This is a sort of flashback chapter. Background info. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I don't own any part of the Twilight Series. Unfortunately.

Chapter One

I was turned when I was nineteen.

I'd had a really sucky night—I had caught my boyfriend cheating on me with my best friend.

And while that alone was awful enough, I had to go and get wasted. I'd never been much of a drinker—or a partier, for that matter—but I wanted to feel numb. So I slammed down drink after drink, the people around me cheering me on, even when I knew I was out of control. The out-of-control feeling felt good. I was tired of being the 'good girl' with the supposedly 'perfect' boyfriend and 'perfect' life.

Don't get me wrong; my life was far from horrible. My parents were divorced but got along. My older brother was something of my idol. I got good grades, stayed out of trouble, had good—I thought—friends. But I was bored.

More and more, I'd felt fed up with my life. It felt like my life was too uninteresting, too safe. I wasn't unhappy, but I wasn't happy either. I hadn't quite acknowledged that feeling; I didn't like it. But catching my best friend halfway to home base with my boyfriend of three years made all of that come rushing out.

First, there was shock. Kristen had always seemed to be a wonderful person, and an even better friend. And Jonathon had always appeared faithful. He didn't even look at other girls, for Christ's sake! How was I supposed to have seen this coming?

Then there was sadness. Nothing was going right. Sure, everything was fine on the surface, but like I said, I was bored.

And then came the anger. First at myself for not noticing anything—had I really been that unobservant? It hadn't been the first time, I knew. My gut told me that much, and I always trusted my gut. And then I was angry, furious, at them.

How could they do this to me? The two people that I was closest to were betraying me? Just how long had this been going on under my nose? How long had people I loved been lying to me?

I was mad. And frustrated and tired and depressed and rebellious. So I went to a party. There was always a party going on somewhere on campus. I had never gone to many, since I absorbed myself in schoolwork. But then was a time when I needed a distraction and a drinking binge was something that was so not me.

I left that party, stumbling my way back to the dorm. I was really hoping my feet knew the way, because my head sure didn't right then. Everything was dizzy and I felt more than a little nauseous. The hangover was going to be a killer.

I took a wrong turn, ending up at a dead end. Grumbling to myself, I turned around, nearly running into someone. I looked up.

He was amazingly attractive; I realized that even in my drunken haze. He was tall, maybe 6'3". He had dark hair, pale skin, and the most amazing cheekbones I have ever seen. Then there was his eyes. A deep, dark onyx—almost like a black hole in the way they drew me in. And he smelled incredible.

"Are you lost?" he asked me. His voice was like silk in soundwaves. I nodded dumbly, still mesmerized by his inhuman beauty. I should have realized something was wrong since my gut was screaming at me. But I attributed it to the beer.

"What's your name?"

"R-Roxanne," I stuttered. I really needed to puke.

"It's a pity, Roxanne. You're a lovely girl." This vaguely registered as sounding wrong, and yet, strangely, I was flattered.

"Um…thanks?" I really didn't want to throw up all over his shoes, so I turned to the side and puked. I'm sure he still thought I was a 'lovely girl' now.

But he just smirked and helped me to my feet. His hand was cold and I shivered, but I felt much better. My head was clearer, even if it was pounding insanely.

I sneezed.

"It really is a pity," he said softly, so softly I could barely hear him. I turned to face him, confused, but he wasn't looking at me. He was staring at my throat.

I gulped, stories of rape and murder flashing through my head. I was so, so stupid. I should have had someone walk home with me or give me a ride, or something. Now I was going to end up dead, or wishing I were. And all because the mess with Kristen and Jonathon had made me mad, made me brainless. A few tears slipped out.

Like lightning, he covered my mouth—as if I was capable of screaming—and I felt something sharp rip at my skin. I just sobbed, everything catching up with me, but most of all how stupid I was.

A fire started at my neck, but I couldn't see what had caused it; I would have been blinded by tears even if I could have made myself watch.

Then I felt a wrenching sensation, which made me open my eyes in shock. At first everything was blurry, partly from pain, partly from tears. But next I saw him with a look of intense pain on his face. I nearly threw up again when I saw blood dripping from his lips—my blood. Instead I just fainted.

When I came to, it was because of the pain. My eyes were watering with it and I'm sure I was screaming, though I couldn't hear it. The pain was a fire—an all-consuming fire. It burned in my limbs and scorched through my veins.

I knew I had to be dying. It scared me, that thought. I hadn't thought I'd fear death, but there was still so much living I wanted to do. The thought of losing that is what scared me, I guess.

The fear made the pain that much worse, though I hadn't thought it possible. Worse pain that is. I was as if I had been set on fire and refused to burn out. I could sympathize with all those people burned to death now.

But why wasn't I dying? I should be dead. Or maybe I already was and had been condemned to hell. Maybe I would burn like this forever, though I couldn't think of what I had done to deserve such a fate. I was no angel, to be sure, but I was hardly a demon either.

And then the hopelessness set in. That numbed me some. Maybe I even stopped screaming. And after a while the pain was actually tolerable. It wasn't the agony it had first been. Maybe I was just used to it. Pain is relative after all. Like everything else in the world.

So imagine my shock when I feel an impossible cold on my arm. It felt like Antarctic ice in comparison to the rest of me. (Though I suppose that raises the question of whether Antarctic ice is colder than any other ice.)

And then the iciness moves to my head and it feels so impossibly good. A cool rain in the Sahara. And then a lifting sensation with streaks of ice enveloping me.

Perhaps some angel had discovered I didn't belong in hell and was bringing me to paradise.

Paradise. Paradise would be cool.

Then the iciness leaves and a small sob passes through my lips. I suppose I didn't deserve heaven after all.

After that I can't say what happened. Because the universe went black again.

When I woke up, I instantly felt like something was different. Not even necessarily bad. But I knew something important had changed. I curled myself into a ball, putting my head in my hands.

What exactly had happened to me? I remembered blinding, awful pain, but not what had happened before or after. It was all a fog. The worst part of it was that I knew it was crucial.

I sat there for a long time, not even knowing where I was, before I became aware of an ache at the back of my throat. At first I thought the fire was back, but then I realized it was something else. It was like being stuck in a desert for days on end and having all water denied to you. Thirst.

And then I smelled something. It was the most amazing thing I had ever smelled, better than the scent on the man who had done whatever he had done. My mouth watered.

Unconsciously, my legs began to move towards that unspeakably exquisite smell. I wasn't thinking, it was a reaction; like removing your hand from a flame. It was as if someone had pulled my strings, as if I were a marionette, and I'd lost any semblance of control over myself.

My eyes were closed as I neared the source of the scent, inhaling for all I was worth. Instinct took over; thought had turned nonexistent. All I knew was that the awful, horrible aching was going away.

And then it was done with. My mind reappeared, like someone had flicked on the lights.

I saw what I'd done, and, despite everything in me screaming "No!" there was a calmer, more reasonable voice, saying, "Right".

Please review. Even if you hate it. I'd probably cheer if I got a flame at this point. How sad is that?