And that which I did press to love

I learn to hate, despise

When echoed in the prisms

Of your frozen topaz eyes

Emptiness...The word bears no meaning until it happens; the inevitable death that all of us face. The insubstantial but inexorable void which turns and spins and hisses like a vacuum, slowly drawing you in deeper until your lungs collapse under the pressure.

I have experienced emptiness, an emptiness so complete that I hardly survived. I was a shell, a mottled dehydrated carapace of some colorful beetle scuttling off into the sun. But I did not remain that way. Never! I felt life, love even. There were stars in the night my life had become, small points of light and reason. But I never saw the sun... not even after the last of many deaths...

Now, as I lay dying, in the very place where I first truly experienced love, I can only remember how it started, where my story ends and yours begins:

That day was the first in many deaths.

And now when I think about it, it did feel like drowning. I remember not being able to breath for fear of living, for fear of realizing the truth in the words shrouded in the velvet of his perfect voice and trickling out of his mouth like little drops of liquid gold.

Every word was a tidal wave of pain, cresting and breaking over my injured heart. He was so cool as he said it, so unaffected as if he did not realize the agony each syllable he pronounced caused me. And when he left I felt nothing. Not the frozen rain on my skin, not the mud squelching beneath my feet, not even the feeble reverberations of my heart pointlessly thumping against its cage.

I wanted to hate him, to loathe him for what he had stolen from me. I willed myself to tear at his marble chest, to slap his porcelain face; but I could not bring myself to do it. I loved him so completely... he was too perfect. His eyes of topaz with the shadows of mahogany fires smoldering in their warm depths. His beautifully untidy shock of auburn hair swept to in fro in the dusky wind. His face, that of a demi-god of greek fable, or a mythical hero; only more gorgeous because he was real and he was mine. I wanted so badly to hate him, but it was impossible.

For the best part of me, my heart, the part that hates and loves and feels, the part that belonged to him, had died and faded away into the reflection of the moon in the rain drops speckling upon his perfect porcelain skin.

--

I suppose you could call it living. I ate, I slept, I combed my hair. If I was asked a question I would answer, but I didn't feel. It's hard to describe it to tell you the truth. I guess it's kind of like that feeling you get when you've been out it the cold for too long. Your hands are so cold that they're numb, but underneath the numbness there's this pulsing heat, burning, and it hurts like hell but at the same time you can't really feel it because you're so numb. When you try to warm it up it burns even more, unless of course you have frostbite (in which case your hands will simply be amputated)

I guess you could say I was in the amputee stage. I was numb for so long that I had forgotten how to feel. I had simply cut out and discarded the part of me that had grown numb, which was most of me.

I tried my best to keep up appearances for Charlie so that he wouldn't worry. Even though my life had been destroyed he didn't deserve to suffer. His dinner was never gourmet, but it made it to the table every night tasting decent. My school work got done. It was never stellar, never inspired, but it was enough to keep me up to a B+ average, pretty good for someone without a heart I would say.

Despite my proficiency in school, my instructors had noticed a difference in me. They often tried to put me in groups with more talkative kids to try and make me interact with others. Sometimes they asked me whether I'd like to see the guidance counselor. Neither of these plans really worked. My Forks friends had long since accepted my sudden semi-comatose approach to life and had given up trying to cheer me up.

On the other hand, I actually enjoyed guidance counselor meetings. Our guidance counselor was a women named Jan White. She was considered sophisticated by the easily impressed small-town standards of Forks, having attended college in New England and lived a year in France. She had a kind of generic patrician beauty to her that comes from years of careful breeding and Madame LeBouf's charm school; with impeccably groomed blond hair and fair skin. She always wore pearls around her neck and a plastic smile on her face revealing her 500 veneers.

The meetings normally followed the same pattern. Ms. White would come and get me during Science or English Lit. or some other class and take me to her office. She would attempt to make small-talk along the way, which I would ignore, and soon her superfluous chitchat would melt into the sound of my sneakers softly padding against the damp tile floor and the clack-clack-clack of her heels along side me.

When we get to her office she closes the door and puts on her glasses. She sits behind her desk and gets out a paper and pen which, I assume, she will use to take notes on our "conversation". She smiles beatifically and motions for me to sit across from her in a small navy blue plastic chair.

She interrogates me. Since I don't really listen to what she says, I have a running game going on where I try to say yes and no at appropriate times in the conversation as many times as I can before she notices my lack of attention. My record is 12 times.

Pretty soon she gives up and tells me to go back to class; her head held in her hands in exasperation and annoyance.

I assumed that nothing would ever happen at these meetings, to me they were just an excuse to get out of class. Little did I know that my next meeting with Ms. White would change my life forever... and it would all start with two little words:

Ben Nevis

--

Thanks for reading! This chapter is a bit slow because I'm introducing the circumstances and stuff... But I promise it'll get exciting FAST! I've got lost of new awesome characters and plot twists lined up as long as I get a good response. Remember we write for you to read so rate and appreciate. Constructive criticism is much obliged but bear in mind that this is my first ever fanfic...hopefully not my last!

xox

Elle