CHAPTER 5

REMEMBERING YOU…

Warning: expletives.

Here's a look at Edward's dorm-life at Dartmouth. And how he met that girl who turned his world upside-down. Any guesses who that is?

….

EPOV

I uploaded the pictures on my Mac and then started the photo editor, checking if any of the pictures needed touch-ups for bad light or something, but to my surprise they were all perfect! Like, bloody perfect.

Her beautiful pale skin contrasted in an intriguing way with the darkness of the twilight, a faint light of the west that was it; everywhere else it was dark, where it had not been illuminated by the divine light of her being.

I zoomed in as close as the photo editor and my camera's pixels allowed me to, looking for her identity, to give this unseen face, a name to get by, for now she could be Belle, my muse – meaning 'beautiful' in Italian.

I wondered what her real name was, Kelly? Jessica? Amanda? Bridgette? No, hope it wasn't Bridgette, it sounded too harsh for someone like her. Maybe, Alicia, but the name didn't suit her. I ran a list of all the names I could think of Lauren, Karen, Angela (this one seemed somewhat appropriate!), Madeleine, and a hundred more. Nothing befitting. It was as if I was Leonardo da Vinci and she was Mona Lisa, only I didn't know who my Mona Lisa was. I wanted to find out.

"'ssup, dude?" Felix, my roommate said bursting in. he reeked of too much beer and sweat.

"Nothing. How was the practice?" I asked.

"Great, coach said you bunk again and you'll be kicked out of the team." He said irritably.

"That'd be awesome!" I remarked.

"Dude, why are you doing this? We need you, okay, we can't win without you and you know that. Then why are you doing this to the team?" he said in a much gentler tone.

"I don't know," I shrugged irresponsibly.

"You know everything, okay, the reason why you're being a pompous jerk," Felix nearly shouted, "you think you're some stupid protagonist in a fucking Hollywood coming-of-age movie where you need to sort your fucking priorities out before you fucking die next month. Am I right?"

"No," I said a bit too quietly for someone replying to provocations, "That's not it, I just don't know. But anyways, while I figure this out, I'll come to the practice." I said wondering if it was the right thing to do. Maybe it was, for now.

"So heading home for Chrissy?" Felix asked, as if he were a five-year old.

"Chrissy, dude, grow up! Seriously, Chrissy! Fuck you!" I laughed.

"It's Chrissy, okay, get it!" he snorted.

"Whatever," I laughed.

"What's so funny?" Felix asked angrily.

"Nothing," I said trying to let go.

"Whatever," he yawned, "I'm leaving tomorrow, happy solitary confinement."

"You know this place is actually a better place to live without you." I said.

"Likewise, Cullen," he said pulling the sheets over his face. "Fuck yourself!"

"Likewise, Mezzini," I said with a smirk. Idiot, I thought getting back to my laptop.

I finished my pending assignments and after listening to Midnite Vultures, I went to sleep wondering who that girl might be.

….

Next morning was a blur as Felix's bulky frame scurried around the room trying to pack all his stuff (literally!) into a giant Jack Spade duffel bag. After an hour of sitting in my bed and smirking I decided to help him out, and it took me just fifteen minutes to throw all his stinking stuff into two duffel bags.

"Thanks, dude," Felix said, pounding a six pound fist on my shoulder.

"Always welcome, but for now, get the fuck out of here!" I smiled.

"Sure," Felix said before lugging the two huge bags and himself out of the room. The moment the door closed behind him I slumped back on my bed and looked around the room, suddenly it felt much better to be here, I didn't feel the need to go home anymore, but I had to. Though, not so soon.

I decided that I'd spend the day looking out for my Belle as I put on layers of cashmere my sister and mother always bought for me and topped it with a trench coat and took my Canon along, just in case.

Thanks to the ghost of Mac Taylor and Horatio Caine possessing me, I thought it would be better to start searching from the place where I had seen her. That seemed like a good idea at the moment but when I looked around that lonely bench, next to that giant oak tree, there was no sign that anybody had ever been here. Everything was covered in a four-inch deep layer of fresh snow. I silently cursed the weather.

And pretty obvious I was neither a dog, nor a vampire that I could sniff her out of nowhere or wherever in the campus she was so I decided to spend the day picnicking on the bench. I dusted off the snow and took out my camera, taking photos like a maniac.

I spent three hours there on that cold metal bench, doing practically nothing but just taking photos of snow-white nothingness before it got too cold to bear and I had to escape to my room.

Back in the room my cell phone was buzzing with a call, I let it go to voicemail. A couple of seconds later I heard Alice's voice ringing out of the phone, "hey, Edward, it's me, come home soon, need you to decorate the Christmas tree. Miss you, bye."

I smiled mentally at her message and suddenly I found myself packing for New York as I booked a plane ticket.

….

Christmas was like another year, decorating the Christmas tree with everyone, eating the dinner and opening the gifts, it all passed in a blur and in a matter of what seemed like seconds I found myself back at the campus, practicing for seasons' last game and still looking out for Belle.

…

It was probably the last game of the season, if we lost and our key to the semis if won. The odds of winning against Yale were thin but we had to. And my apparent lack of commitment would be a red mark on my life's report card if we lost today; we had to win, no matter what happened tonight. It was do or die…

No, do and then die, according to Coach Austen. It was my last chance to redeem myself in the eyes of my team, and coach though redemption was the last thing I cared about.

I had practically tuned myself out during the pep-rally before the game by plugging in my iPod at full volume, I stood against my locker, staring at the sticker with my name on it in bold, "E. Cullen". Soccer, was a family thing, my father, Carlisle Cullen, an alumni of Dartmouth had led us to victory three years in a row, my older brother, who had graduated form college only last year, had played for Columbia. So technically, it was a family thing, I was supposed to and I had to play, and win to keep up the family's traditions.

I thought about the day my mother, Elizabeth Hayden-Masen, divorced my father, Edward Masen Sr. (who later died when I was two) and married Carlisle, and then after a year or two divorced him as well, and ran off with that boy toy of hers, some Arabian sheikh leaving me and my older brother Emmett, who was five then, all by ourselves. For three days we stayed in our mother's apartment, feeding on leftovers, and on the weekend Carlisle turned up, he and mom had had a deal that we could visit us on the weekends and apparently our mother, all too glad to get rid of us, if only for the weekend had complied.

He was shocked to see us like that and took us with him, to his new home and his new wife, Esme, who turned out to be more of a mother than my real mother could ever be.

A few months after we moved in with dad, one day we were old that my mother and her boyfriend died in a plane crash, Esme held me and Emmett close to her, lest we cried but none of us did, we didn't know who she was, so there was nothing to mourn. You can't mourn someone who doesn't exist. I was four then, and soon after my biological father too passed away. After that day, Esme and Carlisle were my parents; they adopted us, and a year later Esme gave birth to my little sister, Alice. Its been years since then but I still remember it all very clearly as if it were this morning it had all happened, all those family vacations, being treated like a real family, taught the Cullen family traditions and being a Cullen. I felt obliged to do this, for my family. For my father.

A hard poke in my arm brought me back to the locker-room reality. I took out the earphones, sensing I was in trouble.

"Has Eminem got a better advice, Cullen?" Coach Austen billowed in his huffy voice. "Pay attention when I say something, I'm not a useless mutt barking at nothing."

"Sorry, Coach," I muttered.

"Sorry? You'll be sorry if we lose the match!" he barked, "so get your sorry ass out there and help us beat 'em tonight or you'll be sorrier than you've ever been in your whole sorry life!"

My Lord, why was he stuck on 'sorry' today?

As Coach Austen blew his whistle the whole team rushed out into the field, the whistle blow a mere whisper compared to the din of the people sitting in the bleachers. Yale vs. Dartmouth, season's most important match, we win – semis, we lose, I'm gong to be sorry. Sorrier than I ever had been in my life. I repeated my own words to myself do or die, Cullen.

It's now, or never.

…

Had a difficult time in real life, wonder why it sucks to be a human. When I first read Twilight, I decided I wanted to be a vampire if that was the only thing I could ever be, because as a vampire life sucks but you have the choice to run away, and an eternity of boredom isn't too big.

But never mind read this awesome chapter and review, please. And I love your reviews.

xoxo

P.S. please review. And I need fifteen more reviews to the next chapter.