The names are not mine, the rest - is.

Pangs

I spend my time holding on tight as I lock myself inside my mind, inside my own fantasies, torn between running and staying. Here at my family's home, in my bedroom, I sit in this room, my real room, the room with no bed. Creamy hollow lights blend with the earth of my outside. I've found what it is to be a monster, this life without the lure you hope for every day - and each day is longer than the last, waiting for what isn't coming; the next darling to captivate me. I wish for only one treasure, and her name is Bella.

My father spoke further with Alastair, family friend and mentor to one Carlisle Cullen. Even with all his knowledge, information and experience, he still doubts. But Bella is no forgery. From the outside looking in, over her, I see it clearly, I see a field of dreams burning in bloom.

Besides, she doesn't know of us. Of me. Not yet.

Hourly, my mind is bombarded with picture frames of her face as she realises what I am, as I go to her, lost in the madness of thinking this could be anything real - and as I take her, as she is woken by nightmares of her own curiosity, I drink. From her. Because in my nightmares, that's exactly what I do. Each and every time.

The first time I visited her room at WV was after I drove her home. I wanted something from her, to take with me. More than I had already taken, something whole I could touch. To remind me what she is and what it could mean if I don't stay away. I also needed a reason. Why I'm so drawn to her. More than this singer affair. We know nothing about each other. Does that even matter now, did it ever?

Bella's bedroom spills of girl muddied in blacks, some white and lots of messy. She shares with two instead of one, lots of space, lots of clutter. Her roommate's areas are lighter, some blues, some greens, less messy. I walked the tiny squares of their shared housing, accepting each piece of her. The Cranberries, the incense, the half-eaten pot of popcorn on her bookshelf, Oriel's book of Colour Pieces, and something to be found - a tattered braid, pink and lone, lying on the floor. I instinctively slipped the friendship bracelet onto my wrist and pulled my sleeve over my hand to cover it, to cover the secret of my longing to find the pieces of her that I know i've been searching for all this time.

I left shortly after, and the next night I wanted more. Not of what she has, but of what she is. I drove down that street to her house, I walked to that door, the red one I left her at. I couldn't knock so I sat, I couldn't go in so I sat. I watched from the back of her house leaning against the trees as I wondered which room was hers, until I could take it no more. I fell into Bella Swan's bedroom through her window not thirty minutes later, to find her sleeping beautiful, dreaming, dreaming of me.

-o-

My bedroom is empty, shadows dancing where there can't possibly be shadows. Blue, black shadows with white faces, climbing the walls of my safe box. I don't feel safe now. I wish I were back at school, where things are still new but familiar and I'm not alone. Being alone plays tricks on my mind.

I wake up from bad dreams, lying on the left side of my bed. I look over and I'm still alone. In my bad dreams, someone preyed. In my good dreams, they kept me safe.

The yellow petals on the ceiling mock me as they change form into faces of old friends.

In the mornings, I don't want to do anything. My hand hurts again from using it too much and my head aches with the back and forth of my crush.

Edward Cullen.

I wonder if he's thought of me since he said goodbye, and if goodbye was easy for him as I stood crying a mess. I think it over and over, and over again some more. I know it's not true. I think he is out there somewhere, thinking of me. He must be. Right?

The night comes again and the shadows wake me cold and sweaty...again, convincing me of a madness only I can see.

Only this time when I wake, my window is open. I didn't open it. And there's no way it can just like...blow upwards. I've never heard of that happening. I'm scared, like a child. And if I get up, it will be real. I won't be safe in the confines of my blanket, I'll be cold and exposed to the shadows...and possibly the criminals breaking into my house!

I stare at it. For a while I just watch as the curtain billows lightly from the night air. I listen to the outside, holding onto myself, my legs bent to protect me. I don't want to get up and close it, and after a while it doesn't seem so bad when I let my eyes unfocus. I'm unfocused as sleep hits me over the head heavy.

I sleep this night away with more dreams of Edward.

Edward leaving my window open as he climbs into my room to check on me. Edward looking me over, my injured hand, my legs sticking out the sides of the covers, and he would see my face. He would lie next to me and wish all the things I wish.

When I wake up, the window is closed.

-o-

Four nights, followed by four longest days as I wait for the darkness to come - the darkness that shields my depravity. I tell no one I leave, though they hear me as I go. I tell no one where I've been, though they surely expect it. My books are filled with pictures I care not for. My screen filled with information that can't be true. Carlisle thinks the first night, at the party, the drugs must have helped. I was high and I held her for minutes, whole real minutes and she was fine. The drugs weakened me, my alerts turned way down to the call of her blood, to her nearness. I want to try it again. I told them I would. But I said I would try and stay away first.

I failed and I don't care.

Pushing the window open each night to see her beautiful face, enamouring me, and her mewls in the soft night, a slave to her dreams - these things are my life now, my compass. She wakes often, and each time she wakes I am hidden, outside on her window ledge, once - under the bed. She wakes and her breathing is heavy, afraid and coaxing. Only to me. To be at her feet, I would. To hold her close, I could.

But I can't. Not yet.

I wear her braid around my wrist as if she is mine. I sneak into her bedroom as if I am welcome.

I am wrong. I am helpless. I am inflamed.

I am not going anywhere.

-o-

My parents won't let me go back to school yet. The confusion stifles me. They stifle me.

I am like, temporarily insane due to a lack of stimulus. I have come to love sleep. I have come to look forward to the night when I can close my eyes and fantasise about a life where there are no boundaries and there are no dates and stupid first details we must learn.

Just me and Edward - dancing and painting, reading books in the meadow past campus, watching the sky change colour.

Me and Edward.

My fantasies have become an addiction. A hot, sweaty addiction. I play the orchestral sounds of my favourites, the bluesy words of my classics as I lie in my bed, covered and hidden from all of the stuff I don't know, the stuff I can't have and the people that would frown upon my doing.

I'm missing school. I'm missing classes. All so I can masturbate my way into a coma.

Each day is the same, mom stays late at work and me and my dad eat together partaking in awkward chatter about school and all that's new in my life now. He mentions Billy. But I don't want to talk about it. Eventually he stops talking altogether, we finish and he throws the pizza boxes in the trash and musses my hair as he passes. I smile and leave him to clear the table. I watch him grab the clicker and sit on the couch, he turns on the game and the instant cheers filling the small room are loud. Obnoxious. Perfect.

I go to bed early, like every night.

I think of Nettie and Rose; they'll probably be at some party. In college, there are parties like, every night, even on Wednesdays. Nobody cares. And everybody goes.

Except me.

I'm going to my safe box to think of Edward.

Am I pathetic? Just obsessed? Does obsession make me sad? I don't feel sad. I feel excited. Excited in a weird way. Excited in my sadness, I'm trying to be realistic about my crush. I'm living it out the only way I know how.

-o-

Tonight, I could stay away no longer, seven, eight, I am here early. This time, Bella isn't in her room yet. I hear her and her father talking over supper. I hear the clattering of the trash cans. I hear the exasperation coming from her, and the contented sighs from him. I hear her footsteps as she climbs the stairs. I hear the thump of her bedroom door as it closes. I hear the same music she plays every night. I hear her steps around the room, objects being moved, drawers being pulled out and pushed back in. I hear her undress, her clothes falling to the floor. I hear her get into bed.

And then I hear nothing. Nothing for a while, past the music and breathing. Nothing but the air and the heart of Bella.

I wait for her soft sighs as she falls asleep. I move closer to the window, closer to her, and close my eyes, longing to be inside her dreams with her. After a while, her sighs turn to moans, getting louder and I don't think she's asleep. I want her to be mine, so I can be the source of her pleasure, the cause of her feeling, her moving, moving hands along her body. I want to be the one drawing lines, circles, circling for more, more cries, more ecstasy. With fervor and delight, she would fall, crashing into me, crying out for me, she's crying out for me, my name. I hear my name. I hear my name.

"Edward."

I am no longer in control of my actions. I no longer care about rules. I am no longer on the ledge, the edge of our beat, I am in it. Pounding to get in.

I am in.

I am in her bedroom and she is bewildered, lovely, rouge-cheeked and bare.

"Edward!"

AN:

The Boy is patient with me. Even when I mess up the schedule. Clearly I suck at keeping one. *hides* My apologies.
Next chapter: (My aim is...) Wednesday

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samrosey. xo