments. I nod in agreement and she says, "Why don't you try sleeping pills or something?"

I bite my lip as I contemplate her suggestion. "Maybe," I respond.

Rose and I finish our lunch and walk around Chicago for a bit. We talk and shop, enjoying our day off from work more than we can express because Esme's been unusually bitchy lately. Rose brings up the bartender, Emmett, and I listen with genuine interest because I know how rare it is for Rose to find someone worth mentioning.

She usually has horrible taste in men.

After we've sufficiently squandered a few hundred dollars, we head back to my apartment. We cook dinner and spend the evening lounging around, watching movies and eating popcorn. It's relaxing, low-key, and exactly what I need to counter the few nights of weirdness I've been having.

I stretch my legs out on the coffee table in the middle of The Lost Boys, humming in comfortable contentment as my eyelids begin to droop. I feel myself nodding off, but when Rose's phone rings, I snap back to reality like I've been slapped in the face.

She picks her phone up from the table, and when she smiles like a lunatic at the screen, I can only guess who's calling. She eagerly answers it, turning away from the movie as she speaks in a hushed tone and giggles.

Rose is rarely one to giggle, at anything.

She hangs up a minute later and looks back at me, giving me a sheepish smile. "Sorry," she says, "but I think I'm going to call it a night, if that's okay with you. Emmett just got off work and he kind of..."

I wave my hand dismissively when she pauses. "It's okay, Rose. Go...hang out with Emmett."

"Really?" she replies uncertainly.

I smile. "Yeah, go. I'll be fine. I'm practically falling asleep anyway."

She leans over, plants a loud kiss on my cheek, and smirks. "You're the best, Bella, thanks."

I shake my head in amusement as she gathers her things, wrestling on her jacket and pulling on her boots. I can tell she's excited to see Emmett by the way she's rushing, and it makes me smile; it's something I've never seen in her before.

I also may be a little jealous of the fact that she has someone, but my happiness for her overrides my internal musings.

Rose heads down to the lobby to wait for Emmett to pick her up, and I lock the door behind her, making sure to deadbolt it because I always do. I yawn tiredly, flicking off the light before I make my way back to the living room to continue watching the movie.

I pull the blanket from the back of the couch and drape it over me, leaning comfortably against the cushions and propping my feet up on the table. The movie ends soon after Rose leaves, and I sigh as I turn off the DVD player and bow forward to set the controller down.

When my eyes flicker back up to the TV, I freeze. The blood drains from my face and the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end; my fingers shake. I slowly release my grip on the remote, trying to stay as still as possible because of the dark, looming figure that reflects back at me from the TV screen.

Someone is standing behind me.

I brace myself against the coffee table, gripping the blanket tightly in my other hand as I stare at the shadowy figure. I want to move, to do something, but I have no idea what. I'm paralyzed by fear. My chest burns because I've stopped breathing, and my skin is clammy and cold.

I draw in a shaky breath, releasing a small, terrified whimper before I slowly turn my head and look behind me.

But it's all for nothing, because nobody's there.

I think I'm losing my mind.

Tears flood my vision and I stand up, putting my hand to my stomach because of how queasy I feel. I grab my phone off the end table, clutching it close as I hold the blanket around me and sprint to my bedroom. I slam the door behind me, sobbing quietly because I truly feel like I'm going insane.

I fall asleep on the floor, crying into my palms with my head against the wall and a blanket as my only means of defence.


A/N: Thanks for reading, and don't forget to check out the other entries!