I can't keep doing this. The monotony of this life that is designed to keep us in check, to keep us balanced and in tune with humanity, empties me. The endlessness of the routine: driving, school, avoiding everyone, hunting, shower, late at night in my room – trying to feel with music and words – and nothing. Empty. Again, it repeats. I laugh with my family, find joy and love in our conversations - feel like I'm part of something. But I'm always alone. The eternal 7th wheel. I think I've felt all there is to feel. Now I just sit in an emptiness that I don't particularly hate, but… can this really be all there is?

If I were human, I would have lived one long life. I'd die at 108, surrounded by grandchildren and loved ones, and feel whole and complete. But instead, I live this life of a young man on the cusp of adulthood. Always graduating, always moving towards something bigger. But it just repeats. It just begins again. There is no destination. How many versions of my life must I live?

But all this useless thinking will get me nowhere. We've moved to a small rainy town to start the performance again. I'm 17 again. emAgain/em. I walk the halls of a high school that feels like all the others. They blur in my memory intentionally. I don't want to remember any of this. It's for Carlisle that we all participate in this charade. Despite the hell he's trapped us all in, we adore him. This second life he's given us, this new family. It's a deeper sense of belonging than I've ever felt before. We are bound to each other.

But truth be told, sometimes I wish he would've let me die. I know Rose feels the same way. We don't talk to each other about it, but I know she thinks these exact thoughts. We hold this resentment close to our chests, not wanting to disrupt the peace we've found with our chosen family. This existence we've been condemned to is made bearable through the love and affection of our family. I know Rose is thankful for the chance to love Emmett. She'd never say it out loud – too proud and too careful with her emotions. But she looks at him and she sees hope. It's what many of my family has found in each other. Each in other they find the will to continue with all of this pretending.

Sometimes I close my eyes and see through theirs. I pretend that it's me who's found eternal love. Though I not too often. It can get much too painful, if I'm not careful.

Besides, I have my passions. My projects. My distractions. My phases. It helps pass the time and it blocks out the ringing of everyone else's thoughts.

I collect rare music recordings, things lost to the passing of time. I save records from the brink of death. I categorize and organize and shelve and re-shelve. I think about order and classification. It helps balance the chaos of human thought. I study archives and preservation and collection. It occupies so much of me, and keeps me sane. I keep this to myself, music and my records. Not that I wouldn't love to share this with humanity – to show them the beauty of what they've created. Maybe one day I will.

Today, though, is the beginning of a new semester. As I walk to my first class, there's a chatter in the minds of my fellow student body. Some new shiny girl has arrived in town with some sort of secret past. Nearly everyone I pass is alive with the chatter of Isabella Swan. Oh, to be excited over something so trivial.

I look through some thoughts, trying to quickly determine what the secret is. Maybe it'll entertain me too, I secretly wish. But no such luck. She was born here and moved away with her mother. Now she's back. The simple things that capture the imagination of these people.

I decide it's best to block it out as best I can for the rest of the day. Along with these repetitive classes. How many times must I pretend to learn this all for the first time? I imagine my boxes and shelves instead, think of the piano sheet music I've just uncovered. I play it in my mind, testing out different tempos, seeing which I like best.

Next time I'm aware, we're in the cafeteria pretending to eat. Just another part of the act. It's key we master this. Alice shoves food around her plate, Emmett pretends he's juicing. I twirl an apple in my hands. Jasper and Rosalie often don't bother these days. I hear Alice ask me if the new girl is suspicious of us.

I tune into the incessant chatter in my mind and seek out what I imagine to be her voice. I find her at a table across the room, and focus on their minds. I hear the boys loudly, aggressively jockeying for attention. I hear the jealously from the girls, the mindfulness of one of them, and that's it. I try again, look directly at the back of her head. There's silence. Nothing.

I turn to look at Alice, who is already wearing a curious expression. She suspected this would happen. I nod in confirmation to her vision, I cannot hear inside Isabella's mind. I have no way of knowing whether she will pose a risk to us or not. How irritating.

"Wait, what was that?" Emmett asks, catching my silent conversation with Alice.

"He can't hear her." Alice responds, all while looking at Jasper.

"What?" Rose snaps. "What does that mean?"

"It's never happened before," I reply. "How am I to know?"

Rose huffs. Unsurprisingly, my inability to perform this simple safety task for our family angers her.

I look to Emmett, who looks at her with compassion.

"Look, I'll try again. I'm sure we'll have a class together." I try to soothe everyone.

"Make sure, Edward." Jasper says softly.

I nod.

I look over again at the table where this infuriating anomaly sits. I'm caught by her own eyes, and a moment passes through me that I don't understand. Why is she looking at me like that? What does she know? I turn away quickly, feeling exposed. Making an excuse to my family, I leave the table and head outside to my car. I decide to leave school early. Better to face her tomorrow.

This is not good.