Chapter 2: What am I thinking? by Edward
Well, where to start?
Isabella Swan has got to be one of the most complex people I know, yet I don't really know her.
I have never held neither affection nor hatred for her. She was always just there, just another ordinary person in my life. She still is actually, aside from the fact that someday we will be married. When I first figured this out, I was not at all pleased:
"I'm going to marry Isabella Swan?!" I shouted in disbelief and anger. It's like my parents don't think I can make my own decisions.
"Yes, you are," they said calmly.
I stormed out of Father's office, grabbed a hat and coat, and went to the park. It was a cold winter's evening, and snow fell into ever-growing mounds of white powder, glittering in the lamplight. As I reached the little tunnel of the pathway that was beneath a canopy of half white branches, I looked both ways, and ducked into a small opening between the trees. My feet had beaten down the path well, so there were no dead plants poking through, only whiteness. Three hundred yards, and I'm home. Yes, I said home.
I reached the clearing that was my safe haven, the only place I could really rethink my purpose in life. Why did I just say rethink? I mean think! I sat down on the only patch of ground left with color, and sighed, watching the cloud emit from my nose and mouth. Just as I'd let my mind settle, I heard a twig crack. I whipped my head around to see who it was intruding on my solitary time. All I saw was a pair of bright blue eyes.
"Who is that?" I called to the only other bit of life around me.
"Who are you?" a girlish voice asked. She seemed very timid.
I hesitated. "It's okay, I won't harm you," I said soothingly.
It was her turn to hesitate. "Who are you?" she repeated.
"I'm Edward Masen. Who are you?"
She finally came out from behind that tree. She was warmly but humbly dressed, and she couldn't have been more than seven or eight. Her hair was beautiful and blonde, and she had such a sad innocence, like that only just used to life's trouble. "Rosalina."
"What are you doing here?" I asked her gently.
And so the conversation began. She told me I could call her Rosalie, and that she, too, was seeking a place to be alone. I told her of my problem, of marrying a girl I had known but didn't really know, and how I was being forced into this by my parents. She told me of her problem, of her father
losing all his money when the stocks went down, so her family lived in a lower class circle. I have never cared for the class system. We continued talking, and we were completely honest with each other, the kind of honesty that makes you feel like you're letting off pressure.
The clock tower struck 11:45, and I realized that my parents would be worried about me. She said that hers were probably already worrying. So we dashed off home. But I never forgot her, and I hope she never forgot me. She had really helped me to think not just about my problems, but about those of others, and so I decided right then and there to devote my life to helping others, and not worry about my own problems. It was the best way to sooth myself and to stimulate my compassion for others.
I often traveled back to that little secret clearing in the park, just to see if I ever saw Rosalie again. I couldn't help but wonder what had become of her, and if she had gotten her life straightened out. I know I hadn't, but I was still working on that.
Now, back to Bella. I was not looking forward to marrying her. I would rather marry someone I could love, but seeing as this could not be the case, I try to make the best of it. I often wonder what wheels were turning behind the simple yet expressive brown eyes, and what her problems were. I wondered if I could help her. I genuinely cared for her, but not in the way that our parents would think optimal. I cared for her as a person, not as a fiancée or lover. The only thing was preventing me from trying to get to know her better was that she would not allow herself to get to know me, so whenever we went to walk, I sometimes tried to make conversation, but she never really helped it along. She was just there, and I was just there, like strangers.
Destiny is strange.
