Hello, this is late, I'm not sure how many of you have actually waited for this but regardless, here we go.
This is Edward for you guys.
Enjoy.

p.s. please forgive any inaccuracies and be sure to point out mistakes of any sort.

"Don't open your eyes
And said goodnight
Don't open your eyes
And said goodnight"

-The Silversun Pickups, Dream At Tempo 119

Edward
(Third Person POV)

The photo is creased, defined by many small wrinkles that spread over the full length of their bodies. Parts of the picture have faded and disappeared completely but one part always stands out, always. The heavy makeup that surrounds her features only serves to make them more prominent and startling. Her eyes always stare back at him with the promise of a hidden secret soon to be revealed. Her teeth are slightly biting her lower lip. A small blush is making its way over her cheeks; despite the tough outward appearance she usually gave Bella was never one to take compliments smoothly. And he loved that about her. What had he said to her? You can only see his profile, he is leaning into her. His arms encircle her waist. The tattoo on his wrist is dark against the faded brown of the ancient picture.

Then he remembers.

"This is going to fucking hurt like a fucking mother fucker" He is trying to make her laugh. It's working. She lets out a small giggle. It astounds him how she is not bothered by piercings but is terrified of tattoos. They both use needles, what's the difference? He sighs. The girl that has a vice grip on his hand is a person that he will never tire of. She will always be by his side.

Always.

The reassurance of the small-like epiphany makes his hand hurt a little less. Why are they getting these ink markings anyways? It's not as if he enjoys seeing her in pain but he was never able to refuse her much of anything (there is also the other crap about it all being bad for your skin and thinking about the repercussions, good things to keep in mind but they are and always will be impulsive teenagers). Even when he didn't know he had feelings for her. Of course back then he looked at her as a sibling, equals that would share everything. And she knew right where to push in order to get her way. Her hand cuts off more of the circulation on his hand. It brings him back to the present.

"Tell me something funny" Her voice is strained.

"I'm not a funny person"

"Sure you are" She tries to take part in the conversation, anything to distract herself. The needle continues to buzz.

"No, not really, nope. Don't think so" He is restrained from making full sentences. It hurts his wrist like a bad fuck too.

"See? Right there? You made me smile"

"I feel elated"

"Smartass"

"Punk" He grins and without having to look over, he knows she is grinning too. It's a personal game between the two.

"Goth"
"Misfit"
"Outcast"
"Vampire"
"Metal Head" She goes in for the kill.
"Emo"

This makes them both laugh and he can see that she forgets about the pain that is inflicted by the buzz of the needle. Their appearances categorize them under many categories that neither of them enjoy and mostly laugh at. How can you categorize people anyways? It's not possible. Her eyes dare to look down at the work of the man with a bandana around his hair. The small curls remind her of her brother. The muscles that threaten the jump out of the tank top remind her why they are getting this tattoo, on this specific day.

His birthday.

Edward sees her eyes fill with small tears and he calls to her. This much he remembers. The small details of what make up the epitome of Bella. His need to care for her, the balance they shared. How easy it was to be in her world get lost in her and share her pain, be her equal.

He always felt a sort of dominance he didn't enjoy with other girls he felt attracted to. They were ruled by his looks, wanting to please him in order to receive his approval. Bella wasn't like that. With a small sigh he opens his eyes and stares ahead of him. Reality can be crippling. His thumb continues the small methodical caresses over the small photo.

It is very strange, this duality. Feel so much mental strain but such physical energy.
Because that's what Edward is now. Mentally exhausted with the strain of memories that just won't stop, (not that he wants them to) but fully able to destroy a car with a hard enough shove. The two ends are wearing him thing and he just wants it all to stop just stop.

This is heaven and hell. And most of them time, he can't tell the difference.

His memories of her are things he cherishes, they are his heaven. Not being able to touch her and be with her, they are his hell. But if he wasn't alive he wouldn't remember her. But if he was dead he could be with her.

It saddens him every day that he is unable to die.
He doesn't feed unless the thirst cripples him to the point of dying thirst.
Edward wouldn't drink if it meant his death.
But vampire can't die.

Yes, he has contemplated death. He knows it's almost childish, this need for her, but he can't help it.

He wants his Bella.

His eyes, which had closed as he recalled her features through weak human eyes, open again and they fall on the wall in front of him. He wants to cry. At least the hurt would minimally subside if he could properly mourn over her loss. Inevitably his mind wanders. He's trained it not to and most of the time it stays within the limited perimeters he's allowed himself to think freely in. Bella never really conformed to the boundaries of well…anything and her memories are no different, if Bella wants to make an appearance in his brain, she will. They are his brand of mental heroine. Why else does a junkie get high?

The brain needs to be happy. It is not something any species can just desire. Happiness is a necessary thing in order to live. Like breathing, Bella is that shot of oxygen, even when the memories are anything but pleasant.

For once Edward gives up and lets them wash through him.

He needs to see her before he dies. His body stumbles down the various streets and the yells from passing cars do not help his headache. Things become incoherent and everything stumbles together into a sort of mixed picture. There are hookers, men smoking, they are laughing and their voices are much too loud for Edward. He stops and leans against a wall. There is sweat covering his brow despite the cool air of the night. His hair is sticking to parts of his forehead and most of it covers his eyes now. The aches are almost too hard to tolerate but Edward has a goal.

He needs to see her.
Say good bye because it is out of the question.
He is going to die.
He needs to be with her when that happens.

Some part of him realizes that it is wrong to ask so much of her, she's probably moved on by now, and he knows it's the insecure part of him talking. Bella would never move on. But still, he doesn't think he can tell her to stand aside and watch him die. But he is a selfish man, with selfish needs. He needs her now more than ever. Everyone else is gone. All they have is each other. With a push he gets off the wall, stumbles forward.

The home comes into view soon enough. This part of town has become dangerous and there are boards covering most of the windows. It looks like a scene form a poorly made movie. A small hysterical laughs escapes him.

He has to be hallucinating.

This was the only place he thought he could find her and from the looks of it the place is deserted and completely run down. She could be anywhere. Hot tears tremble down his cheeks. His nose no longer lets him breath. He is gasping for breath. His knees buckle. His body is now among the many discarded corpses that fill the streets.

Where is Bella?
Where is the beautiful swan?
Where is she?
Where….
Where….
Where….

Edward wakes up with a gasp but the passing of oxygen through his lungs makes him cough. He feels like a man who has been in the desert for far too long without a drink. A man beside him moves. His voice says something about staying still. He is too weak to fight off the hand. He collapses down on the cot.

His thoughts are fueled and consumed by her only. There are moments of clear reality but they are filled with the awareness of aches, coughs, fever, and vomiting, stuffy noses and excruciating headaches.

Needless to say, the dreams are far more enticing. He lets his friends accompany him in his imagination. They are there. Laughing and joking with him, she is standing next to him, his hand grips hers and she squeezes back. He can see himself talk but he doesn't hear the words. Suddenly he is alone with her. She encircles her arms around his neck. She squeezes too tightly. He feels her teeth. His neck is burning. He tells her to stop and just like that… Bella transforms. Her skin changes from a pale to an olive color. Her hair becomes blond instead of the wonderful brown.

She is not Bella. He tries to shout but the burn is too strong. It starts to encase his body. He screams until his voice is lost. He shouts for her.

Bella
Bella….

"Bella" with a sense of loss, Edward comes back to the present. That was a hundred years ago but the memory is still fresh.

One can never really forget the burn of the venom or their maker.

One can never forget their first and only love.