AN - This idea has been germinating inside me for a long time. I always wanted to write a fan fiction. But never thought I could. This is my small experiment to see if I can. I have after all been reading well written fan fiction that is written better than so many books for close to a year now or even longer.

I decided to take the plunge after the Rob Pattinson paparazzi incident in Malibu. Though I will sometimes use real names of actors this is the product of my own fevered imagination.

Disclaimer: The characters of Twilight are owned by Stephenie Meyer. I am just borrowing them.

The Paparazzo who loved me

Prologue

The noise. It is the first thing you hear. Like the distant roar of a churning ocean.

And then there are the waves. Oh yes, there are waves. Of energy. Unseen, but their presence is felt. Of Expectations. Questions.

As I sit behind the darkened glass of the limo and patiently await my turn to walk down the red carpet, I wonder. Is this what I signed up for ?

I always wanted to be an actor. Ever since I can remember, I have never been comfortable in my own skin, but put me on stage or screen to play someone else and I transform. I become someone else. Easily. But I never find it quite so easy to slip into being me again.

Now here I am at only 25, living my dream. Who am I ? A Hollywood prince, fantasy of millions, unwitting benefactor of tabloid magazines and gossip sites, unwilling employer of paparazzi.

Fame. It is a double edged sword. One day I was struggling to pay my bills, the next I am buying my Veyron. I will let you figure out which day is the one I prefer.

But does that mean I also must give up things I like and once took for granted ? The simple joy of a morning jog. Head down, Headphones on. Just the sidewalk and me. In the morning sun. Alone. Bike rides.

The company of people, mostly strangers, a glass of wine or beer in a neighborhood bar, listening to musicians some bad, some good, all starting out. Grocery shopping. Just driving with the window down , rock and roll blasting. And singing loudly and badly if I want to.

People have said I have the freedom to do the same now and what is different. Well, I would like to do it without strange people following me around while I drive, shop, run. Thankyouverymuch.

Is it so shocking to want to keep a part of myself private ? People know my height, my hair and eye color, the names of my family, friends, siblings, exes, pets, where and what I studied, my favorite color, books, movies, whether I am in LA or location shooting. Hell they even know my play list.

I've even answered the infamous 'Boxers or Briefs' question. Some even stare at my crotch in red carpet pictures trying to measure my state of arousal.

Pictures of my face stare at me wherever I go. It is surreal to watch a life size cardboard figure of my likeness stare back at me.

I will never be prepared to watch people burst into tears at the sight of me, hug me until I can barely breathe, tell me how much I have influenced their lives, ask to touch my hair, hold out their hand to touch a part of me as I walk by. Look at me in anticipation and hyperventilate when I smile absently in their direction.

I never asked for this, I only asked to be a working actor. The money, cars, houses, travel are all nice. But can I also have my privacy back ?

People say this a part of my job. Of being an actor. That this is the price of fame today. Well fuck me sideways, for I must have missed the fine print when I signed up for being one.

I do not go to restaurants where the papps congregate. Fame whores do that. Any drinking and smoking of illegal substances I do at home. I have tried to keep my dating life private. But yet people are hungry for more. I do not understand the fascination.

I have tried complaining. To my manager, to my agent, in interviews, to the god damn papps themselves. And I am labeled 'ungrateful'. And repeatedly told 'there are a hundred thousand people waiting tables who will be willing to play the game'. And would exchange places with me.

So I am generally pictured in a snarly, grumpy mood. And if I am pushed, I may even show the middle finger salute.

The limo has pulled up to the red carpet. I must put 'my game face on' as they say. I wish I had taken a full valium instead of a half one.

The door opens, I step out. The Noise. It's deafening. But I pretend the noise is the distant roar of the ocean. And take calming breaths. Run a hand through my sex hair *insert eye roll* (which of course the world already knows I am doing because I am nervous)

I pose, walk, turn, smile, answer questions, slip my arm around my co-star. My pretty, female, married co-star.

The night lights up with a million flashlights. And the pictures immortalized. Blasted around the world. For billions of eye balls to gawk at, analyze, admire, tweet, face book, ponder, fantasize.

And at last it is over. Now where is that fucking drink ?

The name is Edward Cullen. Actor. This is my life. The life I never signed up for and that came with the job I always wanted.