Here is chapter one. Yes, I realize that most, if not all, of you probably want to kill me after reading the prologue - but then you wouldn't be able to find out the ending, now would ya? *smirks* And no, rest assured, I am NOT killing Edward off. (Somebody on Twitter asked me that tonight.) SO, is anybody interested, or am I wasting my time?
"Please, Jesus, don't let him be high when he comes back," I say aloud as I look at the clock.
It's midnight. I called Emma hours ago to let her know what had happened this afternoon, and she told me that she would keep an eye out for him. She started dating last year, and her boyfriend—under some miracle—understands what Edward is like sometimes.
When it reaches 1:30am and there's still no sign of him, I force myself to crawl into bed after getting absolutely zero rewriting done like I'd promised Rose—my editor—I would do. The third and final book of Traffic Lights is due out early next year, and she suggested rewriting parts of it—it's not happening tonight though, obviously. I make my way into bed and curl up with the comforter tightly around, but it's nothing like having Edward body wrapped around me. We've been taking it slow, and he used to spend nights with me, when finally he agreed to just move into my place at the end of last year. It gave Emma the house to herself, plus it gave him and I the opportunity to relearn how each other works. I clutch the dark puffy comforter and squeeze my eyes shut, trying to fall asleep, hoping that if I wake up, he'll be here.
When I wake up at 4am to shower and dress to be able to meet with Rose at 7am, I try not to be too disappointed when there's still no Edward. So, I take that shower and dress casually—a pair of cut-off jeans and one of Edward white t-shirt's. It's 6:45 by the time I get to the place we're meeting at—Starbucks. I walk inside and see that she's already here; always on time and even early, that one. I take the seat across from her and see that she's already ordered for me; I give her a grateful smile and take a sip of the caramel frap with whip cream, even though my stomach is in knots.
"Okay," she says, flipping open her notebook. "Did you get any writing done?"
Let me just say that Rosalie Hale isn't known for her nice and gentle attitude; that's not how she does business, and that isn't how she's made a fucking killing by doing what she does. People eyes literally go wide with fear by just hearing her name most times, but they also respect her because she takes absolutely no shit. So, when I tell her that no, I didn't get any done, I'm not at all shocked or hurt when she starts lecturing me.
"Izzy," she says quietly but firmly, leaning towards me, clasping her hands in front of her. "This is the third book—the final one, the most important of them all! You need to begin the rewrites ASAP. While it's great, it could be better, know what I mean? Now, what's holding you back?"
I sigh and am about to answer her when a girl who looks like she's in her teens comes up to our table, a napkin in hand; I can already guess what she's going to ask without her having to say. Saved by a fan, for once.
"Hi," I say kindly, smiling up at her; she's a short little thing. "How are you?"
She gives me a nervous grin. "I-I'm fine. C-could you maybe, I don't know, sign this for please?"
I nod and she hands me the napkin.
"Crap—Rose, do you have a pen?" I ask.
Rosalie reaches into her bag where I know she carries about ten thousand pens, and hands me a gel pen. I thank her and sign the napkin.
"What's your name, babe?" I ask her, looking up.
She blushes and says, "A-Alice."
I nod and sign it.
To Alice – Thanks for coming up and saving me from a lecture! ;) Luv Izzy
I hand her back the napkin and grin.
She grins, thanks me again, and bounces off back to her table, grinning from ear to ear. I smirk and lean back in my chair, for once since early yesterday feeling happy again. Rose looks at me, getting back to business.
"Okay, now that that's over; what's keeping you from your job?" she demands.
I roll my eyes. "Just some personal stuff, Rose."
She knows somewhat about Edward; she had to hear the whole story because back she was editing the first book (Promises of an Addict), she wanted to cut parts of it out, and I was adamant that each thing stay intact when the book got published, so she wanted a good reason why.
She sighs and sits up straight.
"Well, if your personal life is getting in the way of your career, I suggest you do whatever you need to in order to regain focus—because this business does not play, honey; it can and will replace in the blink of an eye. There's always somebody who's better that's looking for their chance at that big break," she tells me.
Rose isn't trying to be mean or telling me this to hurt me; she's just telling the truth, which I already know.
I nod. "I know. I'm sorry—I'll start on the rewrites STAT."
She begins packing up and I realize that we've been here for over an hour already.
"Don't apologize," she says, neatly packing things into her oversized Gucci bag. "Just start getting it done. I'd hate to see someone like you go down the tubes."
When I get back home, I start on the rewriters, not stopping until well into noon. I save the rewrites and send them to Rose, and then shut everything down and lay down in my bed to try to take a nap.
When I wake back up, I look at the alarm clock on the nightstand and realize that I've slept for over five hours; shit, I never even took anything out for dinner, never having planned on sleeping for that long. I get out of bed and use the bathroom, trying to wake up. It wasn't the best sleep I've ever gotten, but it was better than the three hours I got last night. When I come into the living room, I stop with a slight halt; the sight in front of me shakes my insides.
"Hi."