Bella's POV

I've been dead for a whole month. I can see myself shriveling up like a worm that got stuck on a summer sidewalk. The gashes in my torso are a common reminder that he loves someone else. Whenever my thoughts travel to his alluring green eyes, pain cuts across my mid-section. And sleep doesn't help at all. Every night, I wake up screaming for a different reason. Last night's dream was the most menacing.

Edward's warm hand grips mine tightly as our feet make small squashing sounds along the forest floor. It's twilight, but night seems to creep quicker underneath the leaves of the trees. But somehow, there is no fear at all inside of me. Night seems much more beautiful when there's an angel to guide you through it. Edward was leading me towards the meadow. He hadn't told me, and I hadn't asked, but I somehow knew. It took only minutes to get there. Edward grabbed my waist and pulled me down onto the moist grass. His arms encircled my waist as his lips moved towards mine. My eyelids fluttered closed as my lips moved closer to his . . . .

All of the sudden, there was just air before me. I looked up to see Edward being dragged back into the trees by a pair of sickeningly pale hands. One hand covered his mouth so that only dampened cries could be heard. The other hand's fingers were clenched in his bronze hair, which the hands were using to pull him away. ( a.n. any guesses where I got that from?)

"Edward!" I screamed. My feet felt like cinder blocks. I would never be able to save Edward before he was hurt by this mysterious force. Before I could get across the meadow, he had been dragged into the tangles of foliage. Somewhere within the flesh-like weed, I knew my love was suffering. Sure enough, a tortured cry came from within the trees. Screams and shrieks erupted from the dark, my name being called in the form of a plea for help. Yet I couldn't move.

A great pile of red stuff came flying out of the bushes and towards me. I stepped aside, not wanting to be hit by the mysterious object. It landed with a thud by my feet. I carefully looked down at the red heap and gasped. It was Edward's mangled carcass.

The dreams always lasted for a short time, yet they still managed to plague me with their morbid images all day.

But there was something much worse than the dreams. It was seeing Edward with Jessica Stanley every day. The way she drapes herself over him in front of everyone, as if she wants us all to know she owns him. I should be happy that he has someone that he actually loves, and that loves him back. But I can't help but be jealous. There's no reason for Edward not to like Jessica. Over the last six months, her scrawny form has bloomed like a flower of flame and perfume. Jessica looks like a Barbie doll now. Her face always shows happiness, and never changes. Her body is long and overly thin. I won't even try to tell of the ridiculously skimpy outfits she wears. If I did, I'd puke.

As for me, I still look like a mouse. While I used to be a happy, scrawny mouse, I'm now a scrawny mouse that's clothed in a web of grief and guilt. Guilt for holding him back from all of the other girls that surround him, and not being what he needs. Grief for knowing that he wants the other girls, and that I'm not what he needs.

I can feel myself dying, and I know it's only a matter of time before I slip through the cracks.

I turn to the modern-day genius we call Oprah Winfrey. On her show, there's a sob story about a woman whose husband left her. Oprah suggested a hobby. Hobbies?! I'm not good at much of anything. In fourth grade, Renee tried to get me interested in her latest infatuation: knitting. Truth be told, I was terrible at it. But I remember that when she wasn't hounding me on making mittens or a scarf, I drew. It was almost like a secret love at the time. For some reason, ripping the emotion from objects that I saw every day was calming. Art was about looking at things. Looking at a tree and trying to figure out why it still breathes and claws at the sky. Looking at a piece of silk and trying to figure out why the silk wants to be so soft.

The next day, I began my search for a simple sketch pad and colored pencils. I brought with me some of the money I was going to use to buy a car when I got to Forks. After getting Charlie's unexpected gift, a lot of money had been left in my pockets. And when one had extra money, it's much easier to give into temptation. Needless to say, I went back home with more than some colored pencils.

After dumping the items from the white plastic bag, I assessed how much damage had been done. I had a pack of acrylic paints, two boxes of charcoal sticks, an innumerable amount of paintbrushes, eight blending sticks, two canvases, one yellow paper sketch book, and three other sketchbooks. On top of that, I had gotten a book on Rembrandt Van Rijn. This would be an interesting way to forget about my soul-mate.

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By the time Charlie got home, I was more colorful than the yellow paper sketch book. I decided that a bit of sadness and angst in a drawing would be beneficial. But the question was, I have no idea of what to draw. I could draw a girl with black rope tied around her face and body. Or I could draw a girl kneeling in the grass under the yellow moonlight, surrounded by candles.

After sitting motionless for an hour, inspiration knocked me upside the head. I grabbed the notebook and flipped to open page with gusto. But once my pencil was on the page, my motions became careful and soft. Every time the pencil ground itself against the page, a new light flipped on in the back of my head. It was a strange sense that made my pencil stop mid-stroke. It was every muscle in my body relaxing, except for one string deep inside my head. It was frightening, yet one of the most amazing things I had ever felt.

Eventually, the mass of lines and swishes on the page became the forlorn face of a girl. A thin mask had been pulled over her face, as if it would shield her from all that was demonic and evil. There was a gaping hole in the mask that was right over her eye. The hole somehow let her see that the world that she had been shielded from didn't hold what she expected.

For hours, I looked at the sketch as if it were an intricate puzzle. Why had my pencil put this on the paper? Why not a rainbow or a purple bunny? After staring for hours, I finally understood who was in the picture, and why I had done it. It was me, and the world without Edward wasn't all I had hoped it would be.

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The next terrible day.

School is painful. Not because I don't enjoy learning, or that I think our subject are boring, but that I see Edward every day, and know that he doesn't love me. Every single thing I do reminds me of Edward. When a teacher writes in green chalk, I think of his eyes. Whenever I eat pizza, I think of that first time I met him. And biology is the hardest. Every day, I sit next to his warm body, and know I don't have the right to hold his hand or stroke his face. I know that there will never be any more meetings behind building five. Edward isn't mine anymore, and quite frankly, it sucks.

But one thing that eases the ache in my torso knows that I can draw after school. I can hate the paper with every cell in my body if I want, and then draw a vile picture as punishment. I'll pick a subject that has nothing to do with love; I'll do dirt. I'll draw mud smeared across the wall of a building. Clumps of grass with cling to the brick along with the mud. Yup, completely loveless.

When the bell finally rings, I take me time to gather my books. Every step I take is silent and slow as I head toward building five. When I can get my hands on a pencil, I swear I'm gonna--

My thoughts freeze as I see the couple kissing by the brick wall. It takes my frozen mind to register that it's Jessica and Edward. Edward is in between Jessica and the wall, and looks bored. His hands hang limp at his side, whereas Jessica's hands are everywhere at once. She's touching his chest! I thought. I told myself to shut up, and that Edward wasn't mine anymore. Jessica could touch Edward all she wanted now.

The couple obviously sensed another presence and broke apart. Edward looked me straight in the eye and stuttered. Jessica's voice is clear and firm, along with the annoyed (and somehow smug) look on her face.

"Hey, Bella. Do you think you could give some privacy?" she demanded with the most sickening devilish glint in her eyes. She doesn't wait for my answer and slams her mouth down on Edward's. I saw her tongue slide out and lick Edward's face as if she were a flea-ridden dog.

The tears don't wait for me to be alone before they start. I hope I crash on my way home.

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Edward's POV

This is disgusting. Jessica's hands are running up and down my body, and now climbing up my shirt. Her tongue is flitting around my mouth. I know I don't love Jessica, so why am I here? Because I'm an idiot, that's why.

I'm an idiot for leaving the only person I've ever loved. The girl I loved was an angel, not the parasite that's clinging to my shirt right now. But I didn't have a choice. I was practically forced to leave the girl I love. The girl I loved had beautiful brown eyes that were set in a pale heart-shaped face. The girl I loved had full lips that spoke the kindest and most gentle words. The girl I loved was named Bella.

But I have no right to love her. She deserves someone who is more beautiful and strong. She shouldn't have to deal with my lanky, idiotic self. I want her to love someone that deserved to be loved. So I sent her off to Mike Newton, so that she could be with someone better, though it pains me so every time I see her. But for some reason, I haven't see her with Mike. In fact, I've barely seen her at all. The only time I get a glimpse of her beautiful face is at lunch and biology. The pain of knowing that she isn't mine hurts. Whenever I am in her presence, it takes every bit of self-control I have not to pull her small frame up to my chest and kiss her. I want to kiss her with so much passion that we both would fall to the ground in shock. There is no feeling like her arms around my neck and her lips at my ear, whispering words that made me go weak at the knees.

Jessica removed her lips from my face. My head turned to see Bella standing six feet away with a look between disgust and horror on her face. My lips attempted to produce a sentence or two that will excuse Jessica's behavior. I am quickly silenced when her slimy tongue licks my face like a mutt. My eyes are still glued to Bella, who was running to her truck. She fell two times before her hands touch the door of the rusty truck. Maybe if the licking would stop, I could go help her.

Jessica is still acting like a dog long after Bella's truck leaves the lot. "Jess, stop." I commanded.

"Why, Eddykinz?" she cooed, using my least favorite nickname.

I shook my head. She wasn't Bella, but I could always pretend she was. It would be a lot easier if I imagined she was an angel with beautiful brown eyes. I crushed my lips to hers with a burning passion. My fingers braided themselves in her hair. I frowned; Bella's hair wasn't curly like Jessica's, but this was as close as I would ever be able to get to Bella again.