The Thirst For Midnight Sun
Did Stephenie Meyer’s partial draft leave you as unsatisfied as me? If so, feel free to check out my version of Midnight Sun, starting at Chapter 13.
First Off, I’m incensed on Stephenie Meyers Behalf. I was far more excited for the publication of Midnight Sub than I was, initially, for Breaking Dawn, and The Twilight Movie. It is a huge disappointment to know that Midnight Sun is now indefinitely on hold. Seriously this blows. I have been asked (in the past) by many fans if I’d write my own post-haste version of the anticipated Midnight Sun. I’ve always ignored the requests, knowing that the real book would one day be written and bonded in a black cover, with Stephenie Meyer’s name gracing the cover, offering my collection a completed appropriateness. But now, as you all should know, the release date is now postponed indefinitely and I have never read such an unsatisfying piece of Stephenie Meyers work than the partial draft that she opened up to her fans as a peace offering. Long rant short, my excuses have run out and I’m going to continue from where Stephenie so cruelly (and completely justly) left off. This is initially for my own selfishness. I need to quench my thirst. I hope you enjoy reading my attempted Edward in my very own Midnight Sun. Disclaimer: The characters and plot are the property of Stephenie Meyer . No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.
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I waited, impatiently, my fingers tapping like a nervous twitch on the grips of my steering wheel.
Then she opened the door.
The constant ache in the pit of my stomach her absence made, uncoiled and relaxed. I felt my heart swell when a wide smile captured her mouth, as she timidly stumbled to the car. She opened the door, catching my eye as she fell to the seat.
“Good morning.” I asked breezily, trying to conceal the awe that stung my tone. “How are you today?”
I hadn’t forgotten the close call that transpired through the night. Twice, Bella awoke, restless dreams causing her to mutter and toss. I unceremoniously dove in her closet, watching as she sat up, and attempted to fluff her pillows or rearrange her blankets. Trying, —to no avail— to find a comfortable position to offer her nagging dreams a trade. Her mutterings were louder then ever. Often my name was said, and I still couldn’t deny the excited thrill it coursed through my dead veins.
But I felt guilty to take pleasure in her sleep mutterings now, when her dreams had so obviously caused the dark circles that lined her eyes.
“Good, thank you.” She voiced, smiling cheekily. I couldn’t decide if she were being sarcastic or if her smile was sincere. I should have known that she wouldn’t have voiced the truth, she was a silent sufferer. I reminded myself, bitterly. That would have to change as well.
“You look tired.” I said seriously, noting the way the darkness under her eyes, contrasted with the cream of her skin. Her eyes seamed even more intense with the extra shadow provided.
Her neck was sheathed in a long brown sweater.
“I couldn’t sleep,” she said, her cheeks flushing. She untucked her hair secured behind her ear, using the mahogany wall as a defense to hide her eyes from me again. Annoyance crept, I wanted so badly to sweep her hair back behind her shoulder… To run my fingers through the silky tresses and pull her closer—
“Neither could I” I smiled. I liked that. How honesty slipped naturally off my tongue.
She laughed sending a fascinating ringing through the car. It was the loudest I’ve heard her laugh, my fingers twitched anxiously. The heat of her began to seep through my body. “I guess that’s right.” she paused, “I suppose I slept just a little bit more than you did.”
“I’d wager you did.”
“So what did you do last night?” she asked coyly, spinning a small strand of hair between her index finger and thumb.
I chuckled at her attempt to change the subject before it had a chance to begin. “Not a chance. It’s my day to ask questions.”
“Oh that’s right. What do you want to know?” she asked feigning forgetfulness.
I wanted to know everything. It was like a disease eating away at me, questions boiling just on the tip of my tongue.
I have never felt this raw emotion that could barely be defined tangibly as love. But as something so prominent that it shifted my entire world. Moving all importance in my life down, making room for her, raised high above all else. Completely immeasurable with my most prized possession. All company lost its meaning if she wasn’t the company in question. The world seemed impossible to have existed for so long when she wasn’t alive.
I couldn’t ask my questions fast enough.
It was like a choke hold around my throat. How could one simple creature be the center of my existence? Be the light in my very dark sky?
And yet I can scarcely recite what music she prefers, what conversation makes her uncomfortable, what her favorite colour is…
And that is exactly what I wanted to know, it seemed like a trivial question to the beginning of a very long list, a list of everything I’d ever want to know.
“What’s your favorite colour?” I asked, a pensive expression swallowing my disclosure.
Her eyes swept to the side just as her hair covered half her face, before she swung her head to reveal how she smirked at me. “It changes from day to day.”
“What’s your favorite colour today?” I asked solemnly.
“Probably brown.” She answered without a hint of denial.
I snorted. I couldn’t help it. I found brown a trite colour, if it could even be called a colour…
My memory of Bella two nights ago covered in that dark blue shirt had forever convinced me of my favorite….
“Brown?” I asked doubtfully, catching her eyes —cut-off by the tell-tale edge of her hair.
“Sure.” She said contemplatively, “Brown is warm. I miss brown. Everything that’s supposed to be brown — tree trunks, rocks, dirt— is all covered up with squashy green stuff here,”
I contemplated. It was impossible to deny, while lost in the severe intensity swirling in the chocolate of her eyes. “Your right,” I said broodingly. Her hair fell another inch, blocking out half her face.
“Brown is warm.” I trailed. And again, — without my conscious giving my reflex permission, I captured the silk of her hair, — offensively obscuring her eyes from me, —and swept it back over her shoulder.
I didn’t miss the stifle in her heartbeats, and tried to ignore the pink that now delicately ran from the confines of her sweater to darken the red in her cheeks.
Maybe dark blue was second to her blush…
Questions came as naturally as the lift in my cheeks, or the red that touched Bella’s.
I walked her slowly to her English class. Setting the pace to draw out our limited time together.
Continuing the stream of conversation that drifted from the car, quizzing her on music. Era’s she liked and disliked genres she preferred and hated.
I had to hold my tongue on more then one occasion when she’d draw a blank. Searching through her mysterious mind to find the right verb or adjective. Trying, unsuccessfully to swallow my never answered question: What is she thinking?
Her music taste was shallow; but not bad. She categorized her taste as typical or even irrelevant since she didn’t listen to the radio that much. She didn’t give herself any credit. I’d heard enough pop running through the minds of the population of Forks High to appreciate how she scrunched up her nose and vetoed pop, along with techno, rap, and country, using the tips of her fingers to keep count.
Subconsciously I started creating a playlist in my mind. Signaling out bands she’d like and songs that would match her punk/alternative taste.
Too fast the first class stared, she sighed longingly before she gave me a small, almost hopeful smile. I swallowed hard, losing my tongue and quickly slipping away before I had a chance to give her the goodbye I so longed for.
I remembered how warm Bella’s skin felt— I could never forget— the numbness still prickled as a constant reminder on the tips of my fingers. I kept on telling myself that as heavenly as Bella’s skin felt, mine felt sinister and deathly cold to her. Bella doesn’t like the cold, or the wet.
But I couldn’t seem to convince myself that. She was the one who touched the back of my fingers in Port Angeles. She had sighed wistfully to Jessica when asked if I had kissed her yet.
How much I would trade just to kiss her. To feel her warm lips spread across mine, the heat that would flow uninterrupted from her body to mine…
“Mr. Cullen…? Mr. Cullen!?”
“Huh?” I asked dazed coming out of Jessica’s head from where I was watching Bella. Jessica’s thoughts were a swirl of irritation; her point of irritation conveniently, was Bella.
Bella was staring pointedly ahead, her Trig a chaos of doodles, betraying the look of concentration she was rallying on the teacher. Jessica’s thoughts were in a rage of anger, noting the small smile Bella’s pensive expression couldn’t hide, scoffing at her choice of outfit, and wondering what I could possibly see in her. I had tuned out her annoying repartee, and was concentrating on the view when Mr. Mason so rudely interrupted me; shattering the image just as Bella threw Jessica an irritated scowl for staring.
“I’m sorry what was that?” I asked politely, trying to pick the question out of his spinning mind. But his thoughts were in a hectic spiel of amazement and smugness. A Cullen has never asked me to repeat anything before!
The class had all turned in their seats to stare at me wide-eyed, their thoughts synchronized with Mr. Masons.
I fidgeted uncomfortably, “Edward, I hope I’m not interrupting?” I didn’t like how he stressed the word “hope” putting an already overly obnoxious patronizing question in the same pretence as talking to a kindergartener. I gritted my teeth reeling in my retort, before quickly shaking my head and muttering a lame “sorry.” Mr. Mason unceremoniously shot me smug looks and trick questions, hoping for another inexplicable blip. I felt as if I lost a very insignificant war and annoyance held my attention for the rest of my class.
I was upright a second before class was officially over. Already smiling in anticipation of lunch. “Mr. Cullen?” I turned; my hand was already on the doorknob. I looked up, greeting Mr. Mason’s eyes. “A word?”
The class leisurely lumbered out of the room throwing me sympathetic smiles with raised eyebrows.
I was caught off, I’d never been asked to “have a word” by a teacher. The thought was laughable, and what was even more laughable was my peers empathizing with me. Me! Edward Cullen! AKA Vampire… Maybe Bella really has found the human in me. Because I never felt more human as I fidgeted by the door, anxious to leave and worried at the same time. Wanting more then anything to see Bella. But then again, it was a very vampiric reaction to want to kill Mr. Mason for keeping me…
“Edward,” he began. 10 seconds passed. His speech was already formed and already conveyed. I had a feeling that he wouldn’t believe I got the message if I simply told him that I’m sincerely sorry for day-dreaming in his damn class. Bella would be leaving Spanish right now…
“You seemed quite distracted today?” I opened my mouth, but realized that it was an entirely rhetorical question. I should just listen and keep my mouth shut, and only respond with the occasional nod or to brush the floor with my foot looking sheepish. 20 seconds.
His mouth opened. I watched detachedly as tiny dust particles entered his mouth. 25 seconds. “You also missed Friday and Monday, I trust that you got the notes?” Again, a rhetorical question. 35 seconds. I was officially annoyed.
I had the highest average in the class, without taking a single note or doing a shred of mandatory homework. The worst part was that he knew that, (which I know for a fact) but, insists on torturing me just for the pleasure it brings him.
I glowered. 40 seconds. Would Bella think I forsakened her? My stomach jumped. This was not happening. 45 seconds. Something very human rose like the stink of rotten flesh in my insides, I could hardly identify it. Unease? 50 seconds.
“Mr. Mason.” I said acerbically, taking a very predatorily step forward. “I realize I disrespected you and I sincerely apologize. But I can assure you that my marks will not suffer due to my absence or the very human slip of consciousness today.” I smiled for good measure, sure to show him each row of my teeth.
His stomach quivered and a barely audible, “Well don’t let it happen again,” escaped his lips.
“It wont.” I said brusquely before sweeping from the room.
My head spun with indignant queries. What an insolent bastard.
I lost my train of thought as she came into view, her eyes lit and a smile captured her mouth before she stumbled over to me. People still circulated the halls, and she maneuvered quickly before she toed the edge of a stray forgotten book.
That’s all it took. She went sailing, her armful of books spilling to the ground, her, just seconds from crashing to the tile. I side-stepped a dazed freshman and faster then humanly acceptable, captured Bella’s arms, pulling her up until her feet found level. I released her just as fast.
Blood stained her cheeks as she bent down quickly to pile up her books, but I was faster.
I smirked up at her, her eyes wide. “Which brings us to my next question.” Her heart sped.
Toying with the ominous book in my hand, I asked, “What’s your favorite book?”
She smiled, rolling her eyes. “Hmm books…” she began, her eyes holding thousands of caged secrets. “Where to start…?”