God Forgive Me
Do you ever feel so disgusted with yourself that you almost can't stand it? Have you ever been drowning in an ocean so deep and dark that you know you'll never make it to the surface? Have you ever become so familiar with despair that you welcome it like an old friend or a worn-in blanket? I have. My name is Bella Swan and I'm killing myself, one day at a time.
I haven't always been this fucked up. I had a normal childhood, a decent family… someone else's version of a perfect life. No, I'm no victim of circumstances. I can't blame it on my upbringing, or the media, or even supernatural creatures. This is all my own doing—the pathetic result of expecting love to last forever.
Perhaps my worst decision was ever speaking to Edward Cullen in the first place. But, god, he was so beautiful, and I was so naïve. Even now, knowing how it all turned out, I don't think I could stop myself from gravitating to him and making the same mistake all over again if given the opportunity. That's a moot point though, because this is no fucking fairytale, and I'll never see my tragic prince again.
As I sit in the bottom of the shower, my hot tears mix with the warm water before rolling off my heated face and sliding down the drain. My tears, of course, are useless… they won't change anything. I can feel the cool ceramic of the tub against my tailbone. At this point, even sitting is uncomfortable because my body is just skin stretched over bone. I have found my own brand of medication through careful self-destruction, but I'm too cowardly to just end my life. Instead, I watch myself slowly disappear from the inside out. It's surprisingly gratifying.
Sometimes I can hardly believe that I actually let myself fall in love with him. How could I have been so stupid? Everyone's heard the old adage, 'If it seems too good to be true, then it probably is'. It was just too fucking good to be true, and I think that on some level I knew it all along. I mean, it never made sense that he should pay attention to me, anyway. "What on earth could he possibly be doing with someone like Isabella?" Even as I cringed at the whispered words of others, I found myself agreeing with them. What could he possibly have been doing with me—the gorgeous, brilliant, immortal Edward Cullen with mousy, awkward Bella?
Distracting himself, apparently. Distraction… I've learned to loathe the word that has somehow become the singular descriptor of my entire existence. That's all I was to him—a plaything with which to amuse himself—a distraction from the doldrums of immortality. He only confirmed what I have often suspected, that in the eternal scheme of things I am worth nothing. Damn, it hurts so, so badly just to think about him… a burning pang of loss rips through my gut and I dry heave over the ceramic floor.
Climbing out of the shower, I collect the clumps of long, dark hair from the drain then towel myself off. I drop the towel and step onto the scale, confirming what I already knew with a terrifying sense of satisfaction. The number is a little lower… it gets a little lower every day. Every day I get one step closer to finally disappearing for good. It will be as if I never existed. I pull my jeans on over my tiny thighs and sharp hipbones without even needing to unbutton them first. Before I go to class, I'll have to find a belt to keep my pants from falling off.
Inadvertently, I let my thoughts wander for just a moment. Instantly, Edward is there, haunting me from behind my eyelids. His perfect face is starting to fade in my flawed human memory, but I'll never forget the dead look in his cold green eyes when he said he was leaving me. The image seared into my brain is too much for me to handle.
"I was never good enough!" I scream in agony, collapsing to the floor in a small, angular pile. "How did I ever expect to be enough to keep him here?"
My wailed questions are pointless. Maybe he actually loved me at some point, but his love must have been as shallow as it was short-lived. Again, I have only myself to blame… I knew he was an excellent liar. But, I bought into the lie so thoroughly! Pathetically, I entertained notions of becoming a vampire myself, and Edward's mate. It seems so ridiculous now to have actually believed that he would choose to keep me forever. I gingerly push my slight body up from the floor, somehow collecting myself enough to continue getting ready for class.
Following my usual routine, I step up to the mirror and put a few touches of makeup on my gaunt face. I notice that my cheekbones are even more prominent, and the area around my eyes is hollowing out. I ignore the disturbing fact that I'm starting to more closely resemble a skeleton every day. My classmates suspect that I have cancer or AIDS; I hear them whispering sometimes, but I pretend not to notice.
A while ago, I finally admitted to myself that I never actually intended to live past the age of 18. I didn't even make plans for college or try to find a job… Maybe I'll declare some bullshit major at the local college, but I have no intention of seeing it through. I planned my whole fucking life around Edward Cullen, but worse, I gave him my entire heart and soul, keeping nothing for myself. How can I have ambitions or make plans when my heart is broken and my soul is dead? And I'm so tired.
He toyed with me – my love, my life – like a cat toys with a mouse. The cat chases the mouse, bats it around, traps it with a paw, then releases it just to chase it again. For a period of time, the mouse holds the cat's complete and undivided attention, but inevitably the cat will tire of its game and either eat the mouse or stalk away in search of other distractions. So what will happen to the brown-eyed mouse, left weakened and bleeding from the feline's misguided affections?
If the mouse is lucky, some other cat will come along and finish it off, putting it out of its misery.
Of course, I have found no such predator to finish me off. In fact, sometimes I wonder if the very existence of vampires is all a part of some elaborate, supernatural dream. But it seems as though this life has degenerated into a waking nightmare, and the only sort of solace I have found is within myself.
If I can control nothing else in this infernal universe, I can surely control one thing: my own body. As a matter of fact, my control is so complete that I can deny my body's most basic urges for nutrition and self-preservation. I think that maybe by this point I've starved the parts of my brain responsible for those urges. It's pretty fucking sick, but I feel better, knowing that even if I can control nothing else, I can determine my own destiny. I've never actually had fantasies of dying – I simply want to disappear, as if I never existed in the first place.
Some people say that the higher you get, the harder you'll fall, and I believe that to be true. I fell from the highest place—eternal love and completion—and landed in total misery.
With some effort, I tug my book bag over my bony shoulder and start my walk to class. By now, my body is using fuel so efficiently that I can operate on around 250 calories a day. Unable to override my brain's conscious decision not to eat, my systems go into a sort of metabolic survival mode. Of course, besides the obvious side effects, I am constantly cold and I'm unable to sleep for more than 3 or 4 hours at night. And then there's the hair loss… but I've been managing fairly well so far.
Unfortunately, the human body can only do so much to compensate for starvation, and when I'm halfway to class I realize that mine may have just reached its limit. I continue walking, but it feels as though my heart can't keep up. I stop and lean over a bench, struggling to catch my breath, and as I feel the odd sensation of my heart skipping a beat, I begin to panic. My heart continues to drum a slow, irregular rhythm as I sink to the bench, terrified of what's about to happen. I'm cognizant enough to recognize that this is the end and my heart is giving out.
The experience of dying is not what I expected—my life isn't flashing before my eyes, and my death is neither romantic nor poetic. Instead, it feels quick, lonely, and sort of pitiful. I recognize that the world will continue to spin without me, and no one will even care that I'm gone. As my heart seizes in my ribcage, I press a hand to my chest and squeeze my eyes shut at the awful sensation of tightness.
This life was never a fairytale, and I knew I'd never get my happy ending, but some part of me hoped that somehow Edward would be here for my final breath, if only to say goodbye. But I realize that he isn't going to show up—he must never have loved me at all. Perhaps fittingly, acute despair is the last sensation I remember as I descend into blackness.
"Oh Bella, what have I done?" a velvet voice whispers as a pair of strong, pale arms lift and cradle the lifeless form. "God forgive me," he pleads before effortlessly sinking his teeth into the taut skin of her throat.