Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight, but my words are my own.
BPOV
37.
Edward continues speaking, but he's become distant, not meeting my eyes—sort of lost.
"The more I wrote, the more I thrived on the positive feedback. Being socially awkward, I didn't believe fans' remarks, but then I felt like an actor or athlete or even a rock star. Now attention-addicted, I needed people's opinions more than sleep, or family, or even my job—the one I used to live for."
He looks so crushed and so ashamed; I just have to intervene. Getting up, I move to him and sit crossed-legged at his feet.
"Edward, I'm here. Please, need me."
A/N:
Please share your thoughts.
Thank you, my wonderful beta, Chayasara.
Thank you for reading.
PAD
