Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns everything recognizable in the land of Twilight. No copyright infringement is meant.

Preconceived Notions

"Preconceived notions are the locks on the door to wisdom." Merry Browne

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Edward's POV

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These social obligations are the bane of my existence. Pretensions run amuck. Vanity is almost palpable. The room sparkles with the thousands of jewels which drape over men and women, alike. My mental gift touches each of these shallow humans, and I wonder how they're even able to dress themselves in the morning with such little depth to their thoughts.

These humans seem the same, goats bleating in a swanky corral. I can feel my ire rising. Wouldn't be in this awful situation if it weren't for Carlisle . . . I think unhappily.

"You must make a few appearances, Edward. Surely a little socializing won't kill you." He gave me his soft, encouraging smile, and I was horridly ready to do his bidding.

I grinned back, making sure to keep all hostility from my face. Inside I could hear the dark part of me screaming, "No, that was your venom, Dr. Cullen."

I shudder from the bitterness. It feels like a dichotomy at times warring within my mind. I love Carlisle, truly I do. He is the father my young heart always craved and the brother I constantly prayed to God for. Ironic – I would get such answers to my innocent yearnings at this time in my life. Especially when all I wanted to do was disobey Carlisle.

But here I stand, dressed to perfection in my evening clothes, relegated to a corner of this ridiculous ball room. Laughter is quite heady and gossip falls from lips like water over a fall.

Cigarette stench is everywhere and the smoke quite thick. I can't understand these humans' addiction to such a foul smelling object, but I'm still grateful to it all the same. The smell of the smoke helps to dilute the call of blood. It turns my stomach, pushing my vampire longing to a manageable level.

Not that I am not in control of myself.

My eyes take a turn about the room, studying each group pensively. It will be the only entertainment I receive tonight.

Several groups seem to have formed. To the left, near the buffet table, stand the men. Some are quite porky and already straining the material of their waistcoats, while others are much too thin.

Some men are supporting facial hair (even though it isn't quite vogue) while others are almost too suave. I can hear their conversation quite clearly, even though I am several feet from them. Politics, money, rumors of war and the disappointing downgrade to the currency.

Others complain of their wives, while others rejoice in having avoided such a bear trap.

I can't help but smirk at this – it is usually these gentlemen (and I use the term loosely) who cannot find a woman to even bait said trap. Human men and their delusions of grandeur . . . I roll my eyes.

The women – at least the older ones – are seated near the empty tables set up. Expensive linen table-clothes cover the tables, trying to add splendor to the already glamorous room.

Someone really should teach the Decorating Committee the meaning of exceeding what is necessary.

Crystal champagne flutes glitter under the brilliance of dangling chandeliers. Flowers of every kind fill the center of the tables, helping to add to the already nauseating scent of the room. Too many competing scents and not enough fresh air.

Back and forth these women squabble: Not enough quality wine, the food is too dry, the lights are too low, husbands are cheating with another mistress; and on and on it goes. One scratched record after another. Unfortunately there isn't anyone smart enough to remove the vinyl from the record player.

Even the younger crowd (the humans of my supposed generation) isn't much better. They are like their older contemporaries, complaining about everything in existence, unhappy with their lives – though they seemingly want for nothing – and the downgrade to their expensive lifestyles.

With the Depression rearing its ugly head, even the rich have cut back. Sadly and unfairly to these spoilt children, their parents have had to make concessions. And it seems it's come at a cost to their allowances in spending money, trips to the shore and city, and quality clothes now in fashion.

What a disappointing life it surely must be for you, I think, trying to keep the sneer from my lips. Whatever shall you do with having to wear last season's designs?

Perhaps I'm being unfair and ruthlessly judging this upper crust of society. These people are supposedly in my monetary and social sphere. The problems they gripe about, constantly bleat about, seem to be real concerns to them.

But as I watch them mingling, trying to one-up their friends, I can't help but be terribly jaded.

Beyond these fancy, silk-wallpapered walls and the towering glasses of champagne, is true heartache. Lives are forever ruined because of this dreadful depression. And though I try not to concern myself with the state of human plight (the memories of my rebellion flare too painfully when I indulge), in such situations such as these, I can't help but to.

Family are being torn apart, children are being left parentless, crime is on the rise, suicide looks to be a better alternative to abject poverty, education is fallen to the wayside, the unemployment rate is a catastrophe and the world is on the brink of war.

Yet here we stand – yes, my family included – pretending the world isn't falling down around us. Eat, Drink and be Merry for tomorrow doesn't truly matter. After all, it isn't our social circle in such dire straits, only those who put themselves in such a situation.

My disgust for these humans is almost too much.

I look around, trying to push such vitriolic thoughts from my mind. But as I take in each circle of acquaintances and their ilk, the ire rises.

At the top of the list, among the worst of the offenders, are the King's, Hale's and Morgan's.

They comprise the somewhat top hierarchy of Rochester. The King's most especially.

The Hale's might not have as much money or as nice of clothes, but they help to rule. The Morgan's are more the court jesters of the three, bowing down to the other's demands. But so is life, I presume.

Even I, jaded, masochistic, fabled creature, am not free from such restraint. I may not bow down to worship the all mighty dollar and youthfulness alters, but I do bend. My neck isn't free from all yoke restraint.

Blood – beautifully red and sinful – is my vice. If possible and if I hadn't a conscious (namely my love and respect for Carlisle) I would surely bath in it.

The taste of such drink is unsurpassed; nothing could ever compare with such nectar.

But, like the good vampire and son I profess myself to be, I restrain. I hold back the darkest part of myself and chain it down. Denying my nature isn't always easy, even if some of the smells of blood in this room are particularly lovely above others.

So, unlike those who constantly complain about their situations in life, I know my weaknesses and limitations. And above all, I know there is no use complaining about it.

It is I who puts such restrictions on myself. Out of respect for Carlisle, Esme, our family and way of living, I endure.

If these people are so unhappy, why do they continue as such? Why not shake up their mundane status quo?

To these questions I have no answers, and to these humans, I've wasted enough of my unlimited time.

Pretending to finish off the rest of my drink, I surreptitiously pour the rest into a planted urn. As if bored and unworried about life, I make my way around the perimeter of the room.

Though I try to stay in the shadows, I catch the gaze of many. It isn't like they can help it. Around me, they can feel the fear my nature invokes, but are strangely drawn to it.

They see my exquisite external beauty, but somehow fear it.

Their redundant thoughts run through my mind as I pass. And it's all been 'heard' before:

'He is so very handsome. What I would give to be with him. All my husband's money, for sure."

'How is he still unattached? Lucky the lady which lands him. So unfair.'

'Those Cullen's sure are gorgeous. Must be something in the water.'

'Want to conquer such beauty, but would be too nervous to approach.'

'If my wife looks longingly at him once more, I shall have to do something to her. Those Cullens are terribly indecent.'

'If only I were twenty years younger.'

And so on and so forth . . .

The last makes me grin infinitesimally. Even if she were forty years younger, I'd avoid her.

With caution, being sure to keep up a humanly appearance, I approach Carlisle and Esme. Even among such pretension, they are glorious. Though I am still mad with Carlisle, I can't help but be happy for him and Esme. They truly are soul mates. Even if I can't believe in such a notion. Contradicting myself at every turn.

He catches my eye before politely excusing himself from the horridly boring human.

"Are you leaving already, Edward?" he asks, pushing back his blond hair falling rakishly into his eyes. Around me, I can hear the sigh of females. Poor Esme.

"I must, Carlisle. I cannot take any more thoughts. It is almost too much already."

A sad, worried look takes over his distinguished face. Regardless of how much I try to reassure him, or tell him I shall be fine, Carlisle can't help but to worry. At times he is worse than Esme.

"I'll be fine, eventually. I simply must leave. You can understand, surely?" And he does.

Edward . . . I do worry. My tender son. Wish he'd find happiness in something. My fault.

I push from out of his mind and onto the simpler ones of the passing humans.

"Of course I understand, Edward. We all have our margins. And you've exceeded yours tonight. I'm just grateful you were able to attend."

I nod. His thoughts tell me so clearly of his thankfulness in living our lifestyle, enduring being so near humans.

"Next time, I promise . . ." He doesn't need to explain further. Carlisle is as good as his word.

Once we move away from Rochester, we shall be settling in to a more rural area. One where so many social obligations aren't needed, and almost expected.

"Thank you, sir," I say respectfully. After I give a little bow of my waist, I take my leave, but not before making a little parting shot, for his ears only, of course.

"Be sure to do rescue Esme, Dr. Cullen. You've left her with that dry human and she isn't terribly amused."

A hurried gasp is my reward, along with scuttling feet. Carlisle will be lucky if he gets lucky tonight.

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As I step out of the building, where the benefit for some Depression cause is being held, I close my eyes and take in the fresh oxygen.

My lungs empty out all the stale air and take in the nourishing-ly clean substance.

Thank goodness for small favors.

As I tilt my head back and start to walk off – eyes wearily closed – something hits solidly into my chest.

A panicked squeak is heard before someone falling to the ground.

I internally groan and ask, "Why? Just when I thought myself free."

"Well, it wasn't as if it were on purpose. Perhaps if you had been looking where walking instead of closing your silly eyes, I would be upright still."

The haughty voice is enough to pull my eyes open. All I see is brilliantly rumpled, golden hair, fiery violet eyes and flushed creamy skin.

I stare at her, this exquisitely beautiful girl. Even fallen to the ground and slight stains on her pretty dress and anger coloring her skin, she is a vision. And rightfully so. She is without a doubt, the most alluring human I've seen.

"If you're quite done staring, Mr. Cullen, I'd appreciate the help up."

Immediately, as if pulled from some trance, I turn my eyes from her face and offer up my hand. Thankfully it is gloved and she won't feel the unnatural chill to my skin.

"My apologies, Miss.," I graciously offer, putting my limited manners to use. After all, I'm not one to really interact with humans.

She grabs onto my hand while allowing me to assist her.

The sting of blood comes to my nose, and I groan. Just what I need. Some kind of scene. My breathing stops as I drop her hand. I'm more than ready to make a quick exit.

"What are you apologizing for, Mr. Cullen, your knocking me over or your uncouth words?"

Several things strike me at once: I must have voiced my previous thoughts aloud, this is the second time she has said my name. Surely God mustn't hate me this much.

"Well, I would have said for you falling over, but now I'll have to rescind my contrition."

Her cheeks turn an even lovelier shade of pink, and I have to berate myself for noticing. This isn't the first time I've seen Rosalie Hale, and nor will it be the last. Her beauty is quite famous, and men everywhere can't help but visualize her, what they'd like to do with her, to her. Some of it is quite depraved.

"Excuse me," she whispers, as if trying to keep her voice from rising to screaming.

Her delicate hands are clenched into fists and parts of her golden curls are falling out from her up-do.

"Well, Miss. Hale," I say, making sure she's aware of my knowing her name, also. "It does take two to make a collision and obviously you, too, weren't watching where walking. I could even go as far to claim you knocked into me on purpose. As my eyes were closed and everything."

Shock first fills her eyes but is soon replaced with a raging fire.

The conceit . . . The gull of this man . . . How could he think . . . As if I would ever . . . Stop staring . . .

Her thoughts are broken but seem to amuse me endlessly.

"It seems you are as familiar with me as I am with you." For a moment I'm surprised. I thought, surely, she would have yelled at me, demanded I take back my provocative assertions.

But I find myself pleasantly surprised. A first for the night.

I shake my head and return to the present.

"Most in this city seem to be familiar with you, Miss. Hale. Incontestably you must know this. Beauty such as yours."

She has the good grace to blush prettily, and I find my eyes taking in the lovely color, the high cheekbones, the startling shade of violet in her eyes.

This night seems to be turning into one of surprises.

He notices my beauty? He, who is so much more attractive than I. He who all the women – and some men, too – seem to drool over. Does he think me beautiful? Everyone is more than familiar with the Cullens' handsomeness. I envy . . .

"Be that as it may, Mr. Cullen. You were terribly rude with your words. I truly did not see you. It is very dark, after all."
I could capitulate on this, at least.

Here, on the side of the building, it is very dark. The streetlamps don't seem to light this area properly.

I feel an uneasiness creep into my veins. I can't understand its orientation or why I would feel it for such a vain, useless human. But here it is, swirling restlessly.

"You're right, Miss. Hale." Again, I see the apples of her cheeks go a shade darker from my agreement. She probably thinks I'm unable to see it in such darkness, but oh, if she really knew what I'm capable of.

"But it is getting rather late, and you shouldn't be here . . . alone in such darkness. Perhaps it would be wise of you to go back inside."

And when I think, once again, she may take angry at my (almost) command, she does the opposite.

"You're right. It is rather dark. I only needed some fresh air. It was rather stifling in there, don't you think?"

Immediately, my mind agrees, but I don't voice it. I already feel at a disadvantage with this queer encounter.

Her shivering from the slight chill in the weather pulls my attention away from my failings.

Without thought or knowing why, I pull my evening dinner jacket off and drape it over her shoulders.

What is happening with me, tonight?

So nice . . . I thought him terribly snobby . . . surprised . . . still don't like him much . . . was awfully rude to me . . .

I turn from her (after securing my jacket over her shoulders) to be sure she hasn't seen my amused grin. The smell of her blood is also starting to get to me.

"Do you need me to walk you in?" I politely offer, though I want to do the complete reverse.

She pulls my suit coat closer to her curvy frame and I'm struck again by her humanly beauty, her fragility wrapped in such vanity. She is a dichotomy all unto herself.

"It's okay. I think I can make my way around the building unharmed." I can't tell if she is joking or not, but I show her a little grin for her efforts; not that she can really see it.

With nothing left to say, she turns from me and starts to walk off . . . into the light . . . into a party which is Rosalie Hale's milieu.

I find myself feeling strangely bereft. Bemusement seems to be my new companion.

"I am sorry, Miss. Hale," I whisper to her retreating back. Somehow she hears me and turns around.

"No worries, Mr. Cullen. I shall be fine."

Yes . . . you are, I can't help but to agree.

And just before she turns the corner, she takes my coat off and tosses it back to me. Deftly, I catch it. She is partially in the light again, and I'm all but breathless. Satirical for a creature who doesn't require air.

"Nice to have bumped in to you, Mr. Cullen. And the name's Rosalie. I think we've fallen beyond social etiquette, don't you." With a wink, she turns out of sight and I'm left, blessedly, alone.

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My run home is one of endurance. The emotions rushing through my veins seem to demand it.

And what consumes me . . . has me in a terrible quandary. The face of a beguiling human girl. Rosalie Hale. Beautiful. Vain. Envious. One of the shallow people.

Or so I had thought.

Tonight at the numbing soirée, she hadn't escaped my notice. Or anyone's notice for that matter. Exquisiteness such as hers is enthralling. Not to be ignored.

As I stood in my corner, taking in the fill of the room, she often invaded my mind.

Above all, Rosalie Hale was conceited. There was no disputing this. Some would argue she is a product of her environment. That people always staring at her, parents constantly praising her outwardly appearance is the effects of her vanity.

Constantly, her mind is full of her beauty, and she doesn't know any other way to think.

But even under the current of her self-involvedness, I could detect her happiness. She liked people noticing her beauty, she craved the attention. It made her special, it was her identity, and without, Rosalie Hale didn't know how else to be. Sadly, (or however one looked at the situation) Miss. Hale was content with being simply stunning.

Tonight, I had seen more. Away from the lights, glitter, and constant attention, she was different. I didn't know how or why I even care, but she was different. And sadly, I now mourn for her.

My feet sprinting along the ground is my release. The further I go away from Miss. Hale, the better I feel. She had me at disadvantage tonight. I hadn't liked it.

It is quite funny to think, she has always felt threatened by Carlisle, Esme and myself. She saw her attention being taken away. That our beauty is superior to hers.

But perhaps, there is more to it. Perhaps it isn't all about the glory of being the most beautiful.

Perhaps it is about her identity being stripped from her, the Hale parents not praising her anymore, people looking to someone else and thinking them better than she.

I could understand such sentiment. I had felt it when Carlisle first changed Esme. I hadn't known what to make of her or how she would shake the family dynamic. Perhaps Carlisle wouldn't need me any longer, send me away and no longer claim me. They were real fears founded in the unknown.

So why couldn't Rosalie Hale have the same fears? Why couldn't see have her vainness and another layer beyond that, too? What made it fair for me to simply see her as nothing but an attention-seeking socialite?

And why, after such a short interlude in the dark, am I questioning myself?

These are the thoughts, which sweep through my head as I run . . . run away from the uncertainty . . . run away from the pretension . . . run away from her.

Rosalie Hale.

Quandary.

Intriguing.

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Author's Note: Welcome to another little creation of mine (minus everything recognized – please don't sue me. *wink*).

This particular story came in to my mind while lying in bed one night. It will be from Edward's POV, which scared me a lot. I haven't really gotten his side down pat. But hopefully this will be okay. It is a one-shot that ended up near 13,000 words. So I decided to break it up in three parts. Everything is written and I only have a little more to edit. I'll be posting over the next couple of weeks if you're still interested after reading this first one.

Anyhow, I hope you liked my foray into Edward's mind. Like my other two stories, this is set pre-twilight. I just love writing about that time. This story isn't related to my other two, but may look a little familiar. But again, it isn't related. Just having a little fun with Edward and trying not to fear writing his POV. But to be honest, it really is a task for me. I never think I get the cadence of his POV right. Oh well, What is a poor writer supposed to do?

If you have the time or inclination, I'd love your thoughts, opinions, anything you like to contribute. Did you like his POV? Did it sound like his character or was I way off base? What is Edward up to? Hmm . . .

Thanks for stopping by and much love!