Full Summary: When Bella Swan moved to Forks for work experience at a local mental care 'Home', the last thing she expected was to have feelings for the murderous Edward Cullen. Especially when her boyfriend, Jacob Black, wants to ask her a special question...
Edward Cullen had always had problems. Unable to resist the urge to kill others, and incapable of shunning the monster inside his head, he gets rejected by his foster father, proof that he was never really loved. Then, five years later, he meets a woman who could change everything...
Story Notes: This story has dark themes. Please do not read if you are sensitive to murder, extreme violence, sexual content. My mind is weird.
I own nothing except the words on the page, Meyer owns all (lucky so-and-so...)
Rated for the language, extreme violence and sexual content. All human.
I would appreciate any feedback and comments as this is my first try at a fanfic. I'm not even sure anyone would read this, because of the themes and such. But if you don't like, tell me why. I'd be glad to know. Also waiting for Twilighted to validate.
"Goodbye, Edward."
EPOV
I lay in the soft bed, turning restlessly under the sheets. I had woken up about an hour ago, and could not get back to sleep. I turned to look at the time on clock on the bedside table. Three in the morning. Sighing, I sat up, but as soon as I did, a surge of energy hit my lower abdomen. It took a while for my mind to acknowledge what my body really wanted.
Damnit, it was time.
I jumped out of bed, and took a long hot shower. Stalling. After drying myself, I dressed in a fresh crisp white shirt and some faded gray jeans. My hair looked a bronze mess, but then again, it always did. I walked over to the large sliding door, feeling the slight draught as I opened the door and stepped outside.
I jumped from the first floor motel balcony, the adrenaline rushing through my veins. This was most convenient time of night, when everybody was asleep, unable to defend themselves. It was when I could do the most damage, and attract the least attention simultaneously.
It was when I could kill.
I landed on my feet, into a neat crouch. I rose slowly, purposefully, and walked along the street. The monster inside of me was stirring, not fully awake yet. I could still hear my rational Voice ranting in the deep depths of my mind. Go back, he warned sternly. You vowed yesterday would be the last time.
I reached a small corner shop and entered gracefully. There was only one person inside apart from the cashier, who was sleeping on the job. It was a young woman with unprofessionally dyed blonde hair. She was maybe seventeen, like me, but she dressed considerably older, with large gold hoops in her ears and bright red platform heels to go with her black leather miniskirt. She was smacking gum loudly and reeked of smoke, even from across the store.
I walked gracefully towards her, standing close behind her as she looked at some cigarette packets. She was unaware of my presence, and I smiled. That was the way I liked it. I imagined silently wrapping my hand around her mouth, using a chloroform soaked handkerchief to slowly sedate her. I would carry her outside, then switch to a different handkerchief; one doused with hydrogen cyanide. If I measured the dose correctly, she would die slowly in about a minute. Slow enough for me to get my kicks, but quick enough that she would not suffer endlessly. My smile widened at my fantasy.
Don't even consider it.
My smile fell. It was so uncanny that the Voice of reason in my mind resembled the voice of my foster father, Carlisle. He was the general 'good guy'; the perfect father to me and perfect husband to Esme, my foster mother. He did all the right things, from working fourteen hours a day at the local hospital at reduced wages, to fostering a delusional seventeen year old that the state had given up on. I respected Carlisle, in a way. He stood for what was right, and had the most calming aura I had ever felt. He knew just how to calm me after I returned home at five in the morning. I would be a wreck without him, or at least more than the wreck I already was.
Stop. For Carlisle.
I almost chuckled, but stopped myself before I could give my position away to the girl. The Voice never learned. Carlisle's name had never tamed the monster inside me. It only made him stronger, made him angry. Why was Carlisle so good? He made me feel evil. His compassion and resolve made my willpower look weak in comparison. Yes, I succumbed to temptation every time, but the temptation was so strong. What was the worst temptation Carlisle had faced? Should he take a few acetamenaphin tablets from the hospital's pharmacy to replenish his supplies at home? Would it be all right if he left work an hour early because he was tired? Would a placebo cure a patient's condition better than the real medication?
Carlisle doesn't know the meaning of temptation.
That wasn't the Voice. That was the monster. He had woken completely and was now taking the reins inside my mind. It was almost as if I had woken him myself, with all my thoughts about him and the Voice nagging about my lack of conscience. I took a step back from the girl.
Let's lead her on.
There was no other way to get what I wanted from her. I had not prepared for killing tonight, as my foster parents and I were passing through an unfamiliar town on the way to one of Carlisle's medical conventions. If I had known my . . . my thirst would have been this much, I would have brought drugs with me, to make my victim's death less painful.
But, we are doing things my way.
He was right. I had no choice but to do as he wanted. The girl would die, and she would know what was coming to her. That was the way he liked it. He lived for the fear, the anticipation, the tears, the struggling. And he knew that what he enjoyed, I enjoyed. The bastard.
The girl was probably stoned. She hadn't moved for the duration of my mental debate. It was late, though. Or should I say early, at three forty-five in the morning. She had been fingering the same packet of cigarettes for the last three or four minutes. I knew at any moment she would have to get home to sleep. I couldn't let her disappear. She was mine. The monster chuckled.
Yes. Acknowledge that we are one. I am you, and you me.
I couldn't deny it.
I let him take over, even though I really was still myself. I could stop at any time, but chose not to. I was the monster; I was the sadist.
I took a loud and deliberate step towards the girl again. Somehow I could tell she was daydreaming about sex. And in order to get what I wanted, I would have to offer her what she needed. I let my hips meet her ass cheeks, and ground into her once. My hands hooked round her arms, and groped her breasts. Her breath hitched, her head turned and her muddy brown eyes met mine.
"What's your name, baby?" I growled.
"L-Lauren," she whimpered, trembling at my proximity. I licked my lips. Would she tremble this much as she took her penultimate breath? I allowed my breath to flood her face. I knew I smelled good. I was not a slob. I looked into her eyes intensely. She exhaled into my face. Vodka. I released her, turning her round so she could see my face properly.
She gasped. I lifted my index finger to her thin lips. I parted them slightly, and obediently she took my finger into her mouth, sucking on my digit sloppily. I faked a moan. "I'd like to see what else you can do with that pretty little mouth of yours," I grunted huskily. Without further instruction, I turned and briskly walked out of the shop. I knew by her expressions that she would follow.
After walking a few yards on the street outside, I could hear hurried and disorganized footsteps following after me. I turned right, to a side road which hopefully led to a park, or some other area that would be deserted at this time of night. As I walked, one blinking lamppost showed where I was headed.
How ironic. A dead end.
I let out a brief laugh. It came out harsh. I didn't care, though. The clicking of Lauren's heels became louder and louder, until the harlot was staring up at me. I rejoiced inwardly. I was soon to be satisfied. The anticipation was overwhelming. I was almost shuddering.
"Down," I growled. She complied, eager to please me. And she would please me. I saw her grimace as, in her rush, she grazed her knees on the sharp gravel. Her face was so beautiful to me, wincing in pain. Her hands fidgeted to undo my belt, to unzip my jeans. She was disoriented, panicking when she couldn't undo the button. I watched her in frustration. I couldn't wait any longer. I had been waiting for what seemed like an eternity. It had in fact been only yesterday since I had last killed. But I was getting greedy.
Gluttony was a bitch.
"Look at me, baby," I crooned. My voice was thick with lust. I used my hand to stroke her chin. I caressed her jaw, and then moved to her collarbone.
"Do you want to please me?" I asked. She nodded, with almost enough vigor to make her head fly off her neck. I had no objections to that situation. I walked behind her putting my legs on the outside of her own. I kneeled, so that her back was to my chest. She misinterpreted the action, pulling her skirt up to reveal her bare ass to me.
"No, no, no, baby," I said softly, pulling her skirt back down. I reached above her shoulder and wrapped my right hand around her neck. I pulled her closer to me with my left hand, and then fished under her shirt to find where her heart was. She moaned, thinking I was fondling her breast. I took a much needed deep breath. I was moaning at her ignorance. But the monster that was me wanted more; he wanted her fear, her protest.
"I want your final breath. Whether you offer it to me or not, I will take it from you," I said, giddied by the prospect of a struggle. I was prepared, all ready for my release. My chest would feel when she stopped breathing. My right hand would control her death, allowing me to draw it out. My left hand would feel when it was done, when my gratification would start its progression into guilt.
"You fucking freak! Let me go!" Her screams echoed around the small cave area and bounced off the dumpster. I groaned. It felt wonderful, orgasmic even, as she struggled.
"Please! I'm begging you, please! Don't kill me! I'll do anything!" She had resorted to begging now, after she realized that my grip was iron wrought. I indulged, listening to her futile sobs until the monster grew restless. It had to happen now. I didn't care that the Voice had almost disappeared. Don't, it begged, with about the same amount of jurisdiction as a field mouse.
I laughed, and squeezed my right hand.
My eyes rolled back in ecstasy as she flat lined.
...
I held her body for about a quarter of an hour. It was like holding her limp form added more satisfaction, letting me wallow in her death. I didn't feel guilt, not yet anyway.
Pleasure without remorse. Score.
I closed my eyes, replaying her death in my head.
After a while, bright lights danced under my eyelids. My eyes snapped open; I looked in the direction of the light.
One police car, two officers with flashlights coming my way. I hissed, my eyes darting left and right. I snarled at the approaching officers, warning them.
A camera flashed. They were close enough to document my position, presumably for a file or record. One of my hands hand was still around her neck, the other at her still heart.
"He's wild," one of the officers stated. I knelt rigid, ready to pounce at any moment. Saliva built up in my mouth. I swallowed it back down. I growled this time, changing the tone from warning to threatening.
The other cop walked towards me, trying to pry me from my prey. I took my cue and pounced, springing backwards and pinning him down, sitting on his thin torso and clasping my hands around his neck. I squeezed tightly with all my might. His groans of pain caused vibrations to course up my arms and chest.
This action gave me pleasure as killing usually did. But, I loosened my grip, because my mind was whirling. It was as if even through this madness, rooted deep within me were morals. This was a police officer. The monster urged me to continue killing him, but I resisted.
Respect higher authorities.
There it was, the Voice, back with a vengeance. I had brought him back, in my moment of self-doubt. The monster, startled at the return of the Voice, argued.
He is mine. We are one.
No.
Yes.
No.
Why does he enjoy taking lives? If he is so good, why does he delight in having an innocent die at his hands?
He doesn't enjoy it. You do. You are controlling his senses, so that your pleasure is his.
I listened to the Voice. He seemed to be making more and more sense to me. I was also beginning to feel guilt again, for ending Lauren's life. And the many before her. The monster grew agitated at the Voice.
Lies! His body takes pleasure from death. I am simply the one who knows his deepest fantasies, and how to bring them to pass.
You are not Edward. Edward is Edward. You will be destroyed when he realises that you are not what he wants to be. Then you will be sent to hell where you belo-
Enough!
The monster's snarl was loud in my mind, like standing next to amplifiers in a rock concert. I clutched my head, squeezing to make the pain stop. It didn't. The monster disliked losing arguments; he disliked how the Voice was actually winning me over.
I let out a confused cry. One at a time, when either the monster or the Voice spoke, it was painful. Having them argue in my mind was agonizing. A stab of pain sliced through the skin of my nape. I rolled off of the copper, who was hyperventilating. The monster stared longingly at his vulnerable state, wishing to pounce, but I couldn't do anything. I couldn't move. I lay on my side, facing the officer, my eyelids getting heavier and heavier as the seconds passed. I closed my eyes, using all my energy to utilizing my hearing. I could sense movement to my left but it was getting quieter and quieter.
I couldn't move, I couldn't see, I couldn't hear.
I couldn't feel.
...
". . . just to watch her die . . ."
". . . endanger people around him."
"I don't think he is . . ."
". . . and throw away the . . ."
". . . is a monster . . ."
I caught snippets of conversation around me. I still could not move much, but didn't want to experiment in case the conversation would move elsewhere. I heard the opening of a door, and hurried footsteps. I heard people shuffling, possibly restraining the new entrant. My sense of hearing was growing more acute by the second, restoring itself to normal.
"I don't believe this."
The new voice sounded familiar. It was agonized, distraught.
Carlisle.
"He couldn't have done this. This is absurd." A door opened and closed again. A man had left the room.
"I'm sorry, sir, but he is a murderer. In fact, he may be the cause of many deaths around Alaska. Does he reside in Alaska?"
"Yes, with my wife and I. But, I'm sorry, he wouldn't do this. He's a good kid."
"Apparently not, sir. We have reason to believe that your son is to blame for at least fourteen deaths in the past six months. And probably more before then, but we have no concrete evidence for those cases."
I was not looking, but I could almost sense Carlisle's expression. He didn't believe the police officer.
"Edward is a good kid," he repeated stiffly.
"We were alerted to the sound of screams down Mortar Avenue, and we found him holding a corpse like this." The shuffling of paper led me to believe that Carlisle was being shown the photograph. What would this do to Carlisle? It would fuck him up. I knew I was in my own sick, twisted world, but I had no right to destroy his perfect life.
A small grunt of remorse escaped from my lips.
Carlisle rushed forward towards the thin bed where I was laying. I stiffened.
"Sir, I think you should step back. He's not bound," the officer warned. It was preposterous to even suggest I would–purposefully-hurt Carlisle.
Carlisle aired my thoughts. "It's fine. He's never hurt me before." His voice wavered slightly, though.
"I'll be outside, then." The officer left the room.
I opened my eyes, moving them slowly to meet Carlisle's face. He looked aged, wrinkles showing on his forehead and cheeks as he frowned. He actually looked old enough to be my real father for once.
"Carlisle," I greeted him. "Good morning" was hardly an appropriate thing to say.
"Edward," he replied, nodding his head once in my direction. We held eye contact for many moments, and I felt myself shrinking under his gaze. I dropped my eyes to look at the shiny linoleum on the ground. He used this as his chance.
"How could you, Edward? Why would you?" he asked. I dared not meet his gaze again.
I debated in my mind, unsure of what to say. Should I tell him that I took perverse pleasure in death? Or should I lie, think up an excuse? The monster wanted me to tell him the truth, to see the pain it caused him, for the slim chance of witnessing a heart attack. I badly wanted to ignore the monster, but it was difficult. Because the Voice wanted me to tell him the truth too; it was the right thing to do.
Fuck.
I took a deep breath in. Carlisle noticed and shifted his weight to one foot.
"I . . . enjoy . . . the feeling," I began quietly. Saying it out loud was strange, but it was all painfully true. "My body and mind, they, they crave the feeling. Her death satisfied me. Gave me pleasure."
I heard Carlisle suck in a deep, slow breath. "And . . . and the others?" he asked warily.
"The same," I answered.
"Why didn't you tell me, Edward? I know people who could have helped you with these . . . desires. You didn't trust me? What did I do?"
"You did nothing, Carlisle. Nothing wrong. But do you know how difficult it is to live with you? You're courteous, generous, kind hearted. Altruism is practically your middle name. Every time I tried to tell you, I couldn't. It would ruin you if I told you what I am."
"And finding out this way doesn't ruin me?" he said. I let my eyes meet his reluctantly, and they were still wide with disappointment.
"I tried. I tried to tell you," I said, pleading for him to believe that I didn't want to hurt him. His eyes searched mine.
"When I found you sneaking in through the window three months ago? Did you . . . kill?" His expression slowly transitioned from questioning, to acknowledging, to grief.
I nodded.
"I should have known. You were hysterical. You were inconsolable. I'm sorry, Edward. I could have nipped this in the bud. I've let you down. Edward, forgive me-"
"It's not your fault, Carlisle. It's me. I am who I am. A monster."
"It is completely my fault. I'm a failure of a father."
"Be quiet, Carlisle," I said through gritted teeth. He made me feel more of a monster by taking the blame. My body tensed, anger making my muscles rigid. Carlisle continued, oblivious.
"How can I when I've let you down? What kind of man do you think I am?"
I grabbed the coarse sheet I was laying on and squeezed. The sound of fabric tearing could be heard before I realized what I was doing.
"Carlisle . . ." I warned, again through gritted teeth.
"Edward, I'm sorry. You can't just blame yourself for all this. Understand that I am as much to blame for this as you are-"
I sat up, bolt upright, a small snarl escaping my lips as I released the sheets and instead grasped his forearm. "It's entirely my fault, Carlisle. Stop being an idiot. I don't want to be angry with you," I hissed. His eyes tightened in pain. I let go; I didn't know I was holding him that firmly.
Carlisle looked me up and down cautiously. Rubbing his sore arm, he backed away slowly.
I'd hurt him. What kind of maniac was I?
"Carlisle," I whispered, my voice hoarse from hissing. "Don't go. I'm sorry."
He continued his retreat, turning his back on me and walking away. His footsteps were louder than thunder. He stopped just before the door.
"Goodbye, Edward."
[A/N] C'mon. Was it really that bad? Let me know. Do you hate me for abandoning Edward? I sure do!
Edwards squeaky chew toy
2010-09-01 . chapter 1
Good start to a disturbing story.