"Rejoice that you are in prison. Here you can think of your soul." ― Alexander Solzhenitsyn

There is only agony.

And maybe a pair of dark, haunting eyes.

I imagine them to be his eyes, fighting the temptation to drain me whole. Those dark, hungry eyes when the breeze blows the hair away from my neck just right. How his throat constricts and he nearly gags on the scent. The veins on his temple pop and throb with glittering frustration.

I'd have let him bleed me out if it meant ending his pain.

It could have been his eyes, filled with hatred as he told me he didn't want me anymore. The memory plays over and over again while I slip into the darkness, further and further. I am only human and I decidedly do not belong. He doesn't want me to ever belong.

Alice's vision gone in an instant.

For a while there is only that agony.

Nothing else seems to matter except that aching in my chest. It's not going away. A burden for forever. Or the forever I could have had if they kept me. Now forever is just until I die. Which should be now.

I should die now.

I should let all the molecules in my body break away and disperse in the atmosphere. No trace of Bella left.

But my body doesn't do that. Reality doesn't work that way. For yet another cruel twist of fate, I'm left with only an awareness of my body. Nothing else. Except the acute realization that he is no longer near my body at all.

The cold, marble god that was Edward Cullen has banished me from heaven by his side. All of them the angels that voted for my excommunication.

Am I angry? How can I be angry? They granted me the small favor of being by their side for months. Really, a gift bestowed on no other mortal man.

But I crave him still. I'm praying to deities I don't believe in. Anything, everything to get him back.

I burrow into myself. I shut out the world. There's only memories that exist now.

Those days on the meadow where he runs his cold, glistening fingers down my arms. I craved to match him, be the same temperature. Those amber colored eyes would look at me with the desperate mix of hunger and pity. I begged to be let out of my misery. Only forever is enough with you.

His laugh would echo throughout the forest. He'd always pick the most perfect dandelions to twirl into my hair. I wanted to shrug them off, demand he face my wishes. But he looked at me like a little doll and shook his head.

"You're going to live."

But I wish to be dead now, Edward.

There's no motivation inside of me to get up. I don't remember if I eat, drink, use the bathroom at all. I know I don't change my clothes or shower. These pieces of clothing are the last things left of him.

Everything else, gone. I searched all over my room in a frenzy. He's taken everything. There's nothing else. No more CDs of indie songs and classical music. No more anything.

Except the scar on my wrist. James' mark. A vampire's claim. The closest reminder I'll have that this world existed. Flesh that is just barely too cold for a human to handle. I hug my arm to my chest. I brush my fingers against every tooth mark and pray he'll return. It's a blasphemic rosary.

I don't believe that they lost their souls in transition. Carlisle, Esme...They are too pure for whatever god might exist to shut them out unceremoniously. I know he disagreed, but they were creatures meant to be worshipped in the light. Their very skin said so. And yet they sentenced themselves to the dark. How could beings so selfless be cursed to an unending hell? I'll spend it by their side. I'll do whatever they need for me to give them even a flicker of respite.

I'd let them all drain me at once.

There's still a cloud over my vision. Each of their faces. Happy, sad, hungry. All of it flashes before my eyes. Wonder passes over me. Yeah, I do wonder what their eyes would look like bright red from their killing of me.

"Renee," Charlie's choked voice spits into the phone. "She's barely moved in a week."

It's okay. I don't need to move. Maybe if I sit here long enough I'll disappear entirely.

"Fucking hell, Renee!" It was the most emotional I'd ever heard from him. I barely register it. "Get down here now. Whatever that Edwin kid said to her...all she does is moan and rock herself to sleep, goddammit."

But what else am I supposed to do?

Each time the sun rises, I imagine him staring wistfully through those huge glass windows, excited for the possibility of the day. And when the sun sets, his amber eyes reflect on his accomplishments, both achieved and missed. All of his regrets and goals poured out before him. He's got the whole, undisturbed night to plan for the next tomorrow. I can almost see it in perfect corporeal clarity, wherever he is. But in none of those visions is he thinking of me. And my heart breaks all over again.

He doesn't want me. The whole family left. They don't want me either. I don't want myself.

I let the waves of darkness swallow me whole again and again.

It's on another perfect, cloudy morning that I feel a soft hand grip my shoulder. Renee. She's breached the barrier Charlie would never cross: my personal space. I fight the horrible instinct to shudder and spit at her.

"Oh, sweetie," she coos. "Let's get you out of here for a while."

I look back at my bedroom window and shake my head.

Her hair bounces and the frown lines reach her eyes when she scowls at me. "Let's get something to eat, okay?"

Could I ever deny my own mother?

Charlie stands at the doorway, watching us with the best nonchalant expression he can muster. I see through it.

Can I deny my father too?

I let her lift me out of bed; she scrunches her nose in disgust as she smells me, and almost turns away. I can see how I've disappointed my parents already. The gaping hole inside prevents me from really caring, not like I might have before.

I stare right through my parents' eyes. This might be how I know there's no souls, because at this moment I know mine has left.

It doesn't matter if my parents see a skeleton. I might as well be one.

But they obviously disagreed. Charlie hands me a plate of steak and mashed potatoes. It's the best thing he can manage to cook regularly. Renee's skills are even worse. She frets incessantly while I pick at the meat.

Charlie's gruff voice breaks through, like someone speaking underwater. "Is it too well done for you?"

"No, Dad."

My chest feels heavy. My throat dry. I almost laugh internally wondering if this thirst is anything akin to a vampire's. Of course not.

"Please eat, honey," my mom says with her eyelashes batting like they do so commonly with Phil, how she must have done so with Charlie. A habitual flirt.

"I am," I reply. I push the mashed potatoes around.

Her brown eyes bug out. A flair of her nostrils that signals to me she's on the verge of an attack.

I sigh.

She takes three hard, rushed steps towards me in order to make me meet her eyes. "What has gotten into you!" she yells, finally snapping.

I look down and whisper the unholy secret, "He doesn't want me anymore."

"You shouldn't want him!" she retorts. "God, Bella, you deserve so much more than an asshole who left you in the forest."

"You don't understand," I mumble.

She could never understand unless she too was once the center of a god's universe. And then had it all taken away so instantaneously.

"I was eighteen once before," she claps back. "This isn't normal teenage behavior. Don't you remember any of our childish breakups?"

Charlie grunts away as Renee flashes her judgmental eyes in his direction. Memories for him that he doesn't want to dig up? It doesn't matter. They have never dealt with supernatural deities. No one that dangled the promise of a blissful forever in front of them. Never had that taken away.

"Bella," my mom grips my shoulders before I know it. "You're coming back to Jacksonville with me. You'll get some sunshine in you, do you good."

Something finally stirs inside of me, just a bit.

"No, Mom, c'mon."

She shakes her head, more bouncing mouse-dried curls, "Isabella, baby. This town is miserable. How can you be happy here?"

I can't. Not without him.

I pull myself together, just a moment to look into Charlie's eyes. "I like being here with Dad. I have some friends here too."

Reminding her of my loneliness in Phoenix might do the trick. And how can she take me away from the father she only just admitted that I deserved to know more?

Renee sighs for the umpteenth time, "Are you sure this is what you want?"

"Yes."

"You know, he's not coming back for you," she says. The remnants of teenage angst thrusted onto her daughter. Anger that I'm not following her advice.

"Renee..." Charlie says.

She throws her hands up, "Sorry, sorry!"

Bile rises in my throat again. I don't remember the rest of the night.

Renee's promise to take me out the next day almost rings hollow in my ears. She's got another full day here before her flight back. I can't find it within myself to want to spend it with her.

She sees my apprehension immediately when she comes back. Renee has always been a master at reading people. Sometimes, often, reading too much.

"You didn't take a shower," she notes.

I glance up at her through my lashes. Everything is still so blurry.

"Into the shower now, you've got fifteen minutes. It's fortunate your father is at work already…" she trails off as she goes back downstairs to sit on the ancient couch she always complained about. Something about the springs losing their bounce. It doesn't matter.

The water burns me. Turns my skin into a pinkish hue and while it hurts, I still can't really feel it. I find myself sitting in a ball at the corner of the bathtub. I stay there for the entire fifteen minutes. Shampoo be damned.

At least she seems pleased when she looks at me in a fresh set of clothes. I gagged the entire time I decided what to wear as each piece he had seen on me sends me back into a flurry of memories. He twirled the edges of the green flannel I wear now, smiled as he told me ancient secrets.

Renee still frowns when she takes notice of my unchanged attitude, shakes her head slightly and beckons us to go.

She's even more upset to realize she has to get into my truck. When I see the new radio I almost shut down again. I grip the steering wheel and shift out of park in an effort to shut out both the feelings of worthlessness and my mom's complaints.

The drive to Pork Angeles is a blur. Renee talks of Phil's job, her luck making friends in a pottery class, and a million other things I nod and say nothing to in response. It's like my childhood once again; she pushes past my obvious distaste for her mindless stories. I think I almost cry realizing I'll never go back to that innocence again. I'm in the adult world now; the world without vampires.

Renee has me pull over to a 'chic' outlet. I don't like chic, I don't like anything. Watching her hum and push those frilly dresses on clothing hangers down the metal bar, making that click-click-click noise, fills the pit of my stomach with disgust.

I remember hating shopping with someone else. Someone who dazzled all the store associates around her with that whimsical smile. And despite her small size, she easily bounced up to reach the tallest hangers to thrust gaudy garments on me. I'd smile and shake my head. There's no way I'm wearing any of that. He likes me in the clothes I already have.

Or he didn't actually, like me at all.

"This," Renee shoves something in my face, her own full of smug smile lines. It's a cotton tunic dyed black with fancy embroidery on it. Almost tribal.

I stare at her, saying nothing.

"Well, I'm getting it for you," she says.

Of course. I wouldn't expect anything less.

My eyes squeeze shut. Buying things will not relieve me of the future that has been snatched out of my grasp. She doesn't understand that. In her mind, she could always find someone else, another crutch falling for her charms. I ought to be doing the same, searching for my own Phil to whisk me across the country and let me be a forever fan in the stands.

But I didn't want to be on the sidelines. I wanted to be a vampire. I would have found a way, if only they stayed.

The bubbles of rage in my chest threaten to burst.

"Bella!" a loud, shrieking voice hits my ears too harshly, "Bella Swan?"

I'm going to bite my lip until it bleeds, but I turn to look as does my mom with keen fascination. There's a hint of that victorious smirk, someone fun, finally, is interested in her daughter.

Jessica, of course. And Angela. The latter's sheepish look does nothing to dim the quizzical, almost condescending gaze from one of the most popular students in Forks.

"We haven't seen you at school for at least a week!" Jessica exclaims. Her preppy smile and knowing eyes glance me over from head to toe. Her thoughts are as obvious as can be. Pity.

"Oh, who's this!" she turns to glance at Renee.

Knowing her place immediately, Renee smirks so charmingly. The way her chin raises and her proud, brown eyes cast down on us inexperienced children. It is a look so common in my childhood, at birthday parties, ballet, anytime I saw any friends and their overbearing parents.

If my heart hadn't been just ripped out of me, I'd admit I liked her instincts to cement a powerful first impression, her desire to shelter me underneath that cloud of importance. But I'm empty inside and I only see what's in front of me anymore.

"Your mom?" Angela suggests with a shy smile. Though she towers over the three of us, Angela's stature has never been domineering. She slouches when she becomes uncomfortable at taking the lead in a conversation.

Renee beams, "The one and only."

I used to think her teeth sparkled when she smiled. I know now what true sparkling looks like and how I'll never be in its presence again.

"It's so nice to meet you, Ms…" Jessica trails off with a leading tone and a masked polite, detached face.

The details of my life have always been kept close to my chest. She's done her best to pry occasionally, but I only gave away the basics. The lonely, divorced chief of police didn't need any more gossip to his name anyway.

"Mrs. Dwyer," Renee clarifies. She extends her right hand to shake and then tactfully reaches with the left to adjust her purse strap. The diamond Phil gave her is an unmistakable trophy. Jessica and Angela fall for the trap and stare at it immediately.

It prompts enough curiosity in Jessica for them to talk about the amazing baseball player husband and their perfect life in Florida. Renee does an exceptional job of making it seem more interesting than it really is.

Angela keeps trying to shoot me apologetic looks.

"You know, Bella," Jessica starts when the conversation turns over to me, "I almost thought you left with the Cullens for a bit there!"

The ever-present blade in my chest twists.

Angela sees it and looks toward the ground. "Jess…" she hisses lowly. But even she wants to know more.

With three pairs of prying eyes on me, I would normally straighten my spine and recite a few good lines in my head to speak.

Instead, I look past them all just to mutter, "They left."

It destroys me.

Angela makes an "oh" face and looks down again. Renee subtly rolls her eyes at my melodrama. Jessica smiles sadly and looks at me, "So you and Edward…?"

I swallow and squeeze my eyelids together for a long moment. Please don't say his name.

"Done, I guess."

My throat burns. The beating in my eardrums is louder than anything else around me. Darkness seeps into the corners of my vision. I might faint. At the very least, I'm going to disassociate.

"Oh, well, that's too bad. I know you liked him a lot," Angela offers unwanted sympathy.

"Yeah, enough to stop talking to us," Jessica mutters. Renee might catch it. I don't care.

Renee is quick to sling an arm over my shoulders, "Don't worry girls, that's why I'm here. My daughter will forget about that fool soon enough. Nothing a little retail therapy can't fix!"

She's wrong.

I won't forget.

But if someone else asked me what happened the rest of the day, I couldn't answer. I lost myself in that store, to the world moving on around me. Only their beautiful images flickering before me endured.

I can't imagine there's anyone else in the world as vibrant, as full of life, as them. Even the other vampires I've met. James, Victoria, Laurent. They shine with how alive they are. Their disgust, hatred, and thirst of me towers over any dislike anyone else may have had.

The awe I have for the emotions of vampires is the only thing I feel. A hopeless, inconsolable awe.

And the cracks on my bedroom walls are the only things I see concretely. Everything else, still a blur.

Only when Renee leaves to go back to the airport do I realize what's happened. She might have given me a hug, tried to kiss me on the forehead. Certainly told me I'd be okay. She's gone and the same nothingness that was there before she came still rules me. Maybe I'd call later. But probably not.

School barely registers to me. An A student now just doing the bare minimum. It would be a shame, if I felt anything about it.

The days bleed together un-harmoniously. There's no rhythm to anything, no spark of brilliance. I don't read, I don't listen to music. I don't even watch games with Charlie. I barely eat so I never cook. He gets take-out a lot; I pick at the leftovers.

Charlie doesn't ask me how I'm doing. Neither does Jessica or Angela or Mike or Eric. They don't ask. But they watch.

In their eyes I might be a ticking-time bomb. I'm going to sit here and snap out of it one day and then rage against the whole world and then get miraculously better. I don't think this is going to happen.

I don't know how to conceptualize anger or loss anymore. It is like I have never felt anything in my life before and I can't put together emotions again. I can't even fake them.

Yeah, I can't live. I wasn't meant for it. Dying, being a vampire, maybe that would have meant something.

On days I'm not subsisting through school or letting Charlie hover around me, I'm stuck in bed. I've pulled the covers all the way up. I've cocooned myself into a shell I never wish to break free.

I'm gone, gone gone.

It should be my time to die.

The chirping of the birds, the pitter-patters of the rain. The knocks on my door to see if I'm still alive. Nothing, they're nothing. And I'll be nothing too, if I don't get up and live. But I still can't.

The memories hurt each time I dig into them. It's the last bit of anguish built up inside of me. I let it burn for just a little bit. Enough to cry, if only in my head.

I mourn the relationship with my soulmate.

I mourn the loss of the only real chance I had at becoming a god.

James' venom setting my whole arm on fire. My shattered leg twitching uncontrollably. And him, sucking the life out of me through the same wound. It was the worst physical pain of my life. But it's nothing compared to the hollowness I feel now.

There is no one in the entire world who has felt pain like this before. I'm certain of it. I'm entirely alone.

Maybe if I sit here and cry loudly enough, he'll know and he'll have to come back. Surely Alice would see my misery? Carlisle is too compassionate to let me suffer like this forever.

But I can't cry, I can't do anything.

I pull up a chair outside the upstairs front window. My hoodie hugs me and it's the only contact I get for weeks. Charlie continually looks like he's about to say something to comfort me, maybe pat me on the back, but he never does.

Jessica, Angela, Eric and Mike keep staring at me. They want to say something too. I'm grateful that my previous 'don't approach me' attitude from Phoenix is still competent. I suppose sitting at a table alone for lunch time says enough. So much for trying something new in Forks.

My favorite books go untouched. I'm not in the mood for romantic stories, not even sad ones someone might tell me I can 'relate to.' I can't relate to anything anymore. There's no Mr. Darcy to come to my rescue.

It was okay to me once, being the different kid. The girl who didn't or couldn't do anything but read all day. I didn't mind losing myself in these stories. And then I met him. He read all those same stories; he had been reading them for decades. I thought together, maybe, we could read for eternity.

Just existing, just surviving is the worst pain I've faced. I don't know how I can keep facing it, but I don't think it will ever end.

When the sun finally dies over the horizon, I sit on the couch downstairs. I bring my knees up to my chest and I stare at the blank screen in front of me. There's no temptation to ever watch anything.

Sometimes I imagine the static extending from television, crawling outwards at a slow and sickening pace until it takes over the wall, the entire room. Until it swallows me whole.

It's not peace, not anything close. But I think I could stay in this limbo state forever. Maybe we really were born as worms and returning to the tendrils of buzzing radio broadcasts is our final state.

I might wonder more about the philosophies of life and death scattered throughout history and the modern era if I didn't want to die so much myself.

"Bella," Charlie's voice reaches my ears. "I'm, uh, having some work done on the house for the next couple of days. Replacing some wood paneling and whatnot."

I nod at him. He rests his hands on the back of the couch, but they're clenched and fidgety.

"Billy recommended Sam Uley for the job. You remember him, right?"

"Hm?" I meet Charlie's wide, semi-concerned eyes. "Yeah, of course."

I don't know who he is at all, actually. It hardly matters though.

"He'll be here in the morning after I leave for the station."

Nodding again, "Sounds good."

It'll be a Saturday tomorrow. Normally I would be sleeping in. But now I don't remember the last time I've slept more than four hours. In all my numbed misery, the sunrise still provides the last semblance of hope I have for myself. But then the light becomes too bright and I'm drowning in it. Even with all the clouds, the persistent optimism of the sun still makes me sick.

There is another night of misery in front of me.

I'm only thankful for the fact that I've stopped dreaming these days. The emptiness never ceases. I remember I had nightmares once. The worst around thirteen. Now I can't remember anything I should be scared of to even have them. Not even a Cold One with red eyes.

I wake to the sound of Charlie snatching his keys off the table. It might be 4:30, 5:00 AM. The early morning light rises later and later with each passing autumn day. Yet the reminder of my miserable existence only seems to be creeping up more and more.

There isn't anything else to do except to pull up a chair and watch nothing happen outside all day.

I can't help but imagine his form peeking out from behind branches and shadows, and then when I squint to look closer, I'm devastated all over again. I don't care enough to break the cycle. Maybe there's more hopeless hope left inside me afterall.

He should be with me now, making some remark about Charlie getting up to sit in his office doing nothing all day. Maybe answering to the occasional shoplifting charge of a rebellious teen or overeager parents complaining about the lack of safety measures on the playground.

But the sobering truth of 'I don't want you,' rings through my mind all morning until I see a beat up white van pull into the driveway. It must be Sam...whoever.

I wasn't sure who I was expecting, but definitely not a twenty-something guy from the Rez. He's dark, tall, and lean. And he has cut hair? Is that rebellious or something? 'Suppose it doesn't matter. The equipment coming out of his van must say enough about his abilities to do the task at hand. Charlie will complain if it's a bad job anyway.

For a while, I watch him measure and cut two-by-fours to replace the worst looking bits of the porch. It's only mildly surprising to me that I never noticed how bad the frame decayed. A hint of bitter guilt gathers at the back of my throat. I swallow it.

There's a slow flood of anxiety creeping up my spine. It's uncomfortable. I don't think I've felt anything this strong in weeks. The shock of that barely has time to hit me.

He's not looking at what he's doing for a second, maybe glancing up at another part of the house. But the nail gun in his right hand daggers his left. I see it clearly.

The blood wells up and immediately pours down on the pavement. Oh my god. I shoot straight out of my chair. My aversion to the stuff doesn't stop me from running down the stairs as fast as my glass legs will allow. I grab the first kitchen towel I see and throw myself out the door to help him.

He stares at me surprised, like he doesn't expect me to be out here. The way his brow furrows and his mouth parts open suddenly makes me nauseous. My stomach squeezes and I try not to think of the blood everywhere.

I panic and thrust the rag in his face, "Are you okay?!"

Slowly he looks down at his left hand, "Oh. It's fine. Nothing happened."

"No," I shake my head, "I saw that nail go right through."

But the left hand he holds out to me doesn't have a gaping wound in it. Only smear already drying blood. I don't think I see any mark at all, but it's impossible to really tell.

"The nail just grazed it. Only a scratch."

I watch his hand drop down to his side and for many moments I can only stare at it. There's more blood than justified with his explanation.

"But I saw…" I trail off.

There's a hint of a smile on his face, "It looks worse than it was. That's all."

I look up into his eyes, "N-no."

Then I really see him. He's incredibly muscular. A giant compared to me. He looks ridiculously strong, and experienced, and wise. Wonder of him and his life passes over. I realize he's completely beautiful and I almost hate myself for it. The shock of seeing another perfectly chiseled jaw goes straight to my bones. I'm paralyzed.

"Bella, I'm fine," this new being speaks to me. The words feel like someone speaking to me underwater, drowning.

The rays of the primal morning sun crest over his head and body, darkening his tan and turning him into a corporeal shadow. A blinding nimbus stares me down.

But then he steps forward and comes back to life under the dawn. I squint, mouth agape. His eyebrows furrow at me. He doesn't shimmer, he smolders. Like the side of a volcano I've just run right into, stopping everything in my mind. Until it all comes back red, hot and rapidly expanding. Too hot to the touch, too much pain.

"I...uh, yeah," the words fail me. In an instant the shivers set in and I fold my arms tight across my chest. He looks down at me and frowns.

We stare at each other for half a moment. He looks like he's about to say something. I immediately realize I don't want to know what he thinks. Judgement or concern or praise, I won't have it.

I promptly turn around and nearly slam the door.

Every raw emotion, everything suppressed: the anger, dread of life, and the true realization of loss sets in. I've really been abandoned, tossed aside, thrown out of the Garden of Eden.

I fall to my knees and sob.

A/N: I'm working hard to bring the story on this site up to date! Also, I think I'm just going to have to get over the fact this won't perfectly match with existing lore, either in the books or movies, so that's that. And definitely the characters won't be 100% the same. I've got ideas that might require adding or changing stuff.

But anyway, thanks for reading!