With one excruciating swipe of Jacob's paw-like hand, his face was destroyed. Eyes bleeding into nose, and nose into mouth. His features were there, fully-functioning, indiscreet and ugly, but his skin, his self, was ruined. Edward wasn't even Edward any more.
There wasn't even a hidden trace of the old Edward behind the new. He wasn't himself. His beautiful face was so hideously marred; his body had grown taller and thinner. He'd lost his smile, his eyes. They remained their hungry shade of black, craving blood that he didn't have the energy to hunt. He loved me of course, and I still loved him. At least, I think I did.
Every day when I looked into his empty eyes, I felt a overpowering sense of loss. He wasn't there, and there was no way of bringing him back. The scars are beginning to heal now, but nothing can correct the crooked bend of his nose; the gap in his once-perfect teeth, or his broken smile. It was as though he had died.
In the morning, he would pick me up for school. He wouldn't smile, as I knew, guiltily, it was my fault that Edward had been destroyed. It was my fault for making Jacob so jealous, for leading him on that first day, at the beach. I tried to concentrate on Edward's face, closing my eyes and trying to imagine him as he was. But it was impossible.
I disgusted myself for being so shallow, so superficial, to think that he would change on the inside. But he actually had. He had no confidence now, and he just didn't dazzle me. It was just so much harder to love him. Edward had died, and what we once were had just slipped my memory. This wasn't Edward.