Their Dichotomy

They confused, frustrated and pulled each other in. With literature, music, and a common brilliance to bridge them together, both students learn how to save each other from self-destruction, slowly allowing themselves to accept loss, fall in love, and learn to live.

Chapter 1: Bohemian Rhapsody

Mama, just killed a man, put a gun against his head
Pulled my trigger, now he's dead
Mama, life had just begun
But now I've gone and thrown it all away
Mama, didn't mean to make you cry
If I'm not back again this time tomorrow
Carry on, carry on, as if nothing really matters

-Bohemian Rhapsody, Queen

His pen scribbled away at the paper furiously. His strokes were long and hard, but at the same time remained smooth and sophisticated. At the tender age of ten years old, he already exemplified the perfect type of dichotomy. His parents should've known how special their son was. They should've known.

The elegant words rolled out of his nimble fingers like paint from Picasso- not like soft Poetry from a ten year old boy. His father, Edward Sr, had encouraged his writing, gave him pens, prompts and paper. But his mother, Elizabeth, was a completely different story, of a different genre, printed in a different time.

"My goodness, Edward!" She would exclaim, dramatically throwing a hand across her faint heart, "Enough writing! Go learn a new song on the Piano!"

She had thrust a rosary at him one too many times, urged him to pray and seek God's forgiveness. For what, he never truly knew, but he was too respectful to ask his mother. Heaven forbid she ask him to add that to his unending (albeit invisible) list of sins. Elizabeth Masen was convinced that his son's soul was consumed by demons- that the material he read and wrote reflected the workings of Satan. She was convinced that the fluidity of his metaphors was a gift from the fallen angel, and she never truly understood why his first born was so hell-bent (forgive the pun) on reading and writing such morbid and morose material. His father would grin at him in pride; he knew he had a prodigy, but his mother would scowl gently, hoping for a musical genius instead. In music, there was no wrong. For words were unneeded in music, the tune and pace told the story. Thereby, her son would never be able to be vulgar. Words however, are stronger and need tangibility to portray their message. For this, Elizabeth believed that for his writing to be of any decency, well, he might as well write about daisies and dandelions. His father had scoffed at this absurdity.

He would offer up all the five mysteries to the Holy Mother and watch his mother walk away with a satisfied smile, gently playing with the large pearls on her neck, telling him what a good son he was.

"Son?" Edward looked up from his untouched lasagne and stared at his adoptive parents. He shook his head clear of his thoughts and tried to pay focus on the dinner they were having. Carlisle. Esme. This is where he belonged now, this was home. He would revisit the demons of his past later, he always did. In fact, even if he tried not to, they called to him to visit them anyway.

I remember that day you kissed my cheeks

You opened my window to fly

I think you fancy the sky mom

Just wish you had said goodbye

His fingers lightly traced at the words. His writing then had been just as neat as his writing now. He stared at the words, waiting for tears to engulf him for the night. He could never sleep unless he was physically exhausted from crying. He waited. He waited. He waited. The tears never came, but at the same time, neither did his sleep. He tried to remember a different memory. He thought of the pretty girl he left behind. They had built a swing together, using their uncles' old car tyres and her brother's ropes. They had a swing, a sanctuary. He thought she would always be safe with him. He loved her very much. With the golden crown of hair she had, she looked just like an angel. She always had matching dresses and shoes, and the biggest ribbons on her hair, and her voice was magnificent. She was the sole reason why he ever tolerated the piano. Edward loathed music lessons. He had a mean teacher who would hit his fingers if he missed a note. But for her, he tried. He would play a song and she would sing. They were remarkable together.

He tried to remember the tingling chimes of her laughter, the sunshine shade of her hair, he tried to remember her. Finally, the tears came.

His heaving body slouched down on his journal, and the action caused a few drops of coffee to drop on the page. At night, he wished more than anything to be back in Chicago, playing the piano for his mother, reading Tin Tin comics with his father, or picking flowers for his pretty neighbour. He felt homesick, but he would remind himself that those images were no longer there. There was no other home to go back to, none other than the one he currently had.

He fell asleep on his desk, his slumber turning out to be peaceful, just like the smile of his blonde angel.

You tied ribbons on your hair

You tied them on your neck

You never came back down

Your chair was a wreck

You promised you'd hang out with me too

He kissed his adoptive parents goodbye and drove with his adoptive sister to school. She kissed him, just like she always did and bounced away dripping in gold. If there was anything certain about Alice Cullen, it was that she always dripped in molten gold. She was created with sugar, spice and everything nice. That girl positively painted the asphalt in fucking pink. She was a force to be reckoned with, and her glowing personality, instead of pushing Edward's further into the shadows, gave him a small aura of shine, too. If anything, she was a fairy princess who sprinkled her magic dust upon everything she looked at. She was a fucking Tinkerbelle.

Alice was a wonderful sister. Being his biological cousin and adoptive sister, he loved her more than any other girl in the world- even more than sunshine hair. Just as he was about to leave his car, she halted her dance of a step and turned to face him, a couple of meters away.

"Hey Edward! Will you please tell Jasper to make a move on me this year?!" She blew him a kiss and ran away, locking arms with Rosalie Hale. Edward shook his head, slowly laughing. His Alice had been in love with his best friend for the longest time, and he could swear, she had more balls than the asshole he called his buddy. Like hell he will, anyway. He would be damned before any motherfucker laid a single finger on his beloved Alice. Like hell.

Shortly after, Jasper stood up next to him, offering him a smoke with a giant grin. "I take it, she likes me?" Edward rolled his eyes and lit up the cigarette, silently contemplating whether or not he should burn Jasper's pretty face with it. He shook his head and decided against it. Well, it was their senior year, after all.

"Go for her." Edward murmured and Jasper arched an eyebrow at him in all seriousness. Edward replied with a shrug and Jasper dipped his head once, in a slight bow. Just like that, the approval had been given and the friendship of both boys remained just as simple as ever.

Edward was so caught up in his thoughts- as usual- that he failed to notice the girl walking towards him. With a soft 'oof' and a soft thud, they collided. A gentle impact of curves and muscles, accented with books all over the place. He grabbed as much of it as he could and gave them to the brunette in front of him. She mumbled awkward apologies and stuttered out excuses. He gave a curt reply and walked away. He was never fond of talking with people, and he wasn't about to start talking to someone over a mere accident. Yet, he couldn't help but wonder who she was.

Forks was a small town, and it was true that he hadn't been around his whole life unlike some of these kids, but he had been around long enough. He was sure he would remember such a pretty face. No. Her face didn't ring any bells. Perhaps she was new- but new in the last year of High School? How unlikely. Surely his sister would know her, but asking Alice would be feeding himself to the wolves. Alice would have a field day. God knows that girl didn't need any more reasons to be excited. She was happy enough as it is.

"Ma," Esme sharply turned towards her son.

He never called her anything except for Esme. Let alone something remotely closed to 'Mom'. 'Ma' was fantastic. Tears threatened to fall from her eyes and he began to question his own sanity in asking Esme. Maybe she would end up being worse than Alice... After all, Alice was related to Esme by blood... Maybe Alice got her energy from Esme... Holy...

"Yes, son?"

He almost laughed in relief and pressed on with his question. "Has anyone moved to town lately? A new family perhaps?"

Esme thought about it for a while. Surely she would know? Yet she did not. "Not that I know of, Edward. Why, dear?"

"It's just that I saw someone unfamiliar today in school, and I was wondering if we had any additions to our malnourished population."

He felt foreign, speaking so much about a topic he didn't exactly care about. To avoid conversing further, he kissed Esme on the cheek and hurriedly rushed back into his room.

Meanwhile, Esme was still flabbergasted at her eighteen year old son's casual use of 'malnourished population' and kiss on the cheek. Oh, she was having a field day. First he calls her 'Ma' and then he kisses her cheeks! Why, she must tell Carlisle immediately! She dialled her husband's number, wishing that he wasn't busy right now, for she was as ecstatic as a mother hearing her newborn say his first word. Esme could almost cry.

Edward opened his leather bound journal to a fresh page and wrote an entry on a different topic.

His topics solely revolved around his life pre-Forks, and for once he was about to write something else. He felt alien and different and so damn energetic. The words flew from his fingertips effortlessly. "Vanilla," he began writing...

The innocence of the scent knocked me off my feet

Concurrently floating and drowning

You look like coffee and chocolate

Smell like vanilla and feel like sin

You're innocence, don't tempt me in

Just like every night, he fell asleep on his study desk, his head resting on his journal. Except this time, he dreamt of a girl with the golden locks, and instead of the usual sky-blue eyes, little miss sunshine had brown orbs.