Well, to be honest I've had this chapter done for a couple days. I was trying to get Chapter 3 finished before I posted (so I could be a chapter ahead), but the inspiration just isn't with me today. Fortunately for you guys, I didn't want to make you wait any longer for this amazing Chapter. Once again I own nothing Twilight, but that won't stop me from making Edward think and do dirty things. Enjoy and please review!

Chapter 2

Lost In the Paint

"I put my heart and my soul into my work, and have lost my mind in the process."~ Vincent Van Gogh

EPOV

I coat my brush in a dark shade of brown, swirling in a bit of auburn and honey gold before pressing it to the canvas. My hand works on its own accord, moving to create long, wavy strokes that curve around her face, fanning out onto the luscious green grass beneath her. A flick of the wrist and a few wispy pieces of chestnut brown hair lay across her shoulders, down around her perky tits that are flushed a delicate shade of rosy pink. Picking up a bit more dark brown with my brush, I give her lidded, lustful eyes the warm chocolate color from my fantasies while avoiding slipping into their endless pull. I can get lost in them for hours if I allow it.

I rinse the brush in a small cup, wiping the excess paint away on my jeans, and then, on instinct, dip into the strawberry red. I apply it to her slightly open lips, wishing it could be my fingers running along the soft, full skin. I imagine my mouth against hers, the taste of her beauty on my tongue, how warm she would feel. Forcing my attention back to the moment, I clean the brush again and apply a few more minor details, the light shimmer of sun on her flat belly, and the glistening beads of sweat that roll down her body. I admire the finished piece; my girl is lying on the grass with her arms resting above her head. Her radiant ivory skin set perfectly against her silky looking hair. Seeing her as I did in my dream just hours ago makes her seem almost real, if only she were…

Taking in the studio around me, I see piece after piece of her. I noticed two days ago that she's in every one, even in my professional works. I found her hidden among the swarms of people in the bustling city stills. I recognized her gorgeous, bare leg poking out of a field of wild flowers. I caught her sleeping underneath the full moon in the background of a forest landscape. Her body wrapped in a thick band of red ribbon that fell over her face, tits, and hips, surrounded by wolves. The color of her hair is in the slash strokes of my abstract pieces, the curve of her hips in the clouds of mountain top scenes and rippled lakes. She is in all of them, even if only in some small way.

However, there are dozens of paintings, my private ones, which consist only of her. My girl runs naked through the surf of a tropical beach, her eyes sparkling in the setting sun. She picks flowers in a meadow, wearing only a flowing white gown. She's standing a top a cliff on the ocean, her head thrown back laughing and pulling off her clothes in preparation to dive into the water. I dreamt of all these things, the dreams of her are always the best. When I wake up from one, most often in the middle of the night, I paint. I pour myself into the canvas, painting every line of her with precise detail. Her lingering presence in my mind fills me with warmth that I can't even begin to comprehend, allowing me to hold onto her for a little while longer, to feel alive. Then, I realize where I am, alone in my studio, surrounded by paint. At that point, it's like there's nothing left of me, almost as if I put everything I had into keeping her, only to lose it all.

It's not that I have a difficult life because I don't. I have money, fame, wonderful parents, brothers who are my best friends, but none of it compares to her, my girl. It's unhealthy, I know, to continue the sick obsession of painting her, knowing what will happen when I do, but I can't seem to stop. She's all I can think about these days. Picking up the canvas, I place it among the others to dry before I step over to the window and run a hand through my hair. The sun is coming up, I can tell because it's casting a large shadow into the alley that runs behind my 2-bedroom apartment. It's early, maybe 5:30 or so. I know I should get some sleep, I only slept for a few hours last night, but when I make to turn around a glint of auburn catches my attention.

Peering down into the alley, I watch as a figure steps out from the shadows. I can't see her face from this angle, but her hair is unmistakable as it glitters in the stray beams of sun that shine into the darkness. The chestnut color, the long waves…the black shirt and khaki pants she wears form perfectly to her lithe body, hugging every curve, covering up the ivory skin that always aches to be touched by my hand. It's not as magical or provocative as what she normally wears in my visions, but nonetheless, my heart thuds in my chest at the sight. This has happened before, but never like this.

Sometimes, when I've gone a few days without sleep, trapped in the canvas of a particular piece, my brain won't shut off and she finds me. She sits beside me as I work and eventually provokes me into my bed, to a deep restful sleep, full of dreams of her. My mind races with thoughts of meadows, beaches, full moons, and red silk sheets. She's warm and soft, alive with heat underneath me, above me, beside me. As I imagine her sleeping in the crook of my arm, her arms wrapped around me, I realize that my girl is disappearing around the corner of the alley and a trembling fear rocks my body. No, she can't leave!

I race out of my apartment, down five flights of stairs, the cold cement on my bare feet making me shiver and sending a shock through me. Have I truly gone crazy? Am I really chasing a hallucination like a mad man? I stop dead in my tracks, taking in the world around me. There's a ridiculously long line outside of Toffee Coffee, the over priced coffee shop I avoid like the plague. My girl is nowhere in sight, she's vanished once again and this time she didn't even bother to lay with me until I fell asleep first. I feel empty and cold. I think briefly about going around the corner and picking up some coffee and breakfast from the McDonalds before remembering I have no shoes. I push away my disappointment and head back upstairs, hoping that I can sleep off some of my insanity.

My phone goes off, the obnoxious ringing waking me from a dreamless sleep. I reach for it with half opened eyes and place it to my ear.

"Hello," I grumble.

"Are you still asleep, bro?"

"Yes, Emmett. What do you want?" I ask with irritation in my voice, I hate when people wake me up. "I swear if you're calling to tell me about another video game, I will fucking hurt you."

My brother is an overgrown man-child and even though he's two years older than I am, he's about as mature as a 13 year old, which leads to some very retarded conversations. The amount of time I have spent listening to him talk about video games is unfathomable.

"Well, gees, someone's bitchy. You know, you really need to live a little. You should get yourself some pussy, like real pussy, from a real girl."

"Fuck you," I snap viciously into the phone.

About a year ago, when Emmett appointed himself my manager, which I actually owe him a lot of my success for, I went out on a limb and told him about the girl with the chestnut hair, worst mistake ever.

"Sorry, but last time I checked, I don't have a pussy, Eddie. Besides, incest is illegal in the state of Washington, numb nuts."

"UGH! How many fucking times have I told you not to call me, Eddie? Seriously, what about that is so hard for you to remember, Emma?" I pause, not really giving him the time to answer, and then, continue with my voice slightly calmer. "Now you have exactly 20 seconds before I hang up on your ass so what the fuck do you want?"

"Whatever," he replies with a snort, not even affected by my anger or the girly name. "Its 1 o'clock now. Just make sure you're at mom and dad's house at seven for dinner. Oh, and try to get Mom a gift this year or at least paint her something pretty, you know how she loves that sentimental crap."

"Shit," I hiss. Is it really September already?

I look at the date on my clock, September 24, I forgot, again. What kind of person forgets their mother's birthday two years in a row? Rubbing my hand across my face, I try to think of the last day I remember clearly. My 21st birthday sticks out of the haze of never ending days, June 20, three months…I can't believe it's been three months. I shake my head. What's happening to me?

"Forget again?" Emmett's voice breaks through the silence

"Yeah," I sigh. "I'll be there. Thanks for calling, Em."

"No problem," he pauses as if he wants to say something, but can't decide if he should. Emmett normally voices whatever is on his mind so I know it can't be good that he's holding it in. Eventually he gives up though, and after a quick goodbye, hangs up, leaving me in silence.

I climb out of bed and stretch, feeling the pull of my muscles as I reach for a white shirt and slide it on. The dark colored jeans that I'm still wearing from earlier stay on and I slip my feet into a pair of shoes. Grabbing my easel, a folding chair, and some essentials, I make my way out the door and down towards the park. I come to 'Still Life' everyday, rain or shine. However, not consistently at the same time, sometimes its morning when the birds are chirping and the fog is thick, sometimes its night and I carry a lantern for light to see by, but I always go to the same place. There's a section hidden away that people rarely see, where a bundle of trees creates an almost cage-like structure, the one place outdoors that's isolated enough for me to paint.

Painting has constantly been my life. From the time that I was old enough to finger paint, it was all I ever wanted to do. Unfortunately, I discovered early on that I could only think clearly when I was completely alone. The sound of another breath in the room was enough to throw me off, and with two brothers, it was hard to find any quiet. My parents, with their infinite understanding, designated a space for me at home, a small room that I could escape to when I felt the urge to create something. It was my sanctuary. When I moved out two years ago they kept it open to me, but I felt strange going there at two in the morning. Plus, I didn't really need it because I was living alone, no one could bother me. I was satisfied with the apartment, but when I heard of the new section in the park for artists, I was curious. Jasper, my younger brother, walks through there all the time for his classes at the local community college. He told me it was pretty secluded so I finally decided to check it out. I fell in love with it instantly. I try my hardest not to think of my girl when I'm here, to create something that doesn't revolve around her. In the past, I thought I succeeded, but now I know better, she's in everything no matter what I do.

The last few days I've doubled my efforts though, forcing myself to think carefully of the colors I choose and the shapes I create, avoiding ones that resemble her in any way. So, perhaps I'll be able to make something for my mother today, flowers, mountains, snow, just a beautiful, feminine still. Setting down my things, I take a few deep breaths, attempting to clear my mind as I rest on the chair in front of the empty canvas. My hand moves with little input from me, but it doesn't stop me from trying to control it. Instead, of picking up an ivory color like my instincts are demanding I do, I dip into black and apply a layer of it to the edges of the canvas, losing myself in the short, thick strokes.

Color after color coats my brush as the hours pass, midnight blue, indigo, deep sky blue, violet, cyan, lavender, and snow white. Sweat runs down my body as I concentrate hard on every slope and curve, each color that I place on my pallet. When I feel done, I rest the paint at my feet and really look at what I've created. It's a fantasy painting with a unicorn, a mother-fucking unicorn, galloping through a shallow lake at night with waterfalls and rocky ledges in the background. I laugh silently to myself. What kind of full-grown man paints a unicorn? Whatever, as long as my girl's not hiding in it somewhere I'm satisfied. I examine the lines, the color of every inch of it as I twitch my legs nervously. My confidence builds when I grasp that I've already scanned 65 percent of the piece without an issue and that's when I see her. On the left side of the canvas, a little bit more than halfway up, is a pool of water underneath a waterfall and barely visible against the rocks, is a dark, side-view silhouette of her wet head poking out of the water, her arms extended above the surface of the lake and fingers running through her drenched hair.

For a moment, I'm overwhelmed with happiness at seeing her there, and then, I remember how crazy I've become since I started painting her two years ago. This morning I went running outside in bare feet to chase a hallucination, I forgot my own mother's birthday not once, but twice, I haven't had sex because I can't think of touching another woman, and I've forced myself to stay awake for days on end so that I could see her. I eat, sleep, and breathe for my girl, and when I'm awake and not painting, I'm a hollow, empty shell. This isn't healthy, it's not right to live for a girl that doesn't even exist!

The rage in me builds as I grip the painting in my hand.

"UGH!" I groan in irritation and throw it to the ground before sinking my head into my hands.

This has to stop, Edward Cullen. Do you really want to live this way, obsessed with a girl you can never have? I rake my fingers across my face and up through my hair, leaving my eyes closed as I contemplate the answer.

"Dear god,"

My heart stops, every muscle in my body tightens as my breath hitches at the sound of her angelic, bell-like voice, a voice that cries out my name in my deepest fantasies. I open my eyes and find my girl gazing back at me through a tangle of tree trunks. She appears scared with eyes heavy lidded from lust, hands over her mouth, and it's a jolt to my heart. She's the most real I've ever seen her, no glow to her skin, no dressed up clothes just the same khakis and shirt I saw her in earlier, and it makes my heart race, my blood boil. I find I like her better this way. In the distance, I hear a shout, something I can't quite decipher because I'm lost in the deep chocolate pools of her eyes, the question I asked myself moments ago now answered with a resounding 'yes' in my mind. She turns to run and I panic.

"Wait! Don't go," The words tumble out of my mouth as I walk out from my cage and step cautiously over to her. She faces me, but takes a few steps away as if I'm a predator and she's my prey, contemplating an escape. "Stay with me, please?"

She's acting strange, timid, and nervous. All the confidence she normally exhibits is non-existent and I find myself enjoying that, I like that I can control her for once. I bridge the gap between us and reach up to stroke her cheek softly. When my skin touches hers she lets out a deep moan, and I can feel the heat rush to her cheeks as she flushes rosy pink. It's because of the warmth that I find myself unable to wait any longer. I close the distance between our lips, kissing her the way she enjoys to be kissed, gently, ever so gentle. She surprises me by deepening the connection however, forcing my lips to open, and sliding her tongue across mine roughly. My body feels alive with a fire that burns hot through my veins. Her strawberry taste is so much stronger than it's ever been before, and combined with her invigorating scent it fills me with life. I groan with satisfaction into her mouth, intoxicated by her, confident in myself, relishing the idea of pleasuring her right here in this spot. Her movements still as if the sound of my groan triggers something in her. My body clenches with fear as she pries herself away from me and I open my eyes to see her confused, but determined expression. I don't even have time to try to stop her before she takes off down a path, leaving me lost once more. It is the greatest hallucination I have had yet, it's almost as if I can still taste her on my lips and I decide that if this is what it's like to be crazy, I suppose it's worth it.

Aw, Edward can even make crazy look good. =D Lol Well, while I kind of have your attention, there's a couple of stories I want to tell you guys about. These writers have worked really hard and at the moment I feel they are being severely under-appreciated. We all start somewhere and that's why I urge you to check out these beginners and provide them with some much deserved feedback that will be greatly appreciated. Even a sentence can make all the difference in the world to a hard working writer.

In Darkness by tahlullahbelle: She's 5 chapters in and I love it so far. Seriously, who doesn't love a good mafia story?

Worst Day Ever by dlpash: This story is originally based off a one shot and I heard from my friend, EmoryB123, that the one shot was absolutely amazing. It has me intrigued and although I'm not completely hooked yet I think it has a lot of potential. Besides, Emory has rarely steered me in the wrong direction. If you ever need a good recommendation, she's full of them.

Last, but not least, I beta for a story called 'Just Like in Books' by fabulousalice that has Bella as a director and Edward as the lead actor in her new movie. She's only posted one chapter, but I've edited about 3 or 4 for her and I'm really proud of the progress she's making. Unfortunately, she hasn't updated in a while and I'm not sure if that's because she's busy with school or discouraged by the lack of response to her story, but I'm sure it would really brighten her day to hear from some of you.

So take a few minutes and make someone's day and I'll try my best to check out some of your stories in return. Just let me know if you want me to take a look at something you have posted in my review. =) You give a little, you get a little. Now click on that review button and give me some loving! Lol