"I lose two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
Some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster."
One Art by Elizabeth Bishop
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As I gaze at the dark waves crashing against the cliffside—ocean mist caresses my face with gentle kisses—I can't help but recall a discussion at school that took place several weeks prior. We had gathered in the gymnasium, the foul stench of sweat spilling into the wide expanse of open space; ahead of me Jessica and Lauren were giggling while eyeballing an ever oblivious Mike Newton. After we had all settled onto the floor, legs crossed and shoulders slouched, the school's counsellors had promptly entered into a morbid yet dull conversation about depression, suicide, and self-harm.
"Why do people cut themselves?" a freshman girl seated beside me had abruptly asked, her high-pitched voice carrying across the room.
"They're, ah, trying to distract themselves from the pain they feel on the inside," Mrs. Goldstein had responded, her face flushed red. Clearly she hadn't expected inquires on the nature of mental illness. "When somebody is hurting on the inside, they may try to hurt themselves on the outside to make the internal pain go away. Temporarily, at least."
And now, while I prepare to step forward into the icy stretch of ocean, I can't help but reflect inward about the subject of self-inflicted pain.
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For what seems like hours I refuse to move. My eyes remain trained on the waves and their rhythmic dance against the rocky terrain.
Just jump, you idiot. It'll be… fun.
Fun? Doubtful.
However, I can feel my heartbeat everywhere; it rumbles in my ears and bobs in my throat and sends ripples of heat vibrating through my veins. I clench and unclench my fists as the adrenaline spreads like wildfire throughout my body.
Jump! Jacob said it's fun!
God, I miss Jacob. Why has he abandoned me?
"Isabella Swan," a soft voice whispers.
I whip around in a second, nearly losing my footing in the process. Behind me the trees are still and the forest is quiet, and yet the hairs on the back of my arm rise.
"Don't be afraid," the voice sneers, and suddenly a woman stands in front of me. Her fiery orange curls and ruby red eyes are enough to jog my memories.
Feeling as if I cannot breathe, I struggle with my words. "You're… Victoria."
"Yes." She tilts her head and smiles thinly at me. The expression on her face reminds of me of a cat as its toys with its food; the playfulness of its movements and the wild look in its eyes. "I've been meaning to find you."
Get out of there. Now.
Edward's voice is harsh and loud in my head.
"Why?" I swallow hard, and Victoria giggles. It's a surprisingly terrifying sound coming from such a dainty, soft-looking woman.
She's a vampire. She's dangerous. You need to run.
"I need something," she replies in a matter-of-fact tone. Gently she rests her hand on my shoulder and I flinch from her touch, but I do not move an inch. In fact, I cannot move. One step backward and I'll tumble dangerously into the water. "You're going to give it to me."
"W-What do you mean?"
If I try to jump, she may break my shoulder. And even if I manage to break loose from her grasp, she'll be a superior swimmer. Would she drown me? And that's if I survive the fall; I may strike the cliffside if I jump without looking or angling myself.
She opens her mouth to reply but quickly purses her lips, and in a fraction of a second I'm suddenly encased in her iron grip. Now entirely facing the forest, her left arm coiled around my stomach and waist and her right hand curled around my neck, I stare in wide-eyed terror as a large, frightening wolf emerges from the row of trees.
The wolf is ebony black and easily bigger than a horse. Its eyes, which are as gold as a full moon, stare furiously in my direction.
Soon more wolves emerge, their teeth glittering with thick saliva as they snarl and gaze upon me and Victoria. Sheer terror seizes me as the small light of hope within me dwindles and burns out. Even if I escape from Victoria, who's to say I won't end up as dog food?
"Stay back," Victoria hisses through clenched teeth, and I feel her index finger press against my throat. "Or I'll rip her head off."
Before I can process why she's speaking to these gigantic creatures, one of the wolves—with a dark reddish-brown coat—takes two bold steps forward, its growl penetrating the air and rising above its pack's growls.
"Wrong move," Victoria whispers, and suddenly air rushes against me. I try to scream, but instead darkness closes around me and I am no more.
Note: I do not own the Twilight series.