A/N- Hi again. Thank you for coming back.

Here's a link to the playlist with a music teaser for the next chapter(the last three songs)- www(dot)youtube(dot)com/view_play_list?p=2FD6EEF3EC8D19CD

Pain

All consuming fire mixed with ice.

Burned from the inside out.

Frozen from the outside in.

I cannot feel anything, but searing, terrifying agony. It feels like I will shatter into a million jagged pieces. Nothing compares to the pain, it is so indescribably overwhelming and I can't focus on anything or any one part of me, just pure torture.

Trying to focus on something, anything but the burning daggers that are assaulting every nerve, my mind cannot do anything but send pain messages back and forth. I try to scream, but I hear no sound. I try to move, to run from the pain, but the burning turns to stabs and slices throughout my body.

My skull feels full, too full, as though it will crack and break apart at any moment. My eyes burn and pulse, feeling like they will be pushed out of my head. I try to breathe through it, somehow remembering that oxygen helps pain, breathing deeply can relax muscles. But no relaxation comes. Only pain and burning, freezing cuts from within. My body revolts against me, only feeling pain until it seems I have gone numb. As soon as I try to focus on a part of my body the ebb of ice and flame returns pushing through my veins and scorches my focus away.

After an eternity of hell's embers and freezing death creeping along my body, I stop feeling altogether, total nothing. Blessed nothing. Although I am grateful for nothing, it also petrifies me further.

Alone with nothing. I am just alone in a dark abyss almost floating and unmoving. I concentrate hard on pushing the memories of the pain away and when it's gone, there is nothing. Merely entombed in a void. I don't know how long it's been. Minutes, days, years. Nothing is concrete, there is only black. I fade between remembering the pain of before and thankfully feeling nothing. So this is death...

At some point I do remember feeling again. Feeling something, something other than the pain so awful I begged for the numbness of death. Thirst.

My thoughts regain slowly and as soon as I can, I focus again and try to remember. I try to process how I got to wherever I am, but nothing is concrete. Clips, bits and pieces only, flash in my mind. A face that looks familiar with golden eyes, a smiling woman with a large hat, a man with a mustache in all black, a small black-haired girl twirling. The visions make no sense. I see big plants, lots of trees, a red truck, cactus and the bright sun above me, flowers and sparkling light all around. My thoughts swirl around from picture to picture like a moving slideshow wrapped in a fog. I feel like I'm dreaming, trapped in my head.

Am I in a coma? A dream maybe? Or dead?

My eyes snap open at that and panic sets in again. Burning. Hot. Aching pain sears throughout my body, jarring me into myself. It's like someone has lit a match inside me. I feel as though I have been left inside out in the desert on the hottest day. My body scorched completely, devoid of all moisture, turning to ash. Surely I wouldn't feel pain if I were dead, right? God, I'm so thirsty. I feel like I've been eating dirt and molten rock.

Water is not what I want, I don't think. How can I be so incredibly dehydrated and not want water?

Blinking a few times I notice my eyes feel dirty, like there is sand inside my lids, but it doesn't hurt. I try to look around but there is no light around me. I can see nothing at first.

Again, I think back. I look down at my hands becoming visible in the dark as my vision adjust. The last thing I can remember is seeing a beautiful, angular face so close to mine. A fierce red-eyed man with his hand on my face, his foot between both of mine with his knee pushing into my thigh, his groin pushing into my stomach and his arm wrapped around my back. I focus on his smile, so hungry and determined, yet familiar. At that moment I know I was scared, but now, I do not feel fear at the memory of the man. I remember a voice whispering, "You will never want to be with him again when I'm through with you. He left you to die."

Who left me to die?

He bit me, I remember that. I felt light-headed when he started to drain me. I concentrated on that feeling, my blood leaving. I remember this feeling, deep inside me, of my body trying to push out something, like my body was rejecting him.

I try to concentrate on the events; the bite, the man holding me, his name... James. It rings in my head like a bell and I feel my body tense up at the memory of him. Not in fear though, no I'm not afraid of him. My body is humming at the thought of him. My last thought before the pain began was "I love you, Edward." Not James, Edward. Who is Edward?

While the man, James, was killing me there was peace inside my mind. I was at peace with it, and then the quiet calm was erased with a burning pain. I thought death would be peaceful. I was resigned to be dead. I was dying for someone. For this Edward. As I ponder this thought, my mind shifts around the faces in my head. Who was Edward? He was the one who left me?

Where is James? Had he abandoned me as well?

I have a vision. It takes my breathe away. An incredibly gorgeous face, golden eyes rimmed with black, not red like the other, but gold. And death did not come. Pain came and enveloped me.

I'm not dead. God, I'm thirsty, but I'm not dead.

My eyes have adjusted more to the dark and I can make out that I'm inside a room. A very dirty, sparse, wood-laden room. I can smell the moisture within the wood as I breathe in and out through my nose rapidly, too rapidly. The smell reminds me of Florida. Why do I know what Florida smells like? I can see small light particles sliding through a crack in the bottom of the door. I'm on the floor of the room, a rough, dirty blanket spread beneath me.

Turning my head I can hear soft sounds, like white noise from a television or a vacuum cleaner, but I can't make out any words or voices. I'm not cold or hot, almost like a state of suspension.

Trying to move is difficult. At first I just think and tell my brain to move, but nothing happens. I concentrate hard on sitting up. And now I'm standing. I don't remember standing, but I here I am upright. I shift my feet slightly feeling the rough, ragged wood beneath my feet, feeling the grain along my heels and toes. The burn in my throat is nagging at me again. I should find water.

I put my hands together in front of me and I recognize my hands in the still darkness. I feel soft stone against my fingers, but I am rubbing my palms together. The sound of my hands moving together pushes into my ears, almost like a buzzing. There's no friction of heat from the motion of rubbing my hands together.

Looking around the room slowly, I feel my hair shake down my back as I move my head back and forth. I'm so thirsty. I try to swallow, but it feels like there's sand caught in my throat. I need something to drink so badly, I hear myself whimper at the thought. I take a step forward and then I'm at the door even though I had been across the room from the entry. I look down and realized I'm not wearing my jacket or my shirt.

I am standing in a dark room alone wearing only jeans and a bra. I look down and see my toes wiggling at me. Where are my shoes? I'm not cold, which strikes me as so odd, since I'm always cold. What the hell had happened?

"Hello?" Whose voice is that? It's melodic, like someone I know. Who is that? Why can't I think?
My mind is a blur of visions. I see the boy, Edward in my mind, kissing me. My body reacts to this thought, tensing and relaxing. More images float through my mind again. I see my mom and dad, I recognize them, I think. I feel drawn to their images, but then nothing. I can't concentrate and the images are gone before I can be certain. I feel like my heart should be beating out of my chest but I feel calm. No racing pulse, but I am afraid.

I feel so alone, like there is no one who will ever understand. This eerie feeling of abandonment creeps into my subconscious. He left you to die. James' words play again and again in a loop in my mind. Who left me to die? I'm so thirsty.

"J- James? Edward?" I try the names that are reverberating in my head. Oh god, that's me, that's my voice! I bring one hand over my mouth, as if I can push the voice I don't recognize back inside. My fingers are smooth against my lips, I quickly dart my tongue out and taste dirt, soil upon the tips of my fingers.

I listen for a moment, but I hear no one outside. Reaching for the door handle with my other hand, I feel a crack.

Damn it!

I look to the doorknob now resting in my fist. The door starts to sway and then open. The bright light that floods in burns my eyes and I fall backward. Feeling my body hit the ground with a loud thud, I'm surprised it doesn't hurt. I scoot back into the light-filtered darkness and sit with my knees against my chest, blinking until my eyes stop burning. I glance down at my palms expecting a red tint from my fall, but they are perfect and pale, so pale, but no marks.

Standing again, I walk as slowly as I can out the door into a dingy, but bright hallway. Feeling like I have to will myself to walk, I fight the urge to run. I know I can't run, I have no idea where to go or where I am at this moment. My mind swirls at that fact. I know nothing of where I am, how I got here, or why. I have nothing and no one.

The hallway is brightly lit but non-descript. Nothing in the hallway can tell me where I am and I don't see a window nearby. I hear only white noise. I walk a few feet to the end of the hall and see a living room. Two couches, no rugs, one coffee table made of glass and wood. I can smell the leather of the couches, it smells moldy. Taking in another breath, I smell sweetness of pine.

How did I recognize pine?

Dust motes all around me are swirling in the air as I move. I become enthralled with the tiny flecks of light in the air and as I move, I realize I'm the catalyst for their dance. So pretty.

Watching my arm raise in front of me, I am entranced by my movement and that's when I notice an old wound. My left wrist has a small, silvery, crescent-shaped scar near my silver and turquoise bracelet. I stare at the bracelet, it's mine, I know this. It was a gift. Who gave it to me?

I look further up my arm and see another wound at the crook of my elbow. The scars look new, but old at the same time. There is no raised, red flesh around them, nothing to show that they were recent, but I have never seen them before. I brush my hand over my wrist and it feels almost like a feather dancing across my skin, the little bumps, six in an arc, brush against the pads of my fingertips.

Confusion astounds me. Staring at my hand, I know it's my hand, it's attached to me. It has my bracelet. But it's not me. I'm not me. I'm thirsty.

Behind me there is a small, run down kitchen. I find myself at the sink, staring at the metal handles of the faucet. Tentatively I turn the right one, slowly, water trickles out. It looks clear, but smells stale. My throat is hurting so much, I can't help but lean over the basin and stick my mouth under the stream of water.

The water is warm and tastes bitter and metallic. I swallow once then immediately my body rejects the invasion and I begin vomiting over and over into the sink basin watching clear fluid slip down the drain. After several moments I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and look around for something else to drink; a bottle of water, a can of stale soda, something. This burning ache in my throat will soon drive me insane. If I'm not already. Resigned there is nothing in this kitchen, I walk out again. My eyes darting from the musty, stained furniture to the dirty floors covered in dust and grime.

Suddenly, a window in the living room comes into view and then I'm standing at it, but not looking out. Peering cautiously at my reflection, I move forward, looking at my outline. I swallow again and feel the same gravel-y feeling from before, this thirst that pecks at me. I lean into the window toward my reflection. My hair, shining darkly. My face, smooth and pale. My lips, full and pink. I reach up and touch my cheek, but I don't feel a warm blush. I can see on my right shoulder at the collarbone another crescent-shaped mark. My hand slides down my face to the scar; just like the others; not new, but not old.

My eyes drift back to my face and I look closer, my forehead nearly to the glass. Flaming red eyes stare into mine; I jump back and drop to the floor again. He's back.

I wait for the blond man who bit me to come in the door to the left of the window, but no one enters. My body is still, I will myself not to move, listening for any sound, any sign that he's coming. I focus on my body and not a muscle twitches, nothing moves within me. I am completely still.

The night moves on and I hear no one's voice, no footsteps, only a shushing, white noise in the background. I'm afraid. But yet, I want someone to find me. I want someone.

My throat is still aching with thirst and my open-mouth breaths are hard, so hard I feel like I should be having an asthma attack, but I'm not. My heart is not racing. It should be, shouldn't it?

Far away at that moment, an owl hoots and it sounds as though the owl is coming to me, the shriek echoing right into my brain. Pain.

Bringing my hands over my ears, I can't take the pounding of the sound. My ears ache with the noise of the wings beating in a slow rhythm, but then the silence comes save for the white noise. Leaning back up on my knees, I reach for the window.

I look back into the window and the fierce, familiar eyes are once again upon me. I blink and they blink. I can see my outline. My face, my hair. I swallow again and feel the same gravel-y feeling from before, this thirst and burning in my throat.

Then it hits me like ice water down my spine.

My eyes.

Those are my eyes!

E/N: I know while you read, you'll wonder why I say I am writing canon. I am, really. I have decided to ignore Breaking Dawn and focus on the first three books and what they taught us about the Twilight newborn experience. Stick with me. This is going somewhere.

Disclaimer: I own reservations for a trip to the LA Festival of Books and time to hang out with my book nerd friends; I do not own anything recognizable!

Thank you for the reviews. I love hearing your thoughts. I appreciate all of you guys.