DISCLAIMER: I do not own these characters, they belong to Stephenie Meyer. I am just borrowing them to tell my story.

The Porcelain Lovers

Preface

Now

I rested my head against the foggy mirror, my wet hair was plastered to my cheeks. The hum of the shower rung loud in my ears. A wet towel was draped lazily around my shoulders.

I lifted my hand and pressed it against the warm glass. The steam from the shower rolled around me, licking my damp skin. Even with the steam from the hot water filling the bathroom my throat felt dry and hard.

I stood up a bit straighter and turned on the sink. I filled the small glass with cool water. I closed my eyes slightly as I took a sip. But the water did nothing to quench my thirst.

A new wave of pain crashed through me, shattering my all ready broken heart. A sob escaped my throat and I dropped the glass of water.

Shards of sharp glass and cool water splattered over the bathroom tiles. I fell onto my knees in the middle of the mess.

I stared down at the blood, watching it seep into the cracks of the tiles. The edges of the cream colored rug in front of the shower turned bright red.

I barely noticed the tears as they streaked down my face. The humming screech of the shower faded away. My hair hung on either side of my face, creating a curtain. It bound me from the world.

I collapsed onto my stomach. The glass cut deep into my tender skin. But I couldn't feel the pain at all.

Silent sobs racked my body. My spine shook fiercely. I felt myself dry heave, once, twice, three times. My chest hollowed out, my heart no longer whole to fill it up.

Why? I screamed in my head. Why did it have to happen like that? I found myself reliving all the memories, everything I had tried to block out. I tried to whisper through my tears. But no matter how hard I tried to say the name I could not make any noise.

I stood shakily from my bed. I could now feel the sting of the glass that had cut my body. I removed the towel from my stomach. It was caked with dried blood.

I considered going to the hospital, there was a good chance I would need stitches. But I feel too hollowed out to move more then I was all ready forcing myself to.

I stared down at the gash across my stomach. It had stopped bleeding only moments before. I sighed heavily, all ready starting to burry the painful event.

I forced my body to walk to the closet and pull on a pair of jeans, wincing as the waist band rubbed against one of the smaller cuts on my left hip. I tried my best the ignore the pain as I pulled a shirt over my head.

Everything seemed to be clouded. It was like I was experiencing life and the world through a heavy fog. I closed my eyes tightly and pressed my palms against my eye lids. A small sob broke from my chest.

I collapsed onto the floor for the second time this morning. My tears soaked into the dull blue of my bedroom carpet. I pressed my palms harder against my eyes, trying to stop the flow of tears. But somehow they managed to find their way around my hands and streaked down my face.

I crumpled farther towards the floor, if that was possible. My body rolled into a small ball. I rocked slightly as I shook with pain and the tears. The inside of my throat felt raw and bloody.

I cried for what seemed like hours, days, years. But the tears I shed did not dull the pain that ravaged my body and my heart. Tears couldn't stop the horrible images from playing like a silent film behind my eyes. Tears would never heal my dead heart, they would never make me feel even slightly better.

And no matter how much I wish they could, tears could never bring him back to me.