This was my entry to Red Eyed Edward, I asked that it be removed, and so I'm sharing it here. I was lucky enough to have Judyblue and fyrebyrd89 look this over for me (a few times, since I was nervous with this being my first ever contest), and Frannie, is my lovely beta-momma.
This is a one-shot. It will not be continued, so be warned... read at your own risk.
Friday, October 1st, 1999
"Edward," his mother calls, but the boy is far too distracted to notice she needs him.
I drop my gaze to my Mary Janes, wondering what his deal is. Does he have a staring problem?
I look up again and feel my frown intensify. The new neighbor boy is still watching me.
"He looks older than us," Rosie mumbles, pulling her blue-razz Blow-Pop from her mouth. "Do you think he's going to be in our school?"
I don't know, so I shrug. "Maybe."
Edward takes his time walking back to the car, still keeping his eyes locked on me. He isn't really watching where he's going at this point, I wonder if he's going to trip and fall.
"He's watching you." Rosie covers her hand over her mouth to muffle her giggle.
He finally seems to snap out of it as he reaches his mom. She stands by a yellow Volkswagen Passat with her hands on her hips, berating him in a tone neither Rosie nor I can hear.
"He's cute," she assesses with narrowed eyes. "But he's still weird."
I say nothing, burying my hands in the pockets of my sweater jacket and sniffling against the cold air. I pluck a brown leaf from the ground and twirl it between my thumb and forefinger by the stem. "I don't know what his deal is."
"Bella get in here and clean up this fucking living room!" my mother screams from inside the house. "You and that girl trash this house every time she comes over!"
I sigh and jump up from the porch, turning to go inside. Rosie stands and turns too, jogging up the steps to open the screen door. I take one step and then look back, curious about the weird boy next door.
I gasp when I see he's still looking at me with those creepy eyes of his. They're a weird reddish color, almost crimson.
For a second I think he's going to wave, but instead he simply turns back to the Volkswagen to help his mom.
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Monday, October 4th, 1999
I don't know why I feel disappointment when I come home from school and my mom is gone. Sometimes she goes away for a couple of days. When she comes back, she pretends as if she were never gone.
The new boy didn't show up to school today. I wonder if he goes to an all-boys school or something. I ponder this as I dig through the cabinet to make a sandwich.
In the backyard with my PB and J, I trudge through piles of pinecones and mostly dead leaves, unable to come up with anything better to do. Rosie isn't allowed to come over on Monday nights, so I get bored after school without her.
I kick a soccer ball around to pass time, allowing my thoughts to keep me company. I think about my friends and my mom, weird boys, and red eyes. Before I know it, the time is almost five and I have homework to do, so I turn to head inside when something out of the corner of my eye catches my attention.
It's the long, sun-yellow car.
I stop and stare, inadvertently creeping along the side of my house to eavesdrop. I know it's not right to snoop, but my curiosity has become one with me. When I see that the only one exiting the car is his mother, I frown and straighten my shoulders.
Where was he all day?
"Hi."
I almost jump out of my skin in surprise, slapping my hand over my mouth to cover a scream that doesn't sound. I turn toward the chain link fence dividing my house from the little blue one next door and am met with a set of red eyes and a boyish smile.
"Oh," I gasp, dropping my hand to my side. "You scared the crap out of me."
His nose crinkles, his eyes growing small as if he's trying not to laugh. "Sorry."
I nod, smiling in return. I dig my hands in my pockets, shifting awkwardly. "You didn't go to school today. Aren't you a ninth grader?"
His face smooths as he shakes his head. "No. I'm homeschooled."
My mouth falls open in surprise. "You're homeschooled? H-How does that happen?"
"Edward!" A woman calls from within the house. His head snaps back, a low growl-like noise leaving his mouth. "Edward, where are you?"
He turns to me and smiles apologetically. "Esme is my teacher. She doesn't think it's a good idea for me to go to school."
I open my mouth to ask him what that means, but he turns his back to me before I get the chance. He trudges up the steps to his back porch, stopping just as he reaches the door to wave back at me.
"I'll see you later, Bella."
I stand there, speechless, watching as he retreats into his house.
What is he?
"Um … bye," I breathe out, staring at the empty space where he just stood.
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Wednesday, October 6th, 1999
Mama comes home today. She tells me she was staying with a friend and that she didn't think it was a big deal to leave me alone since she left a house full of food.
"You're a big girl, Bella," she tells me as I follow her into her bedroom. She removes the gold bangles from her wrist and sets them on the dresser. "You can take care of yourself."
I cross my arms over my chest and pretend to be unaffected. "But you should at least tell me when you're going somewhere. What if I needed you to sign something? What if I got hurt—"
She turns to narrow her eyes at me. "Did you need me to sign something or were you injured while I was gone?"
I shake my head. "No, I didn't."
"There, then. See? You can take care of yourself." She digs through her dresser drawers. "Now, someone is going to be fifteen on Halloween and I just can't figure out what to get her. Do you know what she might want?"
"I don't want anything from you," I mumble, turning my back on her to walk to my room and slam the door behind me.
It's unusually cold in my room when I return. I notice the window's ajar so I walk over and slam it shut.
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Friday, October 15th, 1999
"Can you speak different languages?"
Edward looks up at the gray sky and squints his eyes. "Twelve."
I feel my eyes grow wide. "No, you can't."
He laughs. "I can too. My mom knows a lot of different languages."
"Why?" I wonder, leaning into the fence. "Why would you need to know all those languages?"
He drags his hands over the fence, letting his fingers bounce over the wires. "We travel a lot."
I smile. "You should take me with you."
His eyes snap to mine and then back to the house. "No, I shouldn't. We're crazy."
I nod, understanding. I follow him down the fence. "My family is crazy too. Well, mostly my mom, I guess. She likes to go places and party."
He stops at the end of the fence and I wonder if he's going to come around and meet me. I wonder if I want him to come around. "Your mom is neglectful, not crazy. But that doesn't make her any better. She's selfish. Our parents do have that in common."
I suck a piece of flesh between my teeth, almost feeling the need to defend my mom for some reason. Edward turns to face me, his lips curving in with a smile. "Esme wants to meet you."
My breath hitches in my throat. Why would Edward's mom want to meet me?
"She thinks I have a crush on you," he admits, his smile turning sheepish. "I guess it's weird. I mean, I do like you, but she thinks it's okay when it's not."
I wonder what other girls my age would say to an admission like this.
Trying to remember how to breathe, I suck in a mouthful of air that doesn't reach my lungs. "You ... why ... why wouldn't it be okay?" I stutter.
His bright red orbs send shivers down my arms. It's as though he's trying to scare me away.
"I can never have a girlfriend, Bella." His fingers link through the chains.
My eyebrows push together. "Never?"
He shakes his head.
I don't know why I feel the way I do. Waves of rejection roll through me, my heart plummeting to my stomach.
I pretend as if it isn't there as I take one step closer to him. "Why not?"
His eyes flick from my face back to the ground. "You wouldn't understand if I told you."
I wouldn't understand? I almost laugh at the typical response.
"Try me," I press, following him back toward the house. "You don't know what I do and don't understand … I think I can keep up."
He nods. "You're right. I shouldn't make those sort of assumptions."
I sigh in defeat. "Well, I hope you'll see it doesn't have to be that way. And having a girlfriend isn't everything, you know? Friends are just as great."
He steps away from the fence, turning back to his house. "I shouldn't have those either."
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Wednesday, October 20th, 1999
Mom is gone again, but Rosie is here to keep my company. She brings a package of plastic spoons and lighters so we can make roses out of them. We spend most of the afternoon melting spoons and welding them together to form plastic flowers. We paint them with fingernail polish; Rosie's is pink with blue ends, and mine is black with silver glitter petals.
We sit outside waiting for them to dry as Rosie tells me about the new boy at school.
"He asked me if I wanted to go to homecoming."
I beam for her. "And?"
She nods, blushing profusely. I've never seen Rosie so red before. "I told him yes."
Excited for my friend, I wrap my arms around her in a tight hug. "That's great, Rosie. It's going to be really, really fun."
Our spoon roses dry in less than thirty minutes. Rosie takes hers home, and I wonder what I'm going to do with mine. I think about leaving it outside, but bring it to the chain link fence instead.
"I don't know if you're in there," I whisper. I set the fake plastic rose on the barrier. "But this is for you."
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Sunday, October 31st, 1999
I don't know where she is, but I'm not so disheartened by her absence. She's become far too predictable these days, so I shouldn't have expected this day, in particular, to be any different from the others.
I sleep until ten and read a book to pass the time. I play music and watch television. I chip at the polish on my fingernails and cover my hands with glue just so I can peel it off when it dries.
And when noon strikes and the telephone rings, I already know it's Rosie calling so I pick it up and start blabbering my head off.
"You know she didn't come home last night? She's such a liar, Rosie," I whine into the telephone.
"Bella?" I suck my bottom lip between my teeth upon noting the boyish familiarity in the voice at the other end. "It's me … Edward."
I nod. "Um … h-hi."
"It's your birthday today," he states.
I fidget. "Ye … yes."
His draws in a long breath, and I stop breathing altogether. "Would you like to go for a walk with me?"
I try to remember how to breathe.
A walk.
Can I even walk when I'm with him?
"Okay," I calmly reply, through oxygen-deprived lungs.
I wait outside his house, nervously toying with the end of my navy blue sweater. The brisk wind feels like ice against my fingertips, but I resist the temptation to bury them inside my shirt.
He emerges from the house dressed in a black hoodie, blue jeans and white sneakers. A package wrapped in newspaper is in one hand and he shoves the other in the pocket of his jeans as he's stepping down from the porch. When he reaches me, I stop breathing on instinct, wondering what happens next. This is the closest I've ever been to him without the fence between us.
"Come on," he says, meeting my eyes with his artificial crimson ones. He wraps his fingers around mine and ice creeps up my arm, but I welcome the sensation. "This way."
I don't question him as he leads us down the street, to the dead end that bears nothing but trees for miles ahead. I don't usually travel through the woods, but today I could care less about muddy shoes or how much I dislike nature.
We trudge through damp, soggy leaves and rain-washed twigs for what feels like hours but could be only minutes. I grow tired, ignoring the ache in my legs and taking tiny breaths of frosty oxygen.
"We should go back," I suggest, coughing cold air.
"Just a few more feet," he promises. "I'll carry you the rest of the way back."
My lips tug downward. "But you can't carry—"
"Please, Bella?"
I follow him reluctantly, keeping my eye on him as we walk.
He's sort of beautiful, now that I can see him in the dull gray light emitting from the overcast. His skin is pale, almost translucent. I wonder if he ever goes out in the sun … not that it ever shows here anyway.
He stops abruptly and turns to pass me the package. "I'll be right over there. Open this—and don't follow me."
I cast my eyes down to the item in my hands, pondering what could possibly be inside. I rip the paper off and frown in puzzlement. It's an old, tan, leather-bound notebook with the words 'DO NOT READ' clearly indented on the front.
"What does that even mean?" I whisper to myself.
"If you were smart you wouldn't read it." His voice rings through the forest. I glance up and try to spot him, but he's hidden and nowhere in sight.
I roll my eyes and flip open the front page, reading the beginning aloud:
December 1st, 1971.
I furrow my brows as I read on, silently this time.
Today was the first day I've seen the sunlight in over thirty years. I've been with Esme for three days now and I think she's going to let me see the sun more often. She says that the people who created me shouldn't have kept me from the human world as long as they have, and she would've gotten to me sooner had she known the truth. People like me aren't supposed to exist, but children like me are supposed to be killed on sight. We're reckless and our kind poses too much of a risk to society. Esme thinks I'm not a danger to anything, and that I deserve to live a happy human life.
I can't seem to resist the urge to hurt people. Esme says that it's in our nature and I shouldn't feel ashamed, but that I need to learn to control the thirst if I'm going to survive. She says that if I learn to feed her way, I won't have a reason to feel guilty. Today she brought home a man whose foul thoughts made me want to rip him to pieces, and I did just that. I don't know how many bad people there are in the world, but they've been keeping Esme's thirst sated for as long as she could remember. I can hear it in her thoughts … I can trust her.
I flip to the next page.
February 20th, 1972
I killed an innocent man today. Esme tries to tell me that I'm getting better at controlling my thirst for blood and sometimes, innocent men die for no reason. She said the man probably would've died anyway; no one was coming to help him. I don't care if he was in an accident—I could have helped him, but I killed him instead.
I'm still not getting any better.
I tear my eyes away from the words, wondering where Edward went but also needing to know what happens next. I take a seat at a nearby log and flip to the next page, reading on.
I don't notice it's getting dark until the words on the pages begin blending together. I learn that the boy in the book kills many innocent people. Some were going to die if he didn't get to them sooner, and some Esme claims he was meant to kill.
The longer I read, the more I notice the boy's caretaker reminds me of Edward's mom. She disappears for certain periods of time, but comes home with someone new every once in a while that we usually don't see again.
Halfway through I learn that the boy's mother likes to keep him at home because it's better that way. She can't bring him places quite yet because he kills sporadically over the years. The boy can read it in her thoughts; Esme doesn't think he'll ever grow out of this.
He'll never grow out of anything at all.
The boy doesn't age. He remains frozen at fifteen forever. I learn that he died the night before his sixteenth birthday in nineteen forty-nine, but that a mysterious family of blood drinkers like himself had held him captive for a long time.
He talks about his red eyes and I notice the hairs on my arms standing as I force myself to read. I don't realize that I've stopped breathing, just that the boy in the diary is clearly the boy next door.
I decide I've had enough reading for today and slam the book closed. I stand from the log and peer around the dark forest, trying to spot the red-eyed killer who maybe has a crush on me.
He's not hidden very far; just rested against the nearest tree. He's crouched in a ball with his hands wrapped around his ankles and his head buried between his knees. I take a seat at the tree opposite him and avoid the fearful, thundering beat of my heart.
For a while, I just stare at him without giving it much thought. He shifts; lifts his head and his unnaturally red eyes meet mine.
Although my heart is screaming in my chest, begging me to run away, I ignore it. I don't have a reason to be afraid, and I don't feel as though Edward wants to hurt me. Not even a little bit.
I take a shuddering breath and bring to my knees to my chest.
He won't hurt me.
"Do …" I begin, unsteadily. "Do you still hurt innocent people?"
He blinks. "Sometimes."
I nod, shivering as a breeze sifts through my knitted jacket. A few moments pass before I finally ask, "What are you, Edward?"
His lips twist in a perplexed motion. His eyebrows push together as his hands fall to the leaves, raking his fingers through the dirt. "I … I'm not exactly sure."
We watch each other for a moment.
"What about me?" I whisper. "Will you hurt me?"
He's quiet for a moment, glancing down at his dirty hands. "I don't want to hurt you. You're my friend. But this devil inside me wants to … will you keep my secret?"
I pull my arms through the sleeves of my sweater and press my fingers to the warmth of my stomach. I try to stop shaking, but it's impossible. "I don't have anyone to tell."
"Rosie can't find out, Bella."
I shake my head. "She won't."
He nods slowly.
"Thank you for my rose," he mumbles, a smile spreading across his lips.
"It will never die," I reply, finding this somehow significant. It's not as if I expect him to keep it forever.
"Neither will I."
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Tuesday, November 2nd, 1999
My mom arrives home at six with a bald man I've never seen before. She says that he's going to help us pay for groceries from now on, but I don't realize why he would do such a thing until she brings him to her room.
Edward's journal is tucked safely between the box spring and mattress of my bed, the rest left unread. A part of me aches to read until the end, but I'm also afraid of what else I might learn about him that I won't like.
He wasn't joking when he claimed he'd carry me home the other day. Even as we neared the house, he didn't let me go until we reached the front door. I wonder what happens to us now that I know his secret.
Will we be friends?
A moaning sound in the next room makes me shudder. Moans transform into screams, and I cover my ears to muffle the noises they make.
I curl into a ball on my bed, clutching Edward's journal to my chest and closing my eyes tightly.
Just take me away with you, I think right before I fall asleep.
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Friday, November 5th, 1999
"How long will you be gone?" I don't know why I'm trying so hard not to cry.
Edward reaches over the fence to take my hand, and my heart skips an icy beat.
"Probably no longer than a week," he mumbles, staring at our hands. "Esme said the family she's taking me to will know how to help me. They're going to show us a new way to live."
"A new way to live?" I echo, wondering what that means.
He nods. "I'm going to get better, Bella."
Inexplicable dread washes over me.
I don't want him to change. Do I?
"I won't hurt people this way."
I nod. My eyes sting with unwanted tears. "Y-You promise you'll be back?"
Something soft and icy catches a rolling tear, and a gasp escapes my lips. His body is now pressed against mine, our hands still entwined and his lips on my face.
His crimson eyes are unexpectedly hopeful when I glance back up at him. "I'll be back, Bella. I promise."
Dejection rolls through me and I fight it off before it peaks in my chest.
"Okay," I barely whisper, nodding in acceptance.
I cast my eyes to the ground, unsure of why I feel so downtrodden. I shouldn't sulk, but now I don't really want to do anything but crawl into bed and cry.
"I'll be back," he repeats, firmer this time.
There's a moment, just as I'm about to look up at him when I feel something brushing against my lips. It's soft and short-lived, but just enough to make the air escape my lungs and my heart burst with butterflies. My eyes flick up to an empty space where he just stood, and the butterflies spread outward.
And then they just … disappear.
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Wednesday, November 10th, 1999
Edward doesn't return to Forks in a week, but Rosie makes his absence almost easy to ignore by being here. She asks me if I've spoken with the boy next door, so when I respond, "not really," it doesn't feel quite like a lie.
Mom brings the grocery payer around more often, which means she's home a lot now. She says that I should call him daddy, but I refuse. I know this man isn't my father.
He's burly and balding, six foot tall and well over three hundred pounds by the looks of it. He doesn't say much, but Rosie tells me I should keep an eye out for people like him.
"He's a sugar daddy," I tell her. "I don't really know how else to put it."
"I don't like the way he looks at you," she says. "He's creepy, Bella."
I sigh, not knowing how to respond.
"Where is your mom?" she asks, concern written across her face. "Does she leave you alone with him?"
Sometimes.
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Thursday, February 10th, 2000
Our new apartment in Seattle is small and a little dirty, but Mom says it's cheaper this way. I think we're running from something but can't muster the courage to ask her about it.
I miss Rosie and the little blue house next door. I miss the red-eyed boy who kissed me; although a part of me is sure he never existed in the first place.
He was just a figment of my imagination.
I wonder if I'll ever see him again. What would I do? Maybe I'd run up and hug him, kiss his stone cold cheeks once or twice. Maybe I'd just pretend to be angry just to make him feel guilty for leaving for so long. Or maybe I would just beg him to take me with him.
And most importantly, I wonder if he'll be the same.
The worst part:
I won't be there to find out.
"Clean up this house," my mom says from the kitchen table. "It's a mess."
The apartment is spotless, but I don't have the energy to argue with her. Instead, I walk over to where she sits and take a seat in front of her at the kitchen table.
Mama doesn't look the same as she used to. Her hair is bleached blond and ratty, and there are big dark circles under her eyes that weren't there before.
"When can we go home, Mama?" I whisper, afraid to talk any louder.
She lifts her head to glare at me. "Never, girl. This is your home now."
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Tuesday, October 31st, 2000
Today, I take the money I've been saving to buy a bus ticket to Forks. I sit by an old woman who tells me her best friend is Shirley Temple and she's going to Hollywood to become a star just like her. I don't think the woman has any idea who she's talking to, but I allow her to keep me company.
The bus stops at an old diner Rosie and I used to eat at when we were young. It's about ten minutes away from my house and a few more blocks away from Rosie's, so I set there on foot. When I reach Itaska Street, I stop and catch a breath.
He was real.
Instead of making a right on Itaska, I turn down the street and march toward my old house.
Within minutes, I stand before a little blue house, shivering from the cold.
Please let him be here.
Please don't make me feel like it was all just a dream.
Please give me my friend back.
To my dismay, the door to his house is locked, so I use a rock to smash the window. As I'm reaching to the other side, I yell in pain when my arm nicks against the sharpened edge of the broken glass.
I locate the lock, sucking air between my teeth to keep from whimpering as I twist it open.
Emptiness.
It's what I feel when I walk into a house without a single piece of furniture. There isn't a flake of dirt or a speck of dust.
There's nothing here.
Dread weighs my shoulders as I take a step further. "Edward," I whisper, a cold tear sliding down my cheek and dripping down to my hand.
I walk further, determined to believe that he was real.
He wasn't fake.
He wasn't in my head.
He was real.
I stop at the first room to my right, the only one at this side of the house with a window facing my old room. I feel the floorboards creaking beneath my feet as I step slowly inside; gasping at what I find perched on the windowsill.
Yes, Edward was real.
He was a monster.
Because sitting on the windowsill is a black plastic rose.
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Wednesday, November 1st, 2000
"Where are you going, Mama?" I ask from the doorway, afraid to advance toward her when she's like this. Her hands are shaking as she stuffs a stack of clothes into a duffel bag.
"I-I'll be back, baby," she says. She's never before told me she'd be back.
I shift in the doorway, stuffing my hands in the pockets of my jacket. "Why are you running away, Mama? Why can't I come with you?"
She sniffles, rubbing her nose. "The fridge is full."
I bite my lip to hold back a scream.
I don't CARE if the fridge is full!
I want to know why you're always running away!
Stop leaving me!
My chest feels as if it's folding in on itself as I watch her move around me. She picks up random things and tosses them into her duffle bag. She kisses my cheek. "Sorry, I didn't get to you yesterday. Happy sixteenth birthday, little Bella; now you're all grown up for real."
I shake my head, reaching out to grab her fist. "No, I'm not, Mama."
She tries to yank it away from me. "Yes, you are. Now let go of me."
"Don't go, please," I beg, blinded by tears. "I don't want you to get in trouble—I-I don't care if we have food, Mom."
She shakes her head vehemently, walking away from me. "Let go of me, Bella."
"Mom, please," I cry, holding her tighter.
"I said no!" she screams, shoving me away. My back hits the wall and I slide down to my bottom on the floor, watching as she runs from the apartment.
I bring my knees to my chest and scream into my hands.
"Come back!"
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Sunday, November 26th, 2000
Mom telephones to ask me if I need anything, but I hang up before she can finish.
I'll never forgive her for this.
I work at a restaurant around the corner from my house now, but it only pays as much as I get in tips. I don't need much money yet, but I imagine the electric will be cut off soon if Mom doesn't pay.
I make macaroni and cheese while the television plays in the next room to keep me company. Sometimes it's hard not to pretend that I'm not alone. Even when Rosie calls, I still feel friendless and freakish. Rosie has so many friends in Forks, and she's still seeing the same boy she was a year ago.
"We had sex," she announces while I stir the noodles into the boiling water. "And it was awful."
I laugh. "I don't think it's supposed to be good in the back of a car the first time, Rosie."
"He said that it gets better, which I guess is true since it didn't hurt so much toward the end."
I hear a soft knocking on the door and set the ladle down. "Someone's here, I'll call you back."
"Let your mom get it." I still haven't told her about my mom.
"It's okay; I'll call you back later." I hang up the telephone and make my way to the heavy iron door. I'm not tall enough to see through the peephole so I keep the chain locked as I open it, peering through the crack.
I gasp at when I see a familiar bald figure looking down at me with a sadistic smile. "Little Bella … is your mother home?"
No.
"She's … she's asleep," I lie. "She won't be up for a few hours, but I can have her call you."
I go to pull away and slam the door closed as a hand reaches out to grasp my hair, yanking me to him. I scream in pain, scratching at the hand on my scalp.
"I don't think so." His rough voice breathes into my ear. "Let me in, now."
I scan my eyes around the room, searching for something to protect myself with as I reach for the latch. I unlock the door and stumble back a foot, screaming as he pushes his way inside.
"You know your mother took ten grand from my bank account the other day?" he asks, reaching down to snatch me up by my hair. I screech and kick, trying to fight my way free of his arms. "I know she isn't here, you lying little bitch."
"I don't know where she is!" My voice strangles with a scream.
He reaches down for me again and I quickly roll to my hands and knees, shooting up from the floor to run into the kitchen. I crouch down beside the stove, my heart thrumming away in my chest.
"Bella," he calls from the hallway. "I wish you'd stop trying to run away from me, little girl."
I peer over the stove to watch him entering the kitchen. I squeeze my eyes closed and slap my hand over my mouth.
Please go away, I beg.
Please leave me alone.
"Me and your mama we're real close, you know." The dull clunk of his boots grows louder. "She said you're a big girl now … so why don't you come out and talk to me like one?"
I scream into my hands as he pulls me up by the sleeve of my jacket. I can feel it ripping along the sides, but the bald man doesn't care. He grins down at me like I'm his new prized possession.
"You're a pretty little thing, aren't you?" he mutters, trailing his thumb over my cheek.
I reach behind me and unleash a pained scream when my hand grazes across the lit burner. I turn to the pot of boiling water, ignoring the throbbing in my palms as I realize my only defense is right here. I quickly wrap my hand around the pot and direct it at my attacker, but half of it splashes to the floor before it can even reach his coveralls.
When the water splashes down his hands, his head snaps up and something unfathomable crosses his eyes. His lips tug with a snarl as he takes one step closer, gathering my hair in his hand to tug me over to him. "You little bitch!"
"Let me go!" I scream at the top of my lungs, but my call for help is cut off as I feel my head flying toward the kitchen cabinet. I try to find something to steady myself, but the hand on the back of my head is too strong.
Unconsciousness envelopes me slowly. It's like trying to fall asleep when you're not tired. One second you're fighting it, and then you're just …
Not.
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.
Red.
It's the first thing I see when I open my clouded eyes.
Painted along the walls of the kitchen.
Patterned in handprints across the floor.
I take in the scenery through heavy, throbbing eyelids.
There's a dead man beside me
An angel at my ear
Whispering things I am too tired
To believe.
"You'll never be alone again, Bella."
Icy fingertips trail along my forearm, painting it in the same crimson color.
"Just tell me it's okay …"
A groan leaves my mouth.
The throbbing intensifies, and my neck stiffens.
"Tell me I can have you forever."
My head turns toward the sound of the angel in my ear, and my heart picks up speed. It's slamming away in my chest, trying to escape through my ribcage. There's a boy with red eyes and blood dripping from his lips. He's here, holding me in his arms and promising me I won't have to be alone anymore.
I push my head to nod weakly.
"Edward." His name is a soft whimper leaving my lips, one I wouldn't think he would be able to hear.
"I'm here, Bella." His voice rings clearer in my ears. His fingers push between mine, holding them to my chest. "I won't go again … I promise you. You can close your eyes."
I do.
And then I feel it.
Sharp and icy
Burning, sinking
Spreading through the flesh beneath my ear.
My heart beats harder than ever, pumping and pumping away. I gasp for air for the first time, fighting for oxygen I know I need.
My eyes fall closed and my senses come to me in flashes. The blood racing through my veins burns and boils down to the tips of my fingers, and still I shudder because it somehow seems colder than the rest of me.
My heart is pound, pound, pounding and I'm holding onto Edward for fear of being left alone.
And then I'm just …
Not.