SEARCHING
Inspiration: Kristen Stewart's versatility, Carla Morrison and Noé Barrios' "Amor Burdel," and unfaithful husbands.
Disclaimer: The characters? They belong to Stephenie Meyer. The rest is all mine.
Isabella Swan
Most men don't like red lipstick, but Edward Masen isn't like most men.
He prefers my scarlet lip prints.
It's the only reason why my mouth is painted rouge tonight.
Maybe they will call out to him like a siren – a silent plea asking him to come to me and love me.
Walking in the middle of the night, dressed in my best clothes, I search for him. I'm fully aware that I might not find him, or that maybe I will, but he probably won't be alone.
If my mother were alive, she'd be ashamed of me. She would say, "Lizzie, in our profession, you can't afford to fall in love. You're just looking for trouble if you do."
And she would be right. Hookers like me - like she was - aren't supposed to be enamored with their customers.
But I can't help it.
Edward is the other half of my soul.
Without him, I'm merely a fleeting leaf that has been stepped by many and picked up carefully by none.
I don't exist. I am a phantom.
Nobody cares about me, I know that now.
Not even the man that promises me that I'm the only woman he loves despite the fact that he's married.
Sometimes I believe him, especially when I'm in his arms and he's kissing me sweetly, holding me as if I'm the only thing in the world that matters to him.
But nights like tonight are different. They're nights when he's with another whore in one of those dirty bars where he hides from me. They are few and far between, but existent nonetheless.
He says that he does it because the remorse of not being able to love me freely torments him. He also says it's because he can't bear to be with his wife, either.
Excuses, that's what they are.
He's a womanizer, I know it.
I learned about it when Rosalie, his wife, confronted me after following him and finding us at a local motel. She told me that I wasn't the first woman he'd cheated on her and that I wouldn't be the last.
She was right.
Yet that doesn't mean it's easier for me to leave him.
I can't.
His absence is a chokehold around my heart. It's the never-ending ache of having a limb removed.
It's impossible.
Despite the fact that I know he'll never change. And I know that I won't, either.
It's why I keep searching for him - tonight and as long as I can.