A/N: We're finally here, guys. The finale of Destructive Desire. Did you see this kind of ending coming or didn't you? "Paradise" by Lana Del Rey (of course) kept me going for this chapter. This is Bella and Edward's happily ever after. Well, it's happy for some. I'll acknowledge you guys in the next chapter, which is the concluding author's note. Enjoy.

Paradise

As I entered my apartment, I came up with two questions. One, how much was this wedding going to blow me away? And two, where was my wallet?

I was actually taking the time to find my things (because why try to find something if you were irresponsible enough to lose it in the first place), and it wasn't working. I hadn't seen my wallet all day. With exactly a week to go until the wedding, I really couldn't afford to lose anything.

Everything was ready, though. Everything. All that there was left to do was the get the rehearsal dinner done and then actually get married. A short walk down the aisle, a few words exchanged, a kiss shared, and a party to have fun at. Oh, and a honeymoon (because even unholy couples with kids can go on honeymoons after getting married, according to Edward).

And then Edward and I would be together—forever. He'd promised that to me. I believed him. I really did.

I looked everywhere for that fucking wallet. I checked every spot in the kitchen, every place in the living room, and even the bathroom. I finally checked my bedroom, though, and then I regretted the decision.

When I entered my bedroom, I stopped breathing. Things were off. Just a tad.

If only I could say that. Just a tad was an understatement.

There were pictures. Pictures everywhere. And this wasn't some cutesy collection of photos of Edward, Vanessa, and I, made out of affection. This was… creepy.

All of these pictures were of me. They were all in black and white, too. Some even looked like they had been drawn, by hand. The pictures all seemed to be from different places and times. Some really old, some recent.

All terrifying.

There were photos of me from Phoenix (I recognized the people). Photos of me at the airport, the day I'd met Edward (I recognized my outfit). Photos of me on my birthdays. Hand drawn pictures of me sleeping.

I did a slow, three-sixty turn and saw that there was not one spot on the wall that wasn't replaced with some kind of black and white image of me.

"This is insane," I whispered to myself.

I wanted Edward to be here. There were a thousand things I needed to ask him. I needed even more answers. It made me sick to realize that Edward had been...documenting me for all this time. (And if he hadn't been, then who had he set up to do so?) Was there something else that he was hiding from me? Was he really not as composed as the act that he'd put on was? I thought so. If anything, it was a great performance. Really had me fooled. Edward was nothing if not an actor.

But I'd thought he loved me. I really had.

If this had been a performance, it was the best performance of his entire life.

…Where was he now, though, and why had he lied? What forced him to fake genuineness? We both knew that I hated the truth, because I couldn't handle it, but being fooled right now was too much. I would rather Edward punch me in the face (again), force sex from me (again), yell and curse at me (again), and even stab me in the stomach (again). All of that and more was better than standing here, realizing that he had lied. He had put on the best act, in front of so many people, since last June. But what for?

Chills went up my spine, and I had that sense of nervousness that I'd only so tried so desperately to be rid of. It was back now.

My heart raced, my blood boiled, and my palms perspired. I was panicking, and had only I'd been so eager to get over my small panic attacks, and it was bad this time. Really, really bad. I stopped breathing when I heard footsteps from behind me, and I knew I couldn't try to calm myself now.

All the fears that I'd outgrown had returned, and there was nothing I could do about any of it.

I felt like there were spiders crawling up and down my arms and legs, and snakes coiling around my wrists and ankles, all at once. I also felt like I was being submerged into ice cold water and burning at the stake at the same time. I was trembling like an earthquake, and my throat closed up like a tunnel that had a faraway ending.

I couldn't see any ending to this, though. Not even a hint of light.

And that was when I heard more footsteps.

They were intolerably slow, long-sufferingly paced, and unreservedly sinister.

I held my breath (as if I had an option to breathe, anyway) and listened. A deep sigh, pacing footsteps, mumbled cursing… It was Edward. Who else would it be?

I knew that I couldn't just stand here, though, in my own little museum. I had been through too much to be a coward now. I walked out into the living room, and there was Edward. Tall, dark, handsome, and deceiving. Just like from the beginning. I now regretted ever talking to him at the airport.

And, oh, he held a gun. A small, but obviously real, pistol.

Too late now to ask where and when he'd gotten it.

"What are you doing here, Edward?" I asked him, my voice surprisingly strong.

He pointed the gun straight at me, without a hesitation, and if there were any hesitations, I couldn't see them. "Go into the room," he commanded. "Now."

My heart continued to race, and I turned around and made my way back to the bedroom, also known as the gallery of me. What else was I supposed to do?

I peeked through the blinds as much as I could, to see out the window a bit. Maybe I could ask for help. Scream that there was a fire. Nobody was outside, though. In the near twilight, I was alone.

Alone with Edward.

And I was petrified.

Edward closed the door behind him, and I heard his footsteps as I continued to look out the window. I stopped, though, and turned around to look at Edward. I couldn't trust him as it was; now that he had a gun in his hands I would really, really have to watch it.

"What are all these pictures for?" I asked, trying to remain calm.

Edward circled around me, touching me at the waist and sending shivers down my spine. "Since everything is about you," he said, "I thought I'd create a little mosaic."

"What do you mean everything is about me?" I asked softly.

He shrugged. "You tried to make your life a work of art. You weren't serious about it."

…And he was right. "How could I not be serious about my own life?" I asked.

"Well, cheating on me wasn't the best decision. And neither is hiding stuff from me."

"You've hid things from me, though. I never got a gun."

"Bella, I've been planning this for a while now." He gestured to the walls covered in pictures of me. "I thought you'd appreciate it in a room full of who you love the most. Not me. Not even Vanessa. Yourself. That's the only person you care about."

"That's not true," I whispered. "I cared about you and Vanessa enough to marry you."

Edward's stance didn't break. "You didn't care enough. You're marrying me for the money, aren't you? Or is it just to help you sleep at night, since you fucked up things already? Maybe being able to call yourself my wife is just so you can feel better about yourself."

"That's not true," I whispered again. "It's not. You know that already. Edward, I love you."

He shook his head. "You never loved me."

And he was right, again.

But I wouldn't let him know that. Even as all my fears had returned to me, I couldn't let Edward know this. It wasn't good how I was being selfish again. I wanted to keep my pride, or what was left of it. Then again, who would I have been if I wasn't trying to hold on to my dwindling smugness?

"Bella," he began, his voice low, "you make me go insane. You can't do a fucking thing right. You're selfish. Crazy, too."

"And you're not?"

Shit. Okay, that wasn't the right thing to do.

"I admit it, babe. I'm crazy, too. I'm depressed, I'm unstable, and I'm probably an undiagnosed psychopath. I admit it. But what is there to do about it?"

He crept closer to me, and then turned me around influentially to face the window. He opened the blinds of the window, and held my left arm tightly. "Look, Bella."

"Look at what?"

"Isn't this a metaphor for everything we've been through?" he murmured. "It's twilight again. Another ending. No matter how perfect—or imperfect—the day is, it always has to end."

I didn't say anything.

"Only this is the end," he whispered. "I promise. You'll make it out just fine."

It was like…

It was like he was trying to save me or something. Save me from him. Save me from myself. He didn't know the first thing about saving anything, though. He didn't know how to make things better. Wasn't that obvious?

Edward was beyond right; I was a fuckup. We both were. That was why we were here. But I wasn't done yet. I wasn't ready to end things. I was selfish, but I wasn't done.

Edward was also right about another thing: I really had been trying to make my life into a work of art. He could kill me in the future. I wouldn't mind. But we'd have to be married first. That was just one last stroke of the painting. One last piece of the puzzle. I'd sign it and ship it off to the unknown museum of infamous fuckups. My life would truly be a work of art.

But he wasn't even going to give me that.

Edward held my arm tighter with his free hand and pushed me closer to the window. "This place never was the place for you," he said. "Was it? You always thought you were too good for this. Didn't you?"

I gulped. "I… I don't know." Add liar to the list of things I was and it was just about perfect.

He pushed me up against the window, forcing me to stare at the pink twilight sky. "Didn't you?" he repeated, his voice as cold as ice.

I didn't respond.

"I'm so glad I can get this over with," he whispered.

"Edward," I said in a choked, jittery voice. "Think about our daughter. Please. You love her... don't you?"

"You know I love her," he murmured. "But I need you to go. Save me a seat in heaven if I make it."

"Please, Edward," I whispered, tears finally escaping my eyes. "Stop. I love you. I really do. We're supposed to get married soon. Lie to me and tell me you love me and just stop this."

"I love you, Bella," he said, stroking my hair. "That's why I have to do this. I've always loved you. I think I always will."

I was pretty much sobbing now. "If you loved me," I cried, "you wouldn't be doing this."

"Can't you see, babe? I love you. I love you too much. This is for the both of us. I promise."

My heart was pounding so hard I could barely hear him. Just the intense thuds in my ear that only got faster and louder.

I reached into my side pocket for my cell phone. I had to call someone. I had to. Or... or... my father. Yes, I would call Charlie. Thank God for speed dial.

"No you don't," Edward said gently, as soon as I had already dialed. He then grabbed my hair forcefully by the roots, pulling me closer to him and causing the cell phone to fall out of my hand. I could faintly hear the phone still ringing, waiting for Charlie to pick up.

He put the gun to the side of my head, just about ready to shoot. "You think calling someone would stop me?" he asked, his mouth right against my ear. "You've underestimated me. Always have."

"Please," I whimpered. "Don't do this to me. Don't this to us."

But I knew that I'd lost.

I'd lost from the very beginning.

"There's a special place in heaven for sinners like you," Edward said darkly and so quietly. His hot breath was in my ear and I couldn't even move or breathe or blink or talk or think.

He laughed softly, the gun still at my temple. It was a twisted, dark, creepy laugh that nearly made me throw up. He kissed me on my cheek, soft and tender and terrifying. Chilled me to the very bone. I wished I could close my eyes, but I couldn't. I was frozen.

"Welcome to paradise, Bella," Edward told me. "You made it."

*.*.*

NEWS ARTICLE: Teenagers Found Dead, Phone Call Reveals Details

FORKS, Wash. — They were the murders that nobody saw coming. On August 6, 2011, Chief Charlie Swan, 43, found a message on his telephone answering machine that would change his life forever. His daughter, Bella Swan, 19, had been murdered by her fiancé, Edward Cullen, 19, who then went to murder himself.

The telephone call went from 8:46 to 8:57pm, with the recording abruptly silent after one minute and two seconds. The recording included Cullen talking to B. Swan intimidatingly. Cullen then shot Swan in the head with a .45 magnum handgun, killing her. After moments of silence and some distorted crying, Cullen committed suicide, also with the handgun. The pair was found dead in their Forks apartment by Alice Cullen, 18, at 9:32.

"I never would have guessed it would have come down to this," Esme Cullen, 44, Edward Cullen's mother, told the police at the scene of the incident. "They were in love," she added.

Edward Cullen and Bella Swan were going to get married on August 13, 2011, but their funeral service was held that day instead, at 5:00pm, the supposed time of their wedding. Cullen and Swan's bodies were dressed in their wedding attire, and they were buried together.

Alice Cullen, Edward's younger sister, said at the funeral, "It's what they would have wanted."

Edward Cullen and Bella Swan had a six-month-old daughter named Vanessa, who is currently living in Jacksonville, Florida, in custody of Renee and Phil Dwyer, Swan's mother and stepfather.

Everybody associated with the formally engaged couple is trying to move on and create new beginnings, claimed Lucy Momsen, 19, Bella Swan's friend. "It's going to be difficult," she added, "but we won't get anywhere if we don't try." Jacob Black, 18, Swan's former friend and lover, had no comments on the matter. He effectively left his hometown of La Push in response to Swan's death and he hasn't been seen since.

Friends, family, and acquaintances of Bella and Edward lived in peace for six weeks, until the murders rose even more questions when one night, both Bella and Edward's bodies were removed from their buried caskets, and their memorials were demolished. The bodies and their thieves' whereabouts are currently unknown.

The End.