Now that Bella's wrist is a bit better and her cast is off she booked the school darkroom today and later this week for us to develop the film we shot back in December.

I explained the basic process to Bella and showed her what we needed to do using some junk film to load the processing tank in daylight. Bella closed her eyes to get used to loading the negatives into the reel by feel only. Whilst I didn't engineer things this way, it gave me some long minutes of gazing at her face unobserved, she is so remarkably beautiful.

My desire to kiss her was overwhelming, to feel the softness of her mouth against my own, or just to have one tiny breath of her in my lungs, or to nuzzle her hair and whisper my devotions into the shell of her ear. It all drew me to her unconsciously until she shivered and I jolted, realised I was leaning perilously close to her, nearly touching my mouth to hers. This yearning is pure madness. I can think of nothing but her. I do not even want to.

I wish I could watch her as she sleeps each night. She probably wouldn't like that though. All I wish is to be close to her. I am so impossibly smitten. She must never know.

I busied myself drawing and quietly told her about times I had taken and developed photos before. I haven't done it since the early nineties, but I used to enjoy it on occasion. Jasper was always more interested in it than me and he has a better eye for composition.

Somehow I drifted into an explanation of why I tend to prefer drawing and watercolours, of how I can sort of smooth out the pain of things that way. They're not so stark as in reality. I confided in Bella that until very recently I haven't wanted to remember things as clearly as I have. I haven't had a choice, of course. The kingdom inside my head has never been my own, not the images thrust their by others nor my own memories; the human ones I wish to keep have long since faded or are lost forever, yet the ones of the hurt I have caused, my savagery and boundless isolation are crystalline and always will be as if they just occurred. The things I see and hear in my head are not my own, my feelings and my future are known by Alice and Jasper more intimately than by me, more objectively seen and judged, granting them insight I am not always privy to, for my closeness to my own situation blinds me. None of this territory is ever mine alone. Everything is communal, even my loneliness.

Bella smiled sadly, her eyes still closed as she repeated the motions of loading the negatives more fluidly, whilst I whispered of how I see things I do not wish to, daily, and each and every image is with me for eternity as if trapped in amber in their perfect forms. I cannot close my mind and know peace, I cannot grant others the privacy they deserve and desire. I cannot have my feelings be just mine, nor my actions. None of it is private, except the secrets I am unwillingly burdened with. This leads to a public sort of secrecy. But with Bella, she has the privacy I wish I could grant everyone. She can have secrets from me. And I from her. She chooses to tell me things. It is so new and terrifying also, but I treasure that between us. We have a choice. How rare and wonderful.

In hushed tones I shared stories about photographing my family and told her I would show her the rare few photos we appear in from throughout the years, all Polaroids or prints we made at home. We could never risk sending any evidence of us to a processing lab. She asked if we could take photos together as there are none of us. My heart leapt at the thought. She wants a picture of us together! It is forbidden, but I am absolutely going to do it anyway!

Once Bella had gotten through a few successful practises, we moved to the tiny darkroom, which is really just a modified cleaning cupboard with a sink and small workbench for the chemical trays, a single enlarger set on a shelf across from the sink and a red bulb in the light fixture. It is really too small for two people, but I carefully manoeuvred, positioning myself to give Bella as much space as possible and avoid crowding her.

We put the processing tank, film cartridges and scissors in the light safe bag with arm holes. Bella had a little difficulty loading her film, but eventually managed. After she closed up the tank she swapped places with me and I wound my film onto the second procession spool, checked Bella's film in the tank and put mine in the second space on the spindle, closing the tank against the light carefully before removing it from the light safe bag.

We moved to the sink and I mixed the chemicals, letting Bella pour them in and showing her how to agitate the tank properly. As we processed the film she chatted excitedly about some shots she remembered taking and her hopes that they turned out well.

I envy Bella her faded memory, for her some of the pictures will be a surprise. She seems interested in the difference between her memories and what we shall see when we make prints. For me there is no such surprise. My perfect recall means I know exactly what each latent shot shall reveal after processing.

Nevertheless I am excited because some are of her. I plan on framing the best ones if she allows me to. I have never had photographs of a friend before. Well, I never had a friend to photograph.

My life had so few surprises for almost a century I've lived knowing what was coming, knowing what every single person would say before they even thought to open their mouth. I didn't even need to listen, there was nothing new, ever. It was unbearably dull and lonesome. But lately, there are so many surprises, each one delightful and terrifying, all because of Bella. She lets me live in the present. She is everything new and exciting in my world. A living secret treasure chest, impenetrable to my gifts. Everything she says, everything she does, everything she is, all of her is filled with wonder and surprise. Every day is Christmas.

I so wish I could quell this greed and be satisfied with what we have and nothing more. It is a miracle that I have so much of her in my life. Last March I thought we would never even have a conversation, much less the kind of genuine, honest camaraderie we now enjoy. I feel beastly for never feeling I have enough of her. Admittedly I have grown more used to my thirst and how it spikes whenever she is near, the burn in my throat pales in comparison to the ache in my heart to hold her and confess everything.

She makes me so happy. It hurts so much.

A/N: Reviewers get to be the memories Edward wants to remember.

Thanks a million to my wonderful betas itsthatkindofanight and wh1teow1. Please show some love and read Moirai, a reimagining of Twilight for the new decade!