Intro
Pretty Lies

-Bella-

I, Isabella Marie Swan, have given up on love. Well, I guess you really can't give up on something that doesn't exist.

I mean, I love my father. And I love my mother. And I love the few people that I call my friends. But when it comes to that "I'll love you always and forever" bullshit they feed you in the movies…I simply can't bring myself to believe in it. And why would I? I've never seen two people that have ever truly been in love.

My parents divorced when I was still just a baby. My father has stayed single. He may have dated. In fact, it would be pretty sad if he didn't. But I wasn't around much, so I couldn't really say for sure. But nothing was ever serious for him. When my mother left him, she left him in pieces.

My mother always had a problem. She got bored easy. It wasn't just with jobs or hobbies. It was with everything, relationships included. And when she divorced Charlie, she decided she didn't just get bored with him. She was bored with the entire city. The entire state, even. So she packed us up and moved to Phoenix.

My mother has gotten engaged. That's when I decided it was for the best if I got out of there as fast as I could. I couldn't take their lovey dovey looks at each other. It was pure repulsion. I don't know if I would say Renee really loves Phil. Hell, sometimes I question if she even really likes him. So I moved in with Charlie and enrolled in community college out here in Forks, Washington.

Renee, like a lot of women, is in love with the idea of being in love. But she gets bored so easily. She has always been that way. I think when she agreed to marry Charlie, she thought that somehow the ring on her finger would make all of that stop. Simply by saying I do, she thought that their love for each other would be permanent. Needless to say, it wasn't even close. So when she got that familiar itch of boredom, instead of just packing it up and moving on like she always had in the past, she decided that maybe having a kid would help. It didn't. Not to say that she doesn't love me. I know she does, in her own way. I might be the only person that she had been able to love for longer than a year at a time.

Renee always had a man in her life. She always needed someone to lean on. A lot of the time, that someone was me. It made me grow up real fast. But for the most part, I like who I am today, so I can't complain. In those awkward in-between phases when she didn't have a man, she was almost intolerable, using me as a crutch far too much. I didn't get a life at those times. My life was making Renee feel better about her being single. But that's just the way Renee is. And I don't think I would have it any other way. If she was like any of the other mothers, just trying to settle into their boring and mediocre lives with a plastic smile on her face, I would have turned out just like all the other daughters. A lovesick girl desperately seeking the love and affection of all the boys. I might actually convince myself that I was in love with one of them. But thank God, that will never happen to me.

And I guess the way Renee used to go through guys kind of rubbed off on me. Because I myself have been known to go through men. I find them disposable. Men are good for a one time roll between the sheets before I throw them out the door, sometimes still undressed. I guess I should feel bad about that but I don't.

Renee never seemed to notice my behavior. Or if she did, she didn't care. Charlie is turning a blind eye to it, too. I'm sure he notices, he is the chief of police after all. He is trained to notice things, even small things. But I guess he would just rather pretend it isn't going on than address it. Because what would be the point anyway. I have 20 years worth of Renee's teachings in my mind. A ten minute talk with Charlie isn't going to reboot my thinking at all.

I know, you're all skeptical. How can I not believe in love when it is all around me? People holding hands in the park. Sharing long embraces and quick kisses. But I don't believe it. Love is a myth. You can't prove its existence. You have to go off of blind faith. And that is something that I just do not have. There is no test you can take to prove you're in love. I know that doesn't prove my point for me and I know there are a million arguments against my point of view. But I am sticking to it. Because for every person that you say you fall in love with, there is a heartbreak soon to follow. You get bored, like Renee. Some people have affairs. Some fight over finances. Some just grow to realize that beyond the sex, there isn't a single redeeming quality about their significant other.

Bravo to everyone who tries to prove me wrong. I know there are couples out there who do it. There are those who have done it. I've been told that my grandparents were in love, staying happily married until their dying day. I give people like that all the credit in the world. But people say a lot of things; that doesn't make them true. And it doesn't prove me wrong. Just because you can stay with someone your entire life, it doesn't mean you're in love. It simply means that you are an amazing actor, putting on a very convincing show. And I get it. Sometimes it's just easier to settle in and fake it than move on and pretend to do the entire thing over again. But that's why I prefer to just avoid the whole mess in the first place.

And since moving away from Phoenix (and my mother, in her sickening fake newlywed bliss) and to Forks with my father, my new best friend Alice has loved too many guys for me to keep count of. And in the end, her heart always gets broken and she spends the next few days doing nothing but wishing STDs on that special guy over a pint of cookie dough ice cream.

So why waste my time on something that doesn't exist? Love is a lie. A pretty lie, but a lie none the less. I'm not going to give love a try and search for Mr. Right. And just to set the record straight, it's not because I'm gay. I'm not searching for Mrs. Right either. And just so you don't think I'm a homophobe, I don't think there is anything wrong with homosexuality. If you are naive enough to believe in love, then by all means love whomever you want. It's love that I have a problem with. I just think there's something wrong with love. Or at least the concept of love. I don't need someone else to complete me or to make me happy. If I can't do that myself, how the hell would anyone else be able to do it?

And to everyone out there saying, "it's better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all." Fuck you. Fuck you and your fake fairy tale happiness. Good luck with that. Because you will never find it. You will never be happy until you come to realize that… love is a myth, a fable, something fabricated for storybooks and movies. Something everyone believes in just because it sounds nice. Because they all want it to be true. Because they all want that happily ever after they see in fairy tales. Call me a pessimist but I'm not going to suppress myself to psychotic episodes of living in a fantasy world where love is real. It's all just a bunch of crap.

And to everyone thinking that all this is because I've been badly scorned in the past, think again. I've never been in love, never even been close. Every time one of my relationships ends, I breathe a sigh of relief. Sure it's nice to have someone to tell you that you're beautiful and to make out with. But when it comes to the romanticism that is supposed to accompany a relationship, the cards, the candies, the roses, the late night phone calls just to say hello…When I see the first signs of that, it's over. I bail before they can even think of admitting how in love they think they are with me. I don't want to have to deal with it. I'm all about fun and games. And when the fun and games are over and the seriousness starts, I move on to the next guy looking for some fun and games.

And when I say fun and games, I mostly mean sex. I enjoy sex. I enjoy it a lot. And it has nothing to do with love, contrary to popular belief. Love and sex are two completely different things. You can 'love' someone and not have sex with them and you can have sex with someone and not love them, but a lot of people don't see that. Sex doesn't have to be complicated with the intimate strings of love. But too many people make it that. Especially their first time. That's what happened with Jacob. But that is another story for another time.

And what the fuck is love anyway? That can't eat, can't sleep, can't think kind of feeling every one talks about? I wouldn't know. But if that's what it is, it doesn't sound too pleasant to me. Why does everyone think that love will make everything better? If you enjoy being a dumb, anorexic insomniac then sure, maybe it will make some things better. But eventually the love that was once beautiful will fade away and you'll see that the way he snores isn't endearing at all. Or maybe that 'friend' he keeps going to football games with is much less of a friend and more like a mistress and those football games are really just a friendly codename for sex. Maybe it won't happen like that but you get what I'm saying. Or maybe you don't. Maybe you're one of the idiots that believe that somewhere out there is your one true love, just waiting to sweep you off your feet and carry you off into the sunset to his castle.

And quite honestly, I think when someone finally does tell me that they love me, I'll either spontaneously combust or I'll go temporarily insane and murder them. Either way, the problem's solved and I won't have to deal with it.

-Edward-

I, Edward Anthony Cullen, am in love. Well, at least that's what I told the lucky lady of the night, to get between her legs. Just because I said it doesn't mean I actually meant it.

Just another night, just another easy girl that I won't be able to remember come morning. Or sometimes, like tonight, I've already forgotten her name as soon as her panties hit the floor. I don't do this every night, but I am a guy. I do have needs. And this is all very routine for a guy like me. Find an attractive girl, buy her a drink, whisper sweet nothings in her ear, tell her she's the most beautiful girl you've ever laid eyes on. Tell her that pretty lie that every guy tells as your hand delicately grazes her thigh. Tell her that you love her until she finally gives in. Then fuck her and move on. Do I feel guilty? Sometimes. But I know I'll do it again anyway. Why let something like a conscience stand in my way of some good physical release?

Love. A word that has no indifference. It'll either make you all warm and fuzzy inside or make you run to the nearest bus stop and get as far away from it as possible. Consequently, it's a four letter word. One of those evil words that you're supposed to avoid. One of those words that you're never really supposed to say, unless you're willing to pay the consequences. Thankfully, I've been able to avoid all the consequences and just get the instant gratification that it brings. I'm one lucky son of a bitch.

The word itself has really lost its meaning to me. I've said it too many times without meaning it. But I'm not the only one. I've known many men to use this tactic. I think it's something in the male genes. Hell, I've even known a few women to use that trick. It's the one thing that'll practically guarantee sex. Make the lucky girl not feel like the whore that probably she is for fucking a guy she's only known for a few hours (and if you're really lucky- minutes). And in the morning, when I'm gone, she can believe that I'll call that number she gave me and when two weeks pass and I still haven't called, she can cry to her best friend and tell her that I'm an asshole. But hey, I got what I wanted. It's not my fault she chose to believe my lies. You really think that women would catch on by now.

I guess I always had an issue with love. Being adopted kind of makes you question yourself a little bit. Was there something wrong with me? Am I worth being loved? Sure I got adopted by a very kind and caring man. And he did his best to raise me well. But there is still the pain of abandonment that lingers. It doesn't matter how much Carlisle loves me. Or how much attention he pays me. None of that matters. All that matters is why someone once found you unworthy of their love. I guess I'll never know the answer but I still find myself thinking about it quite often.

And over the years, as I've grown older, I guess I've come to judge how much people love me by how much women want to sleep with me. Easy girls have daddy issues. Promiscuous guys have mommy issues. Now allow me to do my best Freud impression and give you my theory on my mommy issues. It boils down to me never having a mother to love me. Some watered down and way less creepy version of the Oedipus complex or something. I just use these random strings of girls to fill that void left by any mother figure. Not that it does. I sometimes doubt that is the problem. I'm not a psychologist after all. Who knows, maybe I just really like sex.

And before you begin to think that I'm just about sex, I'm not. I've been in love. At least I think I have. Who hasn't? Sometimes you get so wrapped up in the moment that it just happens when you're not paying attention. And I have kept girls around in the past. I have had a select few girlfriends. And surprisingly enough, I've never cheated on any of them. I've always been kind enough to pick up the phone and break up with a girl before I ever get into bed with another woman. Sometimes I've cut it close. So close that all of my clothes are lying in a pile on the floor and I'm already in bed when I make the call. But the sex hasn't happened yet so it doesn't count. But in the end it's always the same sad story. Sometimes things just don't work out. It's run its course. Sparks fade and we move on. It's all natural.

But the routine is getting kind of old. These girls are boring and tired. They're all beginning to blend in. Cyndi…Tiffany…Debbie… They're all the same. Nice hair. Nice tits. Nice body. Below average intelligence. They all think they're going places. But in the end, all they're going is into some lucky guy's bed. And the sad part is, it's not even hard anymore. The game is getting a little easy. I've practically perfected this approach. They practically fall at my feet with their legs in the air. It's too easy. I need someone to challenge me. Make me work for it. That's where half the fun is. The thrill of the hunt.