He said He loved me. I remember all those nights ago, and He held me tight and whispered it in my ear. That honey-coated velvet voice, like a perfect melody, a beautiful song, every time He spoke.
Those happy, happy days, when I never thought of what lay ahead, when nothing could break my perfect bubble of glorious happiness with Him.

And then He left.
I cried so much.
I cried until I had no tears left, but still I wept, tearless sobs, like They did.
The thought only made me sob harder, and some days I thought I'd die from the emptiness, and the cold sharp pain that never ceased.

Then I met Jake.
Sometimes I wonder what would have been if Jake wasn't there. If he didn't make me smile when I thought there was nothing left, didn't tell me it would be ok, didn't heal the hole left by Him.

If he didn't save me.
I'd be nothing more than fish-food, an empty, battered body, torn to pieces against the sharp rocks that jutted up from the base of the cliff.
I would be no more, if Jake wasn't there.

But then He came back.
He was there, smiling, waiting for me to run to His arms.
There was devotion and love written all over His goddamned perfect face.
That perfect little smile, turned up in the corner in the way that used to make me dizzy, His perfectly messy, beautiful hair, and the face of a Greek god.

He must have gotten bored again.

He thought it was fun, winning my heart, making me fall for it again, and He'd come back for round two.
But I don't want to play His stupid game anymore; I don't want to be left in a torn and bloody heartbroken mess on the floor when He gets bored again, I will not be fooled by the selfish, arrogant, perfect prat of a pig that is Edward Cullen.

My vital organs are gone and I can't breathe, why?
Why do I still love Him, hurt when I think His name, why does my foolish human heart refuse to let go?

I hate Him, I hate Him, I hate Him, I know I do. I have to.

But I still love Him more than my own life.

--

And there was nothing I could do about it.
His teeth were closing in around her neck- the monster paused, wondering where the blood would taste the best. He was only going to be able to do it once, after all.

But then-

Thank every single star in the whole entire sky and every form of god that may or may or may not exist, because Bella rolled over onto her back, still fast asleep, and I saw her properly for the first time in a year.
But she looked more than a year older, deathly tired and restless, her eyes darting about underneath her eyelids. Her skin was pale, and she could have passed for a zombie, and that was what saved her life.

In the blink of an eyelid, the monster was gone, and it was just Edward, just me in my own body, and there was my Bella, and it was almost like nothing had ever come between us, except the fact she looked so tired and old and sad.

She rolled back onto her side, and then, had I not been already dead, I would've died, thanks to a heart attack.
Bella began screaming, screaming and screaming and screaming like a banshee, and I couldn't believe no one came running, and then she must've woken herself from her dream, because she rolled onto her stomach and muffled her sobs in the pillow.

What had happened to her?
More importantly, who?

Because I wanted to kill the bastard.

Jeez, I wish this'd been the original chapter. Beauty of a cliffie on the end, there. And if I've learnt anything from increasingly meagre reviews, it's that cliffie = reviews.