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 ^^^Made by the lovely, twilightOCD (yes I know thats my pen name, duh.) This is pretty much what would happen if I was Bella. Well, not really Bella, just having gotten to Edward first (I always dream of that :P) It's kind of boring at first, maybe to you, but for me, imagining me doing that, is just so exciting. Wow...he's even hotter in person, lol.


11. Chapter 11: Dinner time...

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I skipped out of school shortly after Biology. I hadn’t eaten lunch, too busy trying not to cry. Of course that didn’t work, so I folded my arms on the table and laid my head on them, my jacket soaking up the tears. Eventually I did regain enough control over my emotions, and was able to stop long enough to throw my uneaten food away and walk, alone, to Biology.

Edward came in just before the bell and sat down, coldly ignoring me. He placed his bag on the ground between us, and the front flapped down, revealing the top corners of the hardback novel.

He turned and spoke to Bella – much to my anger – and she talked to him loudly about the issue of my quote on quote, “un-thankfulness”. He told her about the book, his voice cold and tight.

“I can’t believe she would do that!” She exclaimed, as if I wasn’t sitting on the opposite side of him.

“She tried to tell me that it wasn’t her, too,” he added rudely.

“God. Does she think you’re a moron or something? Even I know what a pseu-psy-pesue-psue- fake name is. What I mean is a…um… uh…”


“Yeah, that!”

I covered my ears with my hands childishly. I didn’t want to hear anymore. No more. Please, no more.

Abruptly, I stood up, my chair pushing back with a squeal. I felt the tears brimming around the edges of my eyes; see them, see my vision get steadily blurrier. My heart was pounding inside my chest, and I felt my face grow red in embarrassment.

“Is there a problem Miss Miceli?” Asked the teacher angrily, as if I were someone who’d knocked on the door and interrupted a lecture.

“I-I think I’m g-gonna be sick,” I said. My voice sounded like it as well, cracking in just the right spots.

“Very well then, you may go. Take your books, too,” he added, “there’s only five minutes until the end of class.”

Grateful for an escape, I grabbed my book bag, not even bothering to zip it up, and fled.

The tears made their escape. They ran over my eyelashes – that had acted as the water-works’ dam – and flowed down my cheeks relentlessly. Without deciding where I was going to go, I took off running – in the opposite direction of my house – through the pouring rain.


I knew I needed to get home. I knew it was late. I knew my dad was probably worried about me. And I knew I shouldn’t have been wandering around at night. But none of the things I knew stopped me from running.

I’d never been much of a runner before, losing every race I’d had to run in school. But now, fueled by my emotions, I ran like I had iron lungs. I ran like I was a trialthalete, and could run forever and ever.

I stepped over the fallen tree and kept running through the dark green forest. Twigs snapped under my feet, and leaves crinkled under me, but still I ran. Branches swooped down and hit me in the face, but I pushed them away and kept running still. Nothing could stop me.

I wasn’t really paying attention to where I was going. I just stared straight forward through my blurred eyes and ran. I didn’t look at what was beneath me, not caring enough even if I treaded through animal feces. Although that would be gross.

A loose stone managed to trip me, and I flew sprawling to the ground. With a choking sob, I remained there, not having enough strength to get back up. I slid my arms out of my backpack straps and wrapped them around my self, in a position of frenzied sobbing.

There I remained for a long while. I wasn’t aware that the rain had stopped above the tree tops, and I wasn’t aware that I was lying in a pool of mud, covered only by a thin layer of wet leaves. I wasn’t aware of the time slowly slipping by, or of the fact that my dad was probably already at the calling the cops stage of worry.

All that mattered was…nothing. Nothing mattered anymore. Part of me couldn’t believe I was making such a big deal out of this. But the other part realized that I was nothing after losing my dreams.

I hadn’t known Edward Cullen for long, but I knew everything about him. That book told me everything I needed to know. He was the shining night of my fairy tales; the imaginary dream boyfriend I’d made up when I was lonely. My hero, my savior, my vampire. Whatever you wanted to call him, that’s what he was to me.

All my hopes, all my dreams – they all crumbled before me. As I lay in my pit of pity, of self-loathing, of defeat, of heart break, they crumbled. They crumbled like weathered stone – ancient and weak beneath a mighty fist.

I cried childishly, like a five year old who was throwing a fit because they didn’t get the toy they wanted. But I was throwing a fit. Not in the same way, per se, but none the less, a fit.

After long, I was aware of a strange rustling of leaves. Not like a small animal, stumbling around in the under brush, but like something, or someone, was driving a very fast motorcycle through leaves. All that was missing was the roaring motor.

The part of my brain which held my common sense remained asleep, so it could not tell me to move out of the way. The rest of my brain wondered why someone would be driving a motorcycle through the leaves in the rain.

And suddenly, the noise all together stops. I look up from my fetal position and see a pair of legs connected to two bare feet. I look up farther and see a flannel shirt, covering two thick arms. My eyes continued to meet a gloriously beautiful face, surrounded by medium brown hair. In the center of the said face were two beautiful eyes – the irises dark black with hints of red around the edges.

“Dinner time,” he growled with a wicked smile, exposing two rows of glistening white, razor-sharp teeth.