Beta'd by twificoholics

Chapter 2

I opened my direct messages, and felt the air in my lungs whoosh out, in a stuttering semblance of a breath, as I saw that the very third message was from none other, than "TheEdwardCullen". I gaped at the screen of my phone, trying, for the life of me to fathom, if my sight had finally succumbed to the lure of eternal delusion. Still benumbed, I clicked on the tiny photo to direct me to the profile of the person, and the first thing I saw was, the little blue tick next to the name of the person. Then I saw that the icon, which displayed the number of followers, read- no, scratch that- screamed, 54M.

Okay, deep breaths- In and Out, In and Odearfuckingalmightyinheaven.

Trying to quash, the absolute hysteria wracking through every fibre of my being, I willed my brain to function and decided to act rationally, like a mature, pragmatic person.

So, I closed the app and uninstalled it. Turning my phone off, I cleaned the screen until I could see my reflection in it, and then turned it on again. Once my phone showed that I had network again, I re-installed the Instagram app, and logged into my account. Hesitating for a couple of seconds, I finally clicked on the icon for direct messages, and scrolled down. The message from TheEdwardCullen was sitting smugly, glaringly obvious, amongst other the inconsequential messages. Going on the profile again, I saw nothing had changed- the little blue tick was still there along with 54M followers.

Holy fucking shit!

Edward Cullen had messaged me. Not just anyone, Edward Cullen, the Edward Cullen, the one and only, the movie star, the one who had a little blue tick next to his name and fifty four million followers on Instagram, that Edward Cullen, had messaged me- plain, ol' Bella Swan. I hyperventilated, for what seemed like hours, before standing up and pacing the small area of my living room. I ineptly traipsed down the cheap flooring of my home, from my living room, to my self-effacing kitchen, opening and closing the doors of my fridge. I wandered into my bedroom and back to my living room, all the while, fidgeting my thumbs, and torturing my bottom lip with my teeth. Sitting back on the couch, I picked up my phone and saw the message was still there. Taking a deep breath, I finally read the message:

"Hello, I'm Edward Cullen. I believe you just did a shoot for my sister, Alice's, new make up line. I saw the pictures and they are truly phenomenal. You are extremely talented. I found this photo of yours on your profile, and at the risk of sounding like a complete creep, I just wanted to say you're absolutely breath taking."

My eyes were wide as saucers, and I felt, as though my heart was trying to beat out of my chest. I read the message thrice before comprehending its meaning. Finally, I opened the picture he had sent. It was a black and white self-portrait. I was standing in front of the full-length mirror, with my camera on the tripod in front of me, resting one arm on top of the camera, while the other hand was on the click button of the camera. The only lighting in the photo was of the small lamp behind me, which stood next to my bed, as I stared straight ahead.

I had taken this picture around two months back, a particularly hard time for me. I had hardly done any shoots that month, and just barely scratched by, for the first time, having to choose between groceries and being able to make rent. I had wanted to give up then, wanted to go back to Forks, knowing that there, at the very least, I would have the safety of a roof, and maybe I could teach classes at the Rec Centre. I had taken this picture to remind myself to not give up on my dream. It was a reminder that even in tough times, I would persevere and shine through. Yeah, it was some deep fucking bullshit, but it made me stay in LA.

The absolutely breath taking Edward Cullen, had called this photo, absolutely breath taking.

But what surprised me even more was the amount of posts he must have gone through, to reach to this picture. I tried to upload at least once every two days, obviously missing some days, but even then he had to go through at least twenty posts to get here. I was baffled that someone like Edward Cullen checked out my profile. Going back to his message, I clicked on reply. After several attempts of trying to form an acceptable reply and a few agitating minutes later, I finally came up with this:

"Hi. Thanks a lot for your kind words. It's really surreal to receive such a compliment from someone like you. Thank you again."

After re-reading the reply, a couple of times, I finally pressed send, before throwing my phone down, next to me, leaning back on the couch to close my eyes. This was turning into an overwhelming week, and it was only Tuesday.

On Thursday, I decided to go to the coffee shop near my apartment to treat myself with a delicious, albeit expensive, coffee, as a reward for doing well on Alice's makeup line. I had met Alice's team yesterday, everyone who was involved in the development of TheACWBeauty. The packaging had been finalized, and now they wanted to gradually start revealing the products. I had to send an outline for the shoots I planned to do, based on the specification provided by Alice and her creative director, listing the equipment and the props, which I might require. I had to send this by tonight to the wannabe McGonagall, who I learnt was actually Alice's assistant, and went by the name, Mrs. Cope.

I hadn't heard back from Edward since Tuesday, when I had replied back to him on direct message of Instagram. I didn't expect him to reply, figuring that the message from him was a one-time occurrence and unlikely to happen again. But it still hurt, kind of.

I had been a follower of his from much before, liking every picture, commenting here and there, obsessively staring at his posts, specially the ones which had his beautiful face in them- the bronze colored hair, the smoldering emerald green eyes, the sharp cheekbones that could cut mountains, the straight nose. However, after he had messaged me, something had changed.

Until the message, there was always a screen between Edward and I, where he existed on the virtual side of it, and I, existed on the other side, the reality. The reality, where normal people like me only dream of meeting stars, always watching them from far away, building up fantasies in our minds, imagining them to be a certain way. But after that message, there was a physical, tangible proof that Edward existed in reality as well. He wasn't just someone I saw on the big screen or read about in the newspaper anymore. There was an invisible thread, which connected his virtual, ethereal end to my reality. Maybe this was why it hurt more than it should have when he didn't reply back.

And maybe that's why I compulsively opened my Instagram app again for the umpteenth time in two days, to ensure I didn't miss his reply, just incase he did decide to revert back. The sip of the java chip Frappuccino that I had just taken got stuck in my air pipe, as I coughed incessantly, staring the new message from TheEdwardCullen. Opening it, I saw he had replied with a one liner that read:

"Someone like me?"

He had replied. He didn't need to reply back, but he did. The conversation could have ended at that last message I had sent. He could have gone on with his life, forgetting about the message from some random chick on Instagram, and I would have gone on with my life, albeit reluctantly. But he chose to reply back to me. I smiled involuntarily at the thought, staring at his tiny picture for a couple of minutes, before replying:

"Yeah, you know, someone like you. I mean, like, someone who is so beautiful that even angels want to cry."

I sent the message, before groaning loudly and cursing at myself, making the couple sitting at the next table stare at me. Who wrote shit like that? What did it even mean? Why would angels want to fucking cry? Yeah, like that's important right now, Bella.

Rolling my eyes at myself, I thanked the Gods above that Instagram had the option to unsend a message. Pressing down on the bubble, which held my reply, I was just about to select unsend, when I noticed a small 'seen' appear next to the bubble.

I groaned louder, and this time, several people turned to look at me. No, them looking at me, as if I was a raving lunatic, wasn't even remotely as embarrassing as Edward having read that message. I banged my head on the table I was sitting at. I cursed at myself again, this time, because, now, apart from being painfully embarrassed, my head also hurt.

Why, God, why me?

Edward Cullen had chosen to message me, out of the fifty four million people that followed him. And not only that, he had fucking replied back to me. How many people on this planet could claim, that not only did their favorite celebrity message them, but also, they were lucky enough to receive a second message. I'm damn sure, not very many. And now, I had wasted that second opportunity. I could have messaged something cool, something funny, something, which would have made him want to message me again. Anything would have been better than this weird message, I had sent. But no, I had to send that one creepy message that would turn him off of me, forever.

I glanced at my phone, and saw that Edward hadn't replied, even after seeing the message. Of course, he wouldn't. Who would, after that fucked up, stupid message?

I rubbed my forehead, trying to ease the throbbing, because of the bang on the table earlier. I decided to send him another message. I couldn't possibly make this situation worse.

"I'm so sorry for that extremely awkward message, where I sounded like a fucking tumblr quote. I just meant that when some one as good looking as you finds, someone like me beautiful, it feels unreal. That's what I meant to say. Again, so sorry for that weird angels cry message."

Waiting for another ten minutes or maybe it was twenty five, when he still didn't revert back, I sighed quietly, before throwing the overly priced, excessively sweet, still half-full drink away, to go home.

I was lying on my bed, in the dark, checking the updates on my social media. I had sent the email to Mrs. Cope; I had a meeting with Alice tomorrow, along with her financial manager and creative director, to review my plans and make any necessary changes required.

I was very deliberately ignoring the icon for direct messages, which indicated I had thirty-eight new messages. I was also, consciously skipping all the photographs and videos that had Edward in them, which was difficult, especially because I followed five different kinds of fan pages, dedicated to the very man, I was trying to ignore. I scrolled through my Instagram feed, updating myself on what the Kardashians were up to. After hearing Khloe say 'fuck', five times in a sentence, and Kim say 'like', ten times, I finally gave in, and checked my direct messages. My heart skipped a beat, when I saw that the very second message was from TheEdwardCullen, the time stamp showing 4 minutes ago. I opened it quickly to read what it said:

"Hahaha. A tumblr quote? Now that you've mentioned tumblr, I'm totally re-reading that message, imagining it in a weird font, slapped on a totally random picture."

I rejoiced silently, and thanked the Gods above that he had replied, even after the spastic message I had sent. I typed out a quick reply:

"It would totally look pretty cool written on top of some birds flying. Imagine, a couple of birds in the sky, and this message right on top of it. I'm sure the tumblr world would say it's fucking poetic or some shit!"

His reply was instantaneous:

"I'm pretty sure tumblr would find it written on top of a pair of shoes also poetic."

I laughed a little. I was about to reply, but his message came first:

"Also, you find me good looking? And, what do you mean by someone like you?"

I ignored his question of what I meant by someone like me, instead, focusing on the other part of his message with:

"Obviously, don't pretend as if this is news to you. Everyone, including yourself I'm sure, finds you good looking."

I bit my lip, as I waited for his reply. A quick scroll, through the profile of the film he was promoting, informed me that he, along with the entire cast, were currently in Paris. It was presently ten at night in LA, which, according to Google, meant that it was seven in the morning in Paris. I wondered, why was he up so early. My heart beat loudly, in excitement as I saw his reply come in a bubble on the screen:

"Okay, I confess, I do actually think I'm good looking, but in a totally non-conceited way (I mean, mostly non-conceited)."

I giggled at the message. Before I could reply, I received another message from Edward:

"And you ignored my question. I want a reply, Ms. Swan. What did you mean by someone like you?"

I stared at the Ms. Swan for a good couple of minutes, blood rushing to my face, as I felt myself getting a little turned on, by his assumed commanding tone. Shaking my head, to come out of my stupor, I replied to him:

"Yeah, you know, someone like me. I mean, like, someone who literally looks like the girl next door, with no special or redeeming features in my looks."

Yes, I tried to make my message look cute, to hide the self-depreciating factor of it, replying to the message in the exact way I had, when he asked what I meant by someone like him. I stared impatiently, at the three dots that came in a bubble on the direct message window, indicating that he was typing. Finally, his reply came:

"Didn't anyone ever tell you? The girl-next-door is the prettiest one, the one you dream about, the one you want to marry, the one you want to give your all to. She is the one you pray for, that one day maybe, she'll give you a chance. The girl-next-door is also the naughtiest one, the one that hides behind the innocence of her face, the one that does wicked things to your body, the one that makes all your fantasies come true. The girl-next-door is the best girl."

I didn't sleep that night.

A/N: Hey, all you lovely readers. I hope you enjoyed that chapter. I will be posting a new chapter every week, and I promise, I'll try, to not fall of the wagon, so to speak, and delay in posting.

Couple of things:

Firstly, a million thanks to twificoholics, who took the time and effort to beta my horrible writing. If you like what you're reading, it's only because of her. Go follow her on Instagram, same name there, cs she's fucking awesome.

Secondly, speaking of Instagram, I took your advice, and created an Instagram for this story. Go to throughthelensfanfiction, where I post awesome pics for the story, and sneak peaks from the upcoming chapters.

Thirdly, please review :)