Okay people, here's the deal. If you made it through the first chapter, then you already know that there are some dark and disturbing themes in this story. I must warn you, there are parts of this chapter that are extremely graphic and gruesome. Please don't read this if you are bothered by sex or gore.
There are a few lines taken directly from Twilight, and a few that are not quite direct quotes but come very close. All characters and recognizable story components belong to Stephenie Meyer, I just made them do some really bad things. No copyright infringement is intended.
WARNING: DARK SEXUAL THEMES, VIOLENCE, EXTREME GORE
Pain.
Such a small, unassuming little word. One syllable. 4 letters. Rhymes with plain.
So woefully inadequate.
Ache. Hurt. Torment. Agony. Suffering. Torture. Pain won the lottery, bought itself a nicer house and some new clothes, but at its heart is still the same scrawny kid from the wrong side of the tracks.
You can accessorize it with some pretty adjectives—see how smoothly "excruciating agony" rolls off the tongue? Or how about "unbearable suffering"? You can even double the dosage by turning one of the rich relatives into its own descriptive—"agonizing torture", for example. For any type of discomfort, any situation, any condition, there is supposed to be a definition, a turn of phrase, a particular arrangement of vowels and consonants that allows us to name it—and through naming it, to control it. But this…
There are no words.
For the first eternity, there were no thoughts; there was no meaning, no reasoning, and no consciousness. There was nothing but the fire that consumed all, that continued to burn long after everything should have turned to dusty ash and crumbled into nothing in its wake.
It could have been days, weeks, years—time had no meaning—before I began to realize that I had regained some ability to think. Although the…pain…had not decreased one tiny degree, my mind had grown, expanded, and I found I was able to think around it. I could remember what had happened to me, and finally understood where I was and why.
I consorted with the devil. I willingly gave myself to a demon, eagerly submitted my body to his, and reveled in the feel of him against me, inside me. I offered my blood to slake his thirst and cried out in ecstasy as I gave my body up to his hunger. And he took what I so willingly handed over; he took my blood, he took my body, then he took my life.
Now I was in hell.
Like the phoenix that rises from the ashes only to perish, again and again, in the blazing inferno—I would spend eternity burning in never-ending fire and brimstone.
So not worth it.
I had never been particularly religious, never attended church, never gave much thought to God or the devil, heaven or hell, angels or demons. When I made the choice to take what pleasure my dark angel had to offer, I thought that the pain he would inflict was the only price I would be called upon to pay. Ideas about eternal damnation and immortal souls never even entered into my consciousness, and now bitter regret consumed what little part of my mind could focus on anything but the conflagration that devoured me. It had not been worth this. No pleasure on Earth was worth this. The whole of my life, every beat of my heart, every breath I had ever taken—none of it was worth even a second of this…this…
Every beat of my heart.
Every beat of my heart?
Every…beat of…my heart.
My heart was still beating.
Frantic, pounding beats had gradually become louder as my mind continued to expand—I didn't know how long I had been hearing them, not making the connection. Because dead people don't have heartbeats, right? And since I was in hell, me being dead was pretty much a given. So why would my heart be beating? Why would I be able to count the shallow breaths that rasped through my teeth? Wait, what?
Even as confusion swamped me, that small rational part of my brain was at work again, observing and cataloguing. Actually, it was now a much larger rational part, and it seemed to have been busy for a while already—I just hadn't realized it—because as soon as I turned my thoughts outward I instantly knew several things.
My heart was beating. I was breathing. I had teeth, and hands, and feet, and most likely the rest of my body as well. I was on my back—on something soft. A coffin? No, not enclosed; there was the sense of space around me. A bed. The same bed. Not dead, then? But no, that was insane—impossible. Hell was the only logical explanation for the way every cell in my body was being razed to ash over and over again. Surely I couldn't still have limbs when it seemed as if I must be just a pile of charred bones by now? Certainly I couldn't actually be lying on a bed—the blistering heat would have had it bursting into flames within an instant. But in that case there should be no beats, no breaths, no fingers and toes, no strands of hair brushing against my ears…
Through all this, the racking fire went right on burning me. But there was so much space in my head now. Room to ponder my bewildering circumstances, room to remember what had happened, and room to wonder about the future, with still endless room to suffer in.
Pondering was getting me nowhere; I just kept going around in circles. Counting breaths and heartbeats (that may or may not be real) was tedious. Thinking about the future seemed pointless when I couldn't even decide what was going on in the present.
But remembering…
Remembering was like a tiny little bit of heaven in the midst of the apocalypse.
Over and over I replayed the events of my last night, because that had been by far the apex of my existence. The very best of it. There was nothing else I wanted to remember, no feeling I had ever known that even came close to what I had experienced at his hands. From the very first time his velvet and honey voice washed over me, to the feel of his lips moving against my neck as he whispered his final words—every moment was precious to me.
The irony of the situation did not escape me; that while I was (maybe? probably?) burning in hell, I should find some small measure of relief in reliving the events that put me here.
On the fifth time through, however, I realized something. Even as my thoughts were getting clearer, my memories were growing dimmer. As if I was wearing a layered mourning hat and gradually dropping one veil after another over my face, things were becoming clouded and indistinct. I could no longer make out the sharp edge of his jaw line, the exact shade of red in his eyes. When he spoke, his gorgeous voice sounded far away, hollow and flat. I felt his touch as if through a gauzy shroud.
No.
NO!
Ignoring everything else in the infinite space that was now my brain, I trained all my growing powers of concentration on visualizing his perfect face, his perfect body, and the feelings his touch evoked within me. Moment by moment I relived everything, trying to see more clearly, but it was no use. It was slipping away from me, becoming lost in a thickening fog even as every other thing around me came into ever-sharper focus.
But I refused to give up so easily. I couldn't calm the racing of my heart or the ragged, panting breaths that scorched my throat. I couldn't escape the blazing furnace that my body had become. I couldn't make sense of where I was or if I was even still alive. But as long as I still had some form of consciousness, I would fight to keep the memories that had become my lifeline.
So I fought. I raged. Through sheer force of will I held on to each and every moment and refused to let them fade away. And although I wasn't able to regain their former clarity, I somehow managed to keep them from dissipating any further.
The endless burn raged on, and even as I struggled with my traitorous memory, I could feel myself continuing to grow stronger. When new noises came, I could listen.
A door closed somewhere below me—so I was upstairs—but this time I could hear light footsteps as they crossed the floor and ascended a staircase. There was a whisper of air stirred by an opening door, the footsteps got closer, and then I felt light pressure brush my forehead and trail down my cheek. I couldn't feel the coolness of the fingers—the fire blistered away every memory of cool—but the touch was familiar nevertheless.
"So beautiful. You were already quite lovely, but I had no idea…" He trailed his fingertip down my arm, and when he reached my hand he lightly stroked the back of it for a few moments. His next words were quiet, distracted, almost as if he didn't realize he was saying them out loud. "The next year really is going to be near to unbearable; sometimes I wonder what on Earth I was thinking." With that his touch disappeared from my skin, and I heard him start to walk away before he stopped, let out a deep sigh, and returned to my side. The bed on either side of my head dipped underneath the weight of his hands as his lips brushed against mine for a moment.
"I don't know if you can hear me or not. But if you can...everything's going to be fine. I know you're in pain, but just a few hours more—tonight at the very latest—and it will all be over. You won't ever have to hurt again." There was pressure on my lips again, harder and longer than before, and then the rustle of fabric as he stood up again. "I have to leave again for a little bit, but I'll be back soon. I will be here when you wake up this time, I promise."
Then he was moving away once more, leaving the room, the house. Leaving me more confused than ever. When he first said it would all be over soon, I thought he meant that I would finally die. But then he promised to be here when I woke up…so what did that mean? There was a dim memory of whispered words threatening to never let me go…and he made mention of the next year…was it possible he had decided to keep me? I knew the thought should terrify me, but somehow it didn't. If he wanted me…I was his.
And still, through everything, the fire continued to burn.
Time passed. The memories were getting harder and harder to hold onto now, and it was taking every ounce of focus I had to keep them from fading out any more. When the pain changed, I barely noticed. Distantly, I realized that the fire was fading out from my fingers, my toes, even as in my heart it somehow, impossibly, burned even hotter. The parched thirst tearing at my throat, the furious new pace of my heart, the blazing sun in my chest…it was all of it secondary to the desperate need to keep the feel of him, the taste of him from disappearing. For a moment I thought I heard noises from downstairs again, but then...
My heart took off, beating like helicopter blades, the sound almost a single sustained note as it did its best to crash right through my ribcage. The fire flared up in the center of my chest, sucking the last remnants of the flames from the rest of my body to fuel the most scorching blaze yet. The pain was enough to stun me, to break through the iron grip of my concentration as my back arched, bowed as if the fire was dragging me upward by my heart.
The fire constricted, concentrating inside that last remaining organ as with one final, desperate surge I lunged for my retreating memories and held on with all my might. Once, twice, three times more my heart stuttered, before giving one last quiet thud.
There was no sound. No breathing. Not even mine. Whatever it was, it was over, and for a moment, the absence of pain was all I could comprehend.
I didn't realize someone was in the room with me until I felt fingertips stroke across my face. The touch was smooth and soft, the feeling tingly and electric. Familiar, but so wrong.
My reaction was instinctive and instantaneous. Within less than half a second I had flipped off of the bed and was crouched in a defensive pose against the far wall as a low growl bubbled up from my chest. My eyes swept the room, searching for any sign of danger before settling on the figure standing next to the bed.
Had I thought he was beautiful before? Had I really imagined that my feeble memory did any justice to the absolute flawlessness of his face? I may as well have been blind. Perfect, flawless, beautiful, exquisite…none of these were adequate. Once again, there were no words.
I really needed better words.
It took almost another full second before realization hit.
Fast. I had flown across the room faster than it would normally take to blink.
Strong. I could feel the strength in my coiled muscles, could see the wariness in his eyes as they watched me, the guarded way he held himself.
Cold. That was why his touch had felt so wrong—it should have been cold, but it hadn't been. It felt warm, because we were the same temperature now.
"Poor little lamb, you still don't realize your danger, do you? You may think you do, but you would be wrong." Cold kisses and soft murmurs against my throat. "No, your real danger is that now that I have finally found you, I just may never let you go." Sharp teeth sliding into my neck.
He didn't kill me. He didn't somehow keep me alive and human so that he could continue to feed from me. He changed me, made me a vampire like him. His equal.
He wanted to keep me.
Before I even recognized my intentions, I had launched myself across the room. If I had stopped for even a moment to think then I would have realized it was probably a bad idea; with the careful way he was regarding me I would have known he would expect it to be an attack. But I didn't stop, I didn't think, and I had only an instant to take in the look of alarm that crossed his face before my hands tangled in his glorious hair, my lips crashed into his, and my momentum sent us tumbling into the floor. Not onto the floor—into the floor—where I suddenly found myself flipped onto my back with my hands pinned above my head.
His pose above me was aggressive, dominating, but his expression was more confused than anything else. His eyes searched my face closely, and understanding my mistake I did my best to lie still underneath him while he decided whether or not I was a threat. Eventually his grip on my wrists loosened, and I kept my movements slow and careful as I pulled my arms free. Still moving slowly, I brought my hands to his shoulders before sliding one down his chest and around his back to splay between his shoulder blades. My other hand slipped around his neck and then up to the back of his head, once again tangling itself into his hair.
Never breaking eye contact, I gently tugged his head down until his lips were pressed to mine.
And that was the end of slow and gentle.
The tenuous hold I had on my control was completely obliterated the moment I tasted his mouth, so sweet and warm as I devoured it with wet, hungry kisses. I heard him moan as he grasped my face, angling it and tipping my chin up to allow his tongue maximum access. Our mouths were ravenous-lips, tongues, and teeth hitting and scraping against each other as we battled for dominance of the kiss. My legs fell open when he rocked his lower body against me, and he settled into place between them as I arched up into him, seeking more friction. Our clothing shredded like wet tissue under our frantic hands, and I couldn't get enough of the feel if his bare skin against mine—the soft silkiness of it under my sensitive fingertips, the low-voltage current that racked my body wherever we touched. My nails scraping down his back had him throwing his head back and hissing as his hips pressed harder against me, and I took the opportunity to attack his neck with my mouth. God, his skin tasted exquisite, like nothing I had ever known before. I had dim memories of licking him, tasting him, but my weak human senses had obviously not been able to appreciate just how delicious he was. I needed more.
Before I knew it I had rolled us over, the nightstand beside the bed crumbling under his weight as his shoulder slammed into it. My legs straddled his hips as I leaned over him, nibbling and licking at his collarbone before moving down to his sleek chest. I delighted in the give of his flesh under my mouth and hands; so different than the hard, cold stone I had felt before. My hands stroked their way downward, relishing the way his abdominal muscles trembled under their touch. My mouth licked and sucked its way to a small hard nipple, and I swiped it with the flat of my tongue just as one hand closed around his hard length. Something that sounded like half growl, half roar, escaped him as in a movement so fast it should have been dizzying he sat us up, spun around, and slammed my back against the wall hard enough to break through the sheetrock.
His mouth was ferocious on mine now, his hands gripping my ass and hoisting me up against him until his hardness was sliding against my slippery folds. I wrapped my legs around his back as he adjusted his grip on me, grasping my hips now and positioning me so that the head of his cock nudged at my entrance. He thrust his hips upward at the same time that he jerked mine down onto him, impaling me completely with one smooth movement. I cried out at the sudden sensation, shocked at the way I could feel every inch of him so intensely. He used his grip on my hips to move me up and down on him in time with his thrusts, and I could feel the way each ridge and vein massaged my inner walls with every stroke.
I squirmed against him as the pressure built, my hands clawing at his shoulders and his mouth swallowing the desperate cries I couldn't control. The intensity of the sensations, the sheer force of my arousal, was like nothing I could have imagined; nothing in my former life could have prepared me for this. Even the endless night we had spent together paled in comparison—I just hadn't been capable of feeling this much before.
I could feel my inner muscles fluttering and clenching around him, could feel the electricity spreading through my body as it prepared to combust, and it suddenly wasn't enough. I had the overwhelming need to mark him, claim him—to fuck him into submission before I let myself come undone. As much as he had made me his, I now needed to make him mine.
I let instinct take over as I grabbed onto his hair, yanking his mouth away from mine and pulling his head back so that I could trail biting, sucking little kisses down his throat. The force of my movement toppled us over, and he grunted as I landed on top of him, the impact forcing him even deeper inside of me. My body remembered the rhythm he had taught it, and my movements on him were sure and strong as I sat up and grasped his shoulders for leverage.
His eyes were clenched shut, his lips slightly parted as I rode him with everything I had. Some part of my mind registered the sounds of the floorboards splintering and cracking underneath us, but most of my focus was on the ball of white-hot fire growing within me, getting ready to erupt. Just as I reached critical mass, I spoke my first words since waking up. "Look at me" I growled, and his eyes flew open to meet mine as my body began to tremble and jerk above him. Our eyes held as the flames licked through me, and it was I who finally broke contact, falling against him and sinking my teeth into his shoulder as every cell in my body suddenly exploded. I heard him cry out hoarsely as his hands tightened on me, holding my hips hard against his as he shuddered and came deep inside me.
I slowly came back to myself, a bit chastened to realize that my teeth were still imbedded in his shoulder; I withdrew them quickly. A small part of me was grimly satisfied that I might have returned even a tiny bit of the agony he had caused all the times he had bitten me, but far greater than that was an overwhelming aversion to ever seeing him in pain—much less causing it myself. I gently licked the place I had bitten, hoping that the effect would be the same as the times he had done it to my wounds, before nuzzling my face down into his chest and breathing in his scent. I felt him rumble a bit beneath me, almost like purring, and I couldn't hold back a little giggle.
One of his hands had begun to trail idly up my spine, but at the sound of my laughing he went completely still. I did too, actually, because this was not what I expected to hear. This laughter was like the tinkling of little silver bells, shimmering beautifully in the air around us before dying away. Was this what I sounded like, now? Would I recognize my voice at all? And if my voice had been changed so much in my transformation, what had happened to the rest of me? Would I be as otherworldly and stunning as he was? Would I even recognize myself?
"What's funny?" he asked, breaking into my internal musing as his hand resumed its lazy exploration of my back. Reminded of my original amusement, I couldn't help but giggle again as I propped myself up on my elbows so I could see his face. "You purred; it was cute." I said with a grin. My smile was wiped off my face an instant later, however, as the banked fire in my throat flared to life at my words. Gasping, I sat up straight as my hand flew to my neck, clawing at the skin. But…oh…that movement caused interesting things to happen where we were still connected…and the flames in my throat were no match for the feeling of him hardening inside me again. Ruthlessly I pushed the pain aside; after all, I had gotten a lot of practice at that recently. And when he sat up and moved to lift me off of him, I whimpered in denial and wrapped myself more firmly around his body.
"Love, we need to get up and get you fed. You must be so thirsty; I shouldn't have let myself get distracted before, but you took me by surprise…I wasn't expecting…you're not supposed to…Isabella…oh, God…" His words trailed off as his hands went from trying to push me away, to instead pulling me impossibly closer. My lips trailed across every inch of his face as my hips continued to undulate against him. This was new. We had been quick and rough, we had been slow and tender, but we had never before been so intimately connected. Our mouths meshed as our arms wrapped around each other, pulling us so tightly together that there was no room for thrusting; all we could do was rub against one another, our skin never breaking contact.
He spoke to me between long kisses; words of praise, encouragement, tender endearments. "Yes…my Isabella…so sweet…here, lift your legs-yeah, just like that…oh, fuck…how did you get so…I've never…God, you're amazing…mine…say it, Isabella…tell me who you belong to…"
I wanted to whisper his name, moan it, scream it…but that posed an interesting problem—one I wasn't equipped to deal with right at this moment in time. So I answered his demand in the only way I was able. "Yours…I'm yours…always yours, only yours…please, I…oh…oh…oh God…yes…oh God yes…I'm…I'm gonna…ah…ah…aaahhhhhh…"
The scorching wildfire in my throat was there to greet me when I came down this time; it was getting harder to ignore, and I knew that soon I would have to ask him how to douse it. But for right now, there was something more important on my mind. He resisted when I pulled away slightly, but I had no trouble breaking his hold and leaning back so that I could look straight into his eyes. I knew what I wanted to ask, but was unsure of how to do it. I mean, we had spent countless hours exploring each other's bodies, but very few words had been shared. Well, that wasn't exactly true, but mostly they had been soft murmurings spoken in the heat of passion; we hadn't exactly been carrying on conversations or getting to know each other. Which is what led up to this very awkward moment where I was trying to figure out how in the heck to ask him…
"Do you have a name?"
Well, I guess that's one way to do it.
Surprise came first, followed by what looked like it could be chagrin; it was hard to tell, because it only lasted for a moment before amusement curled his mouth and lit up his eyes. His smile grew into chuckles, which quickly became full-on laughter, and all I could do was stare, mesmerized. I was positive that I had never seen anything more breathtaking, either in this life or the last. I had seen him smirking, seen him menacing, seen him aroused—and all of it was amazing, but nothing could compare to this carefree boy before me now.
The laughter died away, but his mouth kept its crooked little smile and his eyes still danced as they looked back at me. "Yes, I have a name" he replied. And that was it. I quirked an eyebrow at him expectantly, and the little shit just lifted one right back at me. We stayed like that for a while, me getting more irritated in direct proportion to how large his smirk was getting. I was stubborn, I knew that about myself, and under most circumstances would have refused to be the one to break the stalemate I found myself in. But my throat was becoming more parched by the moment, and he looked like he was more than willing to sit here indefinitely if need be. So I caved.
"And what might that name be, if you don't mind my asking?" My voice was positively dripping with sarcasm, and if possible his smile grew even bigger before he answered.
"Edward Cullen; pleased to make your acquaintance."
Edward. I turned the name over in my mind, tasted it on my tongue. "Edward." I liked it. It was old-fashioned, almost aristocratic; it suited him. But he was still smirking at me, and I've seen Pretty Woman, and I couldn't help asking, "Can I call you Eddie?" I immediately wished I had kept my smart mouth shut, however, as his smile fell away and irritation took its place. "No", he answered shortly, and this time when he moved to lift me away from him I did not resist. "And for future reference, I am not cute, either." His voice was cold as he rose and crossed the room, disappearing through a doorway I hadn't noticed before.
I was torn; part of me wanted to cry at the way I had so stupidly ruined such a beautiful moment. The rest of me was trying to pick my jaw up off the floor, because damn, the view of his naked body from behind was absolutely magnificent. I felt my body responding to the visual, and yep, it was official—Bella Swan was a sex addict.
And with that thought the world came screeching to a halt.
Bella Swan. That was my name. Bella, not Isabella; I hated the name Isabella. Everyone who knew me was aware of that, although I had a suspicion that Charlie called me Isabella behind my back; when I moved back to Forks a couple of months ago, everybody in town seemed to know me by that name. I spent weeks correcting people.
Charlie. My dad. He was a…police officer? Yes, that was it. Chief Swan. He had been so happy when I decided to come live with him until I finished high school, although if you didn't know him it would be hard to tell. He wasn't one to be demonstrative or talk about his feelings, but he had his own ways of showing how much he cared. Things like getting up at God only knew what hour of the morning to put chains on my truck because it had snowed the night before. I had never driven in the snow before; it didn't snow where I used to live. It was hot all the time, sunny…Arizona. Phoenix. I lived there with my mom. Renee. But not anymore. Why not? Because…she got married. To Bill? No, not Bill. Phil. That was it. Renee married Phil, who played some kind of sport. Baseball? Yes. Phil played baseball, so he moved around a lot, and I moved in with Charlie so that Renee could travel with him. I missed my mom, but living with Charlie wasn't so bad—I was used to it, anyway, since I had spent every summer of my life in Forks with him. We understood each other.
Charlie and Renee must be going insane right now! How long had I been missing? Were they looking for me, or did they think that I was dead? I had to call them, let them know that I was okay—
But could I? I sounded so different from how I used to; my voice was almost musical now. Would they even believe it was I without seeing me? And even if they did see me, would I be recognizable? I didn't even know what I looked like anymore, although I could take a guess at some things. I would be cold, hard, and pale (although I had already been pale to begin with, so that might not be so different). I would have dark shadows under my eyes, as if I was suffering from a sleepless night. But most of all…most of all, my eyes would be red. I was the living undead, and my crimson orbs would bear witness to the fact that I was now a monster—the stuff of myths and nightmares.
I couldn't go home. I no longer had a home, a family, a life. He—Edward—was all I had now, and I was already annoying him. One little comment, and he had flipped a switch—from smiling and playful, to cold and angry. I was going to have to be more careful from now on; I would need to watch my words and actions, do my best to keep him happy. Not only because I craved his smile, his laugh—although after only experiencing it that one time, I was already desperate to see it again—but also because I needed to ensure he didn't decide that I was more trouble than I was worth. If he changed his mind about keeping me, if he sent me away… No, it couldn't be allowed to happen.
I was broken from my reverie when he…when Edward walked back into the room only a few seconds after leaving it, still gloriously nude and carrying a wet washcloth. I stared at the floor and chewed on my lower lip as he crossed the room, too nervous to look at his face and see if he was still angry with me. The washcloth appeared in my line of vision, and my hand automatically reached out to take it from him as I finally chanced a quick glance up to gauge his expression. The good news was that he didn't look upset anymore; in fact, he didn't look anything. His face was smooth and unreadable, giving nothing away as he told me to clean up and get dressed, before turning and exiting through yet another door. I took a brief moment to wonder just how many damn doors this room had as I quickly wiped myself off, and then looked around me for something suitable to wear.
The scraps of material that littered the buckled and broken floor weren't going to do me any good, and I didn't see any dressers where new clothes might be hiding. I was just about to call out to Edward, asking how I was supposed to get dressed with no clothing, when he came back through the doorway and tossed something on the bed next to me. A frown tugged at my mouth when I saw that he was fully clothed, but I shook off my disappointment and reached for the pile of material, picking up a t-shirt and starting to pull it on. I say starting to, because it came apart in my hands before I could even finish dragging it over my head. I must have looked pretty comical standing there with my arms in the air; the mangled remains of the shirt hanging off of me, and most times I probably would have been the first to laugh at how ridiculous the situation was. At the moment, though, it just seemed to be the final straw. It was all suddenly too much, and in a complete and total overreaction I found myself sinking to my knees, arms crossed behind my head as I pressed my face to the floor and sobbed tearlessly. I didn't know what was wrong with me; my emotions were all over the place, I felt strange and alien in my own body, and the arid dryness in my throat was becoming intolerable.
Suddenly strong hands were pulling me up, powerful arms wrapping around me and holding me tight against his tall frame. "Shhhh", Edward whispered as his palm stroked against my hair, pressing my face to his chest. "Hey, hey—it's okay. You're just stronger than you realize, Love. It's all right; you'll learn to control it soon enough. It was just a shirt, nothing to cry over. I'll help you, all right?" His voice was soft and soothing as he held me close, so different from the cold detachment he had shown just a minute or so prior. I quickly calmed under his soft touch, and nodded my head silently as he gently pushed me down so that I was sitting on the bed. Reaching for the remaining item on the bed, he knelt in front of me and slowly pulled a pair of jeans over my feet and up my legs. He tugged at my hips in a silent request for me to stand up, and I placed my hands on his shoulders for balance as he pulled the jeans over my hips and fastened them—unnecessary, but I would use any excuse I could find to put my hands on him.
For a moment he looked like he was about to press a kiss to my bare stomach, but instead he rose to his feet and, taking my hand in his, led me through the last doorway he had exited. He stopped just inside, and I found myself in a large walk-in closet as he opened a drawer and pulled out another shirt. "Lift your arms up," he said, turning to me, and when I obeyed he slowly dragged the soft cotton down my upraised arms, trailing his fingers along the bare skin as he did. Slowly he smoothed the material over my ribs, fingers tightening minutely at my waist before falling away as he stepped back.
I flicked my eyes down to my chest before looking back at him and cocking my head to one side. "No underwear?" I enquired in a low voice, and his eyes darkened as they swept down my front slowly before coming back up to meet mine. "No."
Oh, how quickly excitement took over my body—bringing every nerve ending to life with tingling awareness of just how close he was, how the air between us pulsed like a living entity, how very much I wanted him.
I took a step closer, raising my hands to touch; but he countered with a quick step backwards, lifting his own hands to grasp mine before they could make contact. "Later" he said firmly, and I shook my head. "Now" I answered as I took yet another step toward him. His eyes flashed at me, and this time I stopped in my tracks—because although I could still see the lust in them, I could also plainly see the anger that flared as well.
"You are testing my patience, Isabella", he growled as he backed me up against the wall and pinned my hands beside my shoulders. "I have been willing to put up with a certain amount of attitude from you, because in truth I rather enjoy your outspokenness, your fierceness. But I will not tolerate outright disobedience. You need to trust me to take care of you, trust that I know what's best. Do you think that I don't want to take you right here, right now? That I don't positively ache to be inside you again?" He pushed his pulsing erection against my stomach, illustrating his point in a most direct way. His brought his head down next to mine, his lips brushing against my ear as he pressed his body up against me. "Oh, I want you, sweet Isabella. Never doubt that. And I will have you. Soon." He gave one last grind against me before stepping away, our only contact where his hands still held onto mine. "But right now, you NEED to drink. You must be unbearably thirsty, and I refuse to let you suffer just because you don't have control of your impulses yet."
I hung my head, shamed at my inability to get a handle on myself. Hadn't it only been a few minutes previous that I had vowed to behave myself, to be good for him? How quickly I had forgotten and allowed my own headstrong nature to take control! I would have to try harder, work at keeping a tighter rein on my wildly swinging moods, control my impulses.
Edward was leading me from the room now, grip firm around my wrist as he pulled me behind him down the stairs and out the front door, into the surrounding woods. A little ways in he stopped and turned to face me, releasing my wrist as he framed my face with his hands, tilting it up towards him. An indulgent smile tugged his lips up, and I could feel my own lips curve in an answering grin. Really, is own moods seemed to be as mercurial as mine were, ranging from playful to domineering to sweet in the space of a minute or two. I couldn't keep up.
"I brought you a present, love. Would you like to have it now?" Eagerly I nodded my head; if he was giving me gifts, then he must be happy with me, right? He certainly looked happy at the moment, and I basked in the glow that seemed to radiate outwards from his smile, suffusing me in warmth. "Good. It took me a bit of time to gather it all together; that was one of the reasons I was gone for so long before. I wanted everything to be ready for you when you woke up, and as it turns out I just barely made it back in time. You finished more quickly than I had anticipated."
As he spoke he was leading me further into the trees, walking backward as he continued to cradle my face in his hands, stroking my hair back from my temples with his long fingers. I kept my eyes on his, trusting him to lead me. He was happy with me; he cared for me—I could see it in his eyes, in the soft curve of his lips—and he would take care of me. He would be here to help me navigate my way through this new life, and he wouldn't let me fall.
Suddenly the wind shifted, blowing across my face and bringing with it a scent so powerful, so mouthwatering, that the burn in my throat flared to painful, raging life once again. I gasped, and Edward's hands dropped to my neck to stroke it soothingly. "Do you smell that, love?" he asked, and I nodded frantically, afraid to try and talk through the arid wasteland of my desiccated mouth. His hands released me and he took a step to the side. "Go, then. It's all yours; go and get it." And after taking half an instant to discern which direction the wind was blowing from, I took off through the trees in search of the most delectable odor I had ever encountered.
My focus was completely fixated on tracking down that maddening, delicious smell, but part of my brain—probably the part that used to regulate automatic functions like breathing and blinking—was taking in everything around me and committing it to clear, flawless memory. It was noticing the unbelievable speed with which I wove through the close-packed trees, so fast that everything should have been reduced to a streaky green blur as I sped along. But instead I could clearly make out each leaf, every insect that crawled along the tree trunks or burrowed its way into the ground as I sped by; I could hear every bird that grew silent at my approach, only to resume its song after I was past.
The scent grew stronger as the seconds passed, and within less than a minute I was breaking through into a small clearing where it seemed to emanate from. I fell immediately upon the body nearest to me, my teeth ripping into the tender throat as my fingers punched through skin and muscle, pulling it close against me as I drank greedily. The hot salty liquid poured down my throat, soothing the tearing, aching thirst as I drank in a mindless frenzy. All too soon the rush slowed to a trickle; I screamed in frustration as I dug deeper, tearing and rending in my eagerness to find more. Disgusted, I dropped the pieces at my feet and looked up, honing in immediately on a second heartbeat and lunging toward it.
The clearing was filled with screams now, terrified shrieks that delighted the crazed fiend I had become. The smell of blood permeated the air, and for a moment I was taken back to a dim alleyway where I huddled on the ground as a massacre went on around me. But this time the salt and rust smell didn't make me sick; no, this time it worked me into a frenzy as I flew from one thrashing body to another, drinking and gorging on the thick, delicious nectar that flowed freely. Whenever it would begin to slow I descended into a manic fury, ripping and shredding in my search for more, more, more, before moving on to the next warm body.
Then there was silence.
I stood in the middle of the clearing, the green grass surrounding me painted with bright splashes of crimson and littered with mutilated corpses and assorted body parts. I turned in a slow circle, taking in the grotesque tableau laid out before me, until my eyes fell on a figure standing at the tree line. Edward was leaning indolently against a large fir tree, hands pushed into the front pockets of his pants as he watched me. The remnants of his indulgent grin still played along his lips, and his eyes were fondly amused as they took in my macabre appearance.
Still moving slowly, I turned around and once again surveyed the scene in front of me, as if it somehow might have changed in the 3 seconds that I had been looking away from it. As if I didn't just murder and dismember 4 living breathing human beings. As if it weren't my hands and arms that were streaked with gore, not my fingernails that had bits of skin and flesh clinging underneath them, not my shirt that was soaked through and sticky with blood. I didn't rip that head clean off its shoulders and toss it to the side, didn't bury my face in the bloody stump of neck desperately trying to suck up every last precious drop.
No.
No.
No. No. No. No. No. Nononononononono.
I heard the first screams, but it wasn't until the third ripped through my chest that I realized they were coming from me. I was aware of Edward next to me, all amusement wiped from his face as he tried to hold me, touch me, turn my face to his and ask what was wrong. But I couldn't look at him, I couldn't turn away from the horror I had wrought.
I had been so happy that he had wanted to keep me for his own, that he had made me like him so that we could be together as equals. I had been so stupid, so blind. Now I wished that he had just killed me, drained every last drop of my blood and never given me another thought. Or that he had left me to the men in Port Angeles. I wished that I actually had been in hell when I was lying there burning on his bed; I would gladly spend an eternity in that ocean of suffering if it meant that I would never have to wake up to this. Had I thought that was pain? Had I honestly believed that there could be nothing worse?
I wanted to close my eyes, to cover them with my gory hands and block out the sight of what I had done; but I couldn't. I did this. I was a murderer, a monster, a demon of hell, and spawn of the devil. And I had no choice but to face what I had done. What I was.
The screams went on and on.