Deceit: A Story of Masks

Part II - The Monster

Summary: "He could get lost that way. In the happiness. He could get lost seeing things that just aren't there anymore." ~ Edward needs Bella. He needs her and protects her and she helps keep him sane. But in the end, does he really love her? "Damn his midnight sun. Damn her blistering heat and sweltering gaze. Damn it all."

A/N: When I first set out to write that oneshot, I never believed I would be continuing it. But of course, true inspiration comes from all places and I just got hit right over the head with this one. So I was checking over "Masks" (Bella's Story) and then I just thought, what if she's right about Edward? What if he didn't love her?

And then voila, this messed up version of EPOV was born.

It's hard to comprehend near the end. And the explanation's at the bottom. Don't want to give away the premise of this one. ;)

OOooOOooOOooOOooOOoo

Imagine a world where everything is so bright and shining and filled with colour. Imagine a world where everything is so clear and unforgettable. That's his world. That's the world he's cursed to live in; forever. He closes his eyes and he finds that it doesn't make a difference. Eyes open or closed, the world is still bright, the colours still not dimmed. He scoffs then, what does it matter, light, colour, brilliance, all of it was meaningless. The world was dark to him.

He remembered a time when the world still held meaning in his eyes, when he was human and naïve and young and not dead. It's ironic; that when the world was most dimmed and seemed the darkest was the time when he felt it really shone.

And for the longest time, his world had been a constant midnight sky. No stars or moon hung in his line of sight. He had felt the crushing darkness and cold suffocating him (breath in, breath out; even though he didn't really need to breathe at all), binding him, trapping him in its eternal frost. The world seemed pointless. Who was he, to intrude in the midst of things? Who was he to disrupt the natural order of things? He was unnatural, shouldn't exist. He didn't deserve to stay in this world.

What he wouldn't give to have his existence end. None of the others understood. Only Carlisle alone could see his inner turmoil.

But he wouldn't give into temptations, not when he had people to please and family who loved him.

So on and on and on and on went forever. It never was what he wanted. Every day a tandem, every day the same thing over and over and over (and he was suffocating again under it all) until he couldn't take it anymore.

But that was when it happened, when a sudden shooting star ran across the sky, lighting up his vision. A light in the darkness. A light to guide him. His midnight sun.

It wasn't always like that. Like anything love grew slowly and surely until it burst. He remembered seeing her, smelling her. He remembered the sweet smell of her blood and feeling his eyes bleed black ink and seeing her suck a breath in and holding his breath (suffocating) and clutching the desk and the hunger exploding within him. And how she looked at him. Eyes wide with suppressed fear.

She caught his attention, sucked him in with her stubbornly blocked mind.

And from then on, everything changed. It was like his dark world shattered, leaving the onyx shards of fear and hatred and cold and death scattered all over the tree tops. His world was bright again and his midnight sun lit it all up with a light so dazzling he could barely see through her perfection. He basked in the glow, basked in the warmth. You are my sun.

He had never felt such a warmth and he clung desperately to the midnight sun. Clung like she was the only thing in the world that mattered to him and that he loved her so desperately it hurt.

He had always believed that. He had always believed that what he felt was love. He had always believed that what he felt was sincere. Because he had been burning. If he still had a heart that could beat it'd speed up whenever she got near. If he had blood that still ran through his veins it'd rise to flush his cheeks whenever she looked into his eyes. And he was burning for her love and devotion and desire.

So he told himself that he loved her, and he had believed it. He felt a desperate need to protect her, to shield her. Because if she was gone, what would that make him?

And as he whispered sweet nothings in her ear and toyed with her hair, he remembered that. And it was true; he knew it had been true. Because why else would he feel such a blinding rage at the hunter that dared to steal her away? Why would he feel so cold at the thought of her leaving? And he remembered as he slammed the hunter into the glass of the ballet studio only one thought was coursing through his mind and it froze him and left him bereft and bare and she was "mine".

Seeing her so broken on the hospital bed would've made her weep if he could. Because she was his midnight sun and he couldn't keep the only light in his life safe.

That was why he had left, he'd tell himself afterwards. He left because he loved her and needed to protect her. He hadn't left because the heat was dying. He hadn't left because he finally knew what it was like to be out of the cold and realized that he never was burning for her.

It was in those lonely months that he came to realize the truth. And the truth hurt. Because he never loved her the way he thought he did. He didn't care about Bella Swan or who she really was or what she ever thought of him. Bella Swan was nobody. No, he cared because he needed her. He didn't want to slip back into the dark cold and feel so pale and hard and soulless and dead. He clung to her because she was something to cling to.

Because she was his and his alone and nobody else could have her.

And god dammit if she was going to die! Because he was going with her. And he needed and craved that sweet smell, that sweet burn and the deep scars that she left behind. If his skin could burn it'd be blistering at her touch, her kiss, her look. She riddled him with so many holes and left him so hot and thirsty.

He felt ready to die. He had been ready to die for years and years on end. But he finally had a reason to.

Damn his midnight sun. Damn her blistering heat and sweltering gaze. Damn it all.

He had closed his eyes and got ready to step forward when – she came back.

Did she really love him then? Enough to return from the supposed death and find him all the way in enemy lands and rescue him? Just because she loved him?

He had never felt guilty before. At least, not guilt as strong as this, strong enough to tear him apart and burn him into ashes. If she loved him so much, if she went through so much just for him… well then what did that make him?

Maybe it would have been better if he stayed away. Maybe it would have been better if he died and never saw her again and she didn't have to look into his eyes and say with sincerity that she loved him.

From then on, every kiss seared him. Not in a good way. Never in a good way. Every kiss she gave branded him with the mark of guilt and shame. (And he was suffocating all over again except this time it was because of her love and desire and devotion) Shame and humiliation and every emotion in between. He never really knew what to feel about her any more.

He never loved her. Never.

That much was for certain.

Not love but something else. Desire. Need. Hunger. Thirst.

So he stayed with her and gave in to her demands. All the while putting on a façade of being vaguely human. Hiding who he really was. Hiding the monster deep within. And the longer he stayed by her side, the faster and more volatile his addictions grew. He couldn't last without her. He wouldn't withstand the cold again.

So he had protested against her decision to become one of them.

If she was cold too, who would be there to keep him warm? If she was a cold and pale and flawless monster and dead, who would be there to guide him away? What would constrain him from massacre, what would hold back his inner demons? No, his midnight sun had to stay human and she had to stay just the way she always was.

But of course, she couldn't know that was how he felt.

So he lied and cheated and deceived her from his true intentions.

The only problem was he hadn't realized the stubborn will of his midnight sun. And he never realized the fact that she wanted it so bad she was willing to do anything. He gave into her wills compromised with her. Only because he didn't want to lose her. He wanted to keep her happy and warm so she could take away the cold every second of every day.

Things got worse from there and he realized that he was falling into a trap he couldn't get out of. Didn't want to get out of.

She's not so bad as a monster. Graceful and beautiful as the rising sun. And it's not as cold as he thought it would be. She's far warmer than any monster he's ever met. He doesn't regret his decision, because it was damnation or death for her. And damn it all if she died. Damn it all if she died and he lost his warmth.

She still retains her fiery passion and her hot, searing kisses are still the same. There's less guilt in them though. Her white hot brand has ebbed and faded away until it was merely glowing red. Red as the setting sun. Red as the breaking dawn. Red as her dripping blood.

He can't think straight anymore. The only thoughts in his head are those of others (rolling and tumbling and suffocating him) and possessive, desperate; "mine". She's his and only his and never anyone else's property. His sun, his goddess, his warmth. His drug.

There's not much meaning in life anymore other than the ever searing heat and the guilt and the shame and the cold just a fingertip's brush away that he's tryingtryingtrying to keep at bay and the fact that he's dead.

When his midnight sun saunters down the stairs with a bright smile on her pale face and presses soft kisses to his embrace, he smiles. Because just like that it's all warm again and she's there with their beautiful daughter in her arms and presses soft kisses to her forehead too and they seem so happy.

He could get lost that way. In the happiness. He could get lost seeing things that just aren't there anymore.

But what's done is done and he couldn't change the past even if he wanted to (not that he did, because finally he wasn't suffocating anymore and he could breath and breath out even though he didn't quite need to).

So he settles on thinking of what could have been and what is.

He wonders sometimes, he wonders what it was like for Bella to love him.

What it was like for her to be loving a monster.

OOooOOooOOooOOooOO

A/N: Some general thematic similarities here. I like that aspect. Anywhoo, the ending was me trying to replicate Edward as a druggie who can't wait to get his next fix. So it's kind of strange because the phrasing is off in some places and it feels messed up in others. Y'know that line in Twilight when Edward refers to Bella was a drug? This is totally what my premise is based on.

Stay tuned for more Cullen madness to come! Review please? Feedback? Is it okay or should I give up on the idea entirely?

Ciao~ Ale