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The Ceiling

Bella stares at the ceiling and parallels her life to it.

All of this belongs to the great Stephenie Meyer. I hope that I don't embarrass her with this. It is nothing compared to her genius.

1. Chapter 1

Rating 5/5   Word Count 553   Review this Chapter

I thought it was forever…

I lie on my bed, staring at the ceiling. A fresh coat of paint rested there- smooth and perfect just like his face. I imagine that if I could touch it, I would feel that distant warmth that he always seemed to have. I lie there, twisted and tangled in my sheets, slowly dying. I am dying… always dying. Even when he had been here, I was dying. Now, it just happened much more slowly than it should have. I craved for the day when nothing else ever happened, the day when I face darkness for eternity, for in the darkness, I could not see.

I stared and stared at that stupid ceiling- the ceiling that seemed suddenly the metaphor for my life. Just beneath the smooth surface was the spiderweb of cracks. They branched this way and that, not going for certain in one way. Just like my heart.

I couldn’t choose. There was no way that I would ever be able to choose. I loved them both. I loved them both. I loved them both. Those words echoed on in my brain, growing louder and louder. I turned onto my side and clapped my hands over my ears, trying to muffle the sound. It did not work. The whispers just grew louder and louder.

“Stop!” I cried, “Please, just stop…” I wanted to die. Tears rolled out of my eyes, wetting the white sheet. I was suddenly cold, much much colder than I had been in a long time. I curled up into a ball, savoring any warmth that I could gather. But it did not work. My breathing grew ragged as my whimpers escalated.

I had to be quiet- lest Charlie hear me. He wouldn’t understand. He couldn’t understand. He hated it. I hate it. I can’t stop it. I want to stop it. I’m dying. I am nothing. I will forever be nothing. Nothing will ever end this pain. I am being illogical- but I only function when the world does not make sense. Otherwise, I would never have met the vampire that I love more than I love my own life. Otherwise I would not have a best friend that was a werewolf.

I realize now why people say love is selfish. Love never is only about one person. Or about two. It is always about far more. It is just egocentric to think that only two are effected by the choice of love over friendship, over family, over life. Love is a selfish thing. And I realize for the first time that if I am to become a vampire, I will lose a large part of my love. I will lose my life.

I don’t know if I’m ready to give it all up. I can’t give it all up. I am mindless. A zombie. Killing myself wouldn’t make it any better. Jacob can help during the day. But at night, when I’m all alone, I know the truth about love. And whenever Edward crawls in through my window, he will push away those fears. But eventually I will be alone again.

And I will remember. Love isn’t fair. Love is never about just two people. And in the end, someone always dies.