Edward Anthony Mason Cullen

She was breathtaking at every single aspect. Her smooth, mahogany hair cascading on her back in loose waves, her slender waist, her flawless, pale skin. I barely contained myself from the impending possibility of actually caressing her porcelain white cheeks, my fingers skimming against the silky texture of her skin. She seemed to be jumping slightly on her heels, as if in child-like excitement. Thoughts of Rosalie Hale had long been suppressed by the images of immaculate beauty before me.

Bella Swan squinted up at me, her eyes scanning my crisp suit. We were like a couple of mannequins boring each other gazes in the long stretch of the empty hallway. The silence was particularly deafening here than the bedlam going on downstairs. I couldn't seem to put my thoughts into the form of words. She was, right before my eyes, and I was shuffling uneasily on the velvet carpeted floor. Surely I could obtain as minimum confidence to say out the simplest of things: my name. No. That would be like delving into my own bloodbath.

"Isabella! Isabella Swan, you come right here this instant! Your father is requesting for your immediate presence!"

Bella spun her head at the direction of the booming voice, her hair whipped across her cheeks gracefully. Her lips curled into a tight grimace as she turned back, her shoulders shrugged in mock defeat. I couldn't help smiling at that familiar expression of rebellion plastered across her face. It fitted her though the subject of rebels was far from that immaculate classical beauty she owned. She was a strong woman, I knew.

"I have to go, then. I have to fit into that slutty dress even I spent the rest of my life defeating its purposes. Well, nice to meet you, "she muttered, her eyes lighting up, as if waiting for a response. I nodded. PATHETIC.

She nodded back and strode away, her steps impossibly sinuous and musical, a well-trained ballerina's footsteps. She seemed to be humming a soft, melodious hymn under her breath and her hair seemed to be dancing to the tune, bouncing on her shoulders as she walked further. I was still standing there, pondering over the possibility of vehement regret over the failure to grasp this amazing opportunity. My heart pounded furiously in my ears and what colour left in my cheeks seemed to drain at the intensity of the moment. I had to do it, I don't give a damn shit.

"Wait", I called as she was about to maneuver to the corner. She peered over her shoulder as a deluge of cold sweat threatened to soak through my already-damp shirt.

"The name's Edward. Edward Mason".

She nodded, acknowledging my courage. A smile carved across her beautiful face as she pushed back a strain of her hair from her eyes. Her slender fingers were gripping the hem of her mauve robe which perfectly hugged her slim waist, the ends billowing under her slippered feet. At the corner of her eyes, she seemed to be thinking, pondering hard as I waited, hands hovering above the pockets of my trousers.

"Well then, nice to see you, Edward Mason", she said, her voice impeccable through the distant between us.

And she was gone, drowned by the darkness of the room.

Isabella Marie Swan

Edward Mason. There seemed to be a ringing familiarity to the name I couldn't fathom what. He was undoubtedly handsome, his features defined...beautiful even. His tousled bronze hair glistening off the dim rays of the china lamps. His sleek, black suit cladding his muscular, toned body and that smile...excruciatingly intoxicating. His bare, white neck was almost too difficult to resist, temptations scalding off my tongue. Though there didn't seem to be any sense of thirst swimming through the my gnarled thoughts. His scent...was different. It was more vehement seduction than tempting my throat still felt coarse and parched. Perhaps a doze of alcohol could smolder the overbearing thirst for a moment, throughout the torturous evening of the inevitable eulogies.

I peered over the long stretch of mirror before me. The dress was maddeningly suffocating. Though it hugged my waist perfectly, emphasizing my bare neck. I had vehemently refused to be deeply powdered and rouged and so I had ended up with a thin coat of nude gloss over my lips. I could feel Charlie's presence just over the threshold, his eyes boring on the image splayed across the mirror. I spun and looked at him, arms folded in mock authority. He was still in his usual uniform of tattered jeans and a faded sweatshirt. And you imagined he would be all royal in his suit.

"You haven't changed", I muttered as he moved closer to me.

He grinned, stroking my bare, white shoulders. "I don't have to, do I? You already look you're going to steal the night".

I merely smiled at the comment. Suddenly I could feel some sort of rushing adrenaline coursing through my veins. Charlie's blood was better than I had expected. I began to steer myself away from him slowly and moved to the misty sash windows.

"Jacob'll be here in a moment, "he enthused, bursting into overly-excited father mode. I couldn't be bothered much. His scent lingered around my flaring nostrils. God, he really did smelled good.

"Look, Dad, I have to meet someone now. If Jacob calls for me, just tell him I'll be around the porch, yeah?"I began excusing myself. Charlie didn't seemed at all pleased with my sudden impending departure. Even unpleased with my lack of enthusiasm in the merest subject of the Blacks. He nodded, his forehead deepening with creases, resembling the ones on his sweats. I pressed my lips against his forehead and abruptly retreated, holding my breath.

"I love you, Dad,"I murmured and went off, leaving my widowed father drowning into the depths of devastation.

I needed to see him. It seemed the moment we met through the tank was so impotent but it held a thousand different meanings for me. He just appealed to me in a different way, not like those other guys who tried too hard to obtain attention. He got my fullest in a nanosecond.

"Well if it is not the Isabella we have long awaited for."

I turned back, my steps faltering at the familiar, velvety voice. Rosalie Hale. How nice of her to step into her house in that tiny dress which exposed an inch too much of her cleavage, her lucious blonde hair whipped into a plain chignon. Oh, how heavenly she looked, her eyes furtively scanning my own dress in what seemed like...disdain. My eyes lingered across at the guy she was holding hands with, at the bulky facade and the tight shirt he had on.

"Rose. How nice of you,"I muttered, smiling mockingly up at her pretty face.

"Oh, Bella. You know I never turn down an invitation. Your dress is...nice." I felt like bashing off those perfect features and scornful smile off her face.

I nodded and smiled at the guy next to her. His eyes litted up at the polite gesture and if I wasn't mistaken, I could just spot a envious glint from the corner of Rosalie's eyes as she stared the vast outstretched hand before me. I grasped it and we shook hands. His skin was appalingly smooth despite the tough facade he donned. "Emmet." His tone was sheepish and he seemed uneased with my presence.

"Good to see you, Emmet. I'm Bella Swan. I'll leave you guys here then. I better get going".

Emmet's face seemed to lift up a tad as I strode off, lifting my dress at the hem. I couldn't be cooped up in this pandemonium hellhole much longer, the intoxicating scents of their blood wafting through my flared nostrils. They were terrorizing the meagre amount of self-control left in me. As I marched out the double doors, I breathed in the crisp air of the night. Relief swept through my insides as I flopped on the cobblestoned steps, taking off my three-inch heels and tossed them over the patch of immaculate green grass.

"Ah, if not the princess in black."

I looked up, expecting to see Jacob in his facetious robes he had planned to wear for the masquerade. He had randomly picked it out from the thrift store which sold it for a mediocre amount 'cause there were about fourteen holes at the back and through the pockets. I had offered to stitch it up, always the teacher's pet, for a trip to town to get my mask which apparantly I had forgotten to bring it down with me what with the rapid hurry and all.

It wasn't Jacob. It was Edward.

"Hey, Edward." I sheepishly beckoned over the space beside me for him to sit. He hit his butt on the hard stone his mask intact. I wished I could just rip it off his face. He didn't seem too comfortable though in his spot, he was shuffling uneasily towards me, his arms hugging his knees. Well I wasn't liking our positions much either. I stood on the balls of my bare feet and stretched my hands out at him. He stared at it curiously, his brows furrowed.

"Come on, bring me to a pub. My treat."

A smile slowly crept across his face and took my hand in a loose grip. His hands were cold but just as smooth as Emmet's. I steered him of the steps and scanned the cramped parking lot.

"So, where's you car?"I asked, squinting up at him.

And in a flash, he swept me into his arms, like we had known each other for long and gazed down at me. "Your Aston Martin awaits you, my lady."

"Oh, you are the oasis to my thirst, dear, Sir Edward." Yucks I know. Sappy much. But I couldn't deny the connection I felt with him, the vehement intensity in his lingering gaze. I was in..love.

A/N-

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